A harsh groan left your lips as you pulled yourself across the concrete floors, blurring a trail of blood in your wake. It was senseless, really. You knew your time was closing in and the likelihood that you would remain conscious long enough to reach your phone and dial his number before the darkness swallowed you whole was becoming less plausible with each passing minute.
Your hands were shaking violently. You felt a thick liquid building your mouth as you struggled to lean yourself up against the frame of an old wooden crate. The leg of the demon who carved into your stomach caught your eye in the distance; his back against the floor and his eyes staring blankly at you. At least you were able to kill him before your body gave out and you succumbed to the same fate.
Bastard.
Your victory wouldn't last long, that much you knew for sure.
Your right hand gripped the side of your torso where the knife tore at your skin as a splintering burn ripped through the wound. With clenched teeth and shaky breaths, you extended your arm to the phone lying just a few feet from you upon the floor. Your fingers grasped the old track phone, sliding it towards you.
You carefully grasped the phone in your hand, sighing and leaning back against the crate. Whatever remaining energy you had left was draining away quickly, even the smallest of motions required more determination than you were able to provide.
The phone sat delicately in your lap, your own blood smeared against the tiny screen. You closed your eyes, contemplating whether or not you should call him.
His voice was the only thing you wanted to hear. You knew, with undying certainty, that just hearing the low gravel of his vocal chords simply saying your name would take an enormous weight off of you. Just knowing that he was breathing on the other end of that phone would make taking your own last breaths that much easier. There was a contagious peacefulness that came along with knowing that he was still out there... even if you weren't.
You knew he still cared about you, even after all you did to him. You knew that he would race to you in a second's notice if you asked him to, but you had grown used to stopping yourself just before you were able to press call every single time.
It wasn't that you didn't want to see him because, God, you did. You ached for him since the moment you walked out of his life, every instinct in your body arguing against it. There was no other choice. Staying with Dean wasn't an option.
John had made sure of that.
You watched as Dean's face lit up as he laughed, the smile spreading up through his eyes and leaving generous crinkles in its wake. He brushed his lips with the back of his hand in an attempt to compose himself. You didn't even know what started the outburst, but with Sam struggling to contain his grin, it didn't seem to matter.
It wasn't an unusual occurrence for you to completely lose track of the present, simply lost in nothing but pure adoration as you watched Dean. You hadn't expected to feel this way about him, but spending the last six years traveling the country with his family and one too many close calls under the threat of monsters, priorities get organized real quick. It wasn't long until you learned that Dean Winchester was yours.
You could see John glaring at you from across the motel room before he hid his hooded eyes behind a newspaper. You quickly dropped the smile from your face, maneuvering anxiously in your chair.
You started hunting exclusively with the Winchesters six years ago, when you were fresh out of high school. They took you in when both your parents were murdered by the demon they were hunting alongside John. They were old friends; your parents and John. He didn't seem to think twice about bringing you in at the time, but now there was an uncomfortable energy about him that made you question why he did it at all.
Dean was the one who held you back from the brink of depression and recklessness. He was the one who grounded you when you craved vengeance like it was a basic human instinct, a human right. He woke you from your nightmares and held you until you felt safe enough to close your eyes again. He was your best friend. He was everything.
You were there the day Sam left for college; the day Dean nearly lost himself in a misplaced sense of betrayal and shame. You stayed with him even though you were old enough at 22 and skilled enough to hunt on your own because, frankly, you didn't have it in you to leave him. You never wanted to.
You were there when Sam came back after Jess died. You were there when Dean struggled to forgive his brother for walking out on his family and you were the one to convince him to let it go. You were the one constant in his life and he relied on you for that. You were Dean's rock, his stability, his home, but more than that... he was yous.
After a few years, John grew cold to you. You could see his distant stares whenever you unconsciously placed your hand on Dean's shoulder, or ran to him like an involuntary response when something went wrong on a hunt. There was always a snarl hidden behind his mouth when he walked into the motel room earlier than expected only to find Dean sleeping in your bed after a bad night.
You could tell he sensed your feelings for his son. He wasn't blind, while Dean seemed to be. It was the single factor that transformed him from a father figure to the man you cowered away from in fear.
Still, you stayed. No matter what John thought, Dean wanted you here. You knew that with absolute certainty and it was the only thing keeping you strong against John's looming glares.
"(Y/n)?" Dean asked again, waving his hand just in front of your eyes. You snapped back in your chair, blinking until your vision focused. Dean grinned, exchanging a laugh with Sam. "You alright in there, Sweetheart?"
You nodded, allowing a small smile to pass your lips. John's scowl from the opposite side of the room didn't pass your notice.
"Don't go zoning out on me tomorrow when we're facing that demon." Dean teased playfully as he reached for your forearm, letting his hand lay effortlessly on you. He squeezed you lightly. "I need you out there."
"I'm good." You promised, trying to laugh off the unnerving feeling of daggers drilling into you from John's stare. "I'll have your back, Dean."
"I know. You always do." Dean grinned, letting go of your arm.
You missed the warm contact instantly.

"(Y/n)!"
You could vaguely register Dean's voice screeching your name, the tone nearly breaking with panic, as the demon flung your body against the wall with invisible force. You sunk against the floor, hardly able to move as blood seeped from your nose and lips against the cement.
The demon lifted his hand again and your body collided into the same wall, this time sending waves of striking pain through the back of your head. You groaned, curling against yourself in a meaningless effort of defense.
You held your breath, preparing for the demon to strike again when you felt a brush of wind and a soft hand on your side as his jean clad knees slid against the floors until he reached you.
"You hurt her again and I swear to God I'm going to ruin you!" Dean shouted with more aggression and determination than you had ever heard from him. It was in sharp contrast to the gentle hand resting on your broken skin.
"Dean! No!" John shouted in the far distant as he raced towards his son. Sam was following quickly behind him, his eyes wide.
"You really think you can hurt me, kid?" The demon purred, a laugh creeping through his cracked lips. "You think you can stop me from throwing your little girlfriend around the room until her skull breaks? You can't do anything."
"You want to throw someone around?" Dean barked. "You want to break bones and, and torture someone? Fine! I'm right here, asshole! Leave her out of this!"
You shook your head, your hand desperately reaching to find Dean's.
