Mommy Winchester

Part 16

You’re not sure where you are.
Well, you know where you are.
You know you’re in a hospital.
You know that Cail is there, that he’s holding your hand, telling you about all the wonderful things the nurses are doing for him, taking care of him like he’s a little prince.
You appreciate it.
But…
But that other place…
You didn’t know where that was.
You keep falling there, getting closer to the brightness every time you give in to the memories that are threatening to take over at any second; you try to fight it, you don’t like it.
You’re not ready to go.
Cail wasn’t safe.
You have to wake up in order to be able to care for him, because you know Dean can’t.
You won’t let go.
No, you’ll wake up.
You just have to try harder, right?
You keep trying, and, eventually, you’ll wake up.
You’ll see your son again, your baby.
You have too.
Because you can’t stand the thought of never seeing his face again, of dying and leaving him on his own, like your own mother had done to you.
And if Dean had to raise him in the hunters life —- he would end up just like you.
And you’d hated it.
You’d hated your father because of it.
You didn’t want that for Cail.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
“Stand up straighter, (Y/N)!” your father barks, and you flinch, hunching your shoulders as you stare up at him.
Your father was a big man, over six feet tall and with a thick red beard, although his head was shaven. He was no nonsense all the time, and you really hate it when he decides you need more training sessions.
You were just a little girl.
Just barely seven years old.
You stand there, your hands clenched, palms sweaty as you stare at your father.
“Now, when I toss this knife, you’re going to catch it, not flinch away from it this time, understand?” he snaps, and you nod quickly.
You don’t want too.
The last couple times you’d caught it by the blade and it hurt your palms.
“Dad, c’mon, why don’t we take a break?” your eldest brother suggests after a moment, hesitating; he was standing by the furnace of the building you were all currently occupying amidst mid-hunt. “It’s getting late —.”
“No, Kaiser!” your father snaps, crossing his arms and glaring at his son. “We are not stopping until your sisters learns to hold her own! She is too old to not know how to do this!”
“But, Dad —.”
“Hush!”
Your brother stiffens, and then looks down, sighing.
You feel water start to build in your eyes.
You don’t want to do this.
You want to pretend you were as far away from there as possible.
You hate training.
It makes you miserable.
You just wanna sleep.
You’re so tired.
“Now, stand up straight, (Y/N)! On the count of three!”
You actually whimper, but reluctantly hold out your shaking hands, already marred red.
“One.”
No.
“Two.”
You really don’t want too!
“Three!”
You flinch immediately as he tosses the knife, but you catch it, gasping in pain as the sharp blade cuts through your palm.
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You sigh as the memory starts to fade.
You hate that one.
You understand what your father was trying to do, but even now you wish he hadn’t.
You wish he’d just…. not.
Your brothers had… well, you couldn’t say protected you.
They’d never protected you, not really.
They never stood up to your father.
No one did.
Not even you.
The only person you’d ever really known not to take any shit from your father was Dean, and his father John; John had been friends with your father, though you weren’t sure if it was more because of business or because being hunters just brought people together.
Either way, it had been what had made you admire the Winchesters the most.
Sam hadn’t been around by the time you met Dean, he’d already run off to go to college and trying to make a normal life for himself. It had just been Dean and John, traveling around in that Impala.
You can still remember….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You hit the ground hard with a gasp, your body being slung into the snow, ice filling your mouth as you cough.
You can hear your father shouting, and then your brother, but you’re stunned, the breath knocked out of you.
It takes you a few moments before your vision clears enough for you to even see.
You shudder, and then force yourself to your knees, your dampening hair swinging in front of your eyes as you struggle up, staggering to your feet and trying to regain your bearings.
You can’t feel your fingers.
Snow is clinging to your lashes.
You were so cold.
“(Y/N), I need the dagger!”
Dagger — right!
You fumble, realizing that it was no longer in your grasp, and you look around frantically, finally spotting it glinting in the snow, the sunlight hitting it at the right angle. You glance over frantically, seeing the monster had its jaws around your brother, and the longer you wasted time —.
You dive forward, your hand clamping around the dagger before your roll, throwing it hard and praying that it hits the fucker.
It does, the dagger sliding cleanly through the monsters thigh, causing it to howl and drop your brother into the heavy snow and stagger back several steps.
Where it was then hit by a car.
What the hell?
You stare in surprise as the car slows, the windshield now cracked, and the beast is twitching behind it, body spasming.
Your father starts to laugh.
What the fuck?
You huff as you push yourself into a sitting position, your fingers numb with the cold, red and frozen just like your nose. You hate cold places, especially when they were covered in snow and ice, making it so much harder to walk.
You watch as the front doors of the black car open, two dark haired men stepping out of it.
“Did we get it?” you hear the youngest one ask excitedly, getting out of the passenger side and almost running to the back to see if they’d gotten the thing.
“Looks like it,” the older one responds dryly, his hand resting on his open car door, black hair a mess around his face.
“Well, look who we have here,” your father says, walking forward through the snow, despite it was up to his ankles. More was starting to fall from the sky, and hopefully it would cover the blood stains that were in the snow, turning it an ugly red.
You glance at your brothers, seeing Kaiser was on his side, clutching his arm where the beast had had him; your younger brother, Adlar, was kneeling beside him in worry, the first aid kit already out and at his side.
Oh, you were fine.
No one ask.
You were just peachy, not at all hurt from being tossed to the side and landing in the snow ten feet away.
Nope.
Completely fine.
Ugh.
Fuckers.
You sigh as you force yourself to your feet, almost limping as you make your way to your brother, curious eyes flicking over to where your father is amicably chatting with the tall, black haired man, probably around the same age as him.
The younger man was more likely your eldest brothers age, and he was finishing off the monster, pulling the silver dagger out of its thigh.
He was cute.
In a goofy way.
He was way too happy to be killing monsters.
You frown as you look at him, and then turn your attention to your brothers, kneeling down.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly, worry etched in your features, snow catching in your hair as it lazily flutters down.
Your brother looks woozy.
“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles after a moment, Adlar helping him sit up.
“I think it’s just dislocated,” your youngest brother says after a moment, sighing. “I can set it back for you, but it’s gonna fucking hurt.”
“Just do it,” Kaiser grunts.
Eh.
You flinch as Kaiser bellows, Adlar resetting his shoulder without warning.
Yikes.
So note: never dislocate anything.
