“There were days, rainy gray days, when the streets of Brooklyn were worthy of a photograph, every window the lens of a Leica, the view grainy and immobile. We gathered our colored pencils and sheets of paper and drew like wild, feral children into the night, until, exhausted, we fell into bed. We lay in each other’s arms, still awkward but happy, exchanging breathless kisses into sleep.”— Just Kids, Patti Smith.
Overview: You’ve lived with the Winchesters for years as a fellow hunter, and everyone has always stayed well in the friend zone. What happens when nightmares come haunting and Dean offers to help? Will things change, or is it all in your head?
Characters: Dean, Reader, a smidgen of Sam
Word Count: 1,638
Warnings: injury with lots of blood, mild language, some snark, some fluff, some questioning of coffee stipulations
A/N: There should only be one more part to go… But my brain sometimes scraps those plans. Thanks for all the love you guys have shown me for this :)
Beta’d by: @wheresthekillswitch - “I freaking love all of this fic but especially this part.” <– you guys should guess which section she meant
Also beta’d by: @hannahindie - “the patented ‘voice raises three octaves when a Winchester drops trou three feet away from you’.”
“She’s losing a lot of blood. Why aren’t we going to the hospital, Dean?”
“Because if she lives through this she’ll kill me for taking her there.”
“I care about her, too. She’s family. Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Sam, just drive.”
“Don’t you dare leave me. You hear me, Y/N? Don’t you dare. Sam would never let me hear the end of it. And you still owe me ten dollars from that bet in Wyoming. So… just keep breathing, okay? You’re still here. I’ve got you.”
I woke up screaming, my hands flying up to tear away the blinding pain and sharp jabs from the base of my skull. Strong hands grabbed my wrists, pulled them to my front and trapped them within a single hand’s grasp while the other pushed my hips down firmly to fight against my thrashing. Another set of hands were on the side of my neck, my left temple, efficiently keeping my head still. I felt trapped, felt the tears spill over as I tried to move away again.
“Y/N! It’s Dean. It’s just me and Sam. Hey, look at me.”
My eyes were swollen and heavy as I opened them, squinting in the too bright light and aimlessly flickering as they searched for something to focus on. I found a dark red stain on the fabric in front of me and stared at it until its edges lost their fuzziness. I was lying on my side, on a bed, and as more and more red spots came into focus I realized what they were. That’s my blood. That’s a lot of my blood.