"N-no, Dean. Please, d-don't." You croaked out, spitting blood onto the floor. He curled his fingers around your hand, quickly pressing his lips to the skin. If you weren't paying attention you might have missed the feeling. It was gone in a second.
He stood to his feet, steadying himself just as John and Sam ran up.
"What the hell are you doing?" John growled, anger evidently directed at his oldest son rather than the demon standing at the center of the room. The demon effortlessly swung his arm and suddenly both Winchesters were held against the wall by invisible chains. It didn't stop John from glaring at you.
"Do your worst!" Dean shouted, holding his arms out to the side. "Do whatever the hell you want, but (Y/n) is left out of this. My family, too. You hear me?"
The demon nodded, pacing around the room as if he was sizing up Dean's frame. "You are an interesting character, Dean Winchester. I didn't think you hunters had weaknesses, being all closed off to society and all. But I see it now. I see yours."
Your eyes flickered up, noticing the nervous shift in Dean's body. He clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the demon's taunts. You could vaguely catch Sam mumbling under his breath on the other side of the room, watching anxiously as the Demon through Dean against the wall, holding him there.
The demon shook off what appeared to be a chill and you realized Sam was reciting the exorcism spell. Smart kid. You never noticed he had committed it to memory.
Suddenly a gargled shout drove your attention back to Dean as his shirt ripped under the blade of an invisible knife, cutting his chest. John was arguing with the demon to stop, silently wishing the demon had finished you off like he intended, rather than hurting his son.
You pushed your upper body off the floor, catching Dean's eye. They were red though his teeth were clenched in an effort to control the screams in his lungs or the water in his eyes, you couldn't tell which. There was so much pain behind his eyes, but he kept them trained on you as if the connection was the only thing keeping him conscious.
The demon ripped the knife against Dean's stomach and blood pooled from his lips. He choked on the liquid, but his eyes didn't leave yours. He was breathing heavy now, struggling to hold himself together, just as the demon tripped backwards, clutching his chest.
Sam, Dean, and John all fell from the walls. Dean slumped onto the floor, unable to catch himself. You used whatever energy you had in you and crawled towards him, desperate to get to him. But John was quicker.
He ran to his son, shielding him from you. You looked back to Sam who had just finished the exorcism as the demon continued to scream and wither on the floor before a black smoke escaped through the body's lungs and evaporated into the floor. Sam caught your eyes and raced to you, grabbing you lightly by your shoulders.
"Are you okay?" Sam questioned, his eyes tracing the bruising and cuts along your face.
You nodded quickly, turning to try and steal a glimpse at Dean who seemed to have passed out. "Is Dean..."
"Dean is going to be fine." John growled, cutting you off. "No thanks to you."
"Dad!" Sam retorted, helping you to your feet as John lifted Dean up in his arms. John walked right past you without a second look, carrying Dean's unconscious body in his arms. Dean was so lifeless, his body so limp, you knees gave out at the sight. Sam caught you before you made it to the ground.

You sat outside the hospital room, anxiously fiddling with your hands in your lap as Sam set a cup of coffee next to you. You only looked up when he took a seat next to you and his hip touched yours.
"You should let a doctor look at you, (Y/n)." Sam sighed and you could feel his eyes on the matted hair on the back of your hair, still sticky with blood.
"I'm fine, Sam." You said, unable to meet his eye. "They said I'm not going to fall into a coma when I go to sleep... If I go to sleep. God, are they going to tell us anything about Dean's condition or are they just going to let us suffer all night!"
"He's going to be okay." Sam promised, though you could tell he was trying to convince himself too. "You know my Dad was out of line, right? Dean being here... it's not your fault."
"He's here because I couldn't protect myself. He took my place, Sam. He let that demon torture him so I wouldn't have to endure it anymore." You shook your head, wiping a tear that slipped past your eye. "This is my fault."
"(Y/n)..." Sam whispered, reaching towards you, but you stood up before his hand could set against your shoulder. You brushed the hair from your eyes and took a deep breath.
"I need some air." You said bluntly, walking away before Sam had a chance to respond.
The cool air hit you like a truck. You wrapped your arms tightly around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve heat. It wasn't very effective.
As you sighed, a cloud of hot breath left your lips and faded away almost instantly. You shivered, running your hands along your arms as you sat down on a bench by the main door. Hours could have passed by for all you knew; simply watching the people run in and out of the entrance and listening to the deafening sirens of the ambulances pulling up into the curb and hauling out gurney after gurney with what appeared to be a lifeless body each time.
Time stood still for you. No amount of pedestrians aimlessly pacing past you could pull you from the burning ache consuming your chest. Dean was fighting for his life a few floors above you. He was lying in an operating room with surgical instruments slicing his skin and hands in his body. You couldn't breathe knowing that any second could be his last.
You bit down hard on your lip, drawing blood, in an effort to stop the scream threatening to escape your throat. Your hands curled together and your nails digged into your palm. It was the only thing you could do to distract yourself.
The bench shifted suddenly, startled you from your daze. You looked up to find John Winchester sitting in the space next to you. He didn't say anything at first. He just sat there, staring off into the distance and sipping quietly at the cup of coffee held tightly in his hands.
You held your breath.
"You nearly killed my son." John said abruptly. There was a calmness to his voice that didn't suit well with the words he spoke.
You curled your hands into fists, desperately trying to control the shaking. Sam's voice rang in the back of your head, reminding you of what had actually happened.
"No. I didn't... It wasn't..." You sighed, pulling the last remaining bits of strength left within you to the surface. "That demon is the one who you should blame for this. That demon stabbed Dean. Not me."
"He was ready to trade his life for yours." John snarled, still not taking a second to look you in the eye. It was a normal conversation for him; sitting on a park bench and talking aimlessly as patients strolled by. "That makes you a weakness. We aren't allowed the luxury of weaknesses in our line of work, (Y/n). You know that."
You bit your lip, fighting back the tears in your eyes.
John shook his head. "Dean has enough to worry about. He already has Sam to watch after, but he's wasting time trying to protect you, too. Do you know what's going to happen to him next time you get hurt? Or the next time your life is in the hands of some demon?"
You closed your eyes, a tear slipping past. You didn't dare respond.
"He won't just end up in the hospital. He'll be dead. That'll be on you." John said simply, shrugging his shoulders as he took another sip from his coffee. "If you stick around, Dean's feelings for you are only going to grow and this is only going to get worse. You are a black hole in his life. You are the anchor tying his damn leg to the bottom of the ocean. You are going to be the one that kills him."
