Haunted (Dean Winchester x Original Character)

CHAPTER 7

The words I said to Dean crawled into my bed and repeated themselves in my brain in an infinite loop of guilt, making it impossible for me to conciliate any kind of sleep. My head hurt, and my eyes felt dry and swollen from all the crying. I wanted to cry some more, but I guess, there weren't any more tears to shed. A sigh escaped my lips as I turn on my back and stare up at the ceiling, right after gazing at the empty side of my bed.

Looking back it's funny that I failed to realize then how absent-mindedly crazy I was for Dean. As contradicting as it sounded, everything cell of my body was begging me to crawl back into his bed. His arms. And beg him to take me back. 



A light knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts, and I was genuinely disappointed when I prompted myself to see it was Sam, not Dean, who was standing at my door. He told me they had a case, a potential lead on Scott and this whole mess, that they were leaving early in the morning so they could be here by night. He smiled, and I knew he was dying to ask me what was going on, but he decided to say nothing and hit the sack instead.

It was midnight anyway.

But by the time the clock hit 1:58 am, I was still awake, and with one thing in my mind. After the witch in the bunker incident, I moved to another bedroom, one that was at least six doors away from Dean's so, I got up, not even caring that I was wearing my plaid pajamas and a tank-top only, and I clenched my jaw as I tread lightly down the dark hallway toward Dean's room. I was determinant to apologize for the things I said, hoping that would silence my demons away. But just when I rounded the corner, something hard slammed right into me, shoving me backward.

Before I could even react to what was happening, a pair of strong arms took hold of my waist and pulled me back upright to my feet, preventing me from falling and hitting the floor.



"You okay?" Dean asked in surprise. And I was suddenly out of words.



"I-I'm fine." I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry—" I added, taking my hands out of his arms. We stood awkwardly in the darkness, our eyes glued to each other, and I could make out his profile; his hair was messier than earlier, his black t-shirt engulfed all his muscles, and the sadness I could see behind his eyes.



"What are you doing walking in the dark?" he whispered. 



"I came to, uh, look for you. I wanted to talk to you."

I could tell we were getting closer, extremely closer actually, like two opposite magnets placed purposely in front of each other. I could smell the mint from his toothpaste, and his familiar scent was almost embracing me. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him until that moment.



Dean nodded his head. "I wanted to talk to you, too."

He motioned me to the library and turned on a lamp when we got there, right before pulling a chair out of the nearest table. I sat on the table, putting as much space as I could between us, knowing already what being so close to him did to me.



"I'm sorry," he said firstly, his arms resting on his knees, and his voice tired, giving away his lack of sleep.



"No, Dean, you don't have to say sorry," I mumbled. I saw him shaking his head even with my eyes stuck to the floor, "I'm the asshole here, I should be saying sorry." I managed a small smile.



"But I really am sorry. I didn't mean—"



"Please don't." I lifted my head to meet his eyes. "It's not your fault that I am like this." He slowly stood up, and just stayed there in front of me as I spoke. "You gotta know, Dean, this has nothing to do with you doing something wrong, but in fact, the exact opposite."