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You watched as Eddie stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, double-checking the time on his watch, trying to avoid any conversation about Steve. 

Eddie was the reason Steve went away, and he had no guilt; you were his, and that baby was his, DNA or not.

"Eds?" you asked calmly, staring at his face. 

He looked up at you, his eyes lighting up, "Sorry, doll. I'm just waiting for something to arrive. Stop getting yourself so upset about him. He isn't cut out to be a dad. You know he's all talk." 

You furrowed your eyebrows, "I don't know, it's not like him to act like this. Did he... did he say anything to you?"

Eddie shook his head, "Nah, I've not heard from him. Maybe he just wants us to do this on our own. We're the parents expecting a child, right? Not him."

Before you could argue back, a loud knock sounded at the door. Eddie jumped up from the couch and hurried towards the door with his hand hovering over the doorknob. 

"You're going to love this!" Eddie beamed, opening your front door.

Outside, a deliveryman stood beside a large box, with a clipboard in his hand, "I've got an order for..." The deliveryman checks the name, "Mr Edward Munson?"

 You walked behind Eddie, peering at the box, "What's this?" you asked.

"Just you wait," Eddie whispers, a huge smile spreading across his face. He then turns to the deliveryman, "That's me," he smiles, "how much again?"

"Fifteen hundred dollars."

Your eyes widened, but you focused on Eddie, casually pulling out the cash without breaking a sweat, counting it once before handing it over.

 "Thanks, man."

Eddie carried the box into the middle of the living room as you slowly closed the door, he got onto his knees and removed the plain cardboard packaging, revealing another box decorated with illustrations of cribs and happy, smiley babies. 

"Surprise!" Eddie smiled up at you, "Here's another thing ticked off the list." 

He stood up and walked behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder before placing his large, ring-covered hands over your stomach. "Happy twelve weeks, princess. I'm gonna build it before work, thinking in the corner of your room or next to your side of the bed?"

"How did you afford this? You said the gig at the Hideout won't pay until next month." You said quietly, your eyes still scanning the box.

Eddie’s grip tightened as he shushed you, "Don't worry about it. I did some extra jobs... sold all the coke, I'll be done with dealing by the time the baby comes, thought I'd get on with it."

He placed a tender kiss against your cheek before he went back over to the box, pulling off the tape and opening it. You wanted to believe him, you knew things would be easier if you did, but something in you couldn't be convinced. 

Eddie stopped dealing the moment he decided he could make it work with you, he knew how you felt about the risk of him being caught with drugs and getting locked up again. So you knew straight away he was lying about the coke; there was no way he'd risk missing out on the baby's birth and upbringing.

"So, corner of the room or next to your bed?" he asked again, reading the instruction manual.

"Uh.. next to my side of the bed."

The round wooden crib sat next to your bed, beautifully built, surrounded by the baby clothes Eddie bought weeks prior. You tried your best to distract yourself whilst Eddie went to work: reading a baby name book, flicking through a pregnancy magazine, then trying to nap, and finally going through all of the clothes again, but you couldn't settle. You couldn't rest. 

You needed your best friend. You needed Steve.

Standing by the phone in the kitchen, you picked up the phone and dialled Steve's number, your heart throbbing. 

"Harrington Residence, who is it?" Steve's mother answered. 

"Hi, please can you put Steve on the phone? It's... I'm a close friend of his."

Steve's mother called him over to the phone, and his tone became suspicious when she couldn't tell him who it was. He took the phone from her and waited until she had walked away before pressing it up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came through the other line; he sounded tired and down, but you were relieved to hear him, regardless of his tone.

He recognised your breathing and instantly his heart ached.

"Steve? It’s me," you said quickly, "I know you've been avoiding me and the not knowing why is killing me. Eddie said he hasn't heard from you either, and I, I need to know what's happened... I'm so worried, this isn't like you at all."

Steve didn't answer. He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn't. Not with the arrangement he forced himself to agree to with Eddie.

Your chest felt heavy, and your throat swelled, forming a lump, hot tears pricking at your eyes. You sighed and swallowed hard, wiping your wet eyes. 

