sunday morning
everything hurts except for you

sunday morning, ethel cain

chapter twenty three

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THE BRANCHES snap under her feet. Only her gun remains with her, and she's running out of bullets.

He was running with her. He stops when she does.

He's holding a machete. He wasn't when they were running.

She doesn't know if this is real. There's not enough for her to tell.

She's lost in these woods, but they seem to know her. Maybe they remember her.

Her arm is bleeding and there's glass in her feet.

He levels a look at her. It looks just like Dean.

He takes a step forward. She shoots him in the heart.

He dies looking at her.

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CATHERINE WAKES up screaming. Whether it was Dean's name or just wordless noise, she doesn't know.

Dean is already there. He's always there.

He keeps her from launching herself off the bed. She can't hear him call her name over the sound of her panic.

Eventually he grabs her by the face and wrenches her towards him, forcing her to look at him. She freezes as her eyes meet his wide ones, breath stuttering in her chest. Her hand comes up to rest on his face, thumb grazing the end of his brow as she absorbs the life in his eyes. Just moments ago they were empty.

"You were dead," she whispers.

"I'm right here."

Her face crumples and she lets out a gentle sob. Her gaze falls as she brings her hand down to his chest, to feel his heart. "I shot you."

His hand slips from her face to the back of her neck and pulls her into his chest. He tucks her head under his chin. One arm wraps around her shoulders and the other cradles her head. "You're okay," he says. "It wasn't real."

She closes her eyes, shuddering against him. The sound of his heartbeat thunders against her ear. "Felt real this time," she mumbles. She's not even sure if he heard it.

He holds her until she can breathe again, gently stroking her hair.

There's a soft knock on the door, and the sound of it opening. She doesn't move.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was okay," Castiel's low voice fills the room. "I heard her scream."

"She's alright, Cas. Just a nightmare."

His voice vibrates through his chest, and it shocks her back into her body. Castiel says something else, but she doesn't catch it. She only catches the sound of the door closing.

"I shouldn't have gone to sleep," she says as she unfolds and sits up. She drags her hands across her face, to wipe her tears and move her hair back.

"You need sleep, Cath."

She shakes her head. "I can live off no sleep. I'd rather be sleep deprived than with a head full of nightmares. I have enough already."

He sighs deeply, his hand coming to rest on the crook of her neck. "Talk to me. What happened in the dream?"

She dips her head, leaning in to the touch. "I was in the woods," she starts, after a few moments of hesitation. "It was Michael's loop. Endless running. In Michael's dream, I was running from you. When I couldn't run anymore, you found me with a machete, so I shot you. Then kept running."

She closes her eyes, letting Dean's touch ground her. He waits patiently as she takes a breath and continues. "In his loop, it was easy. I knew it wasn't real. I knew it wasn't you. But in my dream...you were running with me. You didn't have a weapon until we stopped. It felt like you. You felt real. I still shot you."

She finally looks up, and sees all the concern and care etched on his face. Her voice drops to a whisper once more, as if she can't stand to say it. "You died with your eyes open."

His hand moves up to her face again, deepening his gaze into hers. "I'm not dyin' anytime soon. You got that? I'm not going anywhere."

She nods, covering his hand with hers. "I don't know how many times I shot you in that loop, but...I think I'll be dreaming about it for a while."

"Well, I'll be here."

"I'm sorry for waking you."

"Don't be. I'd rather wake up to you screaming than you have nightmares like that and not say anything."

She leans forward, dropping her forehead to his shoulder. "You're too good to me."

She feels more than hears his chuckle as he brushes her hair back. "Only for you, sweetheart. How do you feel now?"

She sniffs once. "Fine, mostly. Headache."

"How does breakfast sound?"

She straightens back to her sitting position. "What time is it?"

He glances over her shoulder to check the clock. "Almost seven."

"I could eat."

He leans in to kiss her forehead before getting to his feet. He circles the bed and pulls on a shirt.

She catches his wrist before he's out of reach, pulling him down for a kiss. It's soft and slow, and he grins against her mouth.

