"Look out!” You threw the blade with impressive aim, and it cartwheeled through the air. When it hit its mark with a sickening thud, the demon crumpled to the ground. The green-eyed man turned around just in time to see her go down, and he fixed you with a grateful look.
"Thanks." You shook your head.
"Don't thank me yet," you warned, your tone grave. "We still have to get out of here alive." He nodded and took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
The usual soft glow of warm, white lights were replaced with a pulsating red, a warning that your safe space was no longer safe. Your whole world was suddenly drowning in red, and it made the blood spattering the walls and pooling on the floors look ominously black. The tall man at your side took a deep breath, though you could tell he was trying to keep calm for your sake.
The two of you took a second to gather your bearings, him readjusting the bandana around his neck under his thick beard, and you retrieving your blade from the demon's corpse, one of many littering the extensive hallways. As you flicked droplets of blood from your weapon, you noticed the slight tremble in your hand. You hated that. This was not a time to be scared, but you were. You couldn't help it.
"Hey." You turned at the sound of his voice. "We got this." When all you could offer was a shaky nod, he snaked an arm around your waist, angling your face upwards to press his lips to yours.
Adrenaline mixed with something else coursed through your veins, and your heart thundered in your chest. If this was your last time kissing him, you wanted to make sure it was one neither of you would forget. You caught his lower lip between your teeth and tugged, making him growl low in his throat. His hair was soft against your hand as you wove your fingers through the strands, his beard scratching against your face. When you finally pulled away, his breathing was hard, but then, so was yours. His forehead rested gently against yours, and you could taste the spearmint from his mouth on your lips. With one more chaste kiss, you finally let go, though you had never wanted to do anything less. "If we can just make it through the library, we're home free," he said. "From there, we just get up the stairs and run like hell."
"Right." It was a solid plan. Now you just had to hope that both of you would stay alive to see it through. He rolled up his sleeves a bit before looking at you with the most serious expression you had seen him wear.
"Let's move." Those two words set you into motion, and suddenly, you felt more ready than you had ever been. The two of you moved in perfect synchronization and had the situation not been so dire, you would have been extremely impressed with yourself. You never thought someone would ever match you well enough to think of moments of teamwork such as this like a perfectly fine-tuned machine, but he always did, and he always had.
This was life or death. There was no room for mistakes. This was a deadly game of hide-and-seek, and the loser would pay a price so steep it was unspeakable. It didn't matter. You both knew that once you got to the library, they would be waiting for you. They had caved the garage in, so this was your only escape, and you were going to have to fight tooth and nail to get to it. The second you reached the large archway, what you had already known was confirmed. A dozen demons stood between you and your exit. It was twelve versus two, and the odds were, without a doubt, not in your favor. But then, you had never been one for numbers anyway.
You cast one more fearful look over at him, hoping he would offer more words of reassurance, but it was too late. You had already been spotted. The two of you had barely stepped into the library when the hoard descended on you, immediately surrounding you. Despite the overwhelming fear that you weren't going to make it out alive, you fought with everything you had, the green-eyed man never leaving your side. Time seemed to almost stop, and your heart rate slowed as you forced yourself to focus. Even if this was how you died, it was a hell of a way to go.
Again, all you knew was the color red, and the dark blood that sprayed through the air in fine mists. You couldn't tell whose was whose anymore, and you only hoped you wouldn't turn around when it was all over and seem him on the floor dead behind you. When it was finally over, you were completely out of breath and absolutely soaked in blood.
"Go, go!" The man ushered you to the staircase with a hand on the small of your back. "C'mon, we gotta get out of here before-" A mouthful of blood bubbled over his mouth, and you saw it: the tip of a blade - your blade - piercing through the fabric of his shirt, right through his stomach.
"No!" The demon behind the green-eyed man yanked the weapon free, and you felt sick. You weren't even sure when you had dropped it, or how the demon had gotten hold of it, but-
"Sweetheart, run!" The man choked out as he put pressure on the wound, sinking to his knees. “Run!” Tears blurred your eyes, but you made your way back down the stairs. There was no way in hell you were leaving him behind.
"No," you said firmly, acutely aware of the fact that more demons lingered in the archways of the room, drawn out by the sounds of a fight. You stood in front of him, protectively, holding his hand tightly in yours. "I'm not leaving you here." The demon smirked.
"Then, you die too." You didn't even have enough time to react before the creature thrust the blade into your chest, and pain seared behind your eyelids.
"No!” The man's voice echoed in your ears as you finally collapsed to the ground, defeated. "Sweetheart, stay with me!" he ordered. "Stay with me!"
Your eyes flew open, and you bolted upright, gasping for breath in a cold sweat.
