Dreamcatcher

Chapter 15 - Never Let Go

I wake to the soft, rhythmic beeping of machines. The sound is distant, muted, as if I'm submerged underwater. The room is too bright, making it hard to open my eyes fully. I want to fall back into that dreamless sleep where everything is quiet and peaceful, but something stops me—someone is holding my hand.

I try to move, but my body feels like it's weighed down, every muscle heavy and sluggish. Slowly, I force my eyes open, squinting against the harsh light until the room comes into focus. It's a hospital room. The sterile smell of disinfectant fills the air, and the reality of where I am settles in.

I glance around, and that's when I see him—Dean. He's sitting in a chair beside my bed, his head resting on the mattress, his hand gently wrapped around mine. He's fast asleep, his face turned slightly towards me. His usual hardened expression is softened by sleep, his brow relaxed, his lips parted slightly as he breathes deeply.

I stare at him for a moment, the weight of everything that's happened pressing down on me. The dreams, the Djinn, the fight to wake up. It feels surreal now, like a half-forgotten nightmare. But seeing Dean here, so real, so close, reminds me that this is no dream.

I shift my hand slightly in his, the movement small but enough to wake him. His eyes snap open, and for a split second, they're clouded with confusion. Then he sees me, and his entire face changes. Relief, pure and raw, washes over his features.

"Ash," he breathes, his voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. He sits up straighter, still gripping my hand like he's afraid I might disappear again.

"You're here," I whisper, my voice weak but steady.

Dean nods, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." His voice is thick with emotion, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe.

We stay like that for a moment, neither of us saying a word. Just the two of us in this too-bright room, clinging to each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist. The quiet between us feels comfortable, like a fragile peace neither of us wants to break.

But of course, that peace doesn't last.

The door swings open, and a nurse walks in, breaking the moment. "Good morning," she chirps, her professional smile in place as she heads over to check the machines. "Glad to see you're awake. It was touch and go there for a little bit. You lost a lot of blood."

I can only manage a weak smile in response, though my gaze stays fixed on Dean. His green eyes are locked on me like I'm the only thing he can see, and for a second, I wonder if this is real or if the Djinn is playing another trick. But honestly, I don't care. If this is another illusion, at least I'm with Dean.

The nurse finishes checking the machines and looks down at me, her tone gentle. "How are you feeling?"

"Never better," I joke, though my voice is still raspy. I throw in a grin to lighten the mood.

Dean chuckles, a soft, warm sound that sends a flutter through my chest.

The nurse finishes her checkup, her professional smile never faltering. "I'll leave you two alone. Just make sure you get some rest, okay?"

As soon as she's out of the room, Dean shifts his chair closer to the bed. His smile fades into something softer, more serious. He's still holding my hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles over my knuckles.

"You scared the hell out of me, you know that?" His voice is low, a little rough around the edges. "Don't do it again."

I squeeze his hand, my heart fluttering at the intensity in his eyes. "I'll try to keep the near-death experiences to a minimum. For you."

"Good," he says, but his smile falters, the playful edge gone. His expression shifts, becoming more serious, more vulnerable than I've ever seen him. "Ash, I'm sorry. For everything."

"Sshhhh," I whisper, shaking my head. "You don't need to apologize. You made it up by finding me."

"No." He shakes his head, his eyes dropping to the floor, his voice tight with guilt. "You shouldn't forgive me that easily. I almost got you killed." He hangs his head down, the weight of his words pulling at him.

I sit up in bed, ignoring the ache in my body. I reach for him, grabbing his arm, pulling him closer. "Dean, look at me," I whisper, my voice soft but firm.

He lifts his head, his green eyes glistening with unshed tears, filled with so much warmth and sorrow it makes my heart ache.

"I love you," I say, my voice steady, my heart pouring into those words.

A tear slips down his cheek, and he swipes at it quickly, like he's not used to letting anyone see him this vulnerable. "I almost lost you, Ash," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Because of that stupid fight... because I couldn't get out of my own damn way."

I lean forward, cupping his cheek with my hand, my thumb brushing away the tear. "But you didn't lose me. I'm here. You saved me, Dean. That's all that matters now."

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment as if he's savoring the connection between us. When he opens them again, they're filled with something raw, something real, and he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine.

"I don't deserve you," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin.

"You deserve everything," I murmur, my lips brushing against his as I speak.

And then, he kisses me—slow at first, but there's a hunger behind it, a desperation that neither of us can hold back any longer. His lips are soft yet demanding, moving against mine like he's been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever. It's not just a kiss; it's a collision of everything we've held back—every argument, every moment of fear, every word left unspoken between us.

His hand slides up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I feel the tension melt away as I give in to him completely. His touch is firm, grounding, like he's trying to remind me that I'm here, that this is real. I reach up, tangling my fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against my lips, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sweeping over mine in a rhythm that feels both familiar and intoxicatingly new. It's not gentle anymore—it's fierce, passionate, like we're trying to make up for lost time, for the weeks, months, and years that we let slip through our fingers. He kisses me like he's afraid I'll slip away again, like he needs this just as much as I do.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathless, foreheads resting against each other as we struggle to catch our breath. His hands remain on me, holding me as if he's afraid to let go, and his eyes—those piercing green eyes—are filled with so much love, so much relief, that it steals what little breath I have left.

"I'm never letting you go again," he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

I smile, my heart full, and I press another soft kiss to his lips, a promise of my own. "Good, because I'm not going anywhere."