You shudder, tightening your hold around yourself, feeling frozen; your jacket was ripped, so it wasn’t like it was offering you much warmth right now. Plus there was the fact you were kneeling in snow…
“Kids! Come here,” you hear your father order, not even bothering to see how his son was doing; he just assumed he could walk.
If it had been something serious, he probably still wouldn’t have cared.
You sigh, straightening slowly, and help Kaiser to his feet, pulling his arm over your shoulder. Adlar takes his other side worriedly, and together the three of you walk over to where your father stands with his friends, looking annoyed that it was taking you so long.
“John, I don’t think you’ve ever met (Y/N),” your father says, motioning at your disheveled appearance. “You know the boys.”
“Yes,” ‘John’ nods his head, glancing over the three of you. “It’s been a while, though. This is Dean,” he gestures at his son where he’s still standing by the monster, dragging it out of the slush of the roadway, leaving a red smear behind him as he attempts to get it into the snow, out of the eyes of anyone going by. “You remember him.”
“Ja. What about your other one, the skinny lad?”
“Sam, he…. he’s off in college,” John replies, a disgruntled look on his face. “He wants to pretend he’s not a hunter.”
“Bah!” your father shakes his head. “It’s in his blood, he can’t escape it! My kids know that. Even (Y/N) is a hunter.”
Not by choice.
What you would give to be normal, to be a simple teenage girl in high school worrying over grades and boys.
Hell.
A boy wouldn’t even look at you.
Your hair is long, about to your waist , but you dress in boys clothes, which were much easier to come by since you lived with men; you’re muscular, you fight for a living, after all, and you haven’t even tried with makeup yet.
You don’t look the least bit girly.
Plus, even if a guy did give you a second look, look at your family.
None would ever stand a chance.
“Kids, this is John Winchester,” your father finally introduces the man properly, and both of your brothers straighten immediately. “I know you’ve heard me speak of him.”
“Nice to meet you — again,” your eldest brother says, forcing a weary smile.
“It’s only been ten yeas since I saw any of you,” John chuckles, leaning back against the Impala. You glance behind you, following his gaze to see his son was finishing up with the monster, dusting his hands off with a smirk on his face.
He turns, trotting back to where everyone is standing.
“Should be good to go; no one’s gonna find him until he’s already rotting,” his son chuckles, looking smug. “We can get outta here now.”
“Good. Dean, you remember Wilhelm, don’t you, and his boys?” John gestures at the red-bearded hunter.
Red Beard, as so many often called him.
You find it tacky.
“Yup,” his son nods.
“And this is his daughter, (Y/N).”
You try not to grimace.
Why couldn’t you have a normal name?
Why had your father insisted on German names for his children?
Ugh.
Deans eyes land on you curiously.
A female hunter?
So young?
Cool.
He grins at you, and you blink, looking up at him.
What the hell?
You weren’t sure you were going to like him.
How did he manage to pull off being so cute?
How old was he?
Jeez, he as probably ancient, like in his twenties or something.
Ew.
Old much?
“How old are you?” Dean asks curiously, tilting his head, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Like, what, twelve or fourteen?”
You bristle a little, your brothers chuckling.
You look young for your age.
You get that a lot.
And it never fails to piss you off.
“Sixteen,” you mutter crossly.
“Oh.” Dean frowns.
You were pretty, in a plain, tomboy-ish way.
A little makeup, a little fixing of your hair — you might actually be attractive.
But, Dean glances at your father where he was eyeing him warily, that might not even make a difference if your father guts any guy who looks at you.
Poor you.
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
Your first meeting of Dean Winchester.
You’d literally thought he was the biggest jackass of the century for the first couple months you were forced to spend with him. John and your father had teamed up, deciding to hang around each other when they came onto a big case that would require some man power.
And you were more then relieved when your father told you to stay back on some hunts, that it was more for the experienced hunters to deal with.
You would rather have not hunted at all.
Pulled a Sam Winchester instead, become normal.
You’d hated to admit it at the time, but you’d developed the biggest crush on Dean; you’d tried to hide it, had been the biggest bitch to him you possibly could — which had made the crush so much more obvious.
You want to sigh.
Your crush had surprised no one.
Dean was a ladies man.
What had surprised them, though, was the fact he had been interested in you….
Or, well, at least as someone fun, anyway.
Nothing serious.
That’s what you had always told yourself, so you weren’t hurt when he ran off with a hot chick, or someone prettier then you — you were just friends, and at the time, you hadn’t even had sex.
You’d just kissed a few times, had some heavy makeout sessions in the backseat of the Impala when you were supposed to be on watch —.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You sit huffily in the front seat of the Impala, slunk down and annoyed.
“Why do they always leave me behind?” you grumble, your arms crossed as you glare out the windshield. Your father, your brothers, and John had all went to scope out the city, searching for the vampires, while you and Dean had been tasked with watching their supposed “den,” in case there was any movement.
Yeah flippin’ right.
You were pretty sure they were using Dean as a babysitter.
He didn’t look pleased either.
“Because you’re a girl? I don’t know.”
“I can take care of myself, despite I’m a girl!” you hiss at him, glaring at him in the darkness.
He rolls his eyes at you. “Duh, I know that. I’ve seen you during hunts, you’re a vicious little thing.”
“I’m not little!”
“You’re like two feet tall.”
“Shut up!”
Dean chuckles; he had way too much fun riling you up, and it was always so easy.
“Ugh. There’s literally nothing happening here,” you complain, tapping your foot impatiently.
“Jeez, calm down. Do you have any patience?”
“No!”
He frowns at you, and then reaches forward, fiddling with the radio until he finds a rock station, Metallica suddenly blasting through the speakers.
“Do you wanna beer?” he asks, reaching behind his seat for the cooler.
“I’m eighteen.”
“So? It’s a beer,” he rolls his eyes, tossing you one regardless. You catch it, fumbling the cold can and frowning down at it. “It’s not gonna kill ya. And if you get drunk off one, you’re a major lightweight.”
You scowl.
You weren’t a lightweight.
You don’t think.
You’ve never had anything to drink before, so you really don’t have an idea of what to expect.
Your father drank a lot, but — well, you didn’t dare mess with anything of his.
You glance at Dean as he pops the tab on his, and then turns it up, taking a long swallow.
Fuck.
Well, it couldn’t be bad tasting then, could it?
He was literally downing it like it was nothing.
And well, wasn’t it time you try something new?
You sigh, slowly opening yours, hoping that it wasn’t going to be one of your bad decisions you seem to keep having.