"Steve, please talk to me." You cried, "I don't understand what I've done wrong. Was it because I threw up the pills? A-are you angry with me for something else? P-Please talk to me, Steve. You promised me you would be here."

"I can't," Steve snapped down the phone, tears prickling at his eyes, too. "I can't talk to you. Please don't call here again."

"Steve, wait—"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Steve hung up the phone, and a suffocating wave of nausea washed over him. He ran up the stairs and into the bathroom, the guilt eating him alive. 

Your eyes were wide, and all you could hear was the dial tone buzzing. Steve had completely shut you out, and Eddie was buying your happiness with secrets. Here you were twelve weeks pregnant, and the two men you trusted most were spinning a web of lies right beneath your feet. Hanging up the phone, you dragged yourself back upstairs and climbed into bed. You cried yourself to sleep until you were woken up by Eddie tumbling into your bedroom after work. 

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he murmured lowly as he climbed into bed,  I didn't mean to wake you."

Eddie's calloused fingers gently stroked your cheek, he could feel the dampness of your skin and see the puffiness around your eyes through the low glow of the bedside lamp. 

"Hey... what’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it the baby? Why didn't you call-"

You sat up slowly, pulling away from his touch, "I called Steve today, Eddie," you whispered.

Eddie's eyes didn't blink, he stared at you and clenched his jaw., "You did what?" he asked.

"I know it was wrong but I called him," you repeated "he sounded so broken, Eddie. He refused to talk to me, and I don't know why. It's killing me."

Eddie glared and got out of bed, frantically pacing around your room, "Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ!" He raised his voice.

"Eddie, my parents are sleeping, please be quiet!" You hissed at him, your eyes filling with tears again.

"I told you I was handling it!" Eddie lowered his voice, "I told you I was taking care of you! Why the hell are you calling Harrington behind my back?!"

You felt the guilt eating you up again, crawling up your throat and ready to spill out, "Because I need him!" you confessed, getting out of bed, "He's my best friend, he promised me he'd be here for me."

"You have me, yet you want him?!" Eddie stormed over to you, his eyes dark and possessive, "Harrington has everything. He was born into wealth; he's got a nice house and car. What do I have, huh?" He glanced at the crib, "I have a band that's going nowhere, a job that doesn't pay enough, and a girlfriend carrying another guy's baby!"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself? I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Eds!" You covered your bump with your hand.

"Then quit begging for him! Do you know what it feels like? Knowing that the guy who got you pregnant can buy you a better life at the snap of his fingers? I let him pay for the crib because I wanted you to have the best. But I’ll be damned if I let him walk in here and take my place. Playing daddy to the child I'm prepared to raise!"

Your eyes widened as you connected the dots. 

Steve paid for the crib. 

Eddie suddenly had more money when Steve went away.

Eddie was taking Steve's money, Eddie forced him away.

"Oh my god..." you cried, "you've been taking his money, haven't you? You're the reason he won't talk to me!"

Eddie stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily, "I told him to stay away, to protect us, to protect our family. The fact that you're crying over him hanging up on you tells me I was completely right to do it."

"I chose you, Eddie! I chose you!"

"Yet you can't keep away from him! You're not satisfied with just me, are you?!" 

"You’ve been taking money from him, Eds, you can't do that!"

"It's child support!" Eddie’s voice snapped, running a hand through his wild curls, "He’s paying his dues without being involved!"

"You don't get to make that decision!" 

"The hell I don't!" Eddie stepped in close, his hands hovered near your bump, desperate to touch you but too afraid to upset you further, "I am the one sleeping in this bed with you every night. I'm raising this kid with you. Not him."

"Steve is the father, Eddie," you whispered, the betrayal stinging your eyes with more hot tears. "He has a right to be here, even if you don't like it."

"He's a threat!" Eddie finally reached out, pulling you into him, "You think I don't see the way he's looked at you? You fucked him, and now you're connected to him for life..." Eddie croaked, "I lost you once, and I don't want to lose you and the baby if he comes back."  

