Live|Die|Repeat-What are you going to do about it?

---

Dean:

Three hours.

That’s what Sammy had said. Yet as time ticked past the two-hour mark, Dean was growing restless. Twilight was setting in. The sinking sun was dulling the greenery outside the large lake house windows; making the shadows outside grow longer and more intrusive.

For the first little while, after ending the fruitless phone call with Sammy, he’d only held her. Trying to shield her from any imagined eyes watching from the shadows outside. But after around 30 minutes had passed; she’d pulled free from his embrace and grasped for his hand instead. Silently pulling him the rest of the way over to the kitchen island before she busied herself making a fresh pot of coffee with shaking hands.

“I’ll make the coffee this time, though it won’t be as heavenly as yours,” She’d said in reply to his worried, questioning look. The only words she’d spoken during the full two hours sounding hollow and dim where she tried to brighten them through a weak smile.

Yet, even as Dean had tried, and failed, to lighten her burdens with whispered words of reassurance, the flames he’d seen earlier remained as dying embers. Barely visible in her (Y/E/C) eyes and the smile that didn’t even fully reach them. Every small promise and awkward joke fell flat, with her normally bright smile looking as weak and dim as the waning light outside the lake house.

She was trying so hard. His brave girl next door was doing her best to stay strong. But, even after he let her go, he could still feel the ghost of her shaking shoulders as she clung to him and hid her fears in the cotton thread of his t-shirt. Shivering in the heat of the warm Kansas summer as Dean kept throwing wary glances towards the lake house windows that all seemed way too big and open; even with the curtains mostly drawn.

The coffee she’d poured him an hour and a half ago had been left forgotten and cold in the cup on the kitchen island. Though she had carefully sipped on her own where she’d perched on the barstool next to his. Her back turned to the big windows and eyes focused on the cup in her hand. Giving him nothing more than small nods or shaky smiles that didn’t reach her (Y/E/C) eyes.

Dean didn’t know when, but at some point he’d reached out for her again. Squeezing her hand and furrowing his brow from how cold she felt, even after clutching the cup desperately between her trembling fingers.

Fuck.

According to his promise to Sammy, there was still another hour before he could pack up the Impala and run for the hills. It had only been two hours, but the sun was setting soon. And though he’d promised his brother, Dean couldn’t just leave her like that. The police officer that they’d sent out hadn’t even bothered to check in before stationing himself out of sight. Sure, he could be placed somewhere nearby already, unwilling to knock at the door in case Brian would see him... But would it hurt the cops to find a way to check in on the woman they were supposed to protect?

Even if the cops didn’t seem to see the damned bastard as a threat, Dean knew better. No matter what the damned boys in blue did or didn’t do; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Even if he had to be her shield. Even if he had to play act the hero, just like Sammy and him used to do when they were kids in the woods surrounding the lake house… He’d do anything to keep (Y/N) safe.

He’d take on the world for her if he had to.

And… Shit. He’d even break his promise to his brother if it meant he could remove that tense hold from her shoulders. Sighing down at the untouched cup of coffee, Dean gave her fingers one last squeeze before he gently removed his hand from hers. Jumping down from the chair and turning back towards the couch. Eyes locked on the couch pillows, he ignored the waning light outside as he moved slowly, as if through quicksand, the few steps across the open solution cabin floor. Pretending, every step of the way, that he didn’t feel chilled to the bone just by moving away from her side.

Behind him, he heard the scrape of wood against wood as the bravest, fragile woman he’d ever had the pleasure to meet followed him silently to the couch. His own steps falling into rhythm with her hesitant ones as she kept curious (Y/E/C) eyes on him. Watching him quietly as he searched the couch pillows for the phone he’d thrown there in frustration only hours earlier after making sure to turn the sound back on, and up to full volume, so he’d catch Sam’s call, no matter where he was in the cabin.

“Screw the three hours. Sun’s setting…” Dean grimaced slightly at the roughness of his own voice, the slight gravel in the back of his throat forced him to clear it in the middle of his answer to her silent questions. Though he’d spoken during the two hours she remained silent, it had all been whispers. Barely-there prayers to a hope that was slowly flickering out as he feared even the smallest exhale of air would extinguish the fragile flame.