"I'll meet you in the kitchen," she says. He nods, and quickly kisses her once more before leaving.

She shifts to the edge of the bed, sitting just for a moment.

Before she gets to her feet, she catches a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. A sheen under Dean's pillow.

She reaches across the bed and moves the pillow out of the way. Her breath catches at what she sees– the archangel blades. Two of them, just sitting there.

She remembers asking for them. She assumed Dean had ignored her.

She moves to sit on her knees near them. She grabs one, feeling the weight of it in her hand. It's shorter than a usual angel blade, but it feels the same.

This might be what kills her. If they don't find something, it will be.

Slowly, she replaces the blade where it was, and puts Dean's pillow back in its spot.

Then, as if nothing happened, she leaves the bed, pulling on a pair of black jeans and grabbing one of Dean's flannels before leaving the room.

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THE SMELL of breakfast cooking hits her before she enters the kitchen. It's full when she walks in. Sam sits at the table with his tablet, and Jack sits next to him, peering over his shoulder. Castiel is near the stove, talking with Dean.

She gently grins to herself as she goes to pour herself coffee. She'll never quite be used to this– room full of family.

She feels eyes on her as she replaces the coffee pot. When she turns, Sam is watching her. His eyes scan over her outfit before he looks away.

"Morning," he says as she reaches the table. She can hear the teasing in his tone.

"Morning." She sips her coffee, halfway hiding her face with the mug.

"So...fun night?" His mouth turns up in a smirk.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Right." He turns back to look at Dean, who's still tending to the stove. "Half of the clothes you're wearing are Dean's.

Her face heats, and she can only hope she's not turning red. "Shut up."

He chuckles to himself. "Finally."

Her jaw drops open. "Finally?"

"You haven't slept in your own room for months," Jack comments nonchalantly.

She gulps her coffee to avoid having to say something. Luckily, Dean comes over to the table with two steaming pans. One full of eggs and the other bacon. Then he brings over plates, and a plate full of toast.

"Some carbs for princess anti-meat," he teases, setting the plate in front of Sam.

"Yeah, yeah, bite me," Sam retorts, but grabs a piece of toast and bites into it.

Dean takes his seat on Catherine's right, and Castiel sits at the end of the table. He sips water as everyone digs into the food.

It's a peaceful breakfast. Casual conversation passes over the group. Castiel occasionally glances over at Catherine, but she doesn't notice.

A phone rings through the room. Dean reaches into his pocket and glances at the screen. A small grin etches his face as she answers. "Hey, mom."

He listens for a few seconds, and his grin drops as confusion crosses his face. "Mom– slow down. What happened?"

Catherine stops eating and turns to Dean.

"Hey, just breathe. Tell me what happened." His hand comes up to rub his brow. Catherine reaches for him under the table, resting her hand above his knee.

"Dean, what?" Sam asks.

Dean drops his hand, taking Catherine's. He squeezes.

"Shit," he says under his breath. "We'll be there soon. Stay where you are."

A few more seconds pass, then the call ends.

"What is it?" Sam asks again. Catherine flips her hand up and squeezes in return. Dean meets her eyes.

"Bobby's dead."

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THEY MAKE it to Minnesota in record time. When they pull up, Mary is sitting on the front porch steps, a vacant look on her face. She could've been sitting there for hours.

Sam and Dean both immediately tend to their mother, Jack with them, while Castiel follows Catherine inside.

She rushes upstairs to the bedroom. There, on the bed, Bobby lays still. He looks peaceful, as if he's simply sleeping.

Catherine approaches his side, taking his hand. It's cold.

Castiel hovers a hand over his forehead. He closes his eyes. A moment later, he retracts his hand and steps back. "He's had a stroke."

She sighs, breathing past the tightness in her chest. "Was he in pain? Can you tell?"

"It was painless."

She nods. She stands and slowly pulls the comforter over his head.

"I'm sorry, Mack."

"I...have to tell Mary," she says, breathless. She quickly leaves the room.

