supernatural one-shots [requests closed] UNDER EDITING

dean winchester || first textual experience pt. 9

|| edited

     "Get the salt," Dean barks into the phone.

     "I am!" you yell back, agitated and fearful. "I'm not an idiot."

     "I know," Dean says worriedly. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

     You quickly shake out a line of salt across the windowsill and the doorway. You search frantically for a rod of iron. The Winchesters usually leave them in their suitcases, but you're guessing that Dean and Sam took them. No one would have guessed that the ghost would come to you.

     The door to the motel room bursts open and you whirl around, opening your mouth to yell at one of the boys for breaking the salt line, but the words catch in your throat.

     Dean stands in the doorway.

     But the eyes aren't Dean, and that's how you know for sure. The eyes are hollow, lifeless. They aren't the happy olive green eyes that you love.

     "Myra." 

     The ghost smirks and the lines of its form blur. Dean melts away, and before you stands a small, pale girl with stringy black hair and sunken eyes. Her arms and chest are covered in ribbons of red.

     "(Y/N)," she rasps in a deep voice. "Oh, sweet (Y/N). Always ignored by that heartthrob Dean, aren't you?"

     "Don't," you plead, holding up your hands, the only defense you have. "Please."

     "Dean loves you," she taunts. "He loves you, but he's a fool. He's never going to say it. He's trained himself to never have any real connections in this world, so he doesn't hurt anyone. But that's not true, isn't it? He hurts you every day. He's hurting you right now."

     Her frame flickers and all of the sudden she is inches away from you. You move to hit her, to do something, but your limbs are frozen. "He's never going to admit he loves you," she says, looking up at you and raising her hand to your face. You wince, preparing for pain, but instead she strokes your cheek with the back of your hand. "Not until you're dead."

     "It's such a shame, too," she murmurs, leaving her cold hand resting on your cheek. "You seem like such a nice girl. So pretty. I'm not going to enjoy killing you as much as I did the others."

     "Get away," you whisper, praying for Dean to show up.

     "Dean's not going to show," she laughs. "He can't save you."

     Your eyes widen as she runs her nail lightly across your cheek. Even though she's barely touching you, you feel a stinging sensation follow her touch and warm blood streams down your cheek. You hiss in pain.

     She gives you a sad smile. "Painful, isn't it? Lucky for you, I'll pay you the favor of a fast death." She slowly brings her finger to your wrist and prepares to cut, but a gunshot rings out from your left. A bullet flies through the ghost's side and she gasps, her form dissolving. Your head whips to the side, and you see Dean standing in the doorway, gun in hand.

     You run to him and wrap your arms around his neck. His arms quickly fold over your back and pull you into his chest. You close your eyes and inhale his scent, a mixture of sweat and the slightest hint of whiskey. You focus on the sound of his racing heartbeat, and wait for your own to slow.

     "(Y/N)," he murmurs into your hair.

     "Dean," you murmur into his chest. For a few minutes, you stay like that, not talking. But you finally look up to him and stare into his bright green eyes. "What if she comes back?"

     Dean smiles softly and brings his hand to your bloody cheek. He uses his thumb to wipe away some of the crimson. "Sam's saltin' and burnin' the bones as we speak."

     You heave a sigh of relief, then smile and look up at him in adoration. "Dean?"

     "Yeah?"

     "So you love me?"

     Dean chuckles and you feel it vibrate through his chest. "Yes, (Y/N). I love you."