The Demon With A Heart
[Crowley x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.
WC: 1858
Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}
Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.
『••✎••』
You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.
No, the demon.
You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.
He just saved you—The King of Hell.
The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.
The thought was a bit unsettling.
"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."
He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.
"Crowley."
The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you"
The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.
And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.
You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.
But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.
It was all too real.
So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?
Was it because he… cared?
One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.
You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.
That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.
"Alright, what did you two-"
You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.
"Crowley…"
"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.
You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.
"Where are the boys?"
"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."
That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.
You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.
At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.
But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.
As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.
So that’s where the Winchesters were.
You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.
"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.
He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.
"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."
You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.
"Save me all those months ago."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.
"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"
Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.
You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.
He almost looked ashamed.
"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.
You decided to call his bluff.
"I don't believe you."
Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.
"And what makes you say that?"
"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."
The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.
He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.
"You care."
Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.
A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.
"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."
"Do you?"
You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.
Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?
Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.
It was almost adorable.
"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."
"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."
"Crowley"
You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.
The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.
"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."
The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.
"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"
You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?
"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.
"Do you actually mean that?"
"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.
He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.
"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."
You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...
He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.
The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.
"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."
Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.
"Touché"
You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.
"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"
Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.
"The hell is going on here?"
You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.
Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.
And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.
"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.
Had the beauty thawed the beast?
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Dream Warriors Chapter 4
Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 4
Summary: Sam and the reader discuss her dreams. Dean and the reader make some progress on the case and their relationship.
Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, other original characters
Word Count: 3,700
Warnings: Mentions of miscarriage, angst
Read Chapter 3 here.
You and Sam both continue to stare at your perfectly healed hands. All traces of the burns were now gone. You look up at Sam, tears stinging your eyes.
“You saw that, right?? I’m not going crazy. You saw that too,” you practically beg. He nods his head slowly, trying to process what he’d just witnessed.
“What’s going on, Y/N?” He asks. You shake your head quickly, looking back at your hands.
“I wish I knew,” you mumble. You flex your hands slowly, wiggling your fingers as well. “I’ve been having these dreams. We thought it was just stress from the miscarriage and due date but now…”
“Dreams?” Sam asks, watching you closely. You look up at him and nod.
“It’s all so normal. No monsters. Our families are alive. Dean and I are very clearly in love but I married someone else who’s been cheating on me. You finished school and you’re getting married to Jessica,” you tell him. He frowns a little more and nods. “When I’m there, when I’m in the dreams, all of this is just a dream. A dream I hardly pay attention to. And it all feels real, holding my daughter feels real.”
“The burns?” He asks, cutting his eyes to your hands.
“I went to get a pie from the oven in a rush and forgot potholders,” you explain. He nods again then shrugs his shoulders.
“Okay, ugh…normally, I’d agree that it’s just your subconscious but…” He trails off and you nod. “What are you thinking? A spell? A djinn maybe?” He asks as he makes his way back to his laptop. You frown, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know what to think, Sam,” you tell him. He nods and starts to type on his computer. You sit in silence for a moment before looking around. “Where’s Dean?”
“Went to talk to the sheriff again,” he says, picking up John’s journal. You roll your eyes, throwing the blankets off of yourself.
“The sheriff isn’t going to talk to him. Why didn’t he wake me?” You ask as you move to your bag. You open it to find that Dean had taken your fed clothes last night and put them away neatly.
“He wanted to let you sleep as much as possible. You really scared him last night,” he says. You stop what you’re doing and look at him, confused. “When you heard that baby crying?”
“That was Ella,” you say. He raises an eyebrow in question and you sigh, looking back into your bag. “My daughter. I mean – the baby in my dreams.” Sam frowns as he watches you.
“Y/N, she isn’t real,” he reminds you. Rolling your eyes, you rise to your feet, clothes in hand.
“I told you, Sam. When I’m in the dreams, she’s the realest thing in the world. I’d give my life for her in a heartbeat,” you tell him. He nods slightly.
“Well try not to do that. Minor injuries may heal but dying?” He asks. You frown and nod, turning for the bathroom. “Want me to call Dean?”
“I’m not gonna tell him,” you inform Sam before closing the door behind you. You hear his chair scrape the floor before he approaches the door.
“What do you mean you aren’t telling him?” He asks. Sighing, you begin to change clothes.
“He’s already worried about me enough. I’m not giving him more reason to,” you call through the door to him.
“Y/N, something is hurting you in your dreams. That’s not something you should hide from him,” he says. You finish buttoning up your shirt and pull the door open again.
“Please. We can figure this out. Me and you,” you plead with him. He shakes his head slightly, conflicted.
“Nothing good ever comes from any of us keeping secrets, Y/N. You tell us that all the time,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. You reach out and place your hands on his arms gently.