You were like a magnet for bad luck lately, it seems.
If your father yelled at you one more time in the next week, you were pretty sure his head was going to explode, especially since you’d gotten snappy back with him, making your brothers look like they were going to faint.
well, you were sick of being the good little girl.
Tired of being under his thumb all the fucking time.
You were gonna do what you were gonna do, fuck the consequences!
You frown down at the beer in your hand, and then lift it to your nose, sniffing.
Ew!
It smells awful!
You make a face.
“What?” Dean asks, bracing his arm along the car door as he looks at you.
“It smells awful.”
“Have you never had beer before? It tastes worse then it smells.”
“Then why do you drink it?”
“It gets a good buzz going,” he shrugs his shoulders, lifting the can back to his lips. “You don’t gotta drink it if you’re gonna be a wuss about it.”
You glare at him.
And do exactly as he expects, lifting the can to your lips.
If you were told you couldn’t do something, the world be damned, you were going to prove someone wrong. Dean had noticed that you’d become a lot more brazen since the last time he’d seen you, especially while hunting; you were like a hunter in the wild, going after anything you could, going for that adrenaline rush.
He understands.
He knows your circumstances were fucked.
So an adrenaline rush was a nice, helpful boost to make you feel a little better, relieve the amount of stress on your shoulders.
Get out some of that tension.
He admires you, he’ll give you that.
You were a little badass.
Who had discovered makeup, apparently.
Your wear it black and thick around your eyes, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was so you could blend into the darkness or if you were trying to get the raccoon’s to accept you as one of their own.
But you make it work.
Your makeup, complete with your black, scuffed boots and rough-looking jeans, really give you a harsh-looking edge.
A little rebel in the making, that’s what you remind him of.
Classic teenager, rebelling against the parents — go anarchy, down with the democracy, fuck the system and society — blah blah blah.
He was waiting for you to color your hair and change your name.
Your father must be having coronaries.
And you’re sipping your beer, your nose curling every time, so he gives you props for not complaining.
Sam had always whined.
Big baby.
“So,” Dean tosses his now empty can into the trash bag in the back floorboard. “Got any boyfriends?”
You snort. “Yeah right. Have you met my family?”
Dean chuckles. “Yeah. I figured Wilhelm probably skewered them.”
You roll your eyes.
“He thinks he’s such a fucking badass,” you grumble, finishing your beer so you wouldn’t have to drink anymore of it; it was getting worse-tasting the hotter it became. “That he can do whatever he wants and boss everyone around.”
“Well, he’s a hunter. All of us are that way,” Dean responds, casually reaching for another beer and tossing you one too. “We’re stressed out assholes fighting the good fight against shit most people don’t believe even exists. It takes a toll on us, after a while. Soon, we’ll all be like him.”
“I won’t,” you huff, struggling to pop the tab on your beer, doing it without really thinking about it so you have something to do with your hands. “I never want to be like him, all bitter and condescending, thinking everything has to go one way or else; he treats me like such a child!”
“You are a child, you’re like sixteen.”
“I’m eighteen!”
“Still a baby.”
“Oh yeah? Well how old are you then?” you demand saucily, twisting around to frown at him. “Thirty-nine?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m twenty-six, you little ass.”
You make a face at him.
“Huh. I would’ve pegged you middle-aged.”
“That just means you’re into older guys, then.”
You almost spit out the beer you’d started to drink.
“What!?”
“I know you got a crush on me,” Dean smirks as he leans back in the drivers seat, seeing your face blossom red. “It’s kinda obvious you’ve got the hots for me and want to see me naked.”
Jesus.
“You’re so fucking full of yourself if you think that,” you snap huffily, refusing to let him think you would like him. “I don’t think anything about you other then you’re a jackass.”
“Well, you’re kind of a bitch, so we’re even.”
You bristle.
But, well, he wasn’t lying.
You sigh.
“Fine, I’m a bitch. But you’re a real jerk, too, Dean.”
“I know,” he responds, as if it was something he heard all the time.
You frown, and then drink your beer, both of you letting the silence build.
It didn’t taste so bad, not once you got used to it.
Eh, who were you kidding?
“This is like drinking cat piss.”
“Yup.”
You grimace, and finish it off, letting the can rest in your lap as you gaze out the window.
It was dark now, and you hadn’t heard from your father or Deans in about an hour or more; why the hell had they thought it would be a good idea to leave the two of you together for very long?
Assholes.
Everyone was an asshole.
You hear another tab pop, but you don’t bother to look over, knowing Dean is starting on his third beer.
Yeesh, he drank a lot.
Poor liver.
“So have you had your first kiss yet?”
What!?
Startled, you look over, seeing Dean gazing at you, his chin propped on his hand.
“What?”
“Have you kissed anybody yet?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“I’m just curious,” he shrugs, lifting his beer to his lips, eyes gleaming. “With a dad like Wilhelm, you probably don’t get out much. So, you —?”
“No, Dean, I haven’t kissed anyone,” your tone is beyond annoyed; why couldn’t he just shut the fuck up and let the two of you sit in brooding silence?
“Really?” Dean blinks. “You’ve not managed to run off and get your first smooch? You don’t know what you’re missing.”
You roll your eyes.
“You’re drunk, Dean.”
“Nah, not on only three beers,” he snorts, tossing the empty can away again. “So do you wanna kiss someone?”
“Jesus, Dean, what the fuck does it matter?” you snap, growing agitated. You shift uncomfortably, aware of how pathetic you were at having never done anything with a guy and eighteen years old; he didn’t have to remind and embarrass you over it.
“Yeesh, it was just a question; no need to get your panties in a wad.”
You glare at him reproachfully.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“I wasn’t meaning to be.”
You frown, a little off guard by his response.
“Really,” he adds, shrugging. “I was just asking.”
Ahuh.
Whatever.
You scowl at him before looking away.
“So…” Dean starts, but you whirl around, glaring at him.
“Can you fucking can it already, Winchester?” you snarl, your finger jabbing him in the chest. “No, I haven’t fucking kissed anyone — I’ve never done anything! Happy? And no, I probably won’t kiss anyone either — it’s not like I’ve got the same opportunities as you,” your voice grows sarcastic, harsh, “able to run off and screw anyone who’s willing at any moment because you don’t give two shits about anything else —.”
