Dean x Reader246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzj6a4kf57U
Warnings: language, angst246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1AvotvZRP3
Summary: Still in the hospital, Y/N learns what caused her to Crash. Dean struggles with the way things might be in the future and battles with blaming himself for Y/N’s injuries. Sam and Bobby worry about what Dean might do to make sure you heal.246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrVtsdbF8Hc
246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcV65st6974
Sam was slumped in a chair at your right side and Dean was asleep on your left. Dean had fallen asleep after you finally had, refusing to sleep while you were awake and keeping his vigil for a while even after you drifted off as if he was expecting something to come after you again at any moment. Sam looked at his brother, slumped onto the edge of your bed, head resting on his arms.
There had been a few times when Sam had almost woke him. Dean seemed to be having unpleasant dreams… both of you had actually. There had been a couple of times when you had seemed to be having a nightmare too.
A buzzing in his pocket pulled him from his reverie. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the name on the screen. Bobby. Sam stepped out into the hall as silently as he could.
”Hey Bobby,” he answered.
”Sam. How is she doing?” Concern was thick in his voice.
Sam heaved a heavy sigh. “She’s—you know,” he said.
There was a stretch of silence. “Yeah. Well, I’m at your place. I towed what’s left of the Impala in.”
”Yeah? And?” Sam was eager for news. “EMF?”
”No. Sulfur,” Bobby growled. “And a lot of it. Whatever demon did this is a pretty powerful son of a gun…” he trailed off.
Sam rubbed a hand over his face. “A demon.” He scoffed.
”Well all three of you ain’t exactly being voted ‘most popular’ in hell. You’ve sent a lot of those evil bastards back to the pit.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we have. Looks like this is one we should have killed instead of exorcising.”
”We’ll get it. We’ll figure this out…” Another pause. “How are you holding up, son?”
Sam sat down on the spare hospital bed in the hallway. “I don’t—I don’t know. Seeing Y/N like this… and the thought that she could be,” he almost choked on the word, “partially paralyzed for the rest of her life–” He swallowed hard, feeling the lump of tightness materialize in his chest again. “It’s tearing me up.” He rubbed a hand over his face again. “I mean even if we find this demon, even if we kill it, that isn’t going to fix what’s happened to Y/N. She has to get better. She just has to,” and now Sam was close to breaking.
”I know, Sam.” There was another beat where Bobby was afraid of asking the next question. “And Dean?”
Sam let out a quick, forceful exhale. “Bobby, he’s really messed up about it. He feels guilty for lending her the car like somehow it’s his fault this happened. I haven’t let him out of my sight since we first found out about her legs because I’m worried he’s going to do something stupid. Like crossroads stupid.”
”Yeah. Me too,” Bobby uttered. “Look I’m gonna try and figure out what I can, see if there is any way we can identify this demon. You keep track of Dean. And tell him I’m starting work on the car.”
”Alright. Sounds good, Bobby. Thanks.”
”Hang in there, Sam,” Bobby said. And now Sam could hear the wear in his voice too, concern and anxiety lacing every syllable.
”You too.”
After he hung up the call, Sam sat in the empty hallway, hands clasped together. It felt lonely and cold; all the white, clinical tile and cookie-cutter paintings hung in the seating area. It wasn’t the kind of place you belonged in, and Sam couldn’t understand this twisted series of events.
Inside your hospital room, Dean’s eyes suddenly snapped open. At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him but he didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. He rubbed at his tired eyes and looked up at you. You were fidgeting in your sleep, one of your hands gripping tightly at the blanket covering you. Your face was contorted, strained, and pale, making the bruises and cuts on your skin stand out in more terrible contrast. Your eyes were squeezed shut. It was not the look of some enjoying a peaceful sleep.
Dean stood, wondering only for a split second if he should rouse you. He softly said your name and touched your arm, sliding his hand down to hold yours between his. “Y/N,” he called softly again. “Wake up, it’s ok. Y/N,” he said again, squeezing your hand gently between his, and rubbing the back of it.
Your eyes shot open and you gasped in a loud breath. You were looking frantically around the room, before your eyes landed on Dean, leaning over your, talking to you in that familiar deep voice. There was pure fear in your eyes. Your heart was beating wildly against your ribcage.
Dean couldn’t stand it. He should never have to see that frantic look on your face, so terrified. You were a hunter. You were strong and courageous. This wasn’t right. His stomach turned. “Hey, Y/N. It’s alright. You were dreaming.” Dean’s gruff voice sounded far away to you.
Sam had heard the hushed voices in your room and rushed back in from the hallway. “What happened? Are you okay?” he came around the bed to stand at your other side.
”She was having a nightmare,” Dean said, still not dropping your hand from between his.
”I’m not sure it was a nightmare,” you said.
Sam gave you a questioning look.
”I—I think I know what happened with the Impala,” you murmured, tentatively bringing your free hand to touch near the staples in your head, which were aching from your face contorting at what you had seen.
”What?” Dean’s face was vexed and his eyes burned intensely.
Sam swallowed hard.
”It was a demon,” you said, closing your eyes and trying to return your breathing to normal.
Sam’s brow furrowed deeply and he gulped. “How did you know that?” he asked you with a tone of disbelief.
Dean’s head whipped up to stare at Sam. You opened your eyes and looked at him in mild surprise.
”What?” Dean pressed.
”Bobby just called. He towed the car in. He said he found a lot of sulfur,” Sam finished. Sam looked back down at you. “How did you know?”
”I just dreamed it—or something. I saw it. I saw its face,” you swallowed hard. “Its true face…” you trailed off, your eyes un-focusing as you thought about the horrible vision.”