“I’m calling Sammy,” He finally finished, just as his fingers brushed against plastic and he moved to sink back down onto the pillows. Looking up at her, some ancient protective part of Dean screamed at him to just wrap her up in his arms and run. And keep running. Until he was sure she’d be safe from that fucking monster.

Yet, instead of running, instead of pulling her flush against his body in some self-sacrificial attempt at shielding her from whatever bullshit the night could throw her way… Dean only lifted his free hand, holding it out to her. His breath stuck in his throat and phone clutched in his other hand as he waited for her to take it.

She was strong, stronger than anyone Dean had ever met. And she didn’t need a shield. She needed a partner. Someone to watch her back. Even if that included watching the world outside grow dim and dark, while the two of them were stuck playing a sick and twisted waiting game orchestrated by the police and one depraved drunk. Chained to the couch with vague promises of a plan and the terrible truth that Brian knew where they were.

As she sank down onto the couch and her fingers entwined with his; Dean’s body immediately warmed up again and breathing came easier. The touch of her small fingertips against his knuckles was enough to re-ignite the sparks in his veins. Sending shots of fury and fire through his blood and into his heart as he pulled his worried eyes away from hers to focus on the phone. Turning green eyes to steel and clenching his jaw.

Two hours was long enough.

---

“Sam?” Dean didn’t even bother with a greeting when his younger brother picked up the phone on the second ring. He’d been patient for too damned long; it had been 11 days of nothing. Though they were only hunting down one damned drunk. Another hour… Hell, another second, suddenly seemed like a damned impossibility.

He needed answers… She deserved answers. Now.

“What’s wrong Dean?” Across the line, Sam was closing a door softly. Cutting off the muted murmur of a TV playing in the background as his little brother’s voice stayed a low whisper, though Dean could still discern the slight fear in it from years of watching over Sammy and seeing the kid grow up into the smart and capable lawyer he was.

“Have you heard from the detective?” Instead of reassuring Sam, Dean kept the pressure up, his eyes locked on the time displayed in the tiny numbers above Sam’s name. Gritting his teeth as the minutes rolled on.

“Well? Did he say…” When Sam didn’t speak, Dean kept pushing; raising his voice by careful increments as he squeezed (Y/N)’s hand softly. Yet, as another door gently closed on the other side of the line, Dean let his eyes lift to the diminishing sunlight outside the lake house windows. Putting two and two together as he carefully lowered his own voice, letting the question that started as an explosion sputter out with the worst of the fire in his veins.

Bedtime.

The kids had gone to bed already; safe from monsters with the help of nightlights and promises of sweet dreams. But (Y/N)’s monster was still out there somewhere. And though the brother and uncle in him tried to fully kill the flames of anger burning in his chest, the part of him that could feel his neighbour’s erratic pulse under his fingertips only fanned the embers back to life. Leaving him feeling both hot and cold at once as the fire raging in his heart fought against the ice cold logic of his mind.

“… We said…” On the other side of the line, Sam’s voice was still soft, even in the confines of his own office. Careful not to disturb the quiet of yet another household shaken by (Y/N)’s monster. But before his younger brother could finish his sentence, Dean cut him off.

“I know what we fucking said. But the sun’s setting, and that officer stationed somewhere on the lake hasn’t even bothered to check up on us,” Dean’s voice was louder than his brother’s, though the explosive anger from only seconds earlier was nowhere to be found as he ended his sentence in a tired sigh instead of a full stop.

Throwing a quick glance at the woman next to him, he watched her eye the windows warily. Though Dean was sure she wasn’t looking for signs of the uniformed officer, but rather the monster the cops were supposed to be catching. As Sam took his time answering, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head hit the back of the couch and shutting out the slowly dimming light from outside the big lake house windows.

He couldn’t even look at the soft curtains, lovingly chosen by his mother many years ago as she planned the cabin shortly before she passed, anymore. The swirling floral pattern had morphed into twisted prison bars and the thought of what could be hiding behind the white and pastel fabric just made him sick to his stomach. It was just so fucking far removed from the usual bitter sweet nostalgia the little mementos of his mother normally brought up that it left him reeling. Now they were just another way Brian continued slowly unraveling his sanity, even when he was nowhere to be seen.

“We need answers, now, Sam,” He pushed, quiet and pleading to the phone in his shaky hand. Damn it… He’d been on edge for 11 days straight, and every second was dragging on like a damned eternity. He was just so fucking tired of balancing on that precarious ledge that threatened to crumble under his feet any minute.

