Part two to Storm! Honestly I really didn’t expect the response that the first one got, but I was so thrilled!! I started this about four times, trying to get it to a place I wanted it so I could get a satisfying end to the first one, so you’ll have to let me know what you think… maybe even a third part? Let me know!
Word Count: 1,304
It’s good to be home. Despite everything, despite being completely unsure about your future, it’s nice to sleep in the same bed for more than two nights in a row, and it’s nice to know when and where your next meal is going to come from. It’s nice to have Bobby there, someone who knows you inside and out and understands – what isn’t nice is constantly having him lie to Dean for you. You’ discussed it, and more than once it had ended in tears, with you deciding that you didn’t want to face him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
This limbo, it’s… easier than facing things. Whatever you do, whichever decision you make, it’s going to change your life forever. But while you’re here, admittedly hiding from everything, you’re safe from that change, sheltered from whatever havoc it’s likely to wreak on your life.
You sigh to yourself, rolling over and tugging the duvet up to your chin, enjoying the warmth – that’s another nice thing, not having to be up and out of bed at the crack of dawn every single morning. Bobby has been insisting on you getting proper sleep, and considering that it can take hours for you to fall asleep after tossing and turning constantly, you tend to make up the time in the mornings. You’re just about considering crawling from the bed and heading downstairs for a drink when you hear voices downstairs.
“We need something of hers. Will there be something in her room?”
“I- uh- it’s a mess, I’ll go up and-“
“It’s fine, Bobby, I know what she’s like. The sooner we’re out of here the sooner we can start tracking her properly.”
Dean. It’s him – he’s come for you. It’s been nearly two weeks – it would have come sooner or later. But you’d have appreciated some warning – some time to think about what you want to say.
Bobby doesn’t want to protest – it would give you away. You recognise that, and recognise that he’s giving you a chance to run; to hide, to get away from it all one more time. A substantial part of you wants to – to be able to live the lie you’d begun to persuade yourself of.
For once, you stand your ground, pushing yourself up and out of the bed, wrapping a robe around yourself – you’re not going to face him in just your pyjamas. By the time he makes it up the stairs, you’ve steeled yourself enough that you manage to stop your hands from shaking too much.
The door creaks open, and Dean steps into the room – he notices you instantly, His hands curl into fists and he freezes, just staring at you like you’re some kind of phantom in the night.
“Y/N,” He breathes, your name nothing short of a prayer on his lips. You want to be angry; be vindicated, but all you feel for him is sorrow. You take a half-step backwards, watching as the cogs whir in his brain, “How long have you been here?”
“The whole time.”
“You’ve been safe?” He whispers, words snagging on themselves and tangling like a loose thread. You nod minutely, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shakes his head.
“Very.” You reply, perhaps a little shortly. You find, however, that you have very little to say to him. All of the thoughts you’d had… they’re gone in the face of a real conversation.
“Y/N…” He presses his lips together, “I’m sorry.”
“You always are.” You swallow, taking another step back, “Don’t pretend to care if you don’t. Don’t do it for pity. I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your sympathy.”
“You don’t have it,” He snaps, perhaps a little too vehemently. It surprises you enough that it stops your mind in its tracks for a few moments, “I screwed up. Really, really screwed up.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Just like you don’t notice the tears threatening to brim over, blurring your view like a melted kaleidoscope, “I’m not mad, Dean. I know you think I am.”
“Then what are you?” He insists, raking his hands through his hair, “I know what I said was God-awful. I know I can never take it back. But I was terrified, and-“
“So was I!” You interrupt, staring at him with wide eyes as the tears begin to fall, “I was beyond terrified! You didn’t think that that was my absolute worst fear? For you to completely… do that?”
He can only look at you for a few moments, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.” You realise, “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t take it back.”
The look of panic on his face is enough to break your heart – above it all, you love him. More than yourself, more than anything – but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to say what he wants and expect you to come running back the minute he realises his mistake.
“I know.” He admits, chest slowly deflating, “I know. And the second you say leave, I’ll go. No questions asked. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Neither would I.” You agree, slowly unfolding your arms and wiping at your face, before letting them fall to your sides, “But I’m not going to.”
“You’re an idiot. We agree on that.” You watch as he nods, taking the hit in the hope of a little redemption – which you can’t help but give him, “And I’m upset. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to give up. That’s not how this works. That’s never how this worked.”
He shakes his head, agreeing readily – only then do you notice the tears in his eyes – a change. You may as well have handed him a golden goose – he’d have been less thankful for that than anything else.
“Y/N, you don’t- you have no idea.” He says softly, swallowing hard, “You know I’ve always wanted a family. And then you came along and there was a chance, a real chance, of it happening. And now it is… now it might be…” Dean sighs again, “I screw you over. Because that’s what I do. Disappoint the people I love.”
“I’m not going to pity you because of your history of bad choices. That’s your cross to bear.” You inform him softly, but take a slow step forward, “I’m willing to forgive and forget and move on. I want to. What I don’t want is for you to feel coerced or forced into staying. Stay or go, but there’s no in between.”
He takes a deep breath, hesitating, and then shakes his head, “I’m staying. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”
You can’t help but crack a smile, “So that’s that? We’re doing this?”
He nods, this time not hesitating, “Of course. In fact…” It’s the last thing you expect, but before you know it he’s taken both of your hands in his, “Marry me.”
“I love you. I want to be with you forever, I want to make this official. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” He rambles, squeezing your hands and offering a tentative smile.
“I’m not marrying you just because I’m pregnant. This isn’t nineteen-thirty-four.” You chastise, and Dean groans, rolling his eyes.
“It’s not because you’re pregnant! Trust me, Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t completely sure of it. I love you. I want to do right by you, because you deserve it. Just let me be romantic and spontaneous, alright?” He insists, his eyes catching yours – and you grin, nodding.
“Yes, then. Yes, I’ll marry you.” You decide, and then he grins, surging forward and taking your face in his hands so he can kiss your lips – and there it is. Past, present, and future, all in one.