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It's always worse when he's out on a hunt. Waiting in the room, hoping to hear that everything has gone as planned. Wishing that I could have gone to watch his back. But I'm here, sitting on our bed safe and useless, while he's risking his life. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. We all have to pull our weight in order to keep the world safe. Except for me. I'm the one always left behind, too fragile and incapable to be of help.
I stand and pace from the door to the bathroom, surprised there's not a trench worn into the floor from all the hours I've spent following that path since he left. After a few turns I catch my reflection in the full length mirror and stop. Dean had bought this mirror for me not long after we moved into the bunker, along with several other "girly things" as he had called them (a decent shower curtain and some new bed sheets do not count as girly). It was a frivolous purchase, but it makes him happy when he can buy me things that aren't shotguns and crucifixes, so I had smiled and set it up in the corner next to the bathroom door. Over time I had steadily covered the frame with news clippings documenting hunts, ticket stubs from all the places we visited on our down time, and other random pieces of our life. Mostly it was covered in pictures of the gang: Dean trying (and failing) to us a samurai sword, Sam bent over dusty tomes looking for an obscure scrap of ancient lore, Cas looking on confused as the boys watch The Fellowship of the Ring, Bobby and Kevin sharing a beer and smiling at me through the camera lens, me and Dean asleep on the couch. It has become a testament our lives and our time together. I grimace at what I see, at my reflection framed by their greatness and my relationship with Dean.
How can he be content with me? How can I ever deserve him?
All I see is the plain and boring features of an unremarkable woman. I'm not strong, not enough to go on hunts and fight the good fight. I'm not smart, Sam's been in charge of all the research since we lost Bobby, I just catalog and try to stay out of the way. I can't cook and I'm not talented. I'm not even pretty! Not like the other women Dean's been with over the years. Not like Cassie or Jo or Lisa. I know he loved all of them, more than he could ever love me, especially Lisa. I know that he misses her even though he says that he's made peace with what happened. I know that he would rather be with her. He always tells me that I'm the only one for him, that he didn't truly live or love until he met me. I know he's just trying to spare my feelings. That's how Dean his. He has such a tender heart. He's always trying to make the world a better place, always trying to make people happy. Even when they don't deserve his time or affection. Like me. After all this time, I am still not the person he needs me to be. Not as a friend, a partner, or a lover. I don't deserve him. I never have and I never will. I spin around and around, trying to find an angle that shows someone amazing, someone deserving enough to call Dean her own. But all I see is a disappointment. A waste of space and a distraction. One that he doesn't need and one that could potentially cost him his life.
I suddenly feel warm wetness running down my forearm and pooling at my elbow. I try to focus past the darkness that clouds my vision. At the edges I see red bleeding into the black. Thick dark red, as red as blood, gushing and flowing around my peripheral.
I feel the pain next, sharp and clear. It disperses the darkness allowing me to focus. I see my hand, the gushing red mimicked in the blood stark against my pale skin. The knuckles of the hand that I had sent flying into the mirror are mangled, skin and flesh hanging off my bones in ribbons. Tiny shards of glass are embedded within the wounds and I can feel them move as I flex my hand. I see the mirror. It lies in pieces on the floor, only a few shards sill clinging to the frame. The pain is exquisite, almost to the point of euphoric. It grounds me while it also sends me flying. Nothing else has ever been able to do that - except for him. I watch as my blood drips onto the floor, staining the carpet. One droplet lands on a shard of glass about the size of my fist and, as I watch the blood spread out into a perfect circle, I know what I need to do.
I just wish I could have seen him one last time.
○○○
Dean was exhausted as he trudged up the staircase towards their room. Despite his weariness, a smile broke out on his face as he thought of the woman that awaited him inside. He had not been able to stop thinking about her since he had left and he had almost blown the whole mission trying to rush back to her side, much to his chagrin and Sam's amusement.
He couldn't wait to hear her voice, so delicate and musical. He could listen to her talk for hours. He couldn't wait to breath in her smell - like wildflowers and sunshine and fresh pine needles. His favorite thing was waking up to that smell every morning and simply breathing it in. He couldn't wait to experience the taste of her honey and cinnamon skin. It had quickly become his favorite flavor, and he couldn't get enough. He now had a new habit of picking cinnamon flavored candies over all others just so that he would never be without that taste on his tongue. All he wanted to do right then was wrap himself up in that sound and that smell, and to taste that sweet flavor on his tongue.