You choked on the sob in your throat, unable to hold it down any longer. John shook his head and you could feel the disgust and disappointment radiating from his body. You pressed your hand to your mouth, silencing the cries in your voice.
John stood up, brushing the light dust of snow on his lap. He paused, turning to face you for the first time. "I want you gone before he wakes up. Don't call. Don't ever contact him again, you hear me? I will not let you be the one thing that destroys my son."
You nodded reluctantly, rubbing away the tears upon your cheeks as John walked away from you.
"Oh and (Y/n)," John stepped back into view. You looked up with a quivering jaw, hardly able to meet his eye though your tried. "No explanations. No notes. No goodbyes. I can't have Dean chasing after you. If he knew how you actually felt about him, he wouldn't stop looking for you. Walk out of his life. Break his heart. That's how you save him."
With that, he turned around and walked back into the hospital, leaving you on your own.
A deafening clap of thunder startled you awake. You hadn't realized when you closed your eyes, you were so lost in the old memory swimming in your blurring vision. At least you knew your death would be kind, almost like falling asleep. Still, you needed to do one more thing before you let the darkness take you in.
It had been nearly three years since you left, since you walked out of his life without an explanation just as John had ordered. You had thrown away your old phone and left your car behind. You did everything you could to make sure Dean couldn't track you down, not that you were even sure he wanted to. John could have told him and Sam anything he wanted as to why you left.
He could have told them that you thought Dean was weak and pathetic for so easily trading your pain for his. John could have told him that you were tired of them and that you had enough. He could have said anything, but you couldn't help but wonder if Dean ever dared to try to find you.
You missed him everyday since you left... Sam, too. They were your only family once your parents died. They were everything to you and they were ripped from your life all because John Winchester convinced you that you were poison.
Maybe you knew better now. Maybe it was the knowledge that John had died years ago. Or maybe it was the fact that you were lying in a pool of your own blood, bleeding out, alone in an old warehouse that finally pushed you to do the very last thing you thought you would ever do again.
Desperately trying to control the shakiness in your hands, you dialed his number, leaving fingerprints of blood against the screen. It smeared over his name, bright red illuminating the dark room. Your breaths were becoming shallow and you slid against the floor, unable to hold the phone up to your ear.
Each ring set a nervous knot in your stomach, replacing the pain. Whatever agony you had felt earlier faded away to a dull numbness and you knew that meant you didn't have much time left.
By the time the eleventh ring came through the speaker, you had given up hope he would answer. Each ring sliced through the silence and seemed to burn an ache deeper in your chest. It was unlike him to answer a call from a number he didn't recognize, but there was a part of you that desperately wanted to believe that he knew you'd come back some day.
You closed your eyes and imagined a world where he didn't hate you for leaving, for abandoning him, after he had nearly died for you. He would answer every call, hoping that it was you on the other end, asking to come home. It was a world with happy endings.
There were no happy endings. You should have known that.
Then suddenly the ringing stopped.
"Who is this?" A sharp, graveled voice echoed through the crackling speakers. It was lower than you remembered as he had aged three years since you had seen him last. Still, it surprised you. You froze, unable to take in a breath as you stared at the phone.
You could hear him groan on the other end.
"I don't how the hell you got this number-"
"Dean," You choked out, calling his name. He shut up immediately and you tried to ignore the blood spilling from your lips. Dean's heavy breaths filled the silence of the room.
"Is this..." He started. You could practically see him biting his lip, though the man you remembered was still 25 years old. "(Y/n)?"
You closed your eyes as a warmth spread through your chest when he spoke your name, just as you expected it would. You pressed your bloodstained lips into a thin line, trying to suppress the relief in your smile as the movement began to ache.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Dean." You whispered, finding it harder to vocalize. There wasn't much time as you could feel yourself slipping. "You... you have t-to know that I... I d-didn't want to... to leave."
He didn't say anything for a minute, though it was a comfortable silence. His steady breaths through the speaker calmed you.
"What's going on with you?" Dean questioned suddenly, urgently. "Why are you... why are you breathing like that? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
You groaned as the heavy weight in your legs seemed to disappear. You had all but lost the feeling. Blood coughed violently through your lungs, splattering against the floor.
"(Y/n)!" Dean shouted on the other end of the phone. The sharp tone of keys rustling away from a marble countertop rang through the speakers. You could hear his muffled shouting to Sam in the distance.
"(Y/n), stay with me, okay?" Dean begged, his voice breaking. "What happened? Where are you?"
You coughed again, this time the breath you took in came in shallow and broken. You could sense the desperation in his voice, the panic and fear, as if you had never walked out on him all those years ago.
He was more than you ever deserved. John knew that.
"I..." You sighed, barely able to keep your eyes open. Your voice was barely audible. You weren't sure if he could hear you, but it was your last chance to say the words you always meant to tell him. "I wish you knew that I loved you, Dean... all those years ago. I... I always did love you."
"No, (Y/n), come on. Don't talk like that, okay?" Dean begged as the sound of the impala roared to life. You hadn't realized how much you missed the purr of that old engine. "Don't you dare start saying goodbye and handing out last words. It's not fair. Please... just tell me where you are."
"I tracked her cell." Sam's stifled voice softly caught the range of the speaker. "She's only twenty minutes from here."
"Did you hear that?" Dean asked softly, speaking to you now as if you were right beside him and he was running his hands through your hair, so gentle, so careful. You could almost feel the sensation pulling you away into a memory you only dreamed to relive. "We're close, (Y/n). I just need you to hold on for a bit longer, okay? You're going to be alright. I'm coming for you."
You didn't have the energy to respond as each breath was more difficult to draw in than the last. Dean continued to shout your name, begging for you to respond, and yelling at his brother to drive faster when you didn't.
A weight sat on your chest that perhaps should have hurt under other circumstances, but now it felt like a comfort. It was like a thick blanket covering your body, lulling you to sleep as you listened to the familiar rumble of the impala and Dean's voice crackling through the speaker. It seemed to grow farther and farther away.
It was impossible to keep your eyes open anymore. Your entire body had grown numb and heavy, pulling you into the most kind and comforting darkness without much of a fight. You were done resisting. You said what you needed to. You made your peace.
So you gave in.