"Steve isn't like that," you sighed, "he isn't trying to take me away... he wants to help, and all you've done is force him to abandon me and become your cash cow so you can feel like a big man."

"I did it for us," he muttered, "I can't lose you to him."

"I know what I did to you... Hiding something as big as that hurts, and kills you every day, but lying to me and forcing Steve away isn't going to make things any better. You can't hide things from me, not like that." You pulled out of Eddie's arms, your eyes falling on the crib, "I think you should go home tonight, Eds. I need some room to breathe." 

Without another word, you turned your back on him and climbed back into bed, squeezing your eyes shut.

-------------------

You woke up later than expected, and the sound of another knock at the door forced you out of your slumber. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up and stared at the wooden crib, thinking about how long Eddie spent building it but also thinking about how Steve was the one who paid for it. 

Unable to stay in the room any longer, you forced yourself to get out of bed, still able to smell Eddie's shampoo on your pillows and sheets, and as you went down the stairs, you couldn't stop thinking about the argument; you broke your own promise to never sleep on it. 

I should've resolved it. I was the one who chose not to.

He means well, he just makes fucking stupid decisions when he's scared and threatened.

The dial tone from your call with Steve still echoed in your head. You wanted to go back into the kitchen and call again but you knew it would be no good. Steve was under Eddie's control, but you needed to intervene somehow, and fast.

 Walking over to the front door, you unlocked it to find the porch empty, but when you looked down, your heart dropped; sitting right on the top step was a small and soft plush duckling with a fluffy cream body, a yellow nose, and feet. Tied around its neck with a piece of green ribbon was a folded square of paper.

You crouched down and stroked the duckling's face before picking it up, untying the ribbon and unfolding the note, recognising Steve's handwriting, your breath hitched in your throat. 

I'm so sorry for not being here, for ignoring you. Hearing your voice yesterday made me panic. The guilt is eating me alive. Munson made me promise to keep my distance; he said the only way this would work was if I kept away. He mentioned the money, and he was right about it. I can't refuse to pay for a baby I helped make... and he said you guys needed a crib. I don't want to keep away but I have no choice. 

I bought this for you and the little baby. I love you both so much. 

— Steve  

You clutched the little yellow duckling tightly against your chest and squeezed your eyes shut, your tears seeping through the corners of your eyes and running down your cheeks. Nuzzling into the duckling, you couldn't help but feel relief knowing that Steve hadn't abandoned you, and that your suspicions were correct. 

All you could do now was figure out what you needed to do to get him back.

You didn't go inside Family Video; you didn't need to; Steve's car in the lot gave him away. Stubbornly, you waited until he finished his shift and locked up and approached him once he was about to climb into his car. 

"Steve." You cleared your throat, making him jump, "We can talk here, you don't have to hide, okay?"

Steve slowly turned to face you, his body stiffening as his eyes darted to your small bump and then to your face.

"Is everything okay?" He breathed, "Is the baby-"

"The baby is fine, Steve." You smiled at him, fighting the urge to pull him into a hug, "I got the duckling and your note, thank you."

Steve's face dropped, and his eyes began to go glassy, "I'm so sorry for what I've done, for disappearing. I wanted to be there, I swear to God, I wanted to be there for you both, but Eddie came over and..."

"He gave you no choice, did he?"

Steve swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, "He loves you and I'm a threat to him. I'd never ever do anything to ruin what you both have but... I want to be there for the baby too, I'm just as much as the father as him."

"I thought you hated me," you murmured, "that you didn't want to be part of this anymore... you should've told me, Steve"

Steve nodded, his eyes dull. "I know, but you should've seen how terrified he was; he's trying to build a life for you and the baby, and every time I show up, it'll just be another blow to him, and every time I'll have to look at you both with our child, it'll make me feel like I'm the mistake in all this."

"Steve," you whispered, your anger melting into overwhelming sadness, "You're aren't the mistake in all this, there is no mistake. I want this baby more than anything. I want you to be part of this with Eddie and me. I don't know how it's going to work, but it has to. For all of us." 

