THIRTY FIVE | Devil Worshippers

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DEVIL
WORSHIPPERS
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( death takes a holiday )

    AT A DIFFERENT MOTEL; DEAN SITS ON ONE OF THE BEDS WITH HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS

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    AT A DIFFERENT MOTEL; DEAN SITS ON ONE OF THE BEDS WITH HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS. Allison stood at the bathroom sink, cleaning her face. She winced at the stinging pain every time she touched her lip or the small cut on her forehead.

In the mirror, she could see Dean sitting directly behind her. She frowned heavily; she knew he was beating himself up over what he did, but she didn't blame him whatsoever. She tossed away the tissue and turned on her heel, walking up to Dean. She crouched down in front of him and took ahold of his hands, removing them from his face.

He didn't dare look at her. "Hey," she says softly, trying to get him to look at her, "Look at me." Dean tensed as he opened his eyes but then softened when he seen what the damage truly was and it wasn't that bad. Just a small cut on the side of her forehead and her lip was split; obviously, to him it was awful but it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. It didn't make him feel any less worse. "It's not your fault," Allison tells him, raising her hand up to brush his cheek gently, offering a small smile.

"I hurt you," he whispered, looking away from her face and back toward the ground. He was ashamed of himself for what he did. "Hey," she repeats and he looks up at her, "I'm okay. I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

He sighed heavily and stood up. She watched him walk away from her and she knitted her eyebrows together. "It doesn't change the fact that I literally punched you and threw you into a wall," he told her boldly.

"Dean, that wasn't you, baby," Allison told him, standing up. He turns to face her, seeing the bandage on her arm from being slice with the machete. "It also doesn't change the fact that i about killed you with a freaking machete." he grew agitated.

Allison sighed softly, "How can I persuade you that I'm completely fine?" she asks him.

"You can't," he retorted shaking his head. Allison sighed and sat down on the bed defeated. Dean watched her as she just sat there in silence. He sighed and took a seat next to her. She looked up at him, "I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Dean. Yes, it was you," she nodded, "but it wasn't you, baby," she cupped his cheek.

He placed his hand over hers, feeling something even deeper than what he felt before. He leaned in and kissed her lips softly, trying not to cause her anymore pain than he already had. She melted into his kiss, but she did every single time.

Pulling away, she leaned her forehead against his and smiled softly before pulling away and standing up. She stood in front of him, allowing him to lean forward and wrap his arms around her waist, laying his head against her stomach. She ran her hands through his hair gently, before leaning down and placing a kiss against the top of his head. She smiled widely. She felt like a teenage girl and in her defense — Dean was her first serious relationship since Scott . . . since she died.

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