Dean felt the weight of the world crush against his chest the moment he heard your voice on the other end of that call, so broken and fragile, gasping for breath, as if you had used whatever remaining energy you had left in you just to speak his name. He would have rather carved his heart straight out of his body with the blunt edge of a serrated blade before enduring the pain of that again.
It had been nearly three years since he saw you last; bloody and scarred, lying on the floor while a demon cut and sliced at his own skin. He could remember the absolute fear in your eyes as you watched him so easily trade his life for yours like it had happened just moments ago.
He memorized every last second of that night from the touch of your skin beneath his fingers to the beat of your heart racing under his palm as he demanded the demon to take him instead. He committed one of the worst nights of his life to memory because it was all he had left of you.
It didn't matter that you had disappeared without a trace by the time he woke up in that hospital room; though he had to bite down hard on his lip, drawing blood, in an effort to remain emotionless in front of his father.
It didn't matter that you left him behind and somehow took a piece of him with you. It didn't matter because a part of him knew, deep down past the layers of anger and insecurity, that you hadn't left because of any of the reasons John had recited.
Dean knew you didn't just get up one morning and decide that you no longer cared about him; as if the last six years had meant nothing at all. He knew you didn't resent him for "undermining" your ability as a hunter. He knew you didn't run off in search of something better... someone better.
He knew everything that came out of his father's mouth was a lie but it didn't stop the voice in the back of his head maliciously daring to convince him he was worthless and pathetic and that was the real reason you walked away.
Dean tried to pretend that the nightmares hadn't gotten worse once you left and the burning hatred boiling behind his eyes didn't increase every time he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He tried to act like the loss of you hadn't affected him, like he hadn't lost the best friend he ever had and the only woman he ever really trusted.
Still, the ache in his chest following your abrupt absence seemed dismal in comparison to the current pit in his stomach your last call had elicited.
Dean clenched onto his ivory plated colt with ghostly white knuckles as he slowly etched his way through the abandoned warehouse. Sam was just behind him, double checking every cobweb clad corridor before they continued along down the hall.
"(Y/n)!" Dean finally called out through the lingering silence with a waver in his voice he hoped his brother hadn't heard.
When your voice didn't ring out in response, Dean felt his stomach turn. He had spoken to you only ten minutes ago. The idea of you taking your last breath alone in this godforsaken place nearly sent crashing Dean to his knees. He rested his hand on the wall, trying to regain his balance as the uneasiness nearly immobilized him.
"We're gonna find her, Dean." Sam said quietly, though he couldn't look his older brother directly in the eyes. He knew just as well that you might already be dead and finding you would make no difference other than breaking Dean's heart.
Dean nodded, steadying himself. He pushed his body off the wall and pressed on down the dark hallway without another word. The silence set Dean on edge, with the smallest of sounds startling him. He almost shot a rat that quickly scampered across the hallway behind him.
He groaned, trying to regain composure.
"(Y/n)!" Dean shouted again, growing desperate now as each moment passed without any sign of you. He turned the corner of the hallway and moved into a wide open room. Blood pooled around the dead body of a man Dean didn't recognize, his eyes staring glazed and empty towards the opposite wall. A familiar knife protruded from the body's stomach and Dean immediately recognized it as yours.
"Oh my God." Sam whispered, walking in just behind his brother. He quickly raced to the body and pressed his fingers against the neck, searching for a pulse. He shook his head, signalling proof the body was truly dead.
Dean's eyes followed a smeared trail of blood to behind a set of wooden crates. His heart was beating so rapidly it could have crippled him if he wasn't so determined to find you. His footsteps were slow as he followed the blood, carefully walking along the very edge of the trail, almost terrified to see what lay at its end.
Dean couldn't lose you again. He just couldn't.
That's when he spotted you, lying on your side along the cement floors, a dangerously large pool of blood surrounding you. Dean raced towards you immediately, falling to his knees.
His hands hovered above your body, terrified and unsure of what to do. He pushed away the hair that had fallen over your face, and he had to swallow back the sob in his throat.
Your eyes were closed as if you were asleep, so seemingly peaceful under different circumstances, but there was far too much bruising and discoloration against your cheekbones and jawline to imagine that you were in any kind of rest. Blood stained your lips and serrated scars covered your collarbones and arms.
With a violently shaking hand, Dean reached out to your neck and pressed two fingers against the skin. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he searched for your pulse. He clenched his jaw so tight he was sure it was going to lock as he couldn't feel a beat beneath his fingers.
"Come on, (Y/n)." Dean whispered, quickly wiping the wetness from his eyes before he had a chance to process that it laid against his cheeks. "You don't get to leave me again, okay? I'm not letting you walk out this time. So... please... please still be in there."
He took a deep breath, repositioning his fingers and waited. Sam came racing over behind him and nearly stumbled back at the sight of you. He clamped his mouth shut as Dean concentrated, desperate to find any evidence that you were still alive... that you could still be saved.
Then he felt it. It was small, and barely there, but God, he felt it. The shallowest, the softest of beats drawn so far apart he might have missed it if he wasn't paying attention. Dean sighed of relief, nodding towards Sam.
Sam knelt down next to you, gently maneuvering you onto your back. He pressed both of his hands against your stomach, holding pressure to the wound. Sam watched as Dean encased your hand in his, stroking the skin and whispering to you to hold on.
"We need Cas." Sam said. Dean didn't look up. Instead, he ran his fingers carefully over your hairline like he used to, as if he could wake you up from this nightmare. Sam sighed, his heart nearly breaking at the sight of his brother nearly losing the one woman he ever truly cared for. "Dean-"
"I know." Dean said slowly, never taking his off of you for a second. It was like he was in a trance, lost in a world where this was only temporary. "I've been praying to him since (Y/n) stopped answering me on the drive over. I haven't stopped calling him since we got here. Cas ain't comin', Sammy."
"So what do we do?" Sam whispered as your blood washed over his hands, staining them red.
"We bring her home." Dean replied softly. "We bring her home and hope to God that Cas shows up."

The drive back to the bunker was excruciating. Dean sat in the back seat, holding you against his chest with tremmering arms, as if the sanctuary of his embrace could keep your soul tied to the earth. It was meaningless and misplaced, but he held onto you like his own life depended on it.
He had spent far too much time without you in his life; absent from every painstaking decision, every terror induced nightmare, every bottle of late night whiskey and guilt ridden one-night-stand. He couldn't bare for you to slip away now; not after he finally found you again.