Steve reaches out and takes your hand. He squeezes it when you don't pull back.

"I want to be here for all of you," Steve croaks, crying, "more than anything."

You squeeze his hand back and offer a small smile, "Well, come to Eddie's tomorrow night? The three of us need to get this sorted, talk it out."

Steve hesitated for a moment, "Are you sure?" 

"Yes," your other hand rubbed his shoulder, "It'll be okay, Eds won't bite."

Eddie lit up another cigarette, his knee bouncing up and down whilst he tried to get comfortable on the couch but couldn't. 

"I don't like this at all." He huffed.

"It'll be awkward for all of us, Eds." You walked over to him, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead, " But we need to do this, okay?"

Steve knocked on the trailer door, and Eddie got up and walked over to open it. You stopped Eddie for a moment, your hand resting on his shoulder, "Please be nice to him, he's sensitive about this."

"I think we all are." Eddie sighed, opening the door. 

Eddie and Steve didn't speak, but Eddie stepped aside, allowing him to walk into his trailer. 

You were careful with how you approached Steve in front of Eddie, not wanting to hurt him or cause him to panic. "Thank you for coming, Steve." You smiled at him, "Do you want to sit down, or-"

"I'll stand," Steve replied, the air in the trailer becoming stuffy.

Eddie walked over to your left and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw already clenching, and to your right stood Steve, pacing near the front door with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Both of them refused to look at one another, their eyes only focusing on you. 

"Alright," you started, looking between the two men who meant the most to you in the world. "I don't want this to blow up, okay? No shouting, I don't want things to get heated but I'm done with secrets, no more of it. I'm tired of it, and I think we all need to be open about what we want and expect from one another because in a few months, this baby will be here. They deserve to grow in a peaceful environment, with both of you." 

Silence hung heavily for a moment. Finally, Eddie looked up at you.

"I'm terrified I'm just a placeholder," Eddie admitted, then looking directly at Steve, "I’m terrified that the second this kid is born, you’re gonna step up and take them with your big house, and all your money... I'm fucking freaking out in case there's a chance that she’s gonna realise she made a mistake picking me," Eddie takes a drag from his cigarette, "I want to be a father to this kid, Harrington. The baby might be yours, but I want to raise them, pack their lunches for school, and teach them how to play guitar. I don't want or need you hanging around our house twenty-four-seven, reminding me of what I can’t give them when you show up with a huge dollhouse, or bike."

Steve listened carefully and nodded, not shrugging off Eddie's concerns or wants.

"I don't want to replace you," Steve spoke up, "It's never been about that. I just want what's best for her and the baby, but do you want to know what I'm terrified of?" He took a breath, "I'm terrified that I'm going to be pushed out, that I'll be denied the chance to get to know this baby... I know you're stepping up as the father, and I'd never get in the way of that but... I deserve to be in that child's, my child's, life too, maybe not as a father but a close uncle at least."

Tears pricked at your eyes, watching and listening to both of them talk it all out, with more respect and understanding for each other than they'd ever had in their lives.

"I want to support your girl too, pay for the medical bills, and make up for anything you're struggling to pay."

"Steve, no-"

"He has a point," Eddie cut you off, "If he wants to help, we can't stop him."

"And I want to be able to hold the baby, I don't want to feel like I'm overstepping with my own child." Steve sniffled, "That's all I want."

Reaching out, you placed one hand over Eddie's tightly clenched fist, and the other over Steve’s trembling fingers. Running your thumbs over their knuckles, circling the pad of your thumbs into them. 

"Eddie" you sighed, looking into his eyes, "I chose you, and I love you more than anything. You need to believe that I'm not going anywhere. I want you to be my partner through this, to raise this baby with me, but you need to understand that Steve isn't a threat to any of that." 

Your eyes then trailed over to Steve, and you squeezed his hand, "Steve. No one is going to take away your opportunity to have a relationship with the baby. I want you to be here to watch them grow... to take part in that growth. But I need you, Steve, I need you as my best friend and not his rival when the two of you are arguing over what's best for me." 

