Words: 2945147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4aofaFyRGS
Dean x Reader147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKwdwRRi7DQ
Warnings: angst, grief, death of a character (*hides*)147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfayPFh11cK
Summary: Y/N rushes to find Dean after being awoken by the worst feeling yet.147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZwuvyuLwrV
A/N: This is part of a series! Read the other parts here first:147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRdvvkY9MHQ
147Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqEtBil5OXK
You forced yourself to swallow, vaguely realizing how sick you felt. Your heart was hammering away in your chest and matching the urgency of each of your movements. You pulled yourself out of bed and into your chair, rolling yourself as quickly as you could over to the armoire in your room and absolutely wrenching the doors open.
Your eyes fell on the familiar sawed-off shotgun leaning against the back, partially hidden by the hanging clothes. You snatched it and the small canvas bag sitting beside it, hauling it into your lap and hastily digging out two shells.
Loading the rock salt rounds into the gun you hurried into the hallway. As you rolled past Sam’s door you yelled to him and pounded a fist on the wood. “SAM!” you yelled desperately. You did the same when you passed Bobby’s door, but didn’t slow your momentum as you whirred past Dean’s room, empty with the door open, the sheets not even disturbed. You were suppressing your panic as best you could. You could feel your hands starting to shake and you talked to yourself in your head in a frantic attempt to calm down.
Ok, Y/N. Focus. You have to calm down. Just get to Dean. Everything will be fine.
You wheeled around the last corner and saw the iron door waiting ominously in the middle of the hallway. You rushed to it, adjusting the shotgun, and grasped the handle with a trembling hand, testing it cautiously. Locked from the inside. Of course. Dammit… You reached into the side pocket of your wheelchair and extracted your lock pick set, thanking yourself for still being paranoid as hell even though you’d been out of the game since the crash… Rushing footsteps behind you brought Sam and Bobby to your sides, each clutching a gun.
”Y/N, what the hell is going on?” Sam asked urgently, his eyes wild and panicked.
You didn’t stop your attempts to click the mechanism on the door. And you didn’t answer. You jiggled the tools and heard it release. You chucked the lock picks carelessly and grabbed hold of the door giving it a firm pull. It didn’t budge. You tried again and then looked desperately up at Sam with a fearful look. You moved back out of the way so Sam could try the door.
He grasped it in both hands and pulled it firmly. Nothing. You exchanged a horrified look with him and felt your head start to swim like you didn’t have enough oxygen.
Just then you heard a bang and a raucous laugh from inside. Luther was laughing.
”That ain’t good,” Bobby mumbled, his face pale.
”We have to get in there,” you said.
Sam shook his head. “It’s bolted from the inside. Or Luther has sealed it.”
”No. There has to be a way for this!” You refused to believe that there was nothing you could do.
”I can’t open it, Y/N! I wish I could—“ just as Sam was saying those words you heard the bolt on the inside slide out of place and the heavy door popped slightly ajar.
You gulped.
Bobby adjusted his gun. “Everybody be careful.”
Sam nodded to both of you and heaved the door open the rest of the way. You all moved into the room together. Sam stooped and reformed the salt-line behind you.
”NO!” The scene in front of you was exactly what you feared. Two pieces of iron lay discarded on the floor by Luther’s feet. They were sections of the Devil’s traps he had somehow worked out.
He was free of the chair, of the chains, and he stood grinning viciously at the three of you. Dean was pinned against the wall, a trickle of blood from his head coursing down his face, and gasping for breath because of the pressure Luther was putting again on his windpipe and chest.
Dean’s eyes found your face. His eyes met yours as he wheezed. Your expression was torn between breaking down, the sense of foreboding overwhelming, rage at Luther, and a terrible, horrible fear that was causing a spiny pit in your stomach…
”Let him go, Luther!” Sam ordered in a commanding voice. “There‘s no way out of this for you!”
”I know, Sam,” Luther said carelessly. “I’m not expecting to make it out of this. But you know what? I’m gonna take as many of you with me as I can,” he said, widening his grin. Luther turned his eyes to you. “You remember what I told you. Don’t you, Y/N?”
You gulped, trying to feel brave. It was hard when you were seated in a wheelchair, staring at the demon that put you there. His words were echoing in your head like they were being screamed through a megaphone in an empty amphitheater. “I’ll keep taking until you have nothing left…”
He lowered his voice to a whisper that still managed to cut through the air like a meat cleaver through butter. ”Here’s the part where I keep my word.”
It all happened so fast. A twitch of Luther’s fingers and Dean crumpled to the ground. Another twitch and the demon knife that had been lying discarded and ignored was flying through the air.
”NO!”
Dean makes a stifled gulping noise as it plunged into his chest.
Now time slowed just as it had during the crash. This time the glass breaking was you shattering to pieces. And the screeching metal was the horrible screaming reality of what just happened. And the smoke; the smoky haze was your vision blurring from hot tears in your eyes.
