Request: Last Words
Request: (i love your blog so much omg!!) imagine dean dying (in 9x23) and the reader is crying beside him and tells him he loves him (she is a good hunter friend of the winchesters and bobby and has been in love with dean for years, but never had the guts to tell him and she was afraid he doesn’t return her feelings). could you write how he confronts her about her last words to dean as demon!dean and cured!dean? :) i’d love you forever!!
Word Count: 1,681
He’s dead. Dead and gone, eyes as vacant as a burnt out shack and still as stone. You leave them alone for five damn minutes and this happens – you wish you could be angry. You wish you could cry. You wish you could feel anything other than this deep, dark numbness that has settled and made its home in every crack and crevice of your mind and soul.
Even now, in the earliest hours of the morning, sat in a room with the bloody, hollowed-out husk of your best friend since childhood; the love of your life, you feel nothing but cold inside. Even when you reach forward and take his hand in yours – he isn’t stiff to the touch, but he’s cold in an unnatural way that prickles its way down your own spine and rests as a deadweight in your stomach.
“I’m sorry.” You don’t realise that the words are there until they’re out of your mouth and in the open air, into the infinite distance between you, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I was never there.”
Logically speaking, it hadn’t been your fault – they’d left in the earliest hours of the morning with their GPS off and no way of tracking them. They’re excellent trackers, which makes them better hiders – you’d tried to get your hands on them, but there had been no point in it – when the Winchesters didn’t want you to find them, there was no hope of you achieving it. So you’d given up and hidden in the bunker, researching and cleaning and tidying files and the next time the door opened it was Sam, tears running clear channels through the blood on his face, relaying a tale that began the infection of apathy in your heart.
It’s not like you expected a response anyway, but you go on nonetheless, “I hate myself. I hate that I let this happen, I hate that I wasn’t there. Why couldn’t you just let me be there?” They’d been excluding you from the big leagues for a long time – you know it came from a place of love, so you’d rarely objected – and look where it had gotten all of you.
“Why couldn’t you just see it, Dean?” You don’t realise that wet, hot tears are sliding down your face until they drop down onto your chest, making you gasp shakily, “I loved you. Love you. More than anything in this damn world and you still went and died on me, you asshole. Again.
“You’d never let me protect you. Not even from the things I could protect you from. I hated you for that – or at least, I wanted to. But I could never hate you.”
You pull your hand out of his, instead rubbing your hands over your face and raking them through your hair, “God. I hate saying it. I never wanted to – I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same. I didn’t see why you ever would. But I loved you, and I don’t think that’s ever going to stop, whether I want it to or not.”
After that, you let silence take control of the room again, but remain there with him for a few minutes longer, until you can’t bear it anymore. Only then do you stand slowly, releasing his hand for the final time and stepping back.
The scream echoes through the bunker, reverberating through your bones even through the pillow you’ve buried your face in. It’s completely inhuman; perverse and wrong in every way – but it’s still Dean, and his pain still makes you want to run to him and take it on for yourself. You’re sure Sam feels the same, but you haven’t even been able to look him in the eye for weeks, never mind start a discussion about his brother.
Eventually, you have to give in – it’s late, and as exhausted as you are, Sam must be more so. It’s not like you’re going to be able to sleep anyway, so you shuffle out of bed – despite only being in your pyjamas – and pull an oversized hoodie over your head so the cold of the bunker doesn’t freeze you through during your excursion.
As soon as Sam catches sight of you coming down the corridor, his eyes widen, but he stands up a little straighter.
“What are you doing?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and offer the most blasé smile you can muster.
“I’m coming to take guard for a while. You’re the one bleeding yourself dry for this. Go get yourself some rest, I’ll come and wake you when it’s time for the next dose.”
Sam hesitates before nodding, but eventually has to agree – he looks ten years older, the bags beneath his eyes more pronounced than ever and his face gaunt and pale – but before he goes, he clasps your shoulder carefully.
“Y/N, be careful. That thing… it’s not Dean in there. Not the Dean you know. He doesn’t mean what he’s saying. He just wants to hurt you.”