You let go of their hands, "You both care so much, and you have a lot more in common than you realise." You looked between the two of them, "Can we do this? All of us?"

Eddie and Steve stared at one another in silence, your heart thumping. They both reached a mutual understanding, finally settling on the same page. 

They were both two guys who loved you, who were terrified of screwing up.

"We figure out a schedule. You get your time with the kid, Harrington. But she's my girl."

A small smile broke across Steve's face, and he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. 

"She's your girl, but she's still my best friend."

"Understood." Eddie nodded, pursing his lips, "Do you want a beer or a smoke?" He asked Steve, "This whole thing has stressed the fuck out of me." 

End of Part 5

Comment to be tagged in Part 6

Reblogging is a writers best friend :)

As a child, you would flush and go giggly around him, always staring at him when he was busy trying to walk in his father's shoes, with his young brother behind him, but even then, he kept his heart hidden and his smile reserved for many others that crossed his path but you.

Dean didn't bother to hide his irritation, either and when you entered the room, he always shot Sam a look, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath. You put up with it because going hunting with other hunters was rare for you, and after going twelve months without having a hunter by your side, you treated their presence like gold dust. Precious. Rare. 

The autumn woods are pitch-black, and the only light is the beam from your flashlight cutting through the fog and dense tree lines. Dean is leading the way, a good ten feet ahead, whilst you and Sam trail behind, shoulder to shoulder. 

"Your brother is a real dick, you know that?" You spoke up, but not too loud for Dean to hear; you didn't want another argument. Not tonight. 

 Sam lets out a quiet, huffed laugh. "Know it? It's all I've known from him," he replied, staring into Dean's back as he kept pushing forward, leaving you both a little behind. 

"Sam, why does he hate me?" You sigh, the cold air biting at your nose. 

Sam glances down at you with a sympathetic smile, "He doesn't hate you..."

You raised an eyebrow and stared up at him as he towered over you. 

 "I don't know, alright, and I don't understand why, either."

You were always closer to Sam; you two were similar in life experience outside of Hunting and often reminiscing about easier times. You allowed each other to mourn the childhoods you missed out on and the lifelong innocence that got stripped away from you. 

Hunting and the death in the family are what brought you together. Sam lost his mom and girlfriend; you lost a parent and a roommate. Only Sam could understand and lend you a shoulder to cry on; Dean didn't offer sympathy, he lacked it.

Up front, Dean stopped and raised his hand; you and Sam stopped talking, and the sudden silence of the woods surrounded you. There was no sound, nothing.

 "Sammy," Dean whispers, his voice cutting through the dark. "Did you catch those tracks?"

Sam steps forward towards his brother, leaving you two steps behind them both. Sam glides his flashlight over the ground, the beam highlighting large, ugly prints in the mud. 

 "Yeah, looks like fresh tracks heading—"

You don't get a warning, there's no heads up, there wasn't the snapping of a branch or a snarl, and by the time you realise there's something behind you, a searing and deep gash pours with blood across your back. The force of the slash sends you flying forward as the wind is knocked out of your lungs, and your flashlight tumbles into the dirt.

Dean and Sam begin to yell when they get a glimpse of the heavyweight above you, made up entirely of fur, is on top of you, pinning you into the ground as the blood seeping from your back mixes into the mood. The more you fight back, the louder the werewolf growls, flashing its large and bloody teeth at you.

"Sam!" you manage to choke out, frantically bringing up your arms, guarding your chest, your eyes scanning the dirt for any glimmer of your silver blade. 

The claws from the werewolf swipe at your chest, and your heart throbs rapidly, painful with each slash against your arms, slicing through the sleeves of your raincoat, but it wasn't enough. The creature brings its heavy claws down again just as your arms drop slightly from the pain, and another gash rips the fabric of your raincoat, and beneath the skin across your breastbone.