“Detective Davies hasn’t called yet…” Sam finally spoke up, though his words weren’t the solution that Dean had been hoping for. They were just another confirmation that the police weren’t taking her case seriously. Swallowing hard, Dean could feel his fingers digging into the plastic of the phone as his grip on it tightened in frustration. Two hours. They were setting up roadblocks and planning to use her as fucking bait. And they couldn’t even call back within two hours?

Yet, before he could try to rouse the sparks to light the explosion behind his voice again, to raise it and make Sammy listen. A much quieter, yet much more deadly explosive force filled the static silence in the lake house.

“Sam…” As (Y/N) spoke up for what was only the second time in two hours, she did so in a voice saturated in fear and resignation. The tremble of her sugar and sunshine lips shaping the single syllable name into a breathless sob as she stopped to take a shaky breath before continuing in a voice that was more whisper than words.

“I can’t stay here Sam…”

“I know (Y/N), I don’t want you to have to stay there. Not alone at least. Let me… Let me try to call them again. I don’t like this either. If they’re setting up a roadblock and planning on moving in, we should be updated more often, not less,” The polite, professional lawyer tone that Sam normally took on when he spoke to the woman from apartment 42 was nowhere to be found. Leaving only Sam Winchester; the sympathetic and empathic man that Dean was proud to call his younger brother. His voice seeped in the same confusion and questions that muddled Dean’s own mind and left him with the heavy feeling of foreboding.

Something just wasn’t… Right.

As (Y/N) only nodded silently next to him, Dean squeezed her hand gently before tagging himself back into the conversation. The few words of admission she’d managed to push out clearly draining her as her eyes returned to watching the windows wearily.

“Tell ‘em they either send another body up here now or we’re gone. We can’t just wait around twiddling our fucking thumbs. We’re sitting ducks out here Sammy,” Dean pushed.

He couldn’t settle for ‘try’.

Not when he could see the toll the wait for answers was taking on her.

Draining the careful strength and fire she’d finally found until only embers remained behind (Y/E/C) eyes. Embers Dean feared wouldn’t hold up against the impenetrable darkness of the lake district at night. He needed confirmation. Hell, he’d almost prefer it if they said no. Then he could just grab her hand and run for the damned hills. Even with a cop inside the lake house; he doubted she’d feel much safer.

“Alright… Yeah, I promise. I’ll tell them they need to send another officer up, and move the one they’ve already stationed inside the lake house in the meantime,” Sam promised, his own voice hardening across the line in preparation for the harsh line he’d have to draw in the sand with the police to light some fire under their fucking asses.

They needed to realise that, even though they inexplicably didn’t see him as one, Brian Lackland was a threat. One that had already done an apocalyptic amount of damage to the life of the woman from apartment 42. Carefully demolishing the very foundations of her life until she had nowhere left to go.

“Call me back as soon as you’re off the line with them, and make sure you make ‘em listen Sam. I know you can talk circles around them,” Removing the harsh bite of anger and accusation from his tone, Dean softened his voice in his final plea to his brother.

The nostalgic pride that the sharp edge to his younger brother’s voice brought out in him, dulling his own cutting anger. Sammy the lawyer. Yeah, he was damn proud of that kid. Even in the middle of the whole hellish nightmare that was the last 11 days, Dean knew he could always count on Sam.

And, as he hit the end call button and gently clutched the girl next door’s hand in his; he had to keep believing in that. Sammy would come through for him. Like he always did.

Come hell or high water.

---

It didn’t take long for the phone to ring again.

The loud sound of his ringtone took Dean by surprise from where he’d pushed the volume to full a little over two hours ago in a mix of annoyance, frustration and outright anger. The first, loud chords of the Immigrant Song was enough to make (Y/N) tense in his arms as he himself froze for a second before reaching out for the smartphone on the living room table just as Robert Plant’s recognizable voice kicked in.

Lifting it, Dean paused again, the name on the screen making his brow furrow, letting the song play on instead of answering straight away. Even though they’d exchanged numbers, he’d nearly started believing Officer Douchebag had lost his. But there the name was; M. Davies.