“I’ve dealt with demons before. Don’t worry, Sam, I’ve got this, I promise.”
He nods, not bothering to elaborate any further before he squeezes your shoulder, then walks past you, heading for his room with a slump to his shoulders that would bring a lump to your throat if it wasn’t already full.
You hang around outside, battling curiosity versus courage for a few moments before eventually pushing your way into the room. Dean’s attention snaps to you instantly, and he grins, feral and wild. You swallow, pushing your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and standing before him, feeling oddly exposed.
“Y/N. I’d bring you a cup of tea, but…” He tugs at the restraints on his arms, then sighs melodramatically, “I take it Sam needed a break?”
“I told him to go for one. I figured you could use my wonderful company for a while.” You shrug, slowly walking over to the table Sam had laid out the syringes and holy water on, then sit yourself down on top of it, letting your legs hang down with your bare feet just barely brushing the floor.
“Bless your heart. Always were such a martyr, weren’t you?”
“I think you preferred to take that title, don’t you?” You hit back, perhaps too quickly, because he grins, rolling his eyes and blinking, to turn his gaze to obsidian. You struggle not to flinch at the sight.
“Only because you were too weak to do anything real.” He smirks, going in where he knows it’ll upset you, “Too weak and too slow. Never as good as us.”
“I know.” You shrug, obscuring your hurt with nonchalance, “But you still kept me around for some reason.”
“I cared for you.” He spits, “God only knows why, but I liked you. Loved you, even. I liked having you here.”
“But not now?”
He shrugs, “It’s fun to watch your little mind screaming in there, but other than that you’re a bit of a good-for-nothing. You’d understand if you were me, Y/N: you’re pretty much worthless.”
You narrow your eyes at him, carefully standing from the table and taking a tentative step backwards, towards the door – you can keep watch from outside just as easily.
Sam wobbles out of the room, just barely able to support his brother – his human brother. Cas keeps watch too, just a pace behind them, whereas you’ve spent the last half-hour making sure that Dean’s room is just right. You’re not out of the woods yet, but… he’s human again. As long as he makes it through the night, you’ll be safe.
You volunteer yourself for first watch – you’d managed to evade his rampage by being out getting food at the time, so you feel like it’s only fair. You pull up a seat by his bed, and read while he sleeps, looking up every minute or so to make sure he’s still breathing.
He sleeps for a full twelve hours before even stirring, but when he does, he groans, turning onto his back and squinting against the dim lamplight the room is bathed in.
“Y/N?” He peers at you, and immediately his face clouds with guilt and his eyes fill with tears, “God, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say that.” You assure him, reaching out and taking his hand in both of yours, “We’ve all done it, Dean. Said things we don’t mean while under the influence of something nasty.”
“It wasn’t true.” His voice is scratched and broken, and you nod, trying to get him to relax and be quiet.
“I know. I knew you didn’t mean it.” You promise him, offering a small smile, “Sleep, Dean, it’s fine. Get rested, and we can talk later.”
“I don’t want to sleep until you promise you’re fine.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
A long pause hangs between you for a few moments, and then he finds your hand, twining your fingers with his, “I meant some of it.”
“About liking having you around. About loving you.” His voice snags on the word, but he continues nonetheless, “I’m sorry I never told you. I just-“
“Shut up. Stop apologising.” You insist, moving from the chair to perch on the bed beside him, “Listen to me. There is nothing I’d like to do more than have this discussion – Dean… I like you too. Love you. Whatever. But it’s a complicated thing, and one I’m not willing to have until we’ve slept, showered, and had a greasy-ass BLT. How’s that for a plan?”
He smiles, albeit weakly, “That’s my girl.”
“Absolutely. Now sleep, Dean, you’re exhausted.”
He nods, not bothering to protest it, but shuffling back a bit on the bed and pulling the cover open.
“Stay with me?” He requests, and you don’t have the willpower to say no. You slip into the bed beside him, allowing him to wrap an arm around you protectively and nestle his face into the hollow between your neck and shoulder.