“Sam, I’m begging you. Just…one day. Let’s see what we can find in one day and if we don’t get anything or if things get worse tonight, then I’ll tell him,” you say. You bite your lip, waiting for his response. A car door closes from just outside the room and your pleading look turns to panic. “Sam, please.”
“Okay. Fine. One day,” he relents, turning back towards his table in the corner. You let out a sigh as the door to the room opens and Dean steps in. He’s got three cups of coffee and a white bag in his hands. He smiles widely when he sees you.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty finally woke up,” he teases, setting the breakfast he’d picked up down on the table. Sam takes one of the coffees and looks into the bag.
“Find anything out?” He asks, pulling a glazed donut from the bag. Dean picks up the other two cups and starts towards you.
“Well, they finally got an ID on one of the victims. Monica Lester. Married. From a town about an hour east of here,” he informs you both. He holds one of the cups out to you and you smile a little, taking it. You thank him and he winks at you before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sheriff Anderson has so graciously agreed to let me do the notification.”
“I’ll go with you,” you tell him before taking a drink from the coffee. He frowns at you and shakes his head.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The man just lost the woman he loved and their unborn baby, Y/N,” he says. You sigh and nod, walking over to the table.
“And if anyone can understand at least part of that, it’s us,” you tell him as you reach into the bag yourself.
“Yea, just part of it, sure,” Dean mumbles, rising to his feet. You look at him quickly.
“What?” You ask. He smiles a little and shakes his head, walking over as well.
“Sammy, you good to stay back and keep digging?” He asks. Sam glances between the two of you before nodding.
“Yea, I’m fine,” he says. You give him a pointed look and he nods his head once. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
The two of you load into the front seat of the Impala and begin the hour-long drive to the first victim’s house. The ride is quiet, neither of you saying much at all. The invisible wall between you, that you had just started to believe could be torn down, now seemed to be reinforced and even bigger somehow. Dean parks the car on the curb in front of the house and the two of you look over at it.
“You sure about this?” Dean asks. You look over at him.
“Oh, now you’re talking to me again?” You ask. He stares at you for a moment, seemingly stunned. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.” Pushing the door open a bit too violently, you climb out of the car and slam the door. Dean gets out quickly and rushes around.
“I don’t know why you’re mad at me, but you don’t have to take it out on the car,” he says, fixing his tie. You stop in your tracks halfway across the yard. Dean gets only a few steps ahead of you before stopping and looking back.
“I just wish you’d talk to me,” you tell him. He shakes his head, taking a step towards you.
“Talk to you? Y/N, I try to talk to you all the time. You shut me down,” he huffs, exasperation clear on his face. You stare at him before walking to the front door quickly. “See??”
“We’re on a job, Dean,” you insist, reaching for the doorbell. He grabs your hand before you can make contact with the button, holding on to you tight.
“Y/N,” he pleads. You pull your hand away from his and press the button, hearing the bell ring inside. Footsteps quickly approach the door and Dean straightens up, reaching into his coat pocket as you do the same. The door opens and a man, around the same age as you and Dean, looks between you.
“Chris Lester?” Dean asks. The man nods, panic quickly spreading across his face. “We’re with the FBI. Agents Wayne and Prince. Could we speak with you?”
“Oh God,” he prays, voice trembling. You reach out and place a comforting hand on his arm.
“We should sit down,” you tell him. He nods his head slightly before turning to lead the way. You two follow and Dean pushes the door closed, glancing around the house. Mr. Lester leads the two of you into what seems to be the living room of the house. He sits on the edge of an arm chair as you and Dean take seats on the couch. The man leans forward and wrings his hands nervously.
“Is this about Monica?” He asks. You glance at Dean and he sighs, looking down at his own hands.
“Mr. Lester, we’re sorry to have to inform you but…your wife’s body was found three days ago about an hour from here,” Dean tells him.
Chris’ face falls slowly as each word is processed. You can see the moment his heart breaks in his eyes. He slumps forward with a wail and Dean quickly reaches out, catching him. You allow Mr. Lester a few minutes with his grief before Dean speaks to him again.
“I know it’s hard but we need you to answer a few questions so we can catch whoever did this.” Chris nods and slowly moves himself back into the chair. Dean sits back on the couch and straightens his jacket.
“Can we get you anything?” You ask. Chris shakes his head and wipes at his cheeks.
“No. You, ummm, you have questions?” He asks, voice still thick with tears. You nod and look at Dean.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your wife?” He questions. Chris shakes his head, looking at his hands.
“No one. Monica is…” He stops and swallows back more tears. “She was an amazing woman. Everyone loved her. What happened?” You frown and shake your head.