“You don’t know shit about me,” he suddenly snaps, his hand closing around your wrist where you’re jabbing him with your finger, his eyes burning as he straightens, pulling you forward until you have no choice but to lean over the console between you. “You talk big, and you talk a lot of shit, (Y/L/N), but that’s all you are — talk! You would fucking love it if I kissed you, admit it! You talk like you’re too fucking badass, but you’re not, not one bit! You’d practically sell your soul just for one, night, with, me!”
You inhale furiously, an onslaught of insults on the tip of your tongue as your angry eyes meet his — but you never get to say them.
His lips are suddenly on yours, his hand burying in your thick hair and holding you still. You make a furious sound, your hand wailing into his shoulder angrily — how fucking dare he!
You don’t want to kiss him!
You don’t even know how, you —.
What the fuck are you doing?
No, seriously, what are you doing?
Why are you kissing him back?
Had you lost your MIND?!
Dean smirks against your lips as you start to respond, his grip loosening slightly in your hair.
Heh, he knew it.
He was irresistible to all women, even crazy, off-the-wall-loonies like you.
He lets his tongue casually trace your lower lip, prepared to give you a full course on how to kiss someone if you’ll let him and not get all huffy.
You were a firecracker, that was for sure.
You annoy him to no end, but you also crack him up — you were just a bundle of surprises.
Especially when you give in to him, parting your lips, your hand curling around the nape of his neck.
He deepens the kiss, twisting slightly, automatically trying to move closer to you.
You can taste the alcohol on his tongue, but it hardly registers in your mind as Dean kisses you like he was running out of air and you were the only thing that could help him.
Um.
Wow.
He knew how to kiss and make a girl feel special.
No wonder he got so many of them.
“You wanna take this to the backseat?” he breathes against your lips, pulling away slightly so he could gaze into your dark eyes.
Yes.
You so fucking do.
You nod, your lips still parted, wanting more of his kisses.
Might as well learn while you could, right?
Learn from the best?
Not that he was the best.
You just didn’t know yet.
You lift up immediately, scooting yourself over the console and into the backseat, Dean right on your heels. To your surprise, you giggle when he almost gets stuck, cursing and mumbling under his breathe as he finally manages to get into the back, an annoyed look on his face.
“Fucking cars,” he mumbles, and before you can think, can even respond, he’s pulling you to him, his lips overtaking yours.
Well he certainly wastes no time.
You let him kiss you, trying to figure out what he’s doing, literally analyzing every move of his lips — huh.
Well kissing wasn’t so hard after all.
And you were a quick learner, had to be.
So when his hand starts down your waist, curling around your thigh, you don’t stop him.
You could die tomorrow, and what were the odds you were going to be alone with another guy any time soon?
You want to get as much out of life as you can, y’know?
You don’t want to miss out on anything.
Even if it was with Dean Winchester, of all people.
The arrogant ass.
You know he has to be getting a kick out of your little make out session, but you try to pretend you don’t know that, wanting to enjoy it instead.
You press a little closer to him, your arms winding around his neck as your chest brushes his, his fingers flexing around you.
Well alright then.
Dean smirks against your eager lips, and then he’s pressing you back, pushing you against the Impala’s seats, his body covering yours the best it could in such a small space.
And you don’t even mind.
You don’t mind his roaming hands, as yours were doing the same, learning the muscles of his back through his t shirt, feeling them react to your touch in a way that really made you want to smirk at him.
Seems you weren’t the only one enjoying themselves.
And when your hands roam to his ass, brazenly squeezing, you’re pretty sure he almost chokes in surprise, making you snicker slightly.
“No fair,” he breathes, a challenge in his eyes as he braces himself over you, almost panting for breath.
“How’s it not fair, WInchester?” you ask, just as breathless as he is.
He quirks one eyebrow.
“You get to touch me,” he murmurs, a husky undertone to his voice that sends shivers down your spine, “but I can’t you.”
“I’m not stopping you, am I?”
His eyes widen slightly, and then he grins.
He likes you more already.
And then there’s ringing.
You both freeze, and then Dean is cursing as he raises up, reaching to the front where the satellite phone is. He glares it at before answering.
“Hey, Dad…. you did? Cool… Yeah, we’ll be there soon.” he sighs, and after another moment, hangs up.
“Dad and Wilhelm found the den, we better get going.”
You actually pout, disappointed.
“Don’t worry,” Dean chuckles, his eyes trailing down to your chest thoughtfully. “We’ll continue this later.”
Yeah, sure you would.
You sigh, and then shuffle around, crawling out from under him. You start to squeeze yourself through the seats, and give an outraged gasp as he smacks your ass, freezing so you can glare at him over your shoulder.
“Dean!”
He just laughs.
Asshole!
Fucking —.
“What are you doing?” Dean suddenly demands, and you shrug as you crawl into the drivers seat, buckling yourself up.
“You’re much too drunk to be driving, Dean,” you respond, quirking a feisty eyebrow at him. “You drive and we’ll end up in a car crash.”
“You can’t drive my car!”
“Well, I am driving it, so you either get up here and buckle up, or sit back there and shut the fuck up.”
Dean scowls at you, wavering.
Ah, fuck it.
He’ll let you drive.
This once.
He frowns as he crawls back up front, settling himself into the passenger side.
And then clutching onto whatever he can for dear life as you immediately floor it, a grin on your face.
He immediately regrets his decision.
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
Beeping.
What the hell was that incessant beeping?
It’s driving you up the fucking wall, it is.
Could you make it stop?
Ugh!
You were agitated, and you want to shift, try to alleviate some of your aches and pains, but your body is numb to you; it’s like someone had cut an important wire in your brain, and now you were completely severed from your own self.
It was disconcerting, to say the least.
How were you supposed to wake up if you couldn’t even move?
Oh no!
What if you were paralyzed!?
How were you supposed to care for Cail if you couldn’t even stand!?
Ugh.
You hear the beeping start to increase at an alarming rate, and to your surprise, your fingers actually twitch.
Yes!
That was a good sign, right?
Right?
You could twitch!
Or, well, your body could twitch, because it wasn’t something you had done intentionally.
But you’d felt it.
And that counted for something.
You had to be hopeful.
Determined.
Like Dean, when he was searching for his father.
Like…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
“What do you mean?” you huff, hesitating as you lean over your duffle bag, almost unpacked in the hotel room your father had rented; you were on a hunt, you and your family, and suddenly Dean had been calling you frantically.
He never calls you frantically.
Well, he calls you a lot, but that was mostly so the two of you could keep in touch when you were on opposite sides of the country, making sure the other one was well; it had started a little while after your first kiss, an errant text here and there to check on the others well-being if you hadn’t heard from one another in a while.
