#lowkey garbage

Comm dump

                           make dean highkey Sad Face :((((((                                         – @bossyisms

      “ No, no, no, no -- ”

It was a nightmare. It had to be. Any second, he’s going to wake up from Bree throwing a pillow at his head. This couldn’t be real. But -- God -- it felt so real. It felt too real. The panic felt too real; the anxiety. He was begging any sort of higher power that might be listening to stop this, to give her more time, to kill him instead. She didn’t deserve this.

His hands were shaking as they scramble near the would, pressing the fabric of her shirt and jacket against it. But the blood only soaked through the cloth, staining his fingers scarlet.  “ Hey -- it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine ”  -- he keeps saying it. Over and over again.  ( Is he saying it to Bree or himself? )  In a moment of panicked thinking, he takes her hands and holds them tightly against the gash as his own hands pull away. Suddenly, he’s pulling off his jacket violently. He’s tugging at the canvas fabric in desperation until finally it’s off his shoulders. Balling it up, he moves her hands and presses that against her stomach now.  

      “ Look at that. We stop the bleeding and I’ll get you stitched          up back at the motel yeah? Good as new. ”

Finally, Dean looks at her face.  ( He hasn’t been able to do this yet. )  She looks sickeningly pallid as the color slowly drains from her face with every passing second. He can hear the hoarseness in her breaths and see how glassy and unfocused her eyes are becoming. A bloodied hand comes up to hold the side of her face when he feels her head tip, resting against his palm. His head shakes while the pad of his thumb lightly moves over her cheek, only spreading blood across her pale skin.

“ Bree -- ”  His voice cracks. There’s a painful lump in his throat. Her eyes are beginning to close and he can’t help but think of what inevitably comes next. But he attempts to ignore it, to think that maybe things will turn out different for once-- maybe he’ll finally wake up from this nightmare. So he offers a weak smile and a breathy laugh, trying to convince himself this isn’t really happening.

      “ God, you’re such a pain in the ass. Come on. You gotta          work with me here, okay? ”

No response. His heart seems to skip a beat. He looks down; her chest isn’t moving. He looks up; her eyelids hang low, but she’s left staring toward the floor with a blank stare. Dean’s head shakes again and he shakes her shoulder lightly with the hand he previously held his jacket with. No reaction. Again, he releases a symphony of,  “ No, no, no, ”  but his tears are already falling. He almost feels like he can’t breathe and he’s quickly pulling her towards him, holding her close like a brother would hold a younger sibling.

He sits there for a while, in total silence, just holding her. Half his clothing is soaked with her blood, but the numbness he feels leaves him unconcerned with it. Dean can’t help but think he should have done more; that he should have protected her better. He never should have gotten close or he should have forced her away from all of this. Maybe she’d be alive then.