"What the hell?" you muttered in the darkness of your bedroom. You had had vivid dreams before, but nothing like that. The pain and emotions you had felt were so real, and you were having a hard time separating them from reality. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what you needed: a drink. You didn't condone alcoholism, and you didn't usually make a habit of going straight to a bar after waking up, but you were willing to make an exception just this once. Thankfully, the nearest bar was five minutes away, and still open, so you were there in record time, greeting the stale scent of alcohol in the air with a grim face. Still unsettled by the very reel feeling of losing everything, you sunk down wordlessly into one of the barstools at the counter.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked when he approached.
"Whiskey," you answered hoarsely. "A double. On the rocks." With a small nod of acknowledgment, he turned away and went to get your drink.
"A woman after my own heart." As soon as you heard the words, you would have sworn that your heart stopped beating. But... that didn't even make sense. It was just a dream. You had never met that man in your life, and he probably wasn't even real, for Christ's sake! You couldn't stop yourself from slowly turning in the barstool to face the man who sat next to.
As soon as you met his eyes, dread consuming your insides, a mixture of confusion and alarm filled his bright green eyes. "No," he breathed. You hadn't once said his name in the dream, and he hadn't said yours - you were positive neither of you had. But still, you somehow knew his name. It popped in your head like an answer you had always known, and you had never been more sure of something in your life.
"...Dean." Dean's hand trembled as he reached out, as if to touch you, but stopped a few inches away from your face.
"Y/N." He said your name with the same amount of confidence that you had, and understanding clicked in your brain. You didn't know how you knew, but you did. The two of you had the same dream. Shaking your head with utter disbelief, you lightly touched your lips where he had kissed you what felt only like moments ago.
"This isn't possible."
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No matter how much pressure you put on the open wound, the blood just kept coming.
"Sam," you said weakly from the back seat. The Impala's engine gave a small rev from as Sam pushed his foot down harder on the gas pedal.
"I'm going as fast as I can, Y/N," he snapped. In any other scenario, you would have given him hell for talking to you like that, but right now, Sam's tone of voice was the last thing you were worried about.
"Would you two quit freakin' out?" Dean asked. You looked down at him, his head heavy in your lap. "I'm fine!" Had it not been for the deep slice on the right side of his torso, you might have believed him. Sam glanced up at you in the rearview mirror, asking you with his eyes if that was true; if Dean really was fine. Biting your lip, you gave him the most subtle shake of your head you could manage. No matter what you tried, you hadn't been able to get the bleeding to stop. If Dean didn't get stitches soon... Sam swore from the front seat as street signs whizzed by outside the windows.
Everything felt wrong. It was a beautiful day - the perfect type of weather for having the windows down - and here you were, trying to make sure Dean Winchester didn't die in your arms. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you rotated your flannel shirt, now soaked in red, to press a less saturated part against the wound. Dean's blood seeped between your fingertips as you pressed down. You bit down on your lip again, harder this time, as it started to wobble. This was your fault. You had lost focus for one second, and the ghoul had lunged at you. You hadn't seen it coming, but Dean had. You didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late. He had shoved you out of the way, but he hadn't been fast enough to deflect himself from the sonofabitch. Everything you knew about hunting had gone out the window. Your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the fact that Dean had just taken the fall for you. Sam was the one who had to finish it off.
You didn't realize how badly Dean was shaking until he laid his hand over yours.
"You are absolutely not fine," you said to him, your voice breaking. "You're shaking like a damn leaf and..." You trailed off when you saw the fresh blood quickly soaking your shirt again. Shaking your head vigorously, you looked up to the rearview mirror again. "Sam, it's not slowing down at all."
"Just keep pressure on it!"
"What do you think I'm doing back here?" Looking back down at Dean, your heart almost stopped. He was uncharacteristically pale, and his eyes were closed. You shook him hard, heart leaping into your throat. "Dean!" When he didn't respond, you gave him another shake. "Damn it, Dean, come on!" Your hand came down hard on his cheek, and the sharp sound of skin against skin resounded throughout the small space. Dean's eyes flew open, looking startled, and you gripped him tightly. "Don't do that," you scolded as relief flooded through you. But still, you weren't out of the woods just yet.
"I was just resting my eyes," Dean defended. You pushed down on the wound a little harder, earning a hiss of pain from him.
"Well, don't! We're almost back to the bunker, okay? I just need you to hold on a little bit longer." His eyes fluttered again, and you could see him straining to keep them open. This wasn't good. Okay, Y/N, think. "Hey, do you remember the time you thought I had a concussion?" He blinked hard.
"From the wraith or the poltergeist?"
"Poltergeist," you answered. Dean chuckled.
"I'm surprised you remember that. Hit your head pretty damn hard. Sam and I heard that loud-ass thunk from all the way on the other side of that house. We had to give you stitches for that, didn't we?"