Dean couldn’t decide on anger or perplexity. ”You saw it?” He looked up and made eye contact with Sam again. “What the hell does mean? Usually, you only see demon’s true faces when the hell hounds are coming for you—So what the hell does this mean?“ he urged, panic rising a little. He clutched more tightly to your hand.
”I don’t know, Dean. Maybe they can reveal their true form if they want to. Bobby said this demon seems to be pretty powerful.” Sam couldn’t make any sense of this either. He supposed it was possible for demons to appear in dreams if they wanted to. Angels and spirits could do it, so why not demons?
You shook your head a little, confusion is evident. “There was something about it,” you knit your brow involuntarily and winced as it pulled on your injuries. “It’s bothering me but I can’t—I can’t put my finger on it,“ you winced a little again. “I can’t think right now. My head is killing me,” you said, leaning back on the pillow and shutting your eyes.
Dean released your hand. “I’ll get a nurse,” he said, starting toward the door.
”No. No, it’s alright,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I just—give me a second.” You took in a few deep breaths, sensing that Dean had returned to his chair at your side. You concentrated as best you could on what you had seen in your sleep… It had been horrible. The demon had been admitting to sending you for ‘the ride of a lifetime,’ and mocking you for your pain and injuries, blathering on about the weakness and fragility of humans. There was something so familiar about–Your eyes shot open. “Oh my God.”
You looked suddenly over at Dean, whose brow was lined deeply with worry. “Y/N?”
”Son of a bitch,” you laid your head back down on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t believe it,” you whispered. It sounded loud in the silence of the room.
Sam sat down next to you and leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, looking at you intently, waiting for you to continue.
”New Mexico. Las Cruces,” you said, your eyes not leaving the ceiling.
Dean let out a gruff exhale. “Shit.” He put his head in his hands. “Son of a bitch.”
The realization was evident on Sam’s face too. “Him? How did he get out of the pit?”
”I don’t know. Probably clawed his way out. But it was him. I know it was,” you said. “It was something he said then… he said it again now. I’ll never forget it.”
The silence in the room stretched out as each of you recalled Las Cruces… Dean was grappling with anger again, and crushing guilt. Sam was clenching his jaw. And you felt like you could hear the blood coursing through your veins, feeling every single heartbeat in your chest like it was ticking down the time until something happened; until the last beat perhaps. You could never remember having a worse headache either. You could feel your pulse inside your skull and you shut your eyes trying to block out the pain as best you could.
Finally, Sam broke the trance, standing and withdrawing his phone from his pocket again. “I’m gonna call Bobby, tell him what we know.” He looked firmly at Dean. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Dean didn’t look up, just nodded stiffly, his clasped hands now hiding half of his face as he stared down at the tile floor. He heard the door close behind Sam. And he attempted to swallow the sick feeling that had started in his stomach and now rose up into his throat.
”I’m sorry,” he muttered to you, the gruff edge to his voice even thicker than usual due to his raspy, tight throat.
You turned to look at him, barely able to open your still swollen eye. “What?”
He ran his fingers up into his hair, clasping his head in his hands again. “Las Cruces.”
You kept silent and only looked at him, hunched over and defeated.
”Fucking Las Cruces,” he said with a bitter laugh, shaking his head, fighting the stinging sensation of tears starting to burn in his eyes. “Now we know it’s really my fault. All of it,” he choked out. “If I hadn’t—“
”Stop it,” you interrupted.
He looked suddenly up at you, taking in the corners of your mouth, turned down in a frown, and flinching a little again at the sight of the couple of stitches in your bottom lip. You saw now that his eyes were glassy, and although it pained you to see them that way and to know how he was tearing himself apart, the tears were making the green hues and the flecks of gold in his irises more vibrant, even in the dimly lit hospital room. You drank in the sight of him there by your side, looking at you so intently.
You continued, “You don’t get to claim ownership for this one. You are not the bad guy here, Dean. So you have to stop.” You began feeling weak again yourself and you turned away from him, letting your eyes stare up towards the ceiling again. Now you felt yourself teetering on the edge of shattering again and before you knew it the tears were streaming down your face in hot trails, betraying how frail you felt. “I–I’m broken, Dean.” All you could manage again was a whisper.
He stood quickly and grabbed your hand, his stomach jumping as his fingers entwined with yours. “No. No, you’re not. Don’t say that, Y/N—“
You looked at him, meeting his eyes again. The tears in his eyes were gone but now yours were overflowing. “We have to face the reality that I might be—“ you cleared your throat a little, feeling like the words were trying to strangle you, “I might be out of the game for good,” you said, sniffling, and managing the most minute sad smile. Dean shook his head at you.
”Don’t say that. You’re going to be fine. There’s a good chance you’ll heal up, and you’ll walk out of here and we’ll be kicking ass together again in no time,” he said. His throat tightened again and he looked down at your hand in his, misery closing in around him again. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head, avoiding your eyes intentionally now.
”Stop. It’s not your fault, Dean. Las Cruces wasn’t your fault. The crash wasn’t your fault. I stuck in this fucking bed,” you said with a sardonic small laugh, “is not your fault. So fight for me.” You finally gave in to acknowledging how warm his hand was on yours, and how goosebumps were rising each time you felt his thumb passing over the back of your hand. “I’m going to need you, and Sam, and Bobby to fight for me on this one. We’ll figure it out,” and you knew you were reassuring yourself as much as Dean. “And even if I don’t heal up, everything will be fine.”
Dean finally met your eyes again. “How do you know that?” he asked desperately, shaking his hand a little at you in hopelessness.
You managed another sad smile at him. “Because you’re right here. Holding my hand,” you squeezed his hand a little. “And Sam is right outside the door. And Bobby is probably already pouring over the lore with a glass of whiskey next to him. And that’s how it’s going to stay.”
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