You distantly heard screams from Sam and Bobby at your sides. They attempted to rush Luther. Sam managed to get a shot off and rock salt pelted into his torso but he only doubled over for a second before he stood again, voluminous laughter booming. Another twitch of his fingers pinned Bobby and Sam to the wall behind you.
The speed of time returned to normal.
”Sit tight, kids. The death scene is rolling,” Luther spat at Bobby and Sam, turning his eyes on you.
Dean clutched his hands at the knife in his chest and his eyes found yours again. You stared in disbelief, frozen for only a split second before you rushed to him. When you were close enough you collapsed out of your wheelchair, ignoring how it turned over behind you as you landed hard on the floor, pulling yourself the remaining half a foot over to Dean where he was lying on his back.
He made another stifled sort of coughing noise and you saw blood in the corner of his mouth. His eyes were fixated on your face over his.
”No,” you gasped out, looking down at the knife in his chest. Your hands hovering over it, wondering what to do, how it was possible. “No. Dean! No,” you looked up into his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m right here. We’re gonna-“ you looked down at the knife again and the tears began to flow more freely and your voice broke. “No, Dean. Don’t! Don’t, Dean!” you pleaded. “You can’t! No, you can’t!” It would have been a yell if the tightness in your throat had allowed it. “No…” you brushed a hand against his forehead and cheek and then cradled an arm under his neck to support his head. His eyes still weren’t leaving your face.
He gulped a little, trying to talk. “Y/N…”
”Shh…Okay. Okay,” you sniffled. “I’m here. It’s okay.” You looked at the knife again. “Hold on, Dean,” you said. You firmly grasped the hilt and pulled it from his chest, letting it clatter to the ground next to you. Dean convulsed and let out a painful cry as the blade slipped from his body. You pressed a hand to his wound. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine,” you said, but your bottom lip was quivering and the tears were falling thickly on your cheeks and landing in droplets on Dean’s bloodstained shirt, the crimson slowly expanding in the material, wicking outward steadily like the sand in an hourglass that’s running out. “No! No!” you shook your head.
”I’m sorry,” Dean coughed.
You looked into his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do that,” shaking your head in denial.
”I have to do this,” he said.
You froze, furrowing your brow at him and shaking your head, not understanding.
Dean sputtered and coughed, more blood was now clinging to his lips which were rapidly losing their color. “Hey, Luther. I’ll make you a deal.”
You stared at Dean in disbelief.
”Time’s kind of running out for bargaining don’t you think?” Luther said, examining his fingernails, a cruel smile on his face.
”Fix Y/N’s legs. And you can keep my soul. Forever,” he choked out, coughing violently again and wincing.
”Dean! No!” you looked down at him in horror.
His eyes found your face again and he reached a shaky hand up to weakly caress your cheek. He gave you a small smile and you let out a sob, shaking your head, closing your hand over his, and pressing it to your cheek. “At least this way, something good comes out of me dying.”
”No, Dean!” your voice was quaking now just like your hands.
”Hmm.” Luther stroke his chin as if he was pondering the deal very thoughtfully. “So. One of my most hated and annoying adversaries is dying and offering me his soul… in exchange for little Y/N to be a real girl again. To be clear: You die. I get your soul. But she walks again. That’s the deal?”
”Take it or leave it, douchebag,” Dean muttered. His face was starting to look completely ashen now. You pressed your hand still tighter over his wound.
”Dean, don’t. Don’t! I don’t want to walk again this way! No!” you urged him with your cracking voice, adamantly shaking your head.
Luther let out a low laugh. “Deal,” he muttered. He snapped his fingers. “Now as soon as you die, your soul is mine, and little Y/N will have her legs back so she can run at me and try to put me down,” he smiled, blood still smeared on his teeth.
You snapped your head around to look at him. “You son of a bitch—“ the tears were burning in your eyes now with grief and renewed anger at Luther.
You heard Dean let out a wheeze and a gurgling sound in the back of his throat. You turned back to face him, moving your hand from the wound in his chest to the side of his face. “No! Dean! Dean, stay with me! Stay with me! No! NO!” you began to sob harder now as you watched the veil start to draw over his eyes. “Please, don’t leave me here,” your voice broke and you clutched to him. Droplets from your eyes rained down onto his shirt again, leaving little spots, looking like he had gotten caught in the rain.
His eyes were magnetically connected to yours and he managed a small smile as he looked up at you. “It’s okay, Y/N…” As soon as your name passed his lips the veil closed over his eyes completely and you heard a small exhale, like a whisper, pass through his pale lips. His face relaxed and his head rested more heavily into the arm you still had cradled under his neck.