And, well, it had escalated from there.
Obviously.
Considering a few months later you’d spent the night together in a hayloft after losing a fellow hunter.
You don’t regret it at all.
And, apparently, neither does Dean.
You feel that if he really regretted it, or thought you shouldn’t have slept together, he would have said as much; if it hadn’t meant anything to him, then he wouldn’t call you, keep in touch with you…
That’s what you like to think, anyway.
You’d like to think your first time had been special to him too…
You sigh.
Right.
And now usually…
Usually now you were just texting him.
If your family had noticed, they hadn’t said anything, and you know they’ve noticed.
Your father was probably just waiting for the opportune time.
To bitch at you, of course.
Because that’s all he ever did.
“I mean, Dad went off on his fucking own to hunt down the demon that killed my mother!” Dean burst, and you can hear the Impala in the background, engine revving. “And he’s not answering my calls, my texts — I went to Sam, (Y/N), but he… he won’t help me! He says Dads probably just being like he always is, neglectful. But I swear, (Y/N), it’s different this time! He always checks in within a week or two, and now it’s been three! And he left the car. Dad always takes the car, he —.
“Whoa, Dean, calm down,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Just — take a breath, alright? Do you have his journal? Do you know where he’s going?”
“I read the damned thing, doesn’t help much. I just know he was going after yellow eyes.”
Right.
The mother-killing demon.
You chew your lip thoughtfully.
“I’ll let my dad know,” you say after a moment. “Tell him to be on the lookout for John — or any news of him. You’re going to be here soon, right?”
“What?”
“You’re coming to get me, aren’t you? If Sam won’t help, then I fucking will. So you better get your fine ass over to this hotel in Illinois, pick me up, and we’re gonna go find your dad, okay?”
There’s a moment of silence.
And then Dean is giving a chuckle, a mix between disbelieving and relieved.
“I always knew I could rely on you,” he mutters after a moment. “You never let me down, do you, (Y/N)?”
“Well, I try not too.”
“I’ll be there in a few hours. Let your dad know what’s going on. Is he even going to let you come with me?”
“Like I’m going to ask,” you snort, glancing at your hotel door. “Be ready to make a speedy escape, Winchester.”
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
“We’re gonna find him,” Dean mutters, pacing back and forth in front of the Impala. You sit on the hood, usually a big no-no, but you’d had to sit down or risk falling.
You’d been chasing yellow-eyes for two months now.
So far, you’d encountered demons of all kind, resulting in the necessary act of getting matching anti-possession tattoos — Dean’d had way too much fun over that fact.
It hurt like a bitch.
Not only that, but your ankle was busted up, a brace on it; the doctor had told you to keep weight off of it at all times, and it was incredibly frustrating that you were now basically useless, more in the way then anything else.
Not that Dean had said that.
But he was enjoying having you around, having company that actually bothered to express how much they care.
And, of course, he enjoys the kisses, the sweet gestures you seem to do without realizing — you always had a pep talk, a kind word, even to strangers; Dean admires that, your kindness despite your situation.
You make him hopeful.
But now he’d gotten you hurt, and you would be down for a couple weeks; and that meant you would be in danger.
Which is why he’d called Sam, finally managing to recruit him; the fact it had been so long and no one had heard from John had finally convinced the younger Winchester that something was wrong.
And so he’d left his fancy law school, and would be getting off the bus as soon as it arrived, where you and Dean were waiting for him.
Dean finally sighs, and stops pacing in front of you, looking over at your tired face.
He knows you’re in pain, you could barely put pressure on your ankle without looking like you want to cry; you were trying to tough it out, but there was only so much a person could handle.
He reaches forward, twining his fingers through yours.
Funny, how things change.
He’d always thought of you as just a kid, the teenage daughter of Red Beard, but now….
You were more then that.
The kiss in the Impala, as drunkenly induced as it might have been, had really changed things for him.
He didn’t see you as a child anymore.
Especially not after spending the last two months with you.
And, well, not after the night in the hayloft.
And the night with you when your brother died.
Heh.
You were definitely not a child.
“There’s the bus,” you say, your eyes flashing down the road where the long vehicle was starting to slow, getting ready to let its passengers off. Dean looks back, his hand still in yours, watching as every person got off.
He starts to frown.
Where —?
Ah.
Sam steps off last with a grimace, his backpack tossed over his shoulder. He glances around, but it’s not hard to spot Dean, not when the older Winchester is rushing toward him, grabbing him in such a hard hug it almost lifts him off his feet.
“Sammy!”
“Dean,” Sam wheezes, hunched and feeling like his bones were about to break. “Nice to see you too.”
Dean grins, slowly releasing his younger brother and stepping back.
“What’s with the girl hair?”
Sam sighs.
“It’s so nice to be around you, Dean.”
Dean chuckles, and Sam glances over, blinking.
Was that a girl on the hood of the Impala?
“Who’s that?” he asks, seeing your curious expression as the two brothers start in your direction.
“(Y/N). She’s Red — er, Wilhelm (Y/L/N)’s daughter. Her dad’s friends with mine. She agreed to help me find Dad while you were off playing school boy.”
Sam grimaces.
So it was a sore spot.
“I didn’t know it was this serious, Dean.”
“I told you it was serious,” Dean mutters back, scowling at him. “And you just blew it off like you didn’t give two shits —.”
“Dean.”
Dean stops, glancing over at your snap, and then huffs. They stop in front of you, and he steps to your side instantly, crossing his arms.
“Sammy, this is (Y/N). This is Sammy.”
“Hi,” you say, gazing up at Sam, who was quite a bit taller then Dean despite being younger, with broad-shoulders and fluffy hair around his face, almost in a bowl cut.
He was all limbs.
Dorky, in your opinion.
“Hey.”
“Well, we better get going, we got a long drive,” Dean says after a moment, glancing between the two of you. “C’mon. Toss your stuff in the trunk, Sam.”
“Alright.”
Sam starts for the back of the Impala, glancing over his shoulder at your curiously.
You look so young.
How old are you?
“Can you make it?” Dean asks you as you carefully slid to your foot, holding your other one up gingerly; it had a brace on it, but it was the same one you’d hurt before, so it was weaker anyway.
“Um…”
It was already throbbing and you hadn’t put any weight on it.
Dean frowns. “C’mere.”
“I can walk —.”
“Just shut up, would you?”