Apparently the cops weren’t even letting Sammy call them anymore. Choosing instead to keep them even more in the dark. Until neither of the two neighbours couldn’t discern shadows from the ever-expanding darkness surrounding them. Unless… Dean had to swallow around the lump in his throat as a much more horrible reality forced its way to the forefront of his mind.

Unless things were more serious than they thought?

Though he had no clue how things could get anymore fucking serious than having a crazed stalker hot on their heels. Hell, even if he’d had the luxury of time to think things through, he doubted he could think up a nightmare worse than the one he was currently living.

Wetting chapped lips, Dean wrestled down the darker thoughts of more bombshells dropped in their general direction as he pushed the answer button a little harder than necessary. Squaring his jaw, he quickly switched the phone to speaker before letting it clatter against the wood again. Taking a slight bit of pleasure from the thought of how loud the clatter had to sound, transferred directly into officer douchebag’s ear.

“Where the hell is the officer you were sending? Shouldn’t he at least check in before hiding somewhere nearby?” Finding the detective undeserving of common decency, Dean didn’t even bother with a greeting. Or even telling the detective he was on speaker before he spat the words in the phone’s general direction. He was just too high strung and angry now that he was dealing directly with the police that had failed at protecting her from the continuous blows over the last 11 days as one single fucking drunk had them running in circles.

“And you better send another fucking officer up here if you’re planning on using (Y/N) as bait,” He pressed on, not wanting to waste a second of precious fading daylight on Mick Davies’ most likely pre-prepared excuses. The anger he’d been harbouring finally had an outlet, even if it was only through acidic angry words and biting accusations. And even though it was directed towards the lesser of two targets instead of the monster, Brian, himself. However, as quickly as the words left him, Dean regretted the frustration fuelled and toxic phrasing. The heavy red fog over his eyes lifting as (Y/N) flinched next to him from the biting word.

Bait.

He’d thought the word multiple times since Sam called back with information about the cops and their half-baked plan. But, he’d been very careful to not say it out loud. Since he knew it would only crumble the last pieces of steady ground under her; effectively smothering the last light in her beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes.

Even though she might have thought it herself, he didn’t want to add to the reality of it; of their situation. But… Seeing the name of the detective that had been moving frustratingly slow on her case had pulled the vitriol out of him. Making him speak through the powder keg of anger locked in his chest instead of the heart below it.

Dean knew he could be a hothead. His anger was a monster he quietly wrestled with, though it was one that normally focused all its destructive power inward. Anger at himself for not being a good enough man for his ex, anger at his younger self for the times Sammy had to be alone while he worked, anger at his own inability to keep the family together after his mother had died when he was a kid…

He was stuck in a loop of self-fulfilling anger and disappointment. With acrid words and thoughts that cut him deep and hurt him over and over again. Dean Winchester was a fucking professional at harming himself. But… Damn it. He didn’t want to hurt her. He never wanted to harm her.

Not when she was trying so hard to stay strong.

Throwing her a soft apologetic look. He searched her eyes for any blame and found none. Fuck. She was so good. Too good for the broken, bruised and angry man he’d become with the hand life had dealt him. Though, in her small, soft smile; he could still find hope he’d somehow be enough. Somewhere down the line…

For a second he was lost in it, as the flicker of strength in (Y/E/C) eyes washed over him and calmed down the worst of his anger. Nearly missing officer douchebag’s words once the detective finally spoke up. Though by the vagueness of his stiff, rehearsed words, Dean realised he wouldn’t have missed much.

“I’m sorry Mr. Winchester. We’re working 24/7 on this case and it seems there has been some… Miscommunication, here at the station,” Across the line Detective Davies’ voice came through loud and clear, though the words themselves were murky, muddled and confusing.

Dean couldn’t make heads or tails of the excuse. Past the fact that that was all it was… A weak excuse with no answers or solutions to help lighten the burden on (Y/N)’s tempered glass shoulders; strong and fragile in equal measures. And those small shoulders were carrying too much already. Dean wouldn’t let the police pile more worries and doubts onto them. Not with empty, bureaucratic words that meant absolutely nothing.

That word… ‘Miscommunication’ sounded like mind-your-own-beeswax when leaving the detective with British roots and ‘regulations’ rammed so far up his ass he probably spouted legal jargon whenever he sat down. Dean needed answers, not more questions. And so, leaning forward in his seat with his eyes burning into his phone, he demanded them.