“We’ll spare you the details for now but it doesn’t appear that she suffered,” you tell him. He nods slightly, running his hands over his face.
“Why would someone do this?” He asks, starting to lose it again. Dean reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Chris’ shoulder.
“It’s not going to make sense. No matter what we find out. Believe me. I know how you feel,” he tells him. Chris looks up at him and you bite your lip, looking down at your hands. “About three months ago, my girlfriend went to the store. Broad daylight in a crowded parking lot, a man stabbed her. She was six months pregnant. I lost them both that day.” You look at Dean quickly, fighting back tears. Chris shakes his head slightly. Before you can say anything, the sound of little feet running causes you all to sit up straight.
“Daddy.” A little girl, about four or five, runs into the room. “Who are you?” She asks, looking between you and Dean. Chris wipes at his eyes before forcing a smile.
“They’re friends,” he tells her. You put on your best smile before rising and walking over to her.
“My name’s Y/N. What’s yours?” You ask, kneeling down in front of her. She smiles back at you widely.
“Claire,” she says. Your smile widens a little.
“I have a friend named Claire,” you tell her. “Could you show me your room?” She nods quickly and takes your hand, pulling on it. She leads you up the stairs and into an adorably decorated princess bedroom where she immediately runs over to her dollhouse.
You take a seat at a little tea table in the corner where you spend the next several minutes being introduced to a number of dolls. This is immediately followed by a Barbie fashion show, Claire showing off all of her outfits. While you smile and laugh at the young girl, you can’t help but think back to what Dean had said. I lost them both that day. It felt like the final nail in the coffin that now held your relationship.
After a few minutes, a gentle knock at the door draws your attention. It opens and Chris steps into the room, a sad smile on his face. He tells you that Dean is outside and you say goodbye to Claire before going downstairs. Stepping out onto the porch, you find Dean in the yard on his phone, presumably with Sam.
“Yea, sounds good. We’ll see you later,” he says before hanging up. He drops his phone back into his coat pocket. “He’s got the names of the other two victims. They’re from the same town the opposite direction so he’s gonna go see their families.” You nod slightly and cross your arms, looking down. “Y/N…”
“I’m not dead, you know,” you cut him off. He scoffs a laugh causing you to look up.
“Yea, I know. Do you?” He asks. You stare at him, stunned. “I tried talking to you in the car and you were practically catatonic. You’re mourning. I get that. I am too. But I’m not the one doing the pushing.” You shake your head slightly.
“I’m not…”
“You are! You flinch away from my touch. You barely speak to me. I want to hold you again. I want to kiss you again. I want to make love to you again. And if you aren’t ready for that yet, that’s fine. I get that. But…tell me what I need to do to fix this,” he pleads. You shake your head again, fighting back a sob, and move to walk past him. He reaches out, catching your elbow. “Y/N, talk to me!” You spin to face him, jerking your arm from his grasp.
“Get mad!!” You snap at him, shoving at his chest. He stumbles a step back. “You never got mad!!”
“I’m mad as hell. If you’d seen what I did to that demon when I found him…” He trails off and you wipe at your eyes quickly.
“Not at the demon, Dean!! Get mad at me!! Blame me!! It was my fault!!” You scream at him through your sobs. He stares at you, wide eyed, and shakes his head. “It was. I was her mother and I should have protected her better.”
“Sweetheart, I could never blame you for that. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,” he says, reaching out for you.
“No, you’re not!! You weren’t even there!!” You insist as he gently takes your arms in his hands.
“Exactly. If I hadn’t been out on a hunt, if I had been home with you, I could have stopped him and we’d have our baby right now,” he says. You shake your head as you stare at him, bewildered.
“That’s ridiculous. We agreed you’d continue to hunt,” you tell him. He nods slightly, slowly pulling you closer to him.
“What’s even more ridiculous is you thinking I could or should blame you. From the day you found out you were pregnant, you were in full mom-mode. And it was the greatest thing I’d ever seen. You stopped hunting, stopped drinking, stopped eating junk. You were already an amazing mom and she wasn’t even here yet,” he says, his voice soft and calming. His arms hesitantly and slowly wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your firsts clench at the lapels of his jacket, as though you’re clinging on for dear life. “Let me fix it,” he pleads. A sob breaks through as you bury your face in his chest. Dean’s chin comes to rest on top of your head as he holds you close, rubbing circles into your back.
The two of you stand in that same spot, clinging on to one another, for what feels like forever. Your sobs eventually begin to subside and Dean’s arms loosen enough for you to look up at him. His lips brush your forehead and you feel yourself smile.
“Sam’s out for a little while. What do you say we go back to the room and talk some more?” He asks, looking down at you. You nod, wiping at your cheek.
