Dean x Reader291Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgJY3TN9jwP
Summary: Two months after the crash, all of you are doing your best to cope and to track down the demon responsible. But how far are some of you willing to go to solve the problems you face?291Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2M08kA8RQ8
291Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqxx7XkQzOf
This was now the usual scene. The bunker was silent with only the irritating ticking from one of the old clocks cemented to the wall in the main room. The Impala was stowed in its parking space. Bobby was absent, having gone home weeks ago. You, Sam, and Dean were each pouring over an ancient lore book, leaning on the table with your elbows, heads in hands, eyes whirring from left to right. But there was something different about you and it was the scar on your head from the staples and something changed within you and the metallic wheels you needed to get anywhere…
It had been two months since the crash. Dean and Bobby had rebuilt the Impala, and she looked as good as new. Sometimes, Dean would go out into the underground garage and just lean with his hands on her hood, staring through the windshield like he was hoping the answers to all their problems were going to appear on one of the seats inside.
He hadn’t driven her since the crash.
Eventually, he’d close his eyes, unable to cope with the weight of his desperate thoughts and remorse.
The boys hadn’t gone on any hunts since the crash either, save one involving an old friend. They’d even tried to avoid that one, but you had pulled a gun on them and told them if they didn’t go you’d shoot them both. Neither of them wanted to leave you behind at the bunker, a prisoner in your wheelchair, worried about the effect it would have on you, but you had also refused to go with and stay behind at the hotel. You felt that would have been even more depressing; being so close to the hunt but still a lifetime away.
You saw the way Sam looked at you sometimes when he thought you wouldn’t notice. His brow would furrow and his eyes would become sad as he took in the chair you were stuck in. You tried your hardest to ignore it. And Dean… Dean was worse. Worse because you saw how much it hurt him to look at you and yet when he did, he wouldn’t tear his eyes away, and you were forced to endure the pained expression he wore and forced to put on a brave face and keep your chin up and think of something light to say… even though you felt like doing none of that.
You were trying your hardest to stay positive and you often acted as such, but you knew really that it was all an act for the benefit of the boys. Inside you were struggling against a dark depression. And sometimes when you couldn’t sleep at night, you would see Luther’s face mocking you, or you would relive the screeching metal and shattering glass of the crash, or visions of Sam and Dean’s devastated faces at the hospital would swim unbidden before your eyes.
You’d jolt awake, all quaking hands, and heavy breathing, and bounding heart. And you’d glance around your room, noting how although everything was exactly the same as it had been before, it all seemed forlorn now. And you wouldn’t be able to sleep. And you’d disguise the dark circles under your eyes the next day. And you’d spend every minute trying to pretend like you were awake and fine.
You often got the sense that despite all your best efforts, the boys weren’t blind to the occasional glimpse of your daily battles against depression. How could they be? They knew you better than you even knew yourself.
You glanced up from the lore book on demons that you were pouring over. Sam and Dean were still bent close over each of their old volumes. “I’m gonna put some coffee on. Anyone want anything else?”
Sam glanced up at you and gave you a small smile, shaking his head. Dean’s eyes paused in their reading for a second before he murmured a “no thanks.”
”Ok,” you said, starting to roll past the table towards the kitchen. Something on the page of Dean’s book caught your eye and you stopped cold. “Dean. What is that?” you asked quietly.
He raised his eyes and saw both you and Sam’s gazes fixed on him. Sam’s eyes were raised in curiosity but your face was stern. “Nothing,” he said, resting his hand over the page to partially cover it.
You clenched your jaw. “Dean.” You reached over and grabbed the corner of the book, pulling it towards you out from underneath his hand. You let out an abrupt sigh. “Again?” you questioned him. He only avoided your eyes.
You forcefully shoved the book away from him towards the center of the table. “That isn’t helping,” you said numbly.
Sam glanced at the book. It wasn’t demon lore. Dean was still looking for a miracle.