You glare at him, but let him help you to the passenger side of the car, sighing.
“We’re gonna need to get you some crutches or something.”
“Fuck no you’re not! This’ll be healed up in a couple days!”
“It’s gonna take longer then that —.”
“I’m fine, Dean, stop worrying! There’s more important things to do!”
Dean sighs, and gently closes the Impala door as you settle into the front seat.
He was just worried.
He couldn’t help it.
You were basically his best friend right now.
“So, what’s been going on?” Sam asks, reluctantly climbing into the backseat. You squirm around a little, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him; they didn’t look alike, in your opinion.
Well, you suppose Sam was cute, in his own way, but nothing like Dean, who was a little rough around the edges.
But you were into bad boys, apparently.
What girl wasn’t?
“Here’s Dad’s journal,” Dean says after a moment, handing it to you to hand to Sam. “He was going after yellow eyes, the demon —.”
“That killed Mom, yeah, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure, you’ve not been around in a while.”
Yikes.
Talk about some shit that was going to need to be talked out.
You could almost see the tension between the brothers.
You glance between the two of them.
“Are the two of you going to be jackasses to each other the entire time you’re together?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Both brothers frown.
“Maybe.” they say in unison.
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You sigh.
Dean and Sam, you were glad they’d made up, in the end. It had taken both of them dying and coming back, but it had been something.
At least they had each other.
Would Sam be there for Cail, too, if something happened to you? Would he care about his nephew?
Would Cail be taken care of?
You were so scared he wouldn’t be.
You want him to be safe so much it makes your chest hurt.
Well, hurt worse, anyway.
Now that you think about it, it’s a very physical hurt, not emotional.
Well that couldn’t be good.
You want to sigh.
Hell, you just want to be able to move.
It was almost like when you’d lost your oldest brother, how paralyzed you’d been, seeing that shapeshifter tear into him — you’d seen the moment he’d died, when the life had just been gone out of him.
And you’d been so helpless to stop it.
If it hadn’t been for Dean and his father, you…
Well…
You’re not sure how your family would have recovered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You stare at your father uneasily, watching as he put back his fifth beer, smashing the empty bottle down on the table and making you jump.
Your brother was dead.
Kaiser.
Everything had been going fine, it had just been another hunt, and then —.
And then the shapeshifter had come out of nowhere, grabbed your brother, and —.
Your throat swells.
You want to cry.
But you don’t dare.
Not in front of your father.
You knew he was hurting, he never drinks so heavily like this, never screams at his son to get the fuck out, or —.
You couldn’t believe Adlar had really left.
But he had.
he’d just… gone.
Left you behind with your drunken father, who was trying to drown his misery in empty, cheap beer bottles.
It wasn’t a good scenario.
And you didn’t know what to do.
You’d barely been able to walk when your mother had died, so you don’t remember much about the time. You don’t remember her funeral, or even what she looked like if you didn’t have a picture. Your father wouldn’t talk about her, and your brothers wouldn’t mention her in front of your father.
So you know nothing about mourning.
You just know your father isn’t handling it well.
“Dad?” you ask hesitantly, nervously twisting your fingers in your shirt as you start to step forward, away from the wall where you’d been sitting. “I —.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” your father snaps immediately, bloodshot eyes sweeping to where you stand. “Just shut the fuck up!”
And then he starts to mumble in German.
You sigh.
Well this wasn’t a good sign.
And you’re not sure what to do.
“Dad —.”
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
You eek, ducking immediately as the beer bottle goes flying for your head, shattering against the wall.
Shit!
You feel the glass shower over you, and you flinch as one piece nicks your cheek.
Right — time to go!
You move immediately, lurching for the door and slamming it behind you. You don’t wait, but take off, high tailing it for the end of the sketchy motel. You stagger a little, but manage to get around the side.
You press your back against the wall, swallowing hard.
That ache in your chest, it was only getting worse, and you can’t move, you can only just stare blankly.
Kaiser was dead.
Your big brother was dead.
It almost didn’t seem real.
How could a person be here one minute, and then gone the next?
It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair —.
You don’t know what to do!
You —.
You need help.
You need someone.
You…. need Dean.
Your fingers fumble for your phone, quickly jerking it out of your pocket. You punch his number immediately, your shaky hands raising it to your ear.
He doesn’t answer the first time, so you call again, and again, and —.
“Er, (Y/N)?” Deans voice sounds awkward as he finally answers, and you can hear John talking in the background, sounding cross.
It’s only then that you realize what time it is.
It’s late, probably close to three in the morning.
They’d probably been asleep.
You hadn’t even thought about that.
You’d just —.
“(Y/N)? You there?” his sleepy voice asks.
Oh.
“D-Dean —.”
“What’s wrong?” Dean sounds immediately alert, and you hear rustling.
“K-Kaiser, he —,” your throat threatens to close, “he’s dead.”
“Kai’s what!?” Dean gasps, sounding horrified. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry! What happened? Are you okay!?”
You start to cry, and slowly slide down the brick wall of the motel, curling up into a ball on the cold ground.
“I don’t know what to do,” you weep. “Dad’s — he’s drinking and he ran Addie off, and I —.”
“Where are you?” Dean asks, John’s voice muffled in the background.
“Arkansas.”
“No, baby, where are you? I need the address.”
Oh.
You sniffle, and then rattle off the shitty motel’s address.
“Me and Dad can be there in three hours,” Deans voice is strong. “We’ll be there. Are you going to be okay?”
No.
But you couldn’t tell him that.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.
He was there in two hours and a half.
You weren’t sure where he’d been, but he’d probably broken all the speed limits in an attempt to get to you. You’re still huddled by the wall when he shows up, so cold you can’t move, despite the burning ache in your chest thats causing the wetness on your face.
“(Y/N)?” Dean demands immediately, almost falling out of the car, seeing your small form immediately. “Are you okay!?”
You raise your head slightly, seeing him running towards you, boots loud on the pavement.
“Dean,” you sniffle, he almost falling to his knees beside you.
“Your face,” he gasps, his hands going to cradle your jaw, and you figure the small cut must have bled or something. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?!”
You shake your head, your eyes flicking over as John catches up, looking concerned.
“Room 208,” you say after a moment, your eyes meeting his dark ones. “That’s where Dad is, if he hasn’t passed out already.”
John hesitates, then nods, glancing between his son and you before taking a step back.
Welp.
Now he knew there was something between the two of you.
You sigh.
“Did your dad do this?” Dean mutters, gazing at your cheek.