“Miscommunication? What the fuck does that even mean?” With (Y/N)’s hand in his, and her wide eyes watching him more than the phone on the table, Dean’s voice was more controlled as it left him. The earlier force of anger turning icy at the edges as he spat the vague word right back at the detective on the other end of the line. Reshaping it into the curse word it sounded like to his panicked ears.

“It means someone in our task force misplaced the information needed. We are currently investigating how…” The detective started. Though Dean didn’t let him finish. The mention of another separate investigation taking focus off of (Y/N)’s case only making the already crumbling ground underneath their feet seem more unsteady.

“You should be catching that damned stalker. Not investigating something else,” Dean spat, cutting off whatever bureaucratic bullshit he was sure officer douchebag was building up to.

“And I can promise you we are making strides in the investigation surrounding Mr. Lackland... In the meantime I promise we’ll get someone up there as soon as possible,” On the other end of the line, in the middle of what was clearly busy precinct, Mick Davies didn’t seem the least bit phased by Dean’s anger as he kept spouting vague titbits of facts that barely even answered Dean’s question.

Yet, as the meaning of the promise Davies’ tacked on to the end fully sank in, Dean dropped the line of questioning to suck in a sharp breath. His eyes shooting up to the windows and the quickly fading light outside. And, as (Y/N)’s small fingers squeezed around his, he realised she’d come to the same conclusion as him.

There wasn’t an officer stationed somewhere outside. Fuck. There wasn’t even an officer on the way.

“As soon as possible?! You were supposed to already have someone here,” Finding his voice again, Dean kept his eyes on the sliver of the outside world he could glimpse through the curtains. Shadows morphing into the hunched over man he’d seen following his neighbour down the road 11 days earlier as he tried his best to keep the shake of fear out of his voice. For her sake.

“I’m sorry Mr. Winchester… And Ms. (Y/L/N). As I mentioned, there’s been some miscommunication regarding the task force. We are sending an officer out as soon as possible to be stationed in the cabin with you and getting a roadblock up. However, our hands are full. We’re freeing up an officer, but it could be a short…”

The way the detective tacked on (Y/N)’s name, the fucking victim’s name, left a bitter taste in Dean’s mouth as he shook his head at the piece of plastic on the table. Not caring that the detective couldn’t see him. Before cutting in sharply. Unwilling to hear another second of their weak excuses.

“Bullshit, we’re leaving,” He near growled the words at the phone, motioning to reach for it on the table just as Mick Davies spoke up again.

“Please calm down sir. We’ll have someone out there shortly. We don’t believe Mr. Lackland is an active threat. We had people call in possible sightings of him in downtown Lawrence multiple times today. With the latest sighting reported under half an hour ago. As he’s been sighted in town we doubt he’ll be heading out toward you tonight,” The detective’s voice had taken on the same no-nonsense tone he’d used when Dean nearly lost his cool at the station, a week earlier.

But this time Sammy wasn’t around to rein him back in. And with the added new realisation that they were alone. In the middle of fucking nowhere, with a stalker out to get the woman next to him, Dean doubted even his younger brother could calm down the protective rage coursing through his veins.

They still didn’t see that monster as a threat. Even after he’d chased her friends out of their homes, planted cameras, stolen, threatened… What did he have to do to be seen as a real threat? Fuck. Would (Y/N) have to be physically hurt, for them to take Brian seriously?

“Calm down? Calm down!? Are you fucking kidding me? That bastard’s sick. Screw your possible sightings! He could still be on his way here. We’re not waiting around for you guys to get off your fucking asses and send someone, when you were supposed to send someone over two hours ago,” Turning fear and anger into weapons, Dean lifted the phone off the table, ready to launch it across the room if he had to as he raised his voice again. Making sure to pump each word full of every ounce of tense worry and anger he’d collected over the last 11 days as he spat them into the speaker.

“Again, I can only apologize for the miscommunication…”

There it was again. That fucking word. And with it, the realisation that the cops weren’t going to give them any answers.

They were content with keeping her there. In harm’s way. Playacting like their bait while they ran around like headless chicken. And Dean was tired of rolling over and playing everyone else’s games.