”It’s over, Dean,” you choked out. You headed for the kitchen, feeling sick in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t even want coffee anymore. But you had to get out of that room.
Sam caught Dean’s eyes and tilted his head at him, his brow furrowed, giving him a look that was mildly scolding.
”What, Sam?” Dean barked at him gruffly.
”Dean. You aren’t going to help her with these–,” he grabbed a hold of the old book Dean had been reading, “these obscure healing books. Every single one of them has been a dead end. You’re just hurting her more by not accepting it and making her remember over and over again that there probably isn’t a fix for it. You’re not helping her. You have to stop.”
”I can’t just give up, Sam. It’s my fault,” Dean said in a harsh whisper. “I have to fix it, ok?” He dug his fingertips into his scalp, running his hands through his hair in anxiety. “I have to.”
Sam only deepened the creases in his brow and stared at his brother. “Focus on the demon. If we kill Luther, at least then maybe Y/N can have some closure,” he said reproachfully.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Later that night, Dean found you in the library. You’d pulled yourself out of your wheelchair and settled in on the couch, in just the spot you used to always occupy in the evenings. This time there was no witty comment when Dean came in, no smile with a spark in your eye, not even an acknowledgment at first. You were staring into the flames licking around the wood in the fireplace, completely lost and numb.
”Hey,” Dean said softly, moving around the couch to sit in the chair near you. “You okay?”
You looked over at him, your eyes sad, and gave him a small shrug. “I guess.”
He nodded a little stiffly and chewed the inside of his cheek. “We’re going to get Luther, Y/N. I promise,” Dean said forcefully.
You gave him a weak smile. “How? We’ve turned up nothing on him yet. He seems to be making himself pretty damn scarce. Bobby has nothing. We have nothing. For all we know, he’s gone into hiding and he’s waiting until I die and then he’ll come dance on my grave,” you said, feeling a sudden rush of bitterness. “Or better yet, he’ll show up here, while I’m stuck in this chair, completely vulnerable, and finish me off…”
”Don’t say that!” Dean said, suddenly adamant. “Don’t you dare say that,” he said. There was a furious light in his green eyes that was burning just like the coals in the fire.
You raised your eyebrows at him. You were a little taken aback by his suddenly forceful tone. “Ok,” you nodded, heaving a sigh. “Alright.” You wrung your hands and adjusted the blanket over your legs. “If you say so.”
Dean’s face softened as he looked at you, but the light in his eyes continued to blaze. He leaned forward so he was right on the edge of his seat. His eyes were flitting between yours. “Don’t give up,” he whispered to you. The deep tones of his voice wound over you and you suddenly felt like you had taken a shot of whiskey, warm with a slight burn that faded away leaving a smooth sort of buzz in your head.
Your eyes were locked with his and you nodded almost imperceptibly, unable to stop your eyes from becoming slightly glassy. You broke away from his glance but were taken aback when you felt his hand on yours, where it was resting in your lap. You turned back to look into Dean’s sincere face. There was an unreadable expression there, but his eyes were again piercing into yours and you felt like breaking the contact between the two of you was impossible, the pull was so strong. You parted your lips slightly, planning to say his name, but nothing came out and you were simply stalled out, completely still, as his fingers smoothed gently over the back of your hand, sending chills up your spine.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The look alone between the two of you was magnetic enough and neither of you wanted to break it. The silky feeling of your skin under his fingers was all he needed to make him brave enough… Dean leaned in and clasped his other hand gently to the nape of your neck and moved in close to you, hesitating when his lips were barely inches from yours. Your eyes were still locked with his, but they closed gently as he moved into you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
Dean put all he was feeling into that kiss. It was soft and sweet at first, but as it grew in intensity, as he felt you kiss him back eagerly, he put an unspoken promise into it. He was going to do everything he could to fix things. You reached a hand up to the side of his face, encouraging him to keep his lips moving against yours, your heart pounding and your stomach fluttering. You relished the feeling of the scruff on his strong jaw beneath your fingers and Dean’s fingers tangling in your hair at the nape of your neck was bliss. His strong hands were surprisingly gentle and he finally broke the kiss reluctantly. He leaned his forehead against yours, not wanting to separate from you, and exhaled like you had stolen his breath.