“I like the sound of that,” you tell him. He smiles a little and leaves one arm around your waist as he pulls you to the waiting Impala. He opens the door for you and you slide in all the way to the middle.
After closing the door, Dean goes around and slips into the driver’s seat. He looks at you and smiles widely as you wrap your arms around his, laying your head on his shoulder. His hands come to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth slowly as he sets out for the motel again.
The ride back is quiet again but a different, comfortable silence. You stay tucked into Dean’s side, holding on tight to his arm as he drives. Occasionally, he turns and places a kiss on top of your head. Each time, you respond with a kiss to his shoulder. For the first time in a long time, things actually begin to feel right again.
Back at the motel, you take a seat on the edge of the bed you’re sharing and watch as he makes his way around the room. He removes his suit jacket and lays it across the back of a chair before starting to loosen his tie. You smile as you watch the muscles in his shoulders through the tight dress shirt he’s wearing. You’re on your feet before you have a chance to second guess yourself. Slowly, you wrap your arms around him from behind. He tenses up for only a split second before relaxing in your arms. Standing on your toes, you press a kiss against his shoulder blade.
“I love you,” you whisper into the fabric of his shirt. His fingers ghost over your arms before he turns to face you. You pull your arms in between the two of you now, your hands resting on his firm chest. He caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers before quickly closing the distance between you. Your lips move together in unison as he grips at your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.
************************************************************************
Later in the afternoon, you’re lying on top of Dean, your arms crossed over his bare chest as you watch him. He smiles at you sleepily and you can’t help but laugh.
“Wear you out?” You ask. He shakes his head, his hands running over your exposed back slowly.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says. You smile as you watch him for a moment. He reaches up and pushes your hair behind your ear gently.
“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” you apologize. He smiles a little and shakes his head.
“We’re gonna be okay, Sweetheart,” he assures you. You nod slightly before stretching up and catching his lips with yours once more. He smiles in the kiss and threads his fingers into your hair.
The door opens suddenly and you pull away from Dean with squeak as Sam comes into the room.
“Hey – come on, guys!!” He says, turning his back quickly. Dean smirks at you as you scramble to pull the sheet across your chest. “I asked if you wanted a separate room for a reason.”
“Calm down, Sammy. What ya got?” Dean asks, pushing himself up in the bed. Sam glances over his shoulder slowly to make sure you’re covered before turning to face the two of you again.
“I’ve got a pretty solid lead on the Manananggal,” he says, handing Dean a brochure. You look over his shoulder at it and frown.
“That’s just a Lamaze class, Sam,” you tell him. Dean nods slightly, opening the pamphlet.
“Yea, Y/N and I were looking into some,” he says. Sam nods quickly.
“Exactly. What better place for a monster to find pregnant women than a class for pregnant women? I checked and all the victims attended this class at least once,” he says. Dean hands the pamphlet back to him then leans over the side of the bed, picking his previously discarded jeans up.
“Worth a shot. You coming?” He asks, looking at you as he pulls them back on. You bite your lip before shaking your head.
“I don’t think that would be a good place for me right now,” you tell him. Relief washes over him before he rises from the bed and rushes to the bathroom. You watch him go before looking at Sam. “Did you find anything?” You ask him quietly. He shakes his head, frowning.
“Nothing yet,” he tells you. You frown as well and nod, looking down at your hands. The memories of the burns come back to you. “If you go to sleep, just be careful, okay?”
“Yea,” you say, nodding slightly. Dean comes back out of the bathroom a few minutes later, fully dressed in his usual plaid and jacket combo. He smiles at you before giving you a quick kiss.
“We’ll be back. Get some rest,” he says. You smile your best and nod.
“Just be careful,” you tell him. He kisses you one more time before following Sam out the door and to the car. You fall back onto the mattress with a heavy sigh and run your hands over your face before pulling the blankets up around yourself. Your hands slips down to your stomach and you feel the scar. You know it’s real. The pain and grief. The love you have for Dean. It’s all real.
“This is real,” you repeat to yourself over and over, a steady mantra as you drift off to sleep in the late evening.
“This is real,” you mumble as your eyes open to the darkness of the very early morning. Your hand still on your stomach, you feel the smooth skin before sitting up and looking around Dean’s bedroom. “This is real,” you tell yourself, looking at the bandages on your hands.
***
Forever Tags: @roseblue373
Jensen Tags: @lostin-jensenseyes
Dream Warriors: @aylacavebear @winharry @djs8891 @suckitands33 @rickgrimeswifeu @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @foxyjwls007 @cutiesarah @urinternetmom @justrealizedimmascifygurl @kr804573 @thej2report @just-levyy @snowayumi @alisyacsa
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