He’d smiled and acted like the brave little soldier whenever his dad left for one of his long business trips with just a ‘take care of Sammy’. He’d accepted, and carried, the guilt from his last failed relationship. He’d uprooted his life and left his home without a fight; thinking it was all his fault. He’d jumped from one pair of arms to the other, trying to not think about how cold the other side of his bed felt at night. He was proud of his business, but he’d bent over backwards for too many people for far too long until he got it off the ground. He’d done everything to help the people around him. Carrying the blame, acting like the scapegoat and following orders.

But now? With her? He wasn’t taking orders anymore. He wouldn’t sit around pretending he had no choice but to obey and offer up his own wrists for the shackles they wanted him to wear.

This­?

This was their fault; Brian and the police. And he wasn’t playing their games anymore. He would keep (Y/N) safe, even if it meant breaking his promise to Sammy. Even if it meant going against the officers meant to serve and protect.

“You know what? Screw you Davies,” Dean didn’t want to waste a second more of the weak light fading into deep twilight outside the window. Nor did he want to waste anymore breath on the damned detective and his snail-paced taskforce. If they weren’t going to act, then he would. He’d take things into his own hands; he’d take her hand, and he’d run.

“Sir…”

Not letting the detective get another word in about protocols, miscommunication or vague reiterations of whatever idiotic excuses the cops had up their sleeves, Dean hung up. Pressing the end call button with a sharp tap of his thumb before lifting the phone over his head. With the plastic still clutched in his shaking fist, he considered letting it share the same fate as his coffee cup earlier that day, but he couldn’t. Not when Sammy could be waiting for his call, or hell, try to call him even if the police might not want him to.

If needed, he’d field the cops’ calls, just like he’d done with Brian’s. But they still needed the phone. They were alone out there, in the lake house. If he let his anger guide him; they’d be effectively cut off from the world.

So, instead, he kept his phone clutched in a cage of whitening knuckles as he stood up quickly. His fingers slipped from her small trembling ones as she looked up at him; wide eyed and scared at the thought of facing another night in the lake house. A night fraught with monsters possibly lurking in the darkness outside the four walls.

No. They couldn’t stay. He had to keep her safe. He’d promised her that. And fuck, even if he had to break every other promise he’d ever made, Dean would keep his promise to the girl from apartment 42.

“We’re not waiting around… I can’t just let you sit here, when there’s no police outside and no roadblock either. Let’s… We’ll go back to Lawrence. We’ll go to the police station,” Reaching his hand out for her, Dean formulated his new plan on the fly just as the words left him. Taking mental count of the things they’d need to bring and how long it would take them as he waited for her to take his outstretched hand and run away with him.

But instead of reaching for his hand, where it was already going cold from the absence of her heat, she kept her hands in her lap, defeated. (Y/E/C) eyes looking up at him hesitantly between small, barely-there glances towards the windows and the quickly dimming day outside.

“It’s ok Dean… I can hold on for a bit longer,” She lied. Dean could tell the words were a lie easily. From the tense hold in her shoulders and the shake in her words alone it was easy to tell she was just putting up a strong front. And it pained him to see her have to act so strong. Even though she was fighting a battle she hadn’t signed up for.

“You shouldn’t have to (Y/N). You’re not a prisoner. You’ve done nothing wrong. I promised you, I won’t let him hurt you,” Sinking down to his knees, so he was kneeling in front of her, Dean softened his tone and found her eyes with his, keeping those wide orbs from flitting fearfully back towards the windows as he made her see the truth in his words. The conviction and need he had to keep his promise and keep her safe.

As he watched his words sink in, the fear in her eyes thawed, bringing back the small embers of strength lying dormant behind it. Straightening her back, she wet sugared lips before nodding, her crown of (Y/H/C) hair catching the last soft rays of the light outside and leaving Dean breathless and in awe of the strength that shone from her small body, even after everything she’d gone through. And, as she finally reached for his hand, she threw his words right back at him.

“And I won’t let him hurt you either,”

For the first time in several hours, her voice wasn’t trembling, nor angry. It was strong and sweet, like the perfect guitar riff in the middle of the sweetest love song. It lifted him to his feet again and soothed his own anger as he pulled her up and into a quick, rushed hug. Leaving behind only the steely determination of getting out of this nightmare and across that bridge alive, with (Y/N) by his side.

