anabell

‘What?’ you said, forcing your eyes open though you could feel the pressure behind them. Dean watched you closely. Watched how you forced your face into something that didn’t look like someone had just took an icepick to your skull as you dismissed, ‘oh, yeah.’

‘You know you should probably get that looked at,’ he said, standing up and coming closer. He pretended like he was just helping with the map, but he did it so he could assess the damage, knowing if he didn’t, he’d only have a couple of seconds before you hid it from him completely.

‘Aw you worried about me, sugar?’ you teased, your face masking whatever was hiding in that head of yours like it had gone away. Just like he’d known it would be.

‘Worried about you backing me up,’ he shot back. Though as you rolled your eyes and turned away, Dean watched, a deep unease in his chest.

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He hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t even seen the thing coming or noticed the water. All he’d heard was your voice, screaming for him to move. He’d turned, but it had been too late. There you were, limp and lifeless in a puddle of water, the thousand volts he’d cranked the tasers up to, just to deep fry a raw head, now feeling like a karmic joke he didn’t find funny.

And now here you were in hospital. Looking just as grey and lifeless but awake at least. Alive.

For now.

A couple of weeks. That was what your doctor had said. That’s what he’d told you both as you lay in that damn hospital bed because of him. Sam had gone to finish the job, but he’d not left your side. He hadn’t stop pacing either. Because he couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t accept losing you. Worse, he couldn’t accept losing you because he was an idiot.

But that wasn’t what got him. What he didn’t get was how you didn’t even seem surprised. When the doctors told you the news you just nodded, thanked them for their kindness and sent them on their merry way. The only concern you’d shown was for Dean, who was wearing a path into the battered linoleum.

‘Dean…Dean stop pacing,’ you requested quietly. The sight of him moving at the end of your bed starting to make you dizzy.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Dean said, not stopping.

‘Yeah, well, I did,’ you sighed.

‘It was stupid,’ he said firmly.

‘I’m stupid,’ you countered. Dean stopped, jaw tight and eyes angry.

‘No you’re not.’

You looked at him, his gaze heartbreaking and then you looked away, picking at the bed sheet like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Because that was the thing. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t reckless. You thought things through, considered all the possibilities and the consequences. The only thing that made you forget all that was, well, standing in front of you looking heartbroken and furious at the same time.

‘You know, the thing I don’t get is how you even knew I was there,’ he said, all the nagging thoughts that had been sitting inside him finally rising to the surface.

‘I could hear you,’ you said.

‘You were with the kids. Sam said so. And then you were right there,’ Dean said, suspicion in his voice which turned to guilt ridden disbelief. Like he couldn’t fathom you running to him, ‘sweetheart you got there in seconds.’

‘It was just a guess. Sam had the kids I knew you might need help-’

‘No it wasn’t,’ he said firmly.

‘Dean,’ you said, your pulse jumping on the monitor in a way that you were sure was no good for your weakened heart. Dean’s eyes flicked towards it.

‘’Cause you always know,’ Dean said, guilt in his eyes, ‘you always know when I’m in trouble…’

‘Guess you’re gonna have to start being careful now I’m not gonna be around,’ you joked.

It was weak. As weak as your heart and it did nothing but make him scowl, that muscle in his jaw ticking as he looked away from you angrily. You could see him, pushing his thoughts into something useful.

Something he could be angry at instead of that crushing ache in his chest.

‘Sam said you got a headache right before. That you just took off sprinting and pushed me out of the way,’ he started.

‘So?’

‘So, how did you know?’ He asked

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes!’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re lying in a damn hospital bed when it should’ve been me!’ he spat, before he softened, ‘I should be dying not you.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ you whispered.

‘Yes, I do,’ he bit back.

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t lose you.’

The words came out clean but hit you like a jagged blade, spearing your damaged heart right in two. You felt tears prick at your eyes and a lump in your throat as you swallowed thickly, murmuring his name.

Dean said nothing he just came closer, perching on the bed and taking your hand as he whispered, ‘how did you know?’

‘You’re not gonna like it,’ you said quietly.

‘I don’t care,’ he promised.

You hesitated and then you shifted to sit up, his hands hovering until you were sitting opposite him. You dropped your gaze again, holding his hand lightly as you prepared yourself to come clean. You knew he wouldn’t like it, that you shouldn’t give him anything else to worry about because he already did enough. But you couldn’t lie to him anymore.

‘I have this thing,’ you said, your throat tight with guilt, ‘I don’t get headaches. Well I do but it’s not that… I have…premonitions.’

‘Premonitions?’ Dean repeated, his brows knitting together.

‘Yeah,’ you said uncomfortably.

‘Like psychic stuff?’ Dean frowned, ‘like Sam?’

‘No, they’re different…’ you hesitated, you’d. never wanted to tell him, not when he had so much on his plate. Not when everyone you’d ever told looked at you like you were the devil. Not when trust crumbled around you.

‘They’re less like flashes more like…options,’ you explained.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s like getting previews options like a video game,’ you said, ‘I see routes and I pick one.’