Outside, Sam sits to the side above Mary on the steps, and Dean is crouched in front of her, holding her hands. Jack is up on the porch, leaning against the railing. Catherine sits at Mary's side.

With a sigh, she slowly says, "He had a stroke."

Mary blinks, tears trailing down her face.

"He wasn't in pain," she continues.

Mary closes her eyes and drops her head. "He's been doing so well, lately. He was almost ready to start taking cases again. Last night he said he was gonna call you today and ask about Michael. He felt bad for not calling." Her voice cracks on the last sentence. Catherine's heart cracks with it.

She fights back tears as she says, "We can talk about Michael later."

"I woke up and he was dead. I didn't even...he wasn't sick."

"There was nothing you could've done."

A sob escapes Mary's mouth. Catherine shifts closer and wraps her arms around her.

Bobby was one of her first friends, after Mary Campbell. He took care of Catherine, in his own way. He guided her as she took on the burden of a leader. She can only be grateful he died painlessly.

Catherine pulls away. She clears her throat and says, "I'm gonna start making phone calls. Take your time, Mary, but...he'll want people here. He–" A broken chuckle escapes her mouth. "He'll want it to be a party."

Mary nods, forcing a grin as Mack gets to her feet. Her hand brushes Dean's shoulder as she passes.

She calls anyone she can think of. Maggie, Stevie, Jules. Asa. Josh. Bobby's friends, people who worked with him. She tells them all to spread the word, and for anyone available to head to Minnesota.

She leans against the hood of the Impala when she's finished. It's not long before she hears footsteps, and Dean appears next to her. She doesn't look at him.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. She turns into his chest, snaking an arm around his waist. For a while they stay there, saying nothing. There's nothing for them to say.

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PEOPLE START arriving as the sun begins to set. Jack sits inside with Mary as everyone begins bustling about, making preparations for the bonfire.

The preparations don't take long. They never do, with the amount of people helping.

Dean and a few other guys carry the wrapped body to the pyre.

Catherine takes a lighter to a makeshift torch, then hands it to Mary. She seems hesitant, but still takes it. She steps forward and lowers the torch to the bottom of the pyre, and it ignites.

Cheers erupt as hunters gather around and pour one out for their fallen friend. The fire gets larger the more people pour.

Catherine stays with Mary, leaving her drink mostly untouched. She's not sure getting drunk is a smart idea. Mary doesn't even open hers.

Mary nudges her with her elbow. "You should say something."

She shakes her head. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"You were always great at pre-battle pep talks."

Catherine shrugs. After a few moments, she says, "It's all so different now. I'm not a leader anymore."

Mary tilts her head at her, that motherly glint appearing in her eye. "What makes you say that?"

She sighs, hesitating. "These people have made a home here. One they don't have to constantly be on guard to protect, or be scared of losing. They escaped. They made it. They don't need a leader. They need this–" She gestures around generally. "Friends. Community. That's more important."

"What about Michael?"

She looks down, taking a gulp of her beer. "No one calls for an update about him anymore. No one comes by the bunker anymore. They keep an eye out through headlines, but I think they all assume he's gone quiet. They'll wait for the shoe to drop, but....really, they're trying to forget. Forget, and move on. I can't blame them."

Mary exhales slowly. "Okay, so what about you?"

She shrugs again, this time halfheartedly. "It's my burden to carry. It always has been."

"Mack–"

She's cut off by Dean's voice echoing over the gathering. "Alright, alright!" He climbs up on the back of a pickup truck. "Just wanted to thank everyone for coming out so quickly, on such short notice. I mean, no one saw this coming. But what would Bobby say, huh?"

Someone shouts out an answer. Catherine doesn't hear it, and she doesn't hear Dean's response. He keeps talking, but Catherine doesn't pay attention to what he says. She just watches him, and her chest aches at how much she loves him.

Eventually he ends his spiel by lifting his beer bottle into the air and shouting, "To Bobby!"

Shouts all across the group echo the sentiment, and everyone drinks. Dean jumps down from the truck and starts heading towards Catherine and Mary.