---

Nearby:

Something had changed…

Hidden behind the curtains; he watched as Dean Winchester, the devil incarnate, roughly pulled his beloved bride to her feet and whispered more vicious words to her. The demon looked rushed, as if he realised heaven was coming for him.

Was this the sign? Did the demon sense the heavenly retribution of God? Was heaven on his side? Helping him by weakening the evil inside the blasphemously named cabin? He didn’t know, and he needed to know. He was God’s soldier, and he couldn’t act without his commander, God, calling the shots.

Dropping his bags, he renewed his attempts at reaching God. If this was a sign, it was not the one he’d expected.

---

Reader:

After an eternity of waiting, on the sharp tip of a double-edged sword, the sudden new plan made every second bleed into the one before. Leaving you feeling like the world was stuck on fast-forward.

Where seconds had felt like small self-contained pockets of centuries, having a sudden plan, a sudden way out, left you winded even as you stood rooted to the spot. Your panic muddled brain was struggling to keep up with the complete shift in tempo as Dean pulled you to your feet and placed a soft kiss at the top of your head. A murmured repeat of his promise to you washing over you like warm comfort and fresh hope as you squeezed his hand and shut your eyes to steady yourself.

It was just too much, too fast. 11 days of nothing and then…

Fuck, who were you kidding? The 11 days, and the last two hours had only been followed by more of the same. The detective hadn’t reached out to Sam or you, and once he did it was with vague answers that only lead to more questions and one awful, icy realisation.

You were alone.

The fact that the police didn’t even have an officer in place, past the basic patrols of the main road they’d promised you at the beginning of the nightmare, made you fear every shadow, every sound… Even with Dean right next to you. Yet, you couldn’t let yourself freeze. Sam was trying his best and, though slowed down by bureaucracy, you had to believe the police did as well, but it wasn’t enough. You were sick of leaving the decisions up to the people around you.

This was your nightmare, and you wanted to wake up. You wanted out. You couldn’t hide in Dean’s heartbeat and hope for the best. You had to act...

You had to run.

Pulling out of the safe, comforting embrace of the man from apartment 43 you took a shaky breath, thankful your eyes were still dry as you looked up at him with renewed purpose. You’d be fine, you had to be fine. If not for your own sake, then for the many lives trapped in your nightmare alongside your own…

For the sake of the two kids waiting for their uncle, snuggled safe in their beds. For his brother; the always headstrong Sam Winchester… For your friends back in Lawrence, chased out of their own homes by your monster. And for Dean’s sake. Dean Winchester; your very own superhero next door that had kept you from breaking an endless amount of times the last 11 days.

If nothing else, you had to make it through this for him.

Giving him your best imitation of a smile, you straightened your back and hurried towards the still scattered DVDs next to the TV. If you wanted to get out of there before the sun fully set, you had to pack up quick. But there was so much to do, the bright spots to your nightmarish week were spread out across the whole lake house, and you didn’t know where to start. With your nerves on edge, and your body buzzing, the DVDs seemed like as good a place as any. They were safe. Grounding you with their bright colours and happy memories.

Yet, before you could make your way over to the brightly coloured plastic cases, Dean stopped you with a soft hand on your upper arm. His worried, green eyes contrasting against the smiling faces on the many comedy movie cases.

“Not the movies, they can wait. We’ll just bring what we have to. I’ve got the keys here. I’ll grab my laptop, and the charger for the phone, just in case. Go get the things you need. We can get the rest once…” Sighing, he let his hand drop from your arm as he busied himself finding his laptop case, leaving his sentence half finished with a half-defeated shrug instead of a full stop. Though, he didn’t have to finish it. You knew what he meant.

Once Brian was caught.

Though, with Dean’s focus on only bringing the bare necessities, you were once more left frozen to the floor. What did you have that you had to bring with you?

Your phone, sure, but that was off and would be staying off until Brian was caught. Past that, everything that mattered in your life had been torn to shreds by Brian. The little things you loved; your favourite clothes and books… You’d never have them again. They could gather dust in police custody for all you cared.

Though, looking around at the little pieces of your one week in the lake house, you could easily pick out new little bright spots to replace the favourites you’d lost as you stood still, watching your neighbour shove a few necessities into his laptop bag along with the computer.