Letting out a blood-curdling scream, your eyes open wide with overflowing hot tears, and with each passing second, your vision begins to turn blurry, with your hearing washing out. The only thing you can focus on is the increasing agony you're in, and the sudden onset of exhaustion from the blood loss; the last thing you should be doing is closing your eyes, but it's the only thing you can do, as your body grows cold and so very tired. 

The last thing you hear before plunging into nothingness is the sound of Dean's voice calling out from somewhere in the dark. 

The sight of you so badly injured, falling closer and closer to death's door, is what paralyses Dean. Lying in the mud, covered in blood, appearing to him as you did as a child, innocent and vulnerable, fills Dean with dread and immediate guilt. 

Dean should've been the one to kill the werewolf, to riddle it's entire body with silver bullets or send its head flying from the whack of a long silver blade, but Sam... his dear baby brother takes control with silver bullets firing between the trees.

Dean's knees are pressing into the mud beside you, and his flashlight rattles in his hand as the beam of light drags over your body, the pools of blood frightening him, and he stares at your chest, relieved to see it still rising and falling. 

"Open your eyes," he panics, "c'mon now, open your eyes!"

You're still, almost peaceful. 

Dean dampens his lips with his tongue and swears under his breath. He quickly yet carefully slides his hands under your shoulders and pulls you into his lap. When your blood rapidly soaks his jeans, Dean only now realises the severity of your injuries, and when he looks down at your face, he notices that you're losing your natural glow, the glow he always scoffed at.

"No, no, no," he chants, pressing his hands to your breastbone, his hands drenched with your blood.

The sudden pressure makes your heavy eyes flicker open, your blurry vision focusing on Dean's face, you notice the tears in his eyes and the blood smeared on him.

Your eyebrows knit together, "Dean?" you whimper, your eyes shutting again.

"I've got you, please stay with me, don't go sleepin' on me again!" Dean's tone is firm but a little soft around the edges, but he begins to panic, "Sammy! Get the car! Now!" He raises his voice,lifts you into his arms, and pulls you tight against his chest, getting on his feet and running back toward the road. "Hold on."

You don't open your eyes; the simple and thoughtless act is far too tiring, and the only thing you can hear is the rain drumming against the roof of the Impala, and Dean murmuring, but you couldn't make out what he was saying. You were slumped in the passenger seat, heart still beating. Dean's pressing a thick and shredded piece of his shirt to your breastbone, and another against your back, your blood soaking it. 

Dean's foot stayed down on the gas, pushing baby way past the speed limit, whilst Sam crammed himself in the back. Sam studied Dean closely, noticing how broken he looked, how frightened he was of losing you, with guilt splashed in the mix.

Before this hunt, you and Dean spent the week arguing with constant glares and rising tension. Dean was jealous, jealous that you could casually drop everything and go out for a night of fun as if nothing else mattered. 

He hated how close you were to Sam, how naturally you could talk to him about anything, without a second thought; you always went to Sam, never Dea; and the more you chose his brother, the more Dean pushed you away to stop himself from getting hurt without knowing why, until now. 

Dean glanced at you quickly, closer and closer to the motel, and his eyes glossed over you, taking in your delicate features, almost completely angelic. 

"We're five minutes away, try and open those eyes!" he barks, his voice cracking.

You're able to hear him now; he's less drowned out. 

Your eyes flicker beneath the lids, opening just enough for you to see the steering wheel and Dean's hand clamped to it. 

"I'm fine, Dean." You whimper, "W-Where's Sam?" 

Before Sam can reassure you that he's there, you fade out again, and Dean's heart is breaking. 

Where's Sam?

You're out of it when the door clicks shut behind you in their motel room. Dean gently lays you down on the mattress, his lips pursed and eyebrows knitted together. Not wasting time, he tears open the first-aid kit, Sam watches in the corner, his tears rolling down his face. 

"Is she-"

"We just need her to wake up, then you'll have your girl back." 

Sam laughs, wiping the tears from his face, trailing forward to help his brother as he pulls out the gauze from the box. 

"Dean, it's not like that between us. She's like a sister... she's a softer, more carefree version of you."

