***Warnings*** Angst, Implied smut, mentions, and brief descriptions of domestic violence, MOC! Dean, Hurt! Dean, Crying! Dean (yes that’s a warning.) I think that’s everything. This one is pretty mild.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdv2FUoxtAr
Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (Just Friends), Dean x Sam (No Winchester Incest)
Word Count: 221112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEyGfPm3vme
———————————————————————————————Dean’s POV:
Dean sat with his head leaned up against the cold window of Baby, his eyes closing and opening as sleep tried to take full hold of him. Sam was leaned against the opposite window, snoring away already. Having been raised in the back of a car virtually, Sam had learned to sleep just about anywhere rather quickly.
Dean on the other hand was a different story. Dean was the kind of person that had the tendency to bottle up things, and when you bottle up things they tend to make their way to the surface one way or another. Usually when you are trying to sleep. This was the case tonight.
It was December 23rd, two days before Christmas. The holidays for Dean were always the hardest. No matter how he tried to shove it off, or downplay it, it was hard for him.
He missed those he lost, he was haunted by memories of the past, people that he’d loved, but couldn’t save. He was haunted by the last Christmas he and Sam had celebrated together. The Christmas before he spent the next forty Christmases… Well to him at least… In hell.
Taking a deep breath and sitting up straight, running his hand harshly down his face, he looked over at his peacefully sleeping brother, then down at the clock. It was just after 2 am. He was about six hours from the bunker they now called home. He could be there by 8 in the morning if he left now, even if he hadn’t had a wink of sleep.
Turning the ignition he put the car in drive and pulled out of the treeline, and back onto the main road.
Out of all the memories that haunted Dean, there was one that haunted him more than anything from his past or his childhood.
Six Christmases ago tonight he’d lost you. The mark had changed him even after Sam had cured him, and he lost his temper one night. All you had done was ask him to come to bed. He had been deep in research as to how to remove the damn mark from him, he snapped. He jumped up and punched you hard in the face before he could stop himself.
He watched you hit the floor before you even landed he regretted his actions and was apologizing, but it was too late, that was where you drew your line. He had walked behind you begging you to stay as you packed your bags that night. Followed you out to the garage as you loaded yourself and your belongings into it.
Then sat on his knees and cried himself weak staring down the road long after the car was gone. That Christmas eve and Christmas were the worst that he’d ever experienced in his whole existence.
He called your number so many times, but you never answered. He’d left voice mails apologizing, begging, pleading, everything. Nothing. You had given up on him. He’d hurt you, and you had given up on him…
He wanted to kill himself. He’d tried multiple times, but the mark just wouldn’t let him die.
Even after the mark was removed from his arm. Finally. Even after all these years, he would call you, your voice mail would always pick up, never you. He’d talk to it like it was you because it was the only thing that kept him somewhat sane.
He would still apologize to it, even all these years later he’d still cry to it. Tell it about his day, or his hunts. He’d tell it about how much he missed you. He’d beg it to come home. He’d call every holiday, every birthday, every anniversary, and tonight would be no different. Even though he had told himself he wasn’t going to do it anymore.
Picking up the phone between the seats he glanced over at his still snoring little brother, then dialed your number again. As always it rang until the voicemail picked up.
“Hey, Sweetheart, It’s me… I’m so, so, sorry. I miss you, baby… If I could take it all back I would… I know I’ve told you that before, but I’ll keep saying it just in case you are listening to these after all… I know tonight makes six years since I hurt you, but it still kills me."
Knowing the voicemail wouldn’t let him leave a much longer message, he surprised himself when he openly choked on tears he didn’t know was running down his face.
"I love you Y/N, and I’ll never stop… I’m on my way home from a hunt right now. I got about six hours to go, so I need to get off here. I wished you’d be home when I got there, but I know you won’t be, and that’s on me… I’m sorry Y/N."
He hung up the phone before he became hysterical. Tears blurring his vision of the road now. His heartfelt like it shattered afresh in his chest as he gasps for air around him.
He’d totally forgetting that his brother was in the seat next to him until Sam reached over and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean jumped like he’d been shot before quickly reeling in the emotions that he’d let show. Wiping his face and clearing his throat even though his heart was still broken.
"Sorry, Sammy,” he mumbled.
Sam said nothing, just formed that tight line with his mouth that he does when he’s worried about his older brother, and hit end record on the video he’d been sneakily taking when his brother picked up the phone to call you.
He knew he was going to call you. Sam had been in contact with you still all these years, you were stubborn as Dean, and didn’t believe that Dean had changed. Tonight as he typed out the text message with the video attached to it while Dean drove the rest of the way home in stoned face silence, he couldn’t help but hope this would make you see just how much Dean was sorry, and how much he was still in love with you… It was going to be a long six-hour drive.