On the small side table by the couch were the tattered fantasy books belonging to Sam. You’d have to go hunting for those same titles in book shops once things returned to normal. Next to the TV; the DVDs you’d watched but barely remembered the story off and could watch again. New possible favourites; little reminders of your time with Dean. Each causing pangs of bittersweet nostalgia despite the desperate rush and panic of your situation.

Though you’d only spent a week in the lake house with Dean Winchester… It seemed much longer.

Still, all of them, though precious to you now… Weren’t necessary for your escape. Your mind was such a jumbled mess, you could barely remember what you’d brought with you to the lake house.

You’d left Lawrence in such a rush, you hadn’t really packed much of anything except clothes, your wallet and your phone. So, you just grabbed the one thing that once upon a time had seemed so vital, yet now only elicited shivers from you as your fingers wrapped around the cool plastic. Lifting your dark and silent phone off of the table you pushed it into your pocket to avoid having to hold it and focused your eyes on Dean again. At the end of the day, only one thing mattered; him.

As long as he was by your side… Everything else could wait.

“Hey… Are you..?” Dean’s voice, though soft, still made you jump as he caught you watching him; empty handed save for the phone pushed into the pocket of your jeans. The worried furrow in his brow only deepened as he looked from your empty, slightly trembling hands and back into your dazed eyes.

“I’m fine,” You gave him your best attempt at a smile, though you knew your best was far from great by the way your lips trembled and the way worry only seemed to grow in forest green eyes.

“I don’t have… I didn’t bring much here, except for the wallet in my coat pocket, everything else can wait,” You added with a nod towards where your jacket hung by the door. Your mind adding a secretive ‘everything but us’ as you looked around the room before meeting Dean’s eyes again. Your own false smile had fallen, but you didn’t bother trying to force it back. There was no point in trying to reassure him that everything was fine when it so clearly wasn’t.

Letting those inquisitive, worried eyes rest on you for a second, Dean simply nodded as he lifted his computer bag with one hand and shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans to free up his other. Holding it out to you in a silent invitation to run away with him, if only just back to Lawrence and the safety of the police station.

With his big hand wrapped securely around yours; time finally returned to normal as you took a shaky breath and set your eyes on the front door. Half fearing what was waiting on the other side, half looking forward to getting Dean to safety.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” Your neighbour turned saviour said with a squeeze of your hand, pulling gently at it to thaw your frozen body and move you towards the lake house door as you busied yourself looking everywhere but at the door hiding the outside world.

“Yeah…” You pushed the single syllable word out past the lump in your throat, uncertain if it was the truth or another empty lie. Though you wanted nothing more than to believe this was it; the light at the end of an endless tunnel that had tricked you with dead ends time and time again.

Taking your first shaky step away from your assigned role as bait, you let your eyes travel over the cosy lake house interior one last time. You were going to miss it. The small kitchen nook and the tastefully decorated living room corner where you’d curled up to watch an endless range of comedy movies. The Winchester’s little slice of heaven. Where it had only been the two of you, and the rest of the world had ceased to matter.

“(Y/N)… We should get going before…” Just as Dean spoke up to gently urge you to speed up, his words were cut off by the same rock song that had made you jump just moments earlier as his phone rang again. The guitar riffs only slightly muted by the fabric of his jeans as he dropped his hold on your hand with a last squeeze of your trembling fingers before busying himself with digging the phone out of his pocket. Still taking small, hesitant steps towards the door as he waited for you to follow his lead.

“It’s Sammy. I’ll take it on the way to the…”

Once more Dean’s words were cut off by an unexpected sound piercing the tense silence of the lake house. Though this time, instead of the now conditioned reflex of a shiver following a phone call, this sound made your blood run cold, as you turned towards it; a voiceless scream trapped in the back of your throat.

Somewhere in the back of the lake house; a window shattered.

---

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @canyonnmoonnn @swinchester27 @septixtrash @punof-agun

The Man in Apartment 43 Tags: @campingmonkey @talia-ciufo @monkeymcpoopoo @deans-baby-momma @kalesrebellion @sarahpunkinator @smokinserious @cookiechipdough @winchestergirl82 @babykalika2001 @bagpussjocken @thefridgeismybestie @elliloumom @pinknerdpanda @zombiecupcake29 @justaparttimeauthor @that-one-gay-girl @ceisbill @starchildwild @poptart06294 @gia-25