You were his best friend; his only confidant, the sole person he knew he could trust with his inner most secrets without fear of judgement.
The day you walked out of his life was the very moment he realized just how much more you meant to him. Perhaps he should have gone after you against his father's orders. Maybe he should have after John died.
But he didn't.
Dean supposed it could only be attributed to his underlying fear that John was right about your intentions to leave and everything he believed about your relationship with him was nothing but a lie. He wouldn't dare to confirm his worst fears.
So he left you alone. He never picked up the phone or tried to track you down.
Sam started asking around about you once, but Dean put a stop to it almost immediately. It wasn't that he didn't want to see you again or have you be a constant figure in his life, because he missed you far more than he was ever able to admit out loud. Instead, he terrified that even if he were to find you, you'd reject him and cast him out of your life, breaking his heart all over again. He wouldn't subject himself to that.
But it was different this time. You had called him. You whispered his name as if it was pure relief, as if the manifestation of those particular syllables elicited a calming effect to the unimaginable pain you were going through.
He could hear the desperation in your voice, the longing, the heartache and regret. He heard it all. Dean used to know you like the back of his hand, like you were an extension of himself. He wasn't surprised the familiarity hadn't faded with time.
A soft groan left your lips and Dean pulled you tighter against his chest, ignoring the rational voice in the back of his head screaming the minimal likelihood that you would survive an injury like this.
"Sam-" Dean started, closing his eyes in an effort to avoid the glimpse of scars and dried blood on your face.
"We're almost there, Dean. Three minutes." Sam promised with a steady voice, though the impala picked up noticeable speed. He took a deep breath, catching Dean's eye in the rearview mirror. "Cas will come. He has to. He'll bring her back, or heal her, or something. He will."
Dean nodded and tears fell between his lashed as he blinked. "I can't lose her, Sammy. She can't... she can't die. She can't leave me. Not again..."
The silence that followed was agonizing.

Not a second after the impala pulled into the bunker's garage, Dean slid out of the backseat, pulling you gently with him. He tucked his right arm under your knees and his left wrapped carefully around your back. You head fell against his shoulder, your hair falling into your eyes.
Dean grunted, kicking the impala's door closed behind him. He ignore Sam's worried glance as strode past his brother, holding onto your weakening body tighter than he needed to. Dean could hear Sam mumbling under his breath as they made their way past the kitchen and the library, whispering some kind of prayer to a God Dean barely had the energy to believe in.
Dean paused as he reached his bedroom, looking back to Sam. He bit his lip, his eyes scanning the hallways before landing back on his brother.
"I'm uh... I'm gonna lay her down in here." Dean took a deep breath, licking his front teeth and chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I think she'd be more comfortable here, right? If she's going to heal and get better, she's gotta at least be comfortable... shouldn't she? I mean... I don't want her on that couch... it's lumpy and it hurts your back if you sleep there too long and who even knows how long this is going to take or if she'll even wake up and-"
"That's a good idea, Dean." Sam said softly, cutting off Dean's nervous ramblings. He hadn't seen Dean act like this since you left three years ago, so flustered and anxious. It was a foreign behavior upon the emotionless, closed off older brother he knew.
Dean nodded a little too quickly and pressed his lips together in a half ditched smile. "Okay... I'll uh... I'm going to stay with her. Just to keep an eye on her. Keep trying Cas, will you?"
"Of course." Sam said, his eyes trailing on the blood soaked clothing around your stomach. He could barely tear his stare away. "Shout if something changes."
"Yeah, okay." Dean exhaled, turning towards his bedroom. He pushed open the wooden frame with the edge of his boot, sliding through the open space.
He sighed, standing at the edge of his bed, still holding you in his arms. He almost didn't want to let you go. Dean closed his eyes, pressing his lips carefully to your forehead. He slowly lowered your body onto the bed, setting you down against the thin sheets.
He laid your arms gently at your sides, straightening out your legs and repositioning the pillow under your head. It was like he was tucking in a child before she fell to sleep, desperate to ignore the stains of blood upon the clothing.
Dean brushed the hair from your eyes, taking in a deep breath upon seeing the broken skin on your cheekbone and jawline. After quickly grabbing a warm washcloth from his bathroom, Dean dragged an old chair up to the side of the bed.
He nearly sunk into the chair, not realizing how exhausted he had become, how stiff his muscles were. He sighed, reaching up to your face and carefully dabbing the cloth along your skin, wiping away the dried crimson disrupting the features he had grown to love.
"This never should have happened to you." Dean whispered, running the cloth over your forehead. He watched as your chest slowly rose and fell with shallow breaths, growing further and further apart. He clenched his jaw, biting down hard.
"I should have gone after you." Dean confessed, gently dragging the red stained cloth along your collarbone. "I wanted to. Dad... he gave me all these excuses as to why you left. He said you never really cared about us and that's why you didn't even leave a note or give any kind of explanation for leaving."
He took a deep breath, moving the cloth to your arm. His free hand intertwined with yours, squeezing it lightly. "I think a part of me knew he was lying. I mean, he had to be. You were my best friend... you wouldn't just-"
Dean sighed, slumping back in his chair. "I don't know why you left, (Y/n), but I sure as hell know it wasn't because you didn't care."
Dean brushed the edges of his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes caught the bright red coloring of the cloth and he set down on the nightstand with a heavy sigh. He sat on the edge of the chair, leaning against bed with his forearms.
He couldn't help but stare at the dark stains on your shirt, seeping far past the wound and spreading effortlessly like an infection. He thought about getting you clean clothing and removing the reminder that you were slowly dying just before his eyes, but the idea of moving you was too unsettling. You had lost enough blood as it was.
It was a miracle you were even still holding on. Your breaths were shallow and drawn out and you pulse was weaker than he ever felt upon another human being, but you were alive. It was enough.
Dean found himself staring at your facial features, so desperate to see the warm color of your eyes and the intoxicating smile he had craved for years. He swallowed.
"I don't know if you can hear me or if I'm just talking at air but..." Dean sighed, reaching forward and running his hands gently through your scalp like he used to, like it would coax you awake. He studied you with apparent adoration, no need to hide behind walls or emotional barriers. There was no time for that now; not while you were dying in his bed.
