Destiny ~ Dean Winchester (love story), part two

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×Dean POVx

We were screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. Meg and the hellhounds were here—they probably knew we were coming all along.

I stumbled through the door of the station, barely feeling my feet hit the ground. The last five minutes were a blur, the sounds of snarling, ripping, and the screams—Jo's, Angie's, maybe even my own—echoing in my mind like a broken record. The hellhounds. I could barely think past the terror clawing at me, the memory of their fangs tearing into myself, the way I had felt myself shredded open the last time they'd killed me. It was a pain that lived somewhere deep my his bones, even with all the torture I endured later on by Alastair, a pain I'd buried but never quite escaped. The mere thought of it paralyzed me, shutting my brain down, leaving me useless in the face of that nightmare come to life.

They'd come so fast. Jo had raised her gun, but the damn thing was too quick, tearing into her stomach before she even got a shot off. I had heard her scream but couldn't react, couldn't think straight. I'd watched, frozen, as Angie threw everything she had to push the hellhounds back, but Meg—damn Meg—had been ready. She'd slashed at Angie with an angel blade, her twisted smile mocking her, while another hellhound raked its claws across Angie's back, sending her crumpling to the ground.

By the time me and Sam managed to get Jo and Angie away from there, I barely knew where I was. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, my head pounding as I forced himself to look around, taking in the scene like someone surveying the wreckage after a bomb had gone off.

It was chaos.

Jo was on the ground, blood soaking through her shirt as Sam and Ellen hovered over her, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. Ellen's face was twisted in panic, hands pressing into Jo's stomach, her voice tight with barely suppressed tears as she murmured reassurances that sounded more like prayers. Keza was at Angie's side, cradling her upper body, her own hands trembling as she checked Angie's wounds. Angie's breathing was shallow, her face pale and glistening with sweat, her eyes closed, like she was caught between consciousness and slipping away.

I forced myself to move, to think, but it was like his brain was lagging, everything feeling off-kilter and distant. I could see the pain written on Jo's face, the deep gashes clawed into Angie's back, but I couldn't process it fully. It was too much, too fast, my mind stumbling over what to do, who to help, where to go next.

"Dean. Dean, secure the door!" Sam yelled at me.

The hellhounds were coming closer again, I could hear them howl. I couldn't think, couldn't move. I was paralyzed.

"Dean! Now!"

Somehow, my brother had found bags of salt in this store where we were trying to barricade ourselves. He started laying salt lines at the entrance, and I finally moved, shoving a shelf toward the door we'd just come through.

That, and the salt, would hold up for a while.

Jo was gasping, losing blood way too fast from the wound on her stomach.

And then there was Angie. She'd overused her magic to shield Sam and Ellen, only to get attacked from behind. You could see the individual claw marks of the hellhound on her back.

I knew what kind of pain they were both in, knew the kind of merciless bloodlust the hounds had for their prey. Keza was holding Angie's upper body in her lap; she'd gone unconscious the second we stepped in here. Jo was making sounds so pitiful I might actually start screaming or crying myself. I wanted to break something, anything—

"You're gonna be alright, okay? You're gonna be alright," Ellen promised Jo, trying desperately to put pressure on the wound.

I couldn't deal with this alone. I didn't know what to do. So, I did the only thing that made sense.