Your eyes flickered over the freckles on his nose and cheekbones and you couldn’t suppress a blush that rose in your cheeks as you studied every fleck of color in his eyes and saw him doing the same. “What the hell was that?” you breathed.
Dean finally drew back from you but didn’t take his hands from your skin. He enclosed your left hand gently in both of his hands and looked down at it. A minuscule smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Something I waited way too long to do. And a promise,” he said.
You gave him a questioning look, still trying to recover from the reeling feeling of having Dean’s lips on yours. ‘What do you mean?” you pressed.
He let out an abrupt exhale, a substitute for a laugh, and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. He leaned forward again, ignoring the crease that had now appeared in your brow in your confusion, and he pressed a kiss to the side of your face. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered as he drew away. You felt his hands slip away from yours and watched him as he left the library. You remained there; torn between elation that Dean had kissed you and bewilderment at what he meant to promise.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Dean stepped lightly through the bunker towards the back row of rooms. They were largely isolated from the rest of the complex so the chances of him being overheard or interrupted were lower, but still now zero.
He checked over his shoulder and slid into the dim room, clicking on the one bare bulb that adorned the ceiling. His hands easily found the book on the shelves and he slid it out carefully, looking down at the cracking cover. His brow creased and he swallowed hard.
The book was placed on the bare aluminum table in front of him and carefully opened to the desired page. Dean heaved a forced couple of breaths, trying to steady himself. The adrenaline was already pouring into his bloodstream. He rifled through the rest of the shelves; grabbing this and that, arranging a wooden bowl on the table, tossing in a few shriveled leaves and some strange smelling powders. He frowned down at the set-up in front of him and gulped down the tight lump in his throat, but his jaw was set and his mind was made up. This was happening.
Dean began to read the Latin invocation aloud…
You had been on your way to your room, ready to attempt sleep, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Something was wrong. You had no real reason to think this. It was just a hunch, just some sort of sixth sense.
You wheeled faster down the hallway towards Sam and Dean’s bedrooms. “Dean?” you said softly when you had arrived at his door. The door was slightly ajar and you reached out a hand to push it inwards. “Dean?” The door creaked open to reveal an empty bed and a dark room.
Your heart began to pound faster. “Dean!” you yelled a little louder, listening hard, straining your ears for a response or any noise. You started off again towards the back of the bunker, the rooms you and the boys hardly ever used. Something was telling you to hurry and get there as fast as you could. You heard Sam’s bedroom door open behind you.
”Y/N? What’s going on?” Sam’s voice drifted to you hastily. You spared no time for an answer and he watched you rushing around the corner. Something wasn’t right. Sam hastily grabbed his gun off his nightstand and hurried after you.
You reached the row of doors and hastened towards the heavy iron one in the middle. You grabbed the handle and attempted to turn it. Locked. “Dean!” you pounded on the door. You swore under your breath. Now you could faintly hear his deep voice through the door. “Dean! Stop! Don’t!” The invocation continued.
Sam was there next to you suddenly. He didn’t ask questions just looked frantically at you trying to open the door and withdrew the lock with a picking set he always had on him.
”Hurry, Sam,” you urged.
”Not helping, Y/N!” he said back frantically. He jiggled the tools and you gasped and rushed forward as the mechanism released and you rushed forward into the room.
You and Sam saw it at the same moment, a realization striking both of you instantly.
”Dean! DON’T!” you yelled.
But it was too late. Dean dropped the last ingredient into the bowl and there were a deafening noise and a flash, blindingly white and intense like burning magnesium. You had no choice but to shield your eyes from it.
It was done.
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