"I was so in love with you, (Y/n)." Dean whispered, shaking his head with distantly memories blurring his vision. "God, I don't even think I knew how bad I had it until that day I woke up and you were gone. I swear I felt my stomach drop when Dad told me but... it was worse than that, I think. It felt like a black hole had consumed my chest and this emptiness just took over. You were everything. You are everything. I wish I knew that sooner."
Dean wiped a fallen tear from his eyes, leaning against the back of the chair. "You gotta wake up, okay? You gotta pull through this because I don't think I can take watching you leave me again. I don't know if I can take it. So... please, (Y/n)... just... wake up."
You remained still. Your body hadn't moved an inch, your fingers didn't twitch within the gentle grasp of his hand, and your eyelids didn't flutter at the sound of his voice. This wasn't some fairy tale. This was a world filled with monsters and demons. He should have known better than to hope for happy endings.
Dean let out a breath he could have been holding for hours.
"You said you never wanted to leave." Dean said suddenly, thinking back to the phone call. The silence was too overwhelming to let stand. "I can't get your voice out of my head. It was so small, so broken and faded, like it took everything you had in you just to speak. I didn't realize how much I missed your voice until I heard it like that."
Dean moved closer to you, running his hand along your arm as a devastating realization spread through him. He looked up at you, heartache written over his features.
"You never wanted to leave." He said again. "My dad made you go, didn't he? You left the night I tried to trade my life for yours. I know how my dad is. I know he started blaming you for everything that happened to me and Sammy the last few years you were with us. He blamed you for what happened to me. He convinced you it was your fault... so you left. You left because my dad told you it would protect me."
Dean closed his eyes, a tear slipping past. It fell against the fabric of your shirt. He rubbed his eyes as a low, broken laugh passed his lips.
"You really did love me." He whispered, his voice so small it was barely audible in the silent room.
Dean had memorized every second of the last conversation he had with you. He remembered every crack in your voice, every blood filled cough, and fragile confession. So, he remembered the moment you whispered that you had loved him. He remembered it with painstaking accuracy, only he didn't believe at the time.
He thought that you were too far gone in a state of delusion from the blood loss, saying things you didn't mean. He wouldn't dare allow himself to believe it were true; not with the impending knowledge that you were slipping towards your death.
But even then, he was the only person on your mind when you knew you were about to die. He was the man you called when you were inches away from darkness. He was the one you needed to say goodbye to above anyone else. There wasn't a doubt in his mind; especially not now that he finally understood why you left all those years ago.
You loved him.
You loved him enough to give up the only family you had, the only sense of home and belonging you knew, because you believed there was a chance that he would be safe if you did. You walked away because you thought that you were a poison in his life. You thought that being around him would be the very thing that killed and you couldn't handle the idea of it.
You walked away because you loved him.
Fuck.
"Dean!" Sam shouted from down the hall, his voice hoarse, booming off the walls. Racing footsteps pounded against the floors just before Sam darted into the room. He leaned against the doorway for a second, panting, before staggering up Dean. His inability to look at you didn't pass Dean's notice.
Dean narrowed his eyes on his brother, watching anxiously as Sam struggled to draw in a breath. "What's... what's going on, Sammy?"
Sam shook his head, pointing towards the door. "I found-"
"Cas." Dean exhaled, standing to his feet as the angel stepped into the room. Castiel nodded with his lips pressed into a thin line, a sign of guilt ridden upon his features. The relief in Dean's chest quickly escalated into fury upon watching his friend move carefully across the room, avoiding his eyes. Cas' pointed stare lingered on you and the blood stained t-shirt at your core. It only seemed to make Dean's boiling frustration worse.
"Where the hell have you been, Cas?" Dean snapped, throwing his arms in the air. "(Y/n) is-" Dean paused, steadying himself. "(Y/n) is dying and you're a goddamn no-show! You know what she means to me, Cas. To us! We don't give up on family around here!"
"I know." Cas stated calmly, digging his hands into the pocket of his trenchcoat. The piercing blue never met Dean's emerald. It made Dean's stomach turn.
"You know?" Dean mocked, shaking his head. "Oh then, please, enlighten me, Cas, as to why you've been ignoring us. I've been begging for you to show up, man. I'm desperate here, Cas. I'm losing my fucking mind, praying to you like you actually might give a damn!"
"I don't ever ignore you, Dean." Cas said sharply, though his voice remained low and calm. He knew better than to raise his voice at Dean or take any word the hunter said personally. Cas knew the stress and anxiety that Dean was carrying on his shoulders and he wouldn't dare add to it.
Dean huffed, rolling his eyes.
Cas sighed, pulling out a piece of paper from his left pocket. He held it tightly in his hand for a second, staring at it as if it were made of gold. "I began searching for this when you first called for me. I believe it will help your friend."
Dean stared at the crumpled ball in Cas' hand. It looked like it was torn from a teenager's notebook, scribbles of blank ink and drawings in the corners. Dean's breaths were coming in heavy and his brother's hand setting on his shoulder startled him.
"Cas doesn't have the juice to heal her, Dean." Sam explained. "She's too far past the point of simply closing some wounds. But this spell... it can help. It can save her, Dean."
"A spell?" Dean exclaimed, surprised that Sam would even suggest it. He could practically feel all hope draining from his body. "You know magic always comes with a price. So who's paying it? Huh? It sure as hell ain't gonna be her."
"It's already done." Cas interjected, extending his hand with the piece of paper towards the older Winchester. "The price has been paid. The spell will work. You should trust me, Dean."
Dean clenched his jaw, carefully and reluctantly taking the paper from the angel's hand. It felt so fragile in his grasp. He held onto it like the slightest of movements would destroy it. It was his last connection to you; his only connection. It was all he had left.
"What did you do, Cas?" Dean whispered, a pit in his stomach.
"It is unimportant."
Dean's eyes flickered up immediately to meet Cas', narrowing in on his friend.
"I promise, Dean. It was a small price to pay in order to restore her." Cas said honestly, his eyes trailing on you. Dean followed his gaze, catching sight of you for the first time since Sam barged into the room.
Your skin was far paler than it was when he first found you in that warehouse. Your lips were blue, even under the cracks of dried blood Dean was unable to wipe away. You looked so... dead, so empty, and lifeless. Dean set his hand gently over yours for a minute. You were so cold under his touch it nearly forced Dean's heart to skip a beat.