‘So today…’

‘I saw you. I saw the electrocution. I saw the doctors telling you there was nothing they could do,’ you confessed, the memory making alone you feel nauseous. It had been the thing to make your feet move without thinking.

‘So you changed it,’ Dean said.

‘Yes.’

Dean watched as you looked up at him through your lashes, guilt plastered on your face. Dean realised what it meant immediately, his face tightening.

‘Did you know?’ he asked angrily, ‘did you see this happening?’

When you didn’t say anything, his body sagged under the weight of your admission, his voice cracking as he said, ‘why would you do that?’

‘Why do you think?’ you whispered.

Dean paused, searching your face for something he’d only hoped for. Surprise met him when he found it in your features, in the reassuring confirming squeeze of your hand.

‘You’re stupid,’ he declared softly.

‘You’re the one who put yourself in front of a Rawhead,’ you countered. Dean chuckled but it was betrayed when he brushed his face, trying to wipe away the tears that had come quick so you couldn’t see them. Then he stood up, letting your hand go.

‘Yeah, well, consult your little crystal ball because I’m the one who’s gonna get you outta this,’ he said.

‘Dean-’

‘Nuh-uh. You and me got stuff to talk about. And I’m not pouring my heart out to a chick that’s gonna kick it next week. This ain’t A Walk to Remember,’ he said, letting that old smirk tug at his lips as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

‘Okay,’ you giggled, you waited until he was at the door until you called his name, making him turn expectantly, ‘you know if you pull this off, I can see me being very, very thankful.’

‘Well don’t think about that too much princess,’ he said, ‘gotta keep that heart rate down.’

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supernatural/dean tags

You freeze, unsure which name he’d been using when they brought him in. Back when you were together, he’d listed you as his emergency contact for half a dozen identities. Why didn’t you pay closer attention when they called? You’d heard accident and started moving, only half listening to the rest of the words coming through the speaker. It was one thing to realize he’d never removed you from his list, it was another to realize that the reason you were finding out he hadn’t removed you was because they were utilizing his emergency contact for an emergency.

“Uhm…” You stall, not just because of the name, but also because you feel like you’re being watched. You shift your shoulders to shake off the feeling, glancing around briefly before turning back to the receptionist. “Here’s the thing-”

Your name comes out like a question from behind you, and when you twist around to see who it belongs to, you’re met with a confused, younger Winchester.

He has a cut across his nose and lower lip, with dark red and purple blooming from a swollen eye. “Oh my god, Sam.”

You cross the hallway and pull him into your arms, careful not to grasp him too tightly after seeing the wince on his face from your sudden motion. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, I just didn’t think to call-” He cuts himself off as you step back, though you don’t let go of his forearms.

“It’s okay.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, “The hospital called me. Guess updating contact information isn’t at the top of Dean’s to do list.”

You grimace as you take a closer look at him. “You look like shit, kiddo.”

“Yeah, well you’re not looking too hot either.” He’s trying to lighten the mood, but he’s also not wrong. Your drive hadn’t exactly been short, and the whole time you’d been fearing the worst. “Unfortunately, I’m in the best shape outta all of us.”

“All of us?”

“Oh. Yeah. My dad was with us.”

“Hm.”

He quirks his eyebrows at your noise, I know.

“And Dean?”

Your stomach drops at the way Sam’s face scrunches, almost holding back tears as he pauses. When he finally speaks, he shakes his head, “It’s not good.”

“Can I see him?”

𖤐₊˚.༄☾⋆⁺𖤐₊˚.༄☾⋆⁺𖤐

You rush into the hospital at the same time Dean is waving his hand in front of the receptionist’s face, trying to get any sort of acknowledgement from her.

He says your name, first with some confusion, and then louder in relief when you make a beeline for the desk he’s standing in front of.

“Thank god you’re here-” He starts, but cuts himself off when he realizes you’re not looking at him.

You walk right past him, “Hi, I’m looking for a patient-”

“What the hell…” He mutters, then throwing up his hands, exasperated, “Fantastic, so no one can hear me.”

At that you pause, shifting your shoulders and tilting your head as you briefly look around, the expression on your face one that he recognizes from all the investigations he’s spent next to you.

“You can tell I’m here.” He chuckles incredulously.

Dean watches Sam, up and walking around, much to his relief, catch you up. He trails behind you both as you weave through the bustling hospital hallways. When you stop in the doorway of a room near the end of the hall, he can hear you choke out a sob, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. He peers over your shoulder after you’ve walked into the room, and finds the answer to his invisibility problem.

𖤐₊˚.༄☾⋆⁺𖤐₊˚.༄☾⋆⁺𖤐

“I’m gonna go check on my dad. Give you a minute alone with him.”

You don’t take your eyes off Dean, barely acknowledging Sam’s departure with more than a nod.

You’d often imagined finding yourself here given the career path you’d both chosen, but nothing in your nightmares could have prepared you for the sight of Dean hooked up to a machine with tubes down his throat and up his nose, presumably, to keep him alive. He has twice the cuts Sam has, and just as many bruises scattered across his skin. You’re sure there’s more underneath the flimsy sheets he’s been tucked into.