He never believed that he would be able to catch such a perfect woman, especially with his track record. She was so gorgeous. He swears that she would have been a model or actress if the world were different. She always laughs, says that she'd never be pretty enough to do that. But Dean couldn't imagine a more beautiful woman. To him, every inch of her body is perfect - from the dimples on her lower back to the curve of her neck. He loves how silky her hair feels when he runs his hands through it. He loves how her lips curve to one side when she's smug yet pull back to show her teeth when she's truly happy. He loves how her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs and the sparkle they get when she's being mischievous. He loves how her body is a contrast of ideas: both strong and soft simultaneously. Hardened muscles hidden beneath velvet skin. Sharp angles melding into soft curves.
He loves her with all his heart. How she sings along with her favorite songs while she's in the shower. How she loves classic rock as much as he does. He adores how she paints her toes mismatched bright colors because she can't decide on which color she likes best. How she bites her lip when she concentrates or how she keeps track of things by sticking them in her ponytail. How she likes to slide around on the slick floors in her socks. How her giggles turn into full belly laughs that make her lose her breath and turn red. He loves how geeky she is. How she's always finding time to watch her favorite shows or read her books and how she can quote everything from Harry Potter to Doctor Who to Game of Thrones. How she hoards fresh fruit as if they're going out of style. How she's most comfortable in his t-shirts and a pair of cut-offs but still looks amazing in a dress. He loves how she fits into the circle of his arms. How he can rest his chin on the top of her head as she listens to his heartbeat.
She's the best thing that has every happened to him and he knows he doesn't deserve her. He's always thought that she was too delicate and innocent for his world, even if she had grown up in the life. That's why he always asks her to stay behind, where he knows she's protected and safe. He knows she's tough, hell she's tougher than he'd ever been. Yet he wants to be the wall she takes shelter behind rather than having her face the world head on. She's a fighter, has been through so much in her life that it makes Dean's head spin, and she always bounces back. Yet he wants her to live the life of a princess, precious and wanting for nothing, not the life of a warrior where she needs to fight for every inch she gains. She's smart too, smarter than Bobby or Sam. She could list every scrap of lore that had been collected by both them and the Men of Letters, whether it was on Demons or Ghosts or anything in between. He knows that she would be able to handle herself on a hunt, has seen it first hand plenty of times, but he just can't think of putting her in danger. He can't handle the thought of losing her. Even though their chances are a hundred times better with her there watching their backs, he always feels better knowing that she'd be at the bunker, safe and unharmed, when he came home.
He cleared the last step, and had rounded the hallway corner when he heard the sound of glass shattering behind their bedroom door. Fearing the worst, Dean took off at a sprint, nearly ripping the door off its hinges...and stopped dead at the sight before him.
○○○
Everything was so clear now, so amazingly clear. With the shard resting on my arm, the razor sharp edge biting beautifully into my skin, I prepare myself to finally let go. After so long balancing along a knife's edge, the thought of release is sublime. I prepare myself to run the shard up the length of my forearm - starting at the pulse point at my wrist and bearing down - when a loud crash breaks me out of my daze. I turn to stare at the open door, meeting the sea green eyes that haunt my dreams and every waking moment. He looks so beautiful, a warrior angel clad in black leather and adorned in silver framed in holy light. Time slows as he begins to move.
He crosses the room slowly, hands raised and palms out in a peacemaking gesture, as if I am a wild animal prepared to either bolt or attack. I giggle hysterically as I realize the truth in that thought. I see his face tighten, fear and panic clear in his eyes. He ends up right in front of me, not touching but barely enough room between us to hold our breath. I feel his fingers, so strong and warm against my chilled skin, as he grasps the shard and throws it across the room. He tangles his fingers with mine but freezes at my pained gasp. Finally breaking eye contact, he brings my hand to eye level for a closer inspection. When he sees the mangled, bloody mess that used to be my hand, his wall and the spell I'm caught in break.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" He asks through clenched teeth.
He doesn't truly scream, knowing that the sound would have a negative effect on me in this state. But I can hear the panic, anger, and self-loathing in his voice. My heart breaks on the latter, knowing that he is blaming himself for my injuries. I realize just how badly I was poised to hurt this man. I might not find myself worthy of his affections, but I'm his partner and a member of his family, and he would have carried the guilt of my actions for the rest of his days. Tears spring to my eyes as he walks me into the bathroom and begins to clean and bandage what's left of my hands.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" I whisper, my voice soft and guilt dripping off every syllable.
He looks up as he finishes his ministrations and grabs my face between his large hands, thick fingers digging into my hair and massaging my scalp. He gulps in air for a minute, clearly trying to gather his thoughts and his composure.
"What were you thinking? I leave for a few days and now your trying to kill yourself. What happened!" He was trying so hard not to yell at me, worried that I would break right before him.
I try to avert my eyes, but his grip on my face prevents me from looking away. I bite my lip to keep in my words, not wanting to add to his burdens. But the look in his eyes gives me no room for disobedience. Dean will have my answer no matter what.
"It hurts so much sometimes. I just wish I couldn't feel a damn