"We're not done talking about this, Cas." Dean promised, releasing your frigid hand to point a finger at the angel.
Dean's clenched features slowly relaxed as he began unravelling the paper crumpled up in his clammy hands. "But... thank you. I do trust you, Cas. You know that... it's just..."
"I understand. You would do anything to protect those you love. I wouldn't expect anything else." Cas sighed with a soft smile, his glance slowly moving from Dean to your body lying upon the bed. He had never met you before. He had only heard about you through the stories the Winchester told after long nights of pointless drinking. Once he understood the extent of Dean's feelings for you when Dean unknowingly let it slip at three in the morning on a Thursday halfway down his favorite brand of scotch, Cas went to find you.
He never said anything to you, or to the brothers, when he was finally able to track you down. He only knew that you were family, whether you were aware of it or not. Family watches out for one another. Dean taught him that. So, he kept his distance; watching silently from afar, just in case Dean ever came to his senses and decided it was time to come after you. If that ever happened, Cas would be ready; he's know where you were and that you were safe.
Cas closed his eyes, silently wishing he could have prevented all of this and saved his closest friends just an ounce of pain.
Dean nodded slowly, taking in a deep breath. He sat down in the chair, sure that his legs would collapse beneath him if he didn't. He held the paper carefully between his hands, rubbing out the crinkles though it was of meaningless effort. Latin script stared back at him, setting a deep distrust and uncertainty in his stomach.
"It's all we have, Dean." Sam said quietly upon noticing his brother's unease. "It's our last shot."
Dean bit his lip, forcing a smile back at Sam. He didn't dare waste any more time. "Quaero sanare infirmos. Quaero vitam. Quaero tenebris carere. Pretium solutum fuerit."
Dean swallowed, unnerved by the silence that followed. He set the paper down on the nightstand with shaking hands. There was nothing left to do but wait.
Dean reached for your hand, carefully enclosing it with his own. He brought your hand to his lips, gently kissing the cold skin before holding it against his forehead, still wrapped tightly between his hands.
To anyone who didn't know him, it may have appeared like he was praying. Only at this point, he had no one left to pray to. There was no one else out there willing to lend just an ounce of grace to save the life of a woman Dean would have traded everything for if he could. He used every viable option he had. No more spells. No more angels or demons or contracts.
This was it.
Sam folded his arms over his chest, eyeing Cas, when the lingering silence started to tug at the knots in his stomach. "How long is this supposed to-"
Your chest rose suddenly as a deep breath filled your lungs, instantly grabbing the attention of all three men in the room. You took in air with painstaking sound, gasping and desperately needing more, as if it were never enough.
Dean lunged towards you as your eyes flew open, scanning the foreign room with more fear than he cared to upon your features. You bolted upward with ghostly white skin, desperately trying to rid yourself of the sheets surrounding your body as if it were a prison.
Dean pressed lightly on your shoulders, holding you still in an effort to grab your attention. You fought him relentlessly, your eyes glossed over far past Dean's shoulder like you couldn't even see him at all. You struggled under him like he was the enemy, like he wasn't someone you trusted wholeheartedly with your life.
"(Y/n)!" Dean called out, forcing you to look at him for the first time. The color had already began to restore to your cheeks and the broken skin on your lips had closed effortlessly. Your arms were warm under his shaking hands, and he could feel your pulse beating rapidly. Dean almost collapsed on top of you from relief.
Your dilated and frantically moving pupils finally fell upon his and your breath hitched in your throat. You froze, staring up at him with parted lips as if you were studying the freckles upon his face, counting the gold flecks within his irises, unsure of how real this moment was.
"Dean?" You whispered, so shallow and filled with heartbreaking uncertainty.
He nodded with a smile wider than he could have ever intentionally produced slowly moving along his lips. "Yeah, yeah, it's me."
You nodded, unable to take your eyes off of him. Dean pulled back slightly to give you space now that you stopped attempting to escape, but you grabbed onto his hand the moment his body left contact with yours.
"What's going on? Where... where am I?" You asked cautiously, your left hand moving over your stomach subconsciously, feeling no trace of pain.
Dean took a deep breath, squeezing your hand lightly within his, shifting nervously in his seat. "How much do you remember?"
You closed your eyes, leaning against the back-frame of the bed. A few minutes passed before you were able to speak; taking time to gather the courage to remember what you believed should have been your last moments.
Your grip on Dean's hand grew tighter. "I remember that demon running me through with a blade and, and stabbing the son of a bitch before he could finish me off. I uh... I remember trying to get to my phone to call for backup but... I called you instead."
Dean's expression didn't alter as you opened your eyes again, studying him for any trace of discrepancy. When you didn't find the underlying layer of hatred and resentment you expected to see after all these years, you dropped your gaze, staring at the sheets in front of you.
"I don't remember much of what I said." You continued. "I just remember feeling numb and... and listening to you shout my name over and over again when I lost the energy to respond. I was just lying there and it was... it was so cold and it was so hard to breath..."
Dean nodded, raking his fingers through his messy hair. "You're safe now, (Y/n). Everything is alright. You're okay."
Your eyes flickered up to his, narrowing on his features. "How did you even find me?"
"I tracked the GPS location on your phone actually." Sam interjected, stepping forward. He wore a wild grin on his lips, lifting high into his cheekbones.
You forced a smile that appeared genuine, but Dean saw through it instantly. "Thanks, Sam. I uh... I've missed you."
"I missed you, too, (Y/n). Give us a favor and stick around this time, okay? I don't think any of us want to go through that again." Sam chuckled, though he quickly silenced when he saw how suddenly you dropped your smile.
You turned away, prying your hand from Dean's, avoiding eye contact with all three men in the room. Sam stepped back, shrugging his shoulders at Dean. Dean nodded towards the door, signalling for the both of them to give him some time alone with you. Sam nodded, and grabbed a handful of Cas' trenchcoat, pulling him out of the room.
"(Y/n)..." Dean started once the door closed behind Sam and Cas.
"Why did you even come?" You whispered, looking at him out of the corner of your eye like fear of rejection was the dominant emotion he elicited within you.
Dean's stomach dropped, his lips parting slightly. "What are you talking about?"