“Not on purpose; he threw a bottle and it busted,” you shiver; you were done crying now, you just felt kind of numb.
Dean frowns.
“C’mon. I’ll get a room and then you can get some sleep, alright? Where’s Adlar?”
“I… I don’t know. Dad ran him off yesterday, and he hasn’t come back…”
Dean frowns even more.
Wilhelm had never dealt well with grief.
Dean buys a room from the sleepy desk clerk, and then is ushering you inside it, making you sit down on the bed as he gets the first aid kit out. He dampens a rag in the sink, a grim feeling settling in his chest.
Kai was dead.
Just like that.
Here one day, gone the next —.
You really don’t know how much time you have left.
He sighs, turning the water off, the faucet spitting and sputtering a moment before dwindling off.
Classy place, this motel.
“Here,” he mumbles, sitting down beside you, twisting around. You tilt your head, allowing him to start cleaning the blood off of it. You stare off into space, your gaze blank, your mind the same way.
You were just numb.
Dean curls his hand, washing the blood from your neck.
He wishes he’d known before.
He wishes he could do something to help you.
He doesn’t want you in pain, he wants you happy, smiling again.
Giggling at him or being a bitch to him.
Not this just… blankness.
It bothers him.
Too much.
The cold rag sweeps down to your chest, and you blink after a moment, looking down as Dean cleans your collarbone.
“It bled quite a bit,” he explains, flushing a little. “I’m not trying to be a perv.”
Well, it wasn’t like it mattered.
Nothing mattered.
You feel so sad.
You drop your gaze.
“Hey,” Dean says softly, his hands rising to cup your face, forcing you to look up. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m so sorry this happened, but —.”
“It was Dad’s fault,” you say after a moment, swallowing. “He and Kaiser were fighting, he made him go first — if he hadn’t gone first, the shapeshifter —.”
“It’s no one’s fault, (Y/N),” Dean shakes his head. “This shit just happens, it can’t be helped. When it’s your time, it’s your time. And you would have felt just as bad if it had been your father this happened too instead.”
True, you suppose.
You don’t want anything to happen to your family.
You love your family.
You love them, you —.
Tears well once again in your eyes.
You’re useless, a failure as a hunter.
If you can’t even stop a monster from killing your brother, how could you stop them from killing innocents?
“Oh, baby,” Dean sighs, and then pulls, pulling you against his chest and wrapping you up in his warm embrace. “It’s okay, let it out.”
And you do.
You can’t help it.
You weep against his chest, your fingers curling into his flannel shirt, his cologne for once not even comforting you.
Dean murmurs softly, words you can’t hear but you know should be comforting. He’s trying, running his hands up and down your back and arms, cradling you against him, rocking you — full comfort-giving mode.
Who knew he had it in him?
It’s not long until you’re tears are drying, but that awful ache in your chest hurt so much you wished you could be the one dead instead, just so you wouldn’t be able to feel it.
“Shh, shh,” Dean murmurs, pulling back from you so he could wipe the moisture from your face. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N), I’m so sorry.”
More tears spill over your lashes, and he wipes them away, caressing your reddening skin.
You don’t want to think about your loss anymore.
You don’t want to think period.
You just —.
“I don’t want to feel this,” you whisper, your wet eyes roving up to his. “I don’t wanna feel this, Dean.”
“I know,” he murmurs, looking sad himself. “I know.”
Your lips tremble.
Dean sighs, his thumb brushing your lower lip before he tilts your head back, ever-so-gently kissing you, just a mere brush.
But that’s not what you want.
You lean forward as he does back, forcing your lips to stay together, your hands rising to curl into his hair.
He hesitates, his hands hovering, and cautiously kisses you back.
You want a distraction.
Anything.
And Dean was here, so —.
“Whoa, baby, slow down,” he breathes, suddenly pulling away from you. “You don’t want to do that right now.”
Your brows furrow.
“Why don’t I?”
“Because, it’s… it’s just the grief, you —.”
“We’ve slept together before, Dean,” you shake your head, moping at more of your tears, “Obviously I like having sex with you.”
He flushes. “But right now —.”
“Right now is no different.” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t wanna think for a little while, okay?”
He just looks at you.
“We have a few hours,” you continue, refusing to back down. “Your dads gonna be with mine for a bit; lock the door, he doesn’t have a key, so we’ll know if he wants to come in…. Please, Dean?” your hand rises to his face, cupping his face. “Just…. one more time?”
Your eyes are so pleading, glistening and ….
“This isn’t going to be a one time thing,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “You like me too much, you’re into the bad boys, remember? We sleep together again and I’ll never be able to get rid of you.”
Your lips curve slightly.
“Well, isn’t that a risk you’re willing to take?”
Dean gives a soft smile.
“I’d take any risk for you, (Y/N).”
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
And he had, from what you recall.
He’d also spent the rest of the night with you, teaching you so much more about your own body you’d never realized.
And afterward, you’d just laid there together, your back against his bare chest, his arm around your curving waist. He’d pressed soft kisses onto your shoulder, whispered soft, sweet words in your ear as you’d cried still, nothing able to make the pain go away.
He’d taken care of you.
The Dean-way.
And oh, how you’d loved him for it.
That was probably the moment you had fallen for him, too, now that you remember.
Your memories were so vivid, it was strange.
You knew there was more, waiting to drag you down memory lane, but you try to fight them, to stay above the intoxicating draw; you could almost see it, a line that you had to stay above. If you fell beneath it, the memories would keep taking over, and you would have to relive all the horrors of your life.
Over and over.
Was that not a hell in itself?
You think so.
The only good thing in your life…
Cail.
He’d been such a blessing to you.
At first, you’d been so afraid.
You were so young, and suddenly you were pregnant, and —.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You stare at the pregnancy test in your trembling hands.
You’d been suspecting for a few weeks now, skipping your period, the general feeling of nausea you’ve been keeping.
And so you’d bought a test, just to see.
And it was positive.
And —- oh god.
What were you going to do!?
You slowly look up from the test in your hands, seeing your reflection in the mirror of the cheap motel room.
Pregnant.
You.
With —- oh god.
Dean.
You go white.
You were pregnant with Dean Winchesters child.
What the fuck were you going to do?!
You were twenty years old!
You were a hunter!
You couldn’t have a baby!
Not — you’d just buried your brother, you couldn’t —.
The test drops from your hands, clattering into the curve of the sink.