Dean ignores his brother, and with his trembling hands, he dumps the rest of the contents of the box on the nightstand: the gauze, alcohol, needle, thread, and a drop of hope. He removes your raincoat and slowly peels away the fabric of your shirt, shredded and stuck to your damp skin, he hisses through his teeth at the deep claw marks.

He douses the gauze with the alcohol, "This is gonna sting," he warns you.

The alcohol soaked gauze is pressed against your wounds, and your eyes widen, fully waking you up to the cold and immense pain surging through you. Your initial reaction is to thrash around and force Dean to remove the pressure, but if you want to make it out alive, you've got to ride it through. 

"Fuck!" you wince, throwing your head back, "Hurts so bad."

Dean looks up at you, relieved to hear you, to see you with your eyes open and staring up at the ceiling. A smile spreads across his face until he's forced to focus back on your wounds, his hand resting near your cleavage. 

"See something you like?" you try to joke, but it comes out as a pathetic whimper. 

"Shut up," he snaps, but you can hear his relief beneath it, "Just... shut up and breathe."

You're unable to keep calm as another gauze is pressed against another wound, your teeth clamp down on your tongue, and your hands frantically search for Dean, your fingers digging into his jacket. Rather than telling you to man up, Dean doesn't pull away, and allows you to use him to ride through the storm. 

Sam watches the way his brother looks at you again, and when Dean's free hand comes up to cup the side if your face, his thumb circling into your cheek, he smiles to himself and walks out of the motel room quietly, hanging outside in case he was needed. 

You bring your face down to look at Dean, and your heart skips a beat, noticing his lips were slightly plumper because he'd been crying. His green eyes lock onto yours; they are calming and full of love. The quiet is nice, until the searing agony ramps up again.

"No, no, not again," you whine, scrunching your eyes shut. 

 "I know. I've got you," he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second, "control your breathing... that's it, now, I need to stitch you up. Take deep breaths."

You watch Dean skillfully stitching you up with a slight twitch in his fingers, "Why are you doing this?" you whisper, totally exhausted, "Thought you'd be glad to get me off your back."

The needle hovers over your skin, the long thread hanging down. 

Dean looks up at you again, and the sheer vulnerability on his face makes your breath hitch in your throat. You hadn't seen him like this before, ever.

"You think this is some joke?" his voice drops, and gaze hardening, "You think I want you dead?"

You don't look away, "Well, I know you don't want me around..."

Dean drops the needle onto the tray; the loud clatter makes you jump, but you're thankful to be aware of your surroundings again, even if you're locked into another argument with him. He leans over you, and despite his hard gaze, there is still a gentleness in him, one you hadn't seen before. 

"You're a pain in my ass, we fight and drive each other crazy, but..." he sighs, his jaw clenching, "but almost losing you tonight? I can't have that happen, ever."

Your heart picks up again, beating a little faster, but for the first time, it's not out of fear. 

"I've never hated you," Dean confesses, "I know I've acted like it, but I don't. I wish I did, it would make losing you a hell of a lot easier."

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, his gaze dropping before locking back onto yours. Your hand, still gripping his jacket, lets go and moves to the back of his neck, your fingers stroking his hair. 

"You could've told me sooner," you smile, a light laugh escaping you, "before I got torn to shreds, I was asking Sam why you hated me."

Dean raises an eyebrow, "So that's how the werewolf got the jump on you, you were too busy thinkin' about other things." 

He doesn't wait for you to reply, and closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a desperate kiss that lightly bruises against your sore and cracked lips. As you kiss back, you can taste Dean's relief. He's too scared to pull you into him with the wound on your back, so instead, you pull him into you. Your kiss is hungrier and more desperate, and you don't want him to go away, ever.

Dean reluctantly pulls back by just an inch, and he rests his forehead against yours again.

"I gotta finish these stitches," he whispers roughly,  "then we need to talk about whatever this is"

"Take your time," you hummed and closed your eyes, finally letting yourself relax against the pillows, preparing yourself for the next round of stitches, "I'm not going anywhere."