Supernatural Short Stories

No More

It was so hard to see the pitying looks from your two closest friends Sam and Cas as you scurried past them, just a whisper of the girl you used to be. It made it that much more difficult to even stay in the same room, knowing exactly what would happen if you did.

It wasn't their fault. They were just as agonized over what was happening, but you were the one traumatized by it. The one who couldn't sleep at night in fear....

"Y/N, stop," Sam pleaded with you. You could hear the pain in his words, matching the pain that radiated through your defeated body. Tears slipped down your cheek as you shook your head, knowing you couldn't face them. Because the second you did, you would break down. And you couldn't.

"Y/N," Cas sighed. "Please. We just want to help you."

Shaking your head, you continued down the hallway, your shoulders slumped in defeat.

Dean's door was barely open, the light shining through the sliver. Making sure your footsteps were no more than a whisper, you passed by, planning on heading to the safety of your room.

Your heart raced when Dean cleared his throat, the sound of a glass bottle hitting the nightstand echoing through to you.

Already in panic mode, you tiptoed as fast as you could, past his room and down to yours, shutting the door as quietly as you could before taking a deep breath.

Now that you were in the safety of your room, you were able to calm down. Flicking on the light switch, you stopped in front of your dresser, intent on changing into pajamas and sleeping the evening away.

The reflection in the mirror, your reflection, was almost unrecognizable. Dark circles stood out under red-rimmed eyes. Your lip was swollen and darker than the grapes Sam had just brought back from the store. Your hair was a ratted mess on top of your head.

The shirt you were wearing was two sizes too big. It actually belonged to Dean, and normally that was a comfort. Not anymore. Not it was a reminder that you were a prisoner, an escape he needed when the mark became too much.

Lifting your shirt up, you winced at the mixture of green and yellow covering one side, grateful to see it finally fading away.

It was so hard, seeing all of these marks on your skin. Sure, Dean might not have raised a hand to you, but they were a result from him all the same. Turning from his temper, running away when he became too much. Running into the corner of his dresser, or pulling away from his grasp.

"Y/N," Dean whispered from the doorway. Startled, your shirt dropped from your grasp as you instinctively looked for a way to keep yourself safe. Dean seemed contrite, the proud hunter standing there with bent shoulders and a heartbroken look upon his face. His hand clutched a half-empty whiskey bottle, his knuckles skinned and bleeding. From what, you weren't sure, but you weren't surprised.

"Are those from me?" He asked.

What could you say? They hadn't officially come from his hands, but the anger and rage the mark fed him had brought them to you. So wasn't it the same? "Dean, I don't blame you," you spoke softly, not wanting to anger the sleeping beast that was the mark of Cain. "When the mark takes over....,"

"Did my hand do that?"

"No," you sighed. "It's my fault. I was scared, and I ran. Not always watching where I was going."

Dean took a deep long sip of whiskey. He drank it like water, not even wincing as it burned down his throat. But you didn't expect any different. After all, whiskey had been his vice for quite some time, quickly turning into an addiction to keep the Mark at bay. But it only seemed to ignite it, making it worse down the road. "Y/N, it is my fault. And the stupid Mark. I'm so freaking sorry. You know I never want to hurt you."

Tears trickled down your cheek, your heart aching for him. He was hurting, but so were you, and you couldn't go to him. Not while he had the Mark. He was unpredictable, and the thought of what those hands could do had you staying where you were, hiding near your dresser. You kept your words calm and low, not wanting to risk angering the mark. "Dean, it's okay. Why don't you go rest?"

He shook his head, gulping down more of the amber liquid, his eyes turning hard and unyielding. "Damn it Y/N, I've said I'm sorry! What more do you want?"

He threw the whiskey bottle across the room, and you watched helplessly as it smashed into the brick wall beside you. Shattered glass knicked your skin, whiskey stung your eyes as you cringed away. "Dean, I don't need anything else," you whispered, watching as he blocked the only exit out of here. "You're all I need."

"I just love you so much," he slurred, his body wavering as he leaned back against the doorframe. "You're the only one I can count on."

"That's not true," you argued, watching as his movements turned heavy and slow. Not sure how much whiskey he had in his system, you stayed back. "You have Sam and Cas. They're here for you. We're all here for you. We're trying to find a way to get rid of the Mark. I know it's taking longer than...,"

"It's never going away," he muttered, pushing away from the door, heading straight for you. "This Mark is burned onto not only my arm but also my soul. I'm cursed until the day I die."

You opened your mouth to try and placate him when he suddenly wobbled in his spot, falling to his knees. "What did you do to me?"

"I did nothing," you exclaimed. You could see Sam and Cas standing at the door, watching silently. "Dean, we all just want to help you."

Dean mumbled as he fell forward, landing unconscious on the rug of your room. As soon as he was down, Sam came rushing into your room. "Y/N, quick, grab your bag."

"Sam?"

Cas was checking on Dean as Sam opened up your closet. "Y/N, you're the one that Dean keeps going back to. The one that he will keep hurting until it's too late. I can't have that. So Cas and I are going to get you somewhere safe. Please don't argue."

You wanted to. You hated rushing off when he needed you the most. But Sam's words were true. Sure, Dean had yet to lay a finger on you. But with the mark, and his addiction to whiskey, you knew it would only be a matter of time. "Promise me the second things change, I can come back."

Sam nodded, and you quickly filled your duffle bag with clothes and your most valued possessions. Dean lay on your rug, snoring softly as you stepped past him. Your heart yearned to press your lips against his cheek once more, but you refused to take the chance. "Goodbye Dean," you whispered, following Sam to the garage. Cas was staying behind, and Sam climbed into the driver seat of the rusted old pickup he chose to drive. You hesitated for a moment, and that's when you saw it. Dean's leather jacket. Dusty and forgotten, it sat beside the motorcycle. Dean had long since stopped wearing it, but still kept it around. Picking it up, you could smell the familiar gun powder and musk, and you wrapped it around yourself before climbing in beside Sam.

"Ready?" He asked, but you didn't answer. Because you weren't ready to leave your life and the man you loved behind. But this seemed like the only thing you could do. At least for now. Shaking your head silently, you let the tears slip down your cheek before they landed on the leather, and you promised yourself. You would not stay away long. You would continue to look, and hopefully one day you would have your Dean back again.