The chair you sink into next to his bed feels hard underneath you, despite the visible cushion. When you take his hand, it’s cold, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d felt every other time you’d taken it. Time has almost completely effaced your memory of what his warm hand gripping your thigh should feel like, and this cold one does nothing to resurface it. You try hard not to think about that.

“Hey, De. It’s me.” Your voice cracks, and you swallow heavily. “You know you could’ve just called if you wanted to see me. No need for all these dramatics.” You joke halfheartedly, sniffling.

The temperature drops a few, noticeable, degrees, and it makes you pause to look up into the still empty room. “Are you here?” You ask in a small voice. He’d kiss you if he could, you’d always been so clever. He looks around the room, trying to find something light enough to try to move.

He attempts to flutter the curtains at the window, but it’s no use. He’s brand new to being a ghost, and not even sure if it’s possible.

“Can you hear me?”

There’s no reply.

You look back at the man lying motionless in the hospital bed. He’d been your whole world once. He still was, if you were honest with yourself, and you supposed this was the time to be honest. Though the edges of your memories had all blurred, the feelings were still there, just as strong as they had been, back then. Seeing him so helpless now, so close to a permanent departure, digs up more than you care to relive.

Dean is still pacing the room, trying to figure out some way to communicate with you. He doesn’t know how to get back to you, or Sammy.

The chair creaks as you shift to the edge of it, cupping his cheek. He has a line of angry stitches down his forehead. You whimper as tears start to fall freely, dropping in wet spots onto the rough, sterile sheet. “Dean please, you can’t-”

He stops when he hears your broken voice, slowly walking over to stand over his body, and you, sitting next to him.

You swipe your thumb over his cheek, trying to compose your voice, “You can’t leave me again.”

For the second time in his life, you’re crying because of him. He hates seeing you like this. Guilt suddenly starts to seep into his chest for dragging you unknowingly back into his chaos. Now, when you can’t hear him, he has a million things to say.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”

He doesn’t expect a reaction, of course not. But he has to say it anyway, and if he ever makes it back to his body, he’ll say it again.

You’re resting your chin on his arm now, still sniffling, but mostly just staring at him, some attempt to rememorize his features. The way his nose slants slightly crooked to one side, the result of countless broken noses he’d endured. His hair, shorter now than the last time you’d seen him, but still sticking up in messy tufts the same way it did when he woke up next to you. His eyelashes that you’d always complained were longer than your own. And now new scars, a fresh reminder of just how many ways you could lose him.

“Please come back to me.”

𖤐₊˚.༄☾⋆⁺𖤐₊˚.༄☾⋆⁺𖤐

You have no idea how long it’s been when he finally jolts awake. His choking on the tubes in his throat shakes you out of your shock and sends you running out the door screaming. “Help! I need help in here!”

You push yourself against the far wall and out of the way, watching as the nurses who had run into the room tend to him. Hot tears slip down your cheeks as he’s stabilized, not quite emotionally recovered enough to feel relief in your chest yet.

Even after the room clears, it still takes time for you to find the courage to face a conscious Dean. Him croaking out your name once he realizes you’re in the room is the only thing that moves your feet back to his bedside. You sit down in the same cushioned chair as before, taking his hand when his fingers flex out toward you.

“You’re here.” He coughs, voice still rough. “Of course I am.” Your other hand comes up to squeeze his forearm in reassurance.

“Sammy?”

“He’s okay. I can go get him-” He shakes his head. “In a minute.”

His eyes squint like they’re trying to get used to the light in the room. “How bad was it? It felt bad.”

You take a deep breath, hesitating, as you tear up again. You drop his gaze, “It wasn’t good.”

“I should’ve taken you off, I didn’t know they’d actually call you.”

 “That’s the whole point of it, Dean.” You scoff, cracking a smile, and then, more seriously, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He squeezes your hand. “It’s good to see you. Next time I’ll just call you myself.”

Your brow furrows quizzically. It almost mirrors the comment you’d made to him earlier. “Do you… remember anything?”

“You askin’ if I was haunting this place?”

“Were you?”

“I can’t exactly piece it together.” He starts. “I just have this uneasiness in my stomach, like I knew I was close to the end and had so many regrets.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to brace your emotions, shifting your hand to intertwine your fingers with his. “I’m glad you’re back.” And then, “You scared the shit out of me.”

He gives you a pained smile, “Sorry.”

There’s a pause, “What do you regret?”

It should scare you to ask it. You should be afraid of the answer. But after almost losing him in the realest way, even if his regrets have nothing to do with you, you’ll just be grateful he’s breathing.

The corners of his mouth quip up, like he can see the doubts forming in your mind. “I regret letting Sam drive.” He jokes, and you give him an amused, but concerned look. “Didn’t sound like you had a choice.”

His smile falls off his lips, the weight of it all hitting him. “I’m really sorry for dragging you back into this all.”

“Dean, if something had happened… and I wasn’t here-” You pull your top lip in between your teeth. “That would’ve killed me.” He pulls his fingers from yours, moving his hand up to the side of your neck as you instinctually move in closer.

“Don’t worry. I’m never leaving you again.”