—————————————————————-
Your POV:
You listened to Dean’s voicemail with tears streaming down your face. You had never stopped loving Dean, but your trust had been broken. He had never hurt you, not even when he was a demon, then when he hit you… You just couldn’t stay anymore…
You could deal with the arguing, you could deal with the drinking, you could deal with self-loathing, you could deal with just about whatever he handed you, but you couldn’t deal with the physical abuse, and you were afraid after he hit you that it would get worse.
So you packed up your things and you left…
Dean, all these years later still sending you voice mails, telling you he’s sorry, and how much he still loved you. It didn’t make moving on any easier. In fact, for you, it made it almost impossible.
When he called to let you know that the mark was gone, he’d left six voicemails that night, well until he passed out probably. You started to go home to him that night, but you still couldn’t trust him. The mark had changed him. Even if it was gone, what if the effects were permanent?
All these years, all the voicemails, all the begging, and pleading. You thought a few times that you had heard him crying, but you weren’t sure. This time though, you were almost sure that you had heard him crying. It got to you.
Had he been hurt? Had Sam been hurt? Had something happened?
You had kept in contact with Sam over the years, that way you would know if they were still alive. He’d messaged you when the most recent hunt was over and said that they were going to drive as far as they could, then just sleep in the car until morning. Apparently, Dean had decided to keep driving.
Taking a deep breath, and determined not to let yourself overreact you go to sit the phone back down on the nightstand, and pull the covers back over yourself when the phone beeped with a text message.
Rolling over picking up the phone you saw that it was Sam and your heart seized up inside of you. Was something wrong?
Quickly tapping on the text message to open you saw it was a video of Dean. It was the first time you’d seen Dean in six years, and what you saw broke you.
He’d lost a lot of weight, you could tell even through all the layers of clothing. His body trembled slightly with tears running down his face, choking on his own tears as he left his most recent voicemail. Obviously unaware of Sam videoing him.
You had never seen Dean look so weak, so broken, as he did in that video. When Sam reached out and touched him, and he jumped your heart broke again into a million pieces. Under the gut-wrenching video were the words that ultimately got to you the most.
How much longer are you going to punish him?… I think it’s pretty obvious he’s sorry.
———————————————————————————————
Dean’s POV:
Dean drove onto the driveway of the road leading to the bunker at just after 8 am in the morning. Sam had been begging him to let him drive for the last two hours, but he knew if he let him drive he’d just sit there and start crying again. So he ignored his brother’s protest and kept going.
Dean pulled into the garage and parked up his baby. Getting out of the car he stretched his sore muscles as Sam did the same. He was home. He could go lock up in his room now, and drink until he passed completely out so that he could finally get some sleep. If he was lucky he’d get drunk enough that you wouldn’t haunt his dreams.
Dean trudged into the dark bunker. Not really bothering with turning on more lights than necessary as he made his way down the hallway towards his room.
“You gonna try and get some sleep?” Sam yawned as he flopped down in a chair in the library, taking his boots off.
“Yeah, I’m dead tired,” he said without turning around and trudging toward his room.
Dean got to the door and leaned heavily against it. So tired that he didn’t notice the lights were on in parts of the bunker. Like the kitchen, and the garage. He hadn’t noticed that the lights were on in the hallway. He hadn’t noticed the black jeep parked up in the garage that wasn’t there before. He hadn’t noticed a lot of things because he was so tired, but Sam did.
Sam knew. That’s why he smiled as he watched his brother trudge his way toward his room.
When Dean opened the door to his room and stumbled inside he almost didn’t notice the woman that was sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed until she spoke to him, stopping him in his tracks…
“Hey, Dean…”
Dean’s legs gave out from under him as he took her in. She was really here. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a hallucination. She was sitting there on his bed waiting on him like she would have done all those years ago.
Getting up slowly she made her way to kneel in front of him on the floor. Tears were rolling down his face uncontrollably as he watched her move. He couldn’t make his voice work. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to scream that he was sorry, he wanted to grab her and hold her close to him, kiss her, but his body just wouldn’t move. Almost afraid if he touched her she’d disappear.
Y/N reached out and touched the side of his face and his arms regained their movement. Wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her to him. Both of them kneeling on the floor holding onto each other for dear life. Like their everything hung on the fact that if they let go, they’d lose everything.
Finally, after many tears, they both stood. Y/N help strips him of some of his layers and pulled the covers back for him to crawl into the bed with her. Turning off the lights as she crawled in next to him. Dean never took his eyes off of her and as soon as she was down next to him Dean wrapped his arms around her, crashing his lips into hers like he’d wanted to do for so long. Tasting her as their lips moved together perfectly like it hadn’t been years since they’d been together.
There was no rush. There was no hurry. There was no driving need. Just whispered affirmations, slow gentle kisses, and touches. Letting their bodies wash away the memories from all those years alone.
Dean pressed his lips to her sleeping forehead as he held her close to him. Clothes were long forgotten on the floor. Skin touching skin as their breaths mingled together.
“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart…"
She was home, he was whole again.
12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiAjm31RVoi