"Nice speech," Catherine says as he walks up. He grins and gives a half-shrug.

"I think I'm gonna head inside," Mary says. "Thank you, for coming so fast."

"I'll walk you in," Dean says, setting his beer down on the car. He presses a quick kiss to Catherine's temple before walking off with his mom. She watches them go, wrapping her arms around herself.

She turns to the fire, staring into it. She feels the heat on her face, and thinks about good times she had with her friend. She tries not to think about how people won't stop dying around her. How they'll never stop.

She grabs her mostly full beer, takes a final sip, and walks towards the fire. She pours the rest of it out, and watches as the flames grow higher.

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"CAS IS taking Jack. I'm gonna stay behind with Mom and help her pack her things, then bring her home," Sam says to them the next morning, standing on the front porch.

Dean nods as Catherine says, "Can we help?"

Sam shakes his head. "I think...for now, the less people the better. I'll see you guys at home, alright?" He claps Dean on the shoulder and goes inside.

Dean turns to her, then, taking her hand. "Ready?"

She nods, and soon enough, they're on the road.

"How are you?" Catherine asks after a while.

"Me? I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm asking about you."

"Do I seem not fine?"

"No, just...I know you were close with Bobby. Your Bobby."

"Yeah. Well...I guess it's different. I didn't really know him. Not like...I used to. I thought it would've brought stuff up, but it hasn't, really."

"Really?"

He sighs, as if thinking hard about it. "Yeah. I feel okay. I guess it sucks that I never got a chance to know him, but...it's not the Bobby I knew."

"Do you think the Bobby you knew would have appreciated your speech?"

A corner of his mouth turns up. "Yeah, he would've. He'd make fun of me, call me a ninny or something, but he would've loved it."

"Good. It can be for him, then."

His half-grin becomes a smile. He glances over at her, then reaches over to rest his hand on her thigh. She shifts a bit closer. "So...you alright?"

She takes his hand between hers, fidgeting with his fingers. "Ask me tomorrow."

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WHEN THEY get home, hours later, Catherine finds herself in the kitchen. The remnants of their breakfast from days ago is still littered on the table, because of how quickly they cleared out.

She starts to clean up the mess, tipping the scraps in the trash and bringing the dishes to the sink.

She doesn't know why it becomes this moment, or what cleaning dishes has to do with grief, but she suddenly finds herself scrubbing aggressively with tears streaming down her face.

She struggles to grip the pan with her soap-slick hands, and it slips between her fingers and crashes into the sink.

She hears footsteps behind her. Somehow, Dean knows. He always knows. He wraps his arms around her from behind, holding her against his chest. She closes her eyes and leans into him as sobs rise in her throat.

She feels as he reaches for a towel and starts to gently dry her hands and arms.

"Let's go to bed," he whispers in her ear.

"The dishes need to be done," is all she can think to say.

"I'll do them in the morning."

She tries to think of a protest, but she feels exhaustion settling over her bones, and decides not to fight it as Dean takes her hands and leads her from the kitchen. 

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author's note !!

dean winchester the man u are

to be completely honest with u guys i just wrote this chapter cause i needed Something to happen that was neither a michael-related thing or another case so...death i guess lmfaooo also i kinda forgot about mary for a sec but i need her back in the loop so (lets be honest, did anyone care about apocalypse bobby....didnt think so)(if u did..??sorry i guess)

also!!!! i just hit 13k reads and i just wanted to say thank u guys so so much <3 like so so deeply i appreciate every single comment and vote and seeing ur fun reading list names, i love cath with every inch of my soul and it makes me so incredibly happy how many of u love her like i do. she's one of my first ocs and she's so important to me, and i hope some of u are able to connect with her the way i have and the way we have with dean or sam or any spn character :) i know i'm putting her thru some shit (like...some shitttt) but it'll get better i promise <33

anyways let me stop being sappy before i start crying lmaooo like i said, thank u endlessly for 13k!!!!!! 

as always, vote and comment if ur enjoying <3 

thanks for reading!! 

-skye