You folded your arms over your chest, unable to meet his eyes. "I left, Dean. I left without any kind of explanation and, and we were family. You were my best friend for as long as I knew you and I just walked out without even giving you the decency of telling you why. I left you, Dean. I walked away after you almost... after I nearly killed-"
"That's not what happened that night and we both know it." Dean cut your off, shock upon his features. He had figured this out earlier in the night, but actually hearing the guilt and shame come from your shaken voice was far worse than he could have imagined. "I did what I did that night because I couldn't stand to see you in pain. I couldn't bare watching that piece of shit tear you apart like you were nothing, because goddamn it (Y/n), you are everything to me. So I did the only thing I could to save you and that's it. That's all there is to it."
"Dean," You protested, finally turning to look at him but he shook his head.
"No, listen to me. Please." Dean begged. "It is not your fault that I ended up in a hospital room. That's not on you, (Y/n). I do what it takes to protect the people I love, no matter the cost to myself. That's why you walked, too. That's why you left us."
You froze, staring at him with wide eyes. Dean pressed a smile on his lips, reaching out for your hand. You stared at it for a minute, outstretched towards you. It was like you were trying to convince yourself that he was telling you the truth. After a moment you let your hand fall in his, the warmth reaching through your whole body as Dean squeezed it lightly.
"My dad convinced you that leaving was the only way to ensure my safety, right?" Dean asked. He received his answer when you nodded, biting your lip, as a tear slipped past. He brushed it off your cheek with his thumb without a thought. "I know you were just trying to protect me. I know you didn't leave because you didn't care or because you thought the worst of us. I never hated you for leaving, (Y/n). Not even once. So when I get this call, three years later, and you're dying on the other end..."
Dean paused, rubbing his eyes. You stared at him as he took in a deep breath, studying the softness of his features only remembered from the best of your memories.
Dean sighed, closing his eyes. "I felt like my whole world was collapsing; just listening to you slowly dying through that speaker, coughing up blood and mumbling my name like it was all you had the energy to do. Of course I came, (Y/n). Of course I came running the second I knew you were in trouble. It's been three years... but that... that doesn't mean I love you any less."
It was silent for a while. Dean finally opened his eyes to find your gaze tracing every inch of his face. There was a devastating mixture of disbelief and astonishment in your expression Dean couldn't quite understand.
"You never hated me?" You reaffirmed, as if hearing it once wasn't enough. It almost broke Dean's heart.
He shook his head, allowing a smile to take over his lips. "No, Sweetheart, I never hated you. Quite the opposite, really."
You nodded, taking it all in. The soft traces of blush in your cheeks finally returned and the bright hue behind your eyes took its rightful place.
"I missed you." You exhaled, catching Dean's eye, as a smile took over your mouth for the first time in what felt like years. Maybe it had been. "God, I really missed you, Dean."
Dean laughed, nodding in agreement. The sound filled the room, setting a sense of sweet relief in your chest. You hadn't realized how much you had been craving it.
"I'm really glad you're alive." Dean whispered with a smile, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it softly. "Promise me you'll at least think about sticking around. We have a real home here, (Y/n). You'd love it. And Cas... he's a bit weird but you'll grow to love him, too."
You nodded, brushing away the tears in your eyes; only this time they came from nothing but pure relief. Dean grinned, watching you. His gaze held more adoration than you had ever felt before. You smiled through the tears on your cheeks. "That sounds really nice."
"So you'll stay?" Dean asked, hope behind his voice.
His emerald eyes lit up as you nodded. You laughed as he pressed his lips against your hand, kissing it repeatedly. Once he pulled back, he caught sight of the clock upon his nightstand. It was nearly four in the morning. Dean started to yawn.
"I guess we should probably get some sleep then, huh?" You asked, following Dean's tired glance towards the clock. He offered a sleepy smile, and shrugged. "I mean, I was basically dead for the last twenty four hours, I don't know if I really need to be passed out more..."
"You need sleep, (Y/n)." Dean pressed. "Trust me. I've been where you are too many times. Get some rest."
Dean stood to his feet, switching the lamp off next to the bed and pulling the chair back to the wall. He paced around the room for a minute gathering sheets and an old pillow from the closet before making his way to the door.
"Wait, you're not leaving, are you?" You asked anxiously, suddenly fearing the darkness of the small room alone. Dean stopped immediately, turning around to face you. "I mean, uh... I always slept better when you were next to me and you said I need sleep... right?"
Dean grinned, nodding. "That's a good point. I guess I have no choice but you take you up on that, huh?"
You smiled, sinking back into the sheets as Dean kicked his sneakers off. He fumbled around the room, pulling his shirt over his head and slipping sweatpants on over his boxers. You watched him as he made his way to the opposite side of the bed, settling himself comfortable under the sheets next to you.
Dean turned on his side, eyeing you as you stared at him. "You coming over here or what?"
A grin spread over your lips as he held his arms open to you. You scooted closer to him, free of any pain you expected to resonate through your core, until you rested against his chest. Dean's right arm snaked around you, holding you as if letting go was never an option that crossed his mind.
You could hear his heart beating steadily as you wrapped your arm around his waist, allowing your left leg to intertwine between his. It was the most familiar, the most comfortable of memories pulling to the surface. It was like the three years had never passed. Dean never got hurt that night and you never walked out, breaking both your hearts.
His fingers ran gently through your hair, lulling you into a welcoming sleep you hadn't realized you needed. Dean was humming an old song you recognized from your younger years traveling with the Winchesters as he pressed his lips to your forehead. You sighed at his embrace.
"Goodnight, Sweetheart." Dean mummered sheepishly, tucking his nose into your hair, revealing in the feeling of you lying next to him, alive and solid and warm beneath his touch. The closed his eyes as the nightmare seemed to pass and he was drawn into a peaceful sleep for the first time in three years.
"I love you." He whispered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And it was.
A soft smile lifted your cheeks and you pulled yourself closer to him, unafraid of the darkness and the visions that haunted your dreams. Doubt no longer filled your head and there was no more ache in your chest under the misguided belief that the man you loved, hated you for a crime you never wanted to commit.
No. Instead, all that remained was pure happiness; bliss in knowing that you were loved far beyond what you could comprehend, relief in knowing that you finally returned home after years of wandering alone.
You were home. You were loved. You wouldn't ever have to be alone again. Dean would make sure of that.
For once, everything was actually going to be okay. It was enough just lying in his arms, and holding him close to you. It was enough.
He was always enough.
"I love you, too."