"Yeah, but only a few." He snorted.
"Less than I'm gonna need, anyway." Your heart sank into your stomach. He was right. By the time the three of you got back to the bunker, it was still going to take some time to get the stitches finished. There was no telling how much more blood he was going to lose by then - or how much more he could afford to lose.
"You and Sam saved my ass that day," you added, trying to keep both his and your mind off of the deep slice in his torso. Dean gave your hand a small squeeze, which was incredibly reassuring.
"We've gotta look out for each other, Princess." Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you gave him a watery smile in return.
"Can you tell me that story?" you asked. "I think I remember less than I thought." Dean looked surprised but then nodded. You already knew this story, and you knew he did too, but anything that could keep him talking was good. When Sam caught your eye in the rearview mirror with a confused frown, you bobbed your head back at him, hoping your meaning was communicated - trust me. The older Winchester let out a sigh through closed lips.
"Uh... well, that one was in Pennsylvania," he began, his eyes already looking more alert as he worked to recall the information. You readjusted your shirt against the wound, almost entirely unnoticed by him. "And I could tell within five minutes of talking to the sheriff it was gonna be a rough one."
"You were right," you put in.
"Yeah, no shit," Dean snorted. "That poltergeist was one nasty sonofabitch. Probably the worst we've ever seen. I mean, they can usually throw things, physically manifest to attack, you know, the usual."
"Sure."
"But this was like next-level stuff," Dean continued. "That damn thing shook the house like it was a friggin' earthquake."
"Y/N." Upon hearing your name, you looked up, realizing that Sam was pulling into the bunker's garage. You rubbed Dean's shoulder in what you were hoping was a comforting gesture.
"All right, Winchester, we're back. Sam and I are gonna help you, but I need you to be ready to move, all right? We've gotta get you to the infirmary pronto," you explained. Giving you a wry smile, Dean snorted.
"'The infirmary?' What, are we in Harry Potter or something?" All traces of his teasing expression quickly faded away when he tried to sit up. About halfway through the motion, he froze as what little color he had left drained from his face. "Fuck!" he swore, biting back a groan.
"I've got you," you reassured as you supported him with a hand under his back. "You're doing great, Dean, you're already halfway up." Instinctively, he clasped your other hand in a death grip to work himself through the pain. "Come on, on three, all right? I've got you." When he was ready, he nodded, breaths coming quicker as he steeled himself. "One, two, three!" This time, there was no holding back the pained sound he made, and your heart broke for him. Dean rested his forehead against you as he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. At least he was upright, and not a moment too soon. Sam had barely put the car in park when he got out of the driver's seat, opening the door closest to Dean and holding out his hand.
"All right, come on, buddy," he coaxed, trying to keep the urgency in his voice to a minimum. "We've gotta get you in there so Y/N and I can get you patched up."
With Sam's help, you got Dean down to the infirmary, hooked up to an IV, and ready for stitches in record time. You were aware that it would still take a few hours for the transfusion to take effect, but just knowing that Dean was going to get back the blood he lost was a weight off your mind.
"So," you said as you threaded the sanitized needle for his stitches.
"So?" he echoed.
"You never finished telling me that story." Dean nodded and heaved a sigh.
"Ah, that's right. Where was I?"
"House shaking like a damn earthquake," you reminded him.
"Oh yeah, so, Sam and I were running all around that damn place looking for the poltergeist - and you. Anyway..." Dean wasted no time launching back into the story. In fact, he got so into it that when you pushed the needle under the skin of his toned torso, he barely even flinched. Although, that could have been attributed to the fact that he had done this many, many times before.
Your timing really couldn't have been better. As he neared the end of the story, you had just finished closing up his wound. "And after we killed it, I went running over to you, because you know, you were still out cold. Sam and I couldn't wake you up at first, and the back of your head was bleeding." Dean looked at you, sincerely. "You scared the hell out of us that day, you know. But after we got you all stitched, you woke up." He chuckled to himself as he relived the memory. "I was so damn scared you had a concussion, I thought you were gonna go comatose if I let you fall asleep. So, I..." Realization dawned on his face, and he looked over at you in disbelief. "I made you retell stories about our old hunts all night, so you would stay awake." You smiled softly at Dean in response, before gently patting him on the uninjured portion of his torso.
"You're all good to go," you informed him. He grasped your hand, squeezing it.
"Would you mind staying here? Just for a bit." Reciprocating the small squeeze, you leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
"Dean, I'm staying here all night to make sure you're gonna be okay." He looked relieved but quickly cleared his throat to try and hide it.
"Well, I'm sure I will be, thanks to you and Sam." As you settled in for a long night, Dean interrupted your wandering thoughts. "Thanks, Y/N. Seriously." You smiled again.
"Don't mention it, Winchester."
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