You shook your head violently, pressing your lips together in denial. “No. No! DEAN! NO!” your voice came out in a wretched howl now and you broke down, sobbing, collapsed into him, your face buried against his chest, which was too still and silent. There was no rush of air in and out of his strong lungs and no steady drum of his heart. His chest wasn’t rising and falling. He was unmoving forever now. You cried into him, your hand still resting on the side of his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw.
”Tsk tsk tsk.” Luther clicked his tongue at you and interrupted your grief.
You sniffled and sat up a little from Dean, still unwilling to break contact with him completely. Your hand withdrew from the side of his face and slid across his chest, falling onto the cold ground. “You bastard,” you accused Luther. Your voice was shaky but strong with anger.
Luther held his hands up. “Generous of him to sacrifice letting his soul rest in peace for the sake of your legs though, don’t you think? Why not get up and try it out?” He smirked at you. You didn’t move from your place with Dean. Luther cracked an evil smile and turned away dismissively. He looked at Bobby and Sam where they were still pinned up against the wall. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot that the two of you were here…” he said casually. Sam’s face was stained with tears and red with anger. Both he and Bobby were struggling as much as they could against Luther’s hold on them. “Don’t worry. I’ll put you out of your misery, Sam. You’re next.”
You sniffed again and moved a little where you lay. You felt your fingers brush the hilt of the demon knife. You glanced down at it through your blurry vision. It was still where you had laid it after you’d pulled it from Dean’s chest… You wrapped your fingers around the hilt, gripping it tightly. “The hell he is,” you choked out. You closed your fingers on either side of the blade and threw the knife, releasing it at the perfect moment so that the path it traveled was true and strong, and straight.
Luther saw it too late. His mouth dropped slightly open in surprise as the knife plunged into his heart. His body rocked and convulsed as fiery light shone from his eyes and mouth. He dropped with a heavy thud to the ground. Bobby and Sam were immediately released from his hold and both slid down the wall to fall hard on the ground.
You turned away numbly, back to Dean. The sight of his eyes staring unseeingly caused your breath to stall out and you heaved another dry sob before the tears started to flow again and your shoulders quaked with your sobs. You gently pulled your arm out from under his neck and rested his head on the ground. You passed a hand over his eyes and shut his eyelids. Your eyes rested on his lips, pale with beads of crimson blood clinging delicately to them.
You leaned over him and pressed a kiss to those lips. Only the second one you had ever shared… this action broke you down completely again and you have collapsed in a heap on his chest, sobbing into his shirt, clutching at him desperately. No more words of denial ripped from your lips now. You just shut your eyes and buried your face into him.
Behind you Sam broke and fell to his knees, staring in disbelief at his older brother, fallen in battle far too soon. Sam cradled his head in his hands and shut his eyes against the scene, but he couldn’t close out the sound of your muffled sobs and he couldn’t stop the realization from nearly crushing him to pieces. Dean was gone. His big brother… gone.
Bobby stood numbly halfway between Sam and you and Dean. Silent tears rolled down his face, dropping from his cheeks and chin to land on the floor and splatter. Images of Dean as a kid, causing trouble in the shop as Bobby worked on cars, throwing a baseball around, helping Sam tie his shoes, flashed in his mind and he gritted his teeth against the will to crumble.
Eventually, Bobby stepped forward and crouched beside you. He put a firm hand on your shoulder. “Y/N…”
You shrugged it off. “Go away,” you choked out.
Bobby bit back another wave of tears. “Y/N. It’s time to come away now,” he said gently.
”GO AWAY!” you screamed at him harshly, dissolving into sobs anew.
”Come now,” Bobby insisted. “Come on.” Bobby put his hand on your shoulder again and you looked up at him with swollen, red eyes. Your face was shining with tears.
You shook your head at him weakly. Heaving, shaky breaths racked your body. “Bobby…”
He nodded, blinking away the glassy tears in his eyes. “I know. But come away.” He guided you to him, away from Dean, and you clutched to him instead; your shoulders now shaking with silent crying. Bobby’s eyes landed on Dean’s cold face and he shut his eyes against it, clenching his jaw hard. He smoothed a hand over your hair like a father would and tried to soothe your sobbing.
Sam stood suddenly and turned away, walking toward Luther’s corpse and pulling the knife from him. He wiped it on his pants and walked silently from the room only to lean against the wall in the hallway and again be overcome with grief.
Bobby pulled you back from him a little once your sobs had started to taper off. “I’ll get your chair,” he said.
You looked at him numbly, blinking through your swollen eyes. “I don’t need it,” you said. You gulped hard, knowing it was true. Bobby stood and watched with mixed awe and discomfort as you pulled yourself to your feet. “I wish I was back in that chair,” you said. And with that, you glanced back at Dean once more and walked numbly, slowly from the room.
Bobby was left in the room with the wreckage; your overturned wheelchair, two broken Devil’s traps, a dead demon, and Dean.
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