Your brother had been bitten by a werewolf, cursed; you’d tried so hard to talk him out of killing himself, that he could still survive, others did — but he wouldn’t hear of it.
Your father wouldn’t hear of it.
And now he was dead.
Both of your brothers.
Dead.
It was just you and your father now.
And —.
Your baby.
Oh god.
You press your hands against your face, your eyes burning.
What were — what could you do?
You were — you just couldn’t believe it.
It couldn’t be true.
Dean was always so careful, always — he’d been adamant about not wanting a child, not bringing into such a horrible world. You’d never minded, you had to agree.
Hunters shouldn’t have children.
It messed them up.
Sam, for example.
He’d tried for a normal life, and the yellow-eyed demon had come back for him, murdered his girlfriend, taken that life away from him —.
And then it had killed John.
Sam and Dean were together, united by their fathers death more then anything else, and you hadn’t seen them in a few months.
The last time you had, had been after a successful hunt down south, in Louisiana. You’d all been celebrating, and Sam had passed out early. You and Dean had went out to the docks, found a boat, and —.
And been too drunk to use protection.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no.
What were you going to do!?
You have to tell him, but —.
What if the test was wrong?
You know there can be false positives.
You should have bought more then just one.
Oh god.
You were doomed.
And your father —.
How the hell were you going to tell him!?
He would have a coronary!
No, you had to tell Dean first, you —.
“(Y/N)?”
You jerk, almost falling, and whirl around, quickly hiding the atom bomb in the sink as your father opens the door.
“Yeah?” you ask nervously, seeing him frown at you.
“Are you… alright?” he asks after a moment, crossing his arms. “You’ve been in here for thirty minutes.”
“I’m fine,” you assure, tapping your fingers against the sink. “Just fine.”
“Oh.” he frowns.
You weren’t fine.
You were going to have a coronary.
Your life was over.
Your dad was going to kill you.
He —.
His eyes flick to the mirror behind you, and his frown suddenly deepens.
“What is that?” he asks.
“What?” you ask, your voice several octaves higher, throat tightening in panic.
“In the sink.”
“Nothing.”
“(Y/N), what —?” he steps forward, peering over your shoulder before you can react, and he freezes.
You cringe as his brown eyes widen, staring at the pregnancy test in the sink.
You can see the horror all over his face.
He hated the fact you had slept with Dean, which he had merely assumed happened when you ran off with him searching for his father; he’d ragged you, insulted you, called you a whore in two different languages — and you’d ignored it, all of it.
Because he could never prove that it was true, and you liked the fact that the doubt ate at him, making him wonder if he was calling his innocent daughter horrible names.
Well, there went that doubt.
“Dad —.”
“Nein,” he takes a step back, shaking his head, a disgusted look on his face. “Nein, (Y/N). Sie Schande dieses familien!”
You flinch.
You shamed the family!?
How was getting pregnant that horrible!?
What did it even —.
“A Winchesters baby,” he mutters, curling his lips. “ Ein ficken Winchesters baby!”
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
He’d been so mad.
No, enraged, really.
And you’d just left.
You’d grabbed your duffle, and you’d just left; you’d flagged down a car, called Deans cellphone thirty-seven times, and went across seven states looking for them — if it hadn’t been for Bobby, you never would’ve known where they were.
Or where Sam was.
You know now that Bobby had been going to tell you that Dean was dead on that phone call, he’d started too, but you’d hug up, in too much of a hurry to find him and tell him.
It had been raining, pouring when you’d found Sam.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flashback ~~~~~~~~
“Sam! It’s me, open the fucking door!” you bellow, slamming your fist against it repeatedly, your heart thundering in your ears. You were drenched, it was pouring rain, and you were chilled right to the bone; you’d had to walk the last three miles to the motel Sam was at.
Finally, the door opens, a run-down looking Sam standing there, staring at you in shock.
“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” he demands as you shoulder past him, shoving him out of the way and glancing around the one bed hotel room.
“Where’s Dean?” you demand; the Impala was parked outside, so where was he!?
Was he with another girl?
But he never went anywhere without Baby!
You have to tell him, you have to tell him —.
“Do… you don’t know, do you?” Sam stares at you, and you blink, realizing he was only wearing a towel around his waist, his hair wet against his shoulders. He must’ve been in the shower, no wonder it had taken him so long to come to the door.
You sigh, aware you’re dripping all over the motel carpet.
“Don’t know what?” you snap.
You have to tell Dean.
He has to know.
You’d made a mistake.
On those docks, in that boathouse —.
And you can’t go back to your father.
Not the way you’d left.
You…. have nowhere else.
“(Y/N)…. Dean’s gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” you snap, agitated. “Where the fuck did he go? Off with another woman again?”
“No, you don’t… he …. he died. His year —- the hellhounds —.” Sam chokes up.
You stare at him.
Hellhounds?
What year?
Dead!?
“What?” you manage, feeling everything start to tilt sideways.
Sam gazes at you, grief evident in his eyes. “He never told you about the deal he made, did he?”
“What….?” you sound strangled.
“I was… dying, basically dead. Dean, he… he made a deal with a crossroads demon, my life for his; they only gave him a year, and — and the hellhounds came for him last week, they —.”
“Dead?” you squeak, staring at Sam. “Dean’s dead!?”
Sam winces. “I’m… I know you —-.”
No no no no no!
He couldn’t be dead!
Not like your brothers!
He couldn’t be gone forever, not when you were, were —.
You were gonna have his baby, you could have had a family, you —.
No!
No, the two of you had a chance!
You had a chance, and he’d fucked it up, some fucking deal from hell, some —.
Some —.
“Whoa! Jesus — sit down!” Sam gasps, and you feel his arms close around you as your legs go out, everything going black for several seconds —.
~~~~~~~~~~ End Flashback ~~~~~~~~
You had felt that grief for years over losing him.
You’d cried your eyes out, wept so hard you couldn’t breathe and made yourself sick.
You had never thought you would have to raise the baby alone.
You had been sure that Dean would accept it, after some initial misgivings, that he would go all knight in shining armor and —.
No.
Your prince had died before he’d ever made it to the castle.
And you’d thought that for years.
Occasionally, you would cry for him, when you were by yourself, weeping over the memories of him.
You had no pictures of him, nothing to remember him by except for the son that looks just like him.
It makes that pain in your chest ten times worse.
It feels like your heart is being squeezed, ready to pop right out of your chest, a burning, awful taste in your mouth, a —.
“(Y/N)!”