Tough Love ✔️

Carry On...

You opened your eyes to the best of your ability to see white. Everywhere. Your heart sped up - no, you couldn't have died, you promised yourself not to, you said to Dean you weren't going to die - but then your eyes focused, and saw the walls and the line where the crisp linoleum met them. You heard the throbbing beat of a machine nearby, its beep, beep, beep hooking itself in your mind.

Then you realised where you were.

A hospital.

You became aware of the many patches and bandages over your arms and legs and torso, the IVs and other tubes, and the man who sat at the end of the bed, his face planted into the sheets by your toes, asleep.

Dean. God, you thought. You were into him. A lot. Really, for a hunter whose life had to be cut away from everyone, you shouldn't have joined their hunt.

You were into him and it was too late to back out.

He looked so vulnerable, sleeping; like a small blondish bear. His shoulders rose and fell to the beeping of the monitor on your heart, and you just wanted him to sleep. As nice as it would be to have him look up with those huge green eyes and melt you inside out like butter in a microwave, you knew he needed to sleep. He probably hadn't slept properly for days before.

But he stirred anyway.

You did your best to make it seem like you hadn't been staring at him, and suddenly became very interested in a bunch of violets on the beside which had a note attached that read you're awesome don't feel blue about it in a very jagged set of handwriting.

Don't feel blue, it said. And purple flowers, almost blue.

"You're awake, _______," he mumbled, and you made yourself look to his literal perfection. "Why didn't you wake me? I've got to keep watch, you're in no way to fight at the moment."

You nod. "I can see," you poke the skin near where the IV is and wince, "this is no fair. I'm supposed to be tough."

He gave a laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. "Didn't anyone tell you? It's all tough. You just got to soldier on."

You nodded. Bobby told you that once. After your parents had kicked the bucket along with your baby brother. It was a ghost possession, a really pissed off one which got family to turn on and kill the family until they were all gone. You'd been lucky, and out of town for the most of it - but came home to gore, and Bobby Singer and a bunch of other hunters, Ellen, Ash burning bones of a body in the backyard.

It was a shock, and came with a life dedicated to smoking up those anomalies.

"_______?" you heard Dean call, "you okay?"

You didn't move. "Tough," you repeat. "That's what my family went through. That's what every possessed person had ever gone through. Tough." You look to him. Meeting his eyes. "I don't want it tough, Dean, I just want to slay the creatures and go home happy."

He let the frown he had acquired slide from his face and his lips part. "_______, it doesn't work like that -,"

You rolled your eyes and averted them to the drip you were attached to so he wouldn't be privy to the look you had in your (e/c) eyes.
"When do I get released?" you ask.

"Next week. A Friday if you're all good to go." You nodded, still looking away from him, depriving yourself of the sight he was to your very, very sore eyes. You felt a hand brush against your skin and your eyes flittered to Dean, wide. You were suddenly aware of everything around you - the dog barking outside on the lower levels, the rising beep beep beep of the heart rate monitoring, the sensation of Dean's hand against yours, the crisp, clean smell of the air in the hospital. You saw him frown, his own eyes seeing the monitor's increased rate. "Are you okay? Is that me...doing that?"

You nod. A blush takes your face over like a civil war fought independently on your territory and you lower your head.

Way to make yourself a target as weak and non-independent and not hunter material.

"Can I," you saw Dean from the corner of your eye reach over the white-blue hospital gurney, his body slow like in a movie frame, and you nodded.

What happened in the diner the first time didn't matter.

What happened in Dean's Impala when Sam was occupied - it didn't matter.

It didn't matter that you and he had bickered at Bobby's and before you'd been abducted and it didn't matter that you'd been absolutely unlike yourself and let someone in. All of these thoughts came in one rush like downing a packet of popping candy in one go and suddenly you felt yourself looking up to see Dean right there in front of you, and His lips were on your forehead.

It was like being earthed, not floating around like a little helium balloon anymore.

"Was that okay? Did those demonic sons of bitches hurt you there?"

You slowly shook your head, but that was a lie in sorts. They hurt you everywhere. In and outside your mind. But Dean - he stopped that. Like a salve on an open wound. You were better. For now.

"Just one question," you whispered as he pulled his face from yours, "why didn't you give me a kiss..." you felt you're face redden at the thought of what you were trying to say, "...on the lips?"

He gave a laugh. "Didn't want to steal your breath, sunshine. The doctor's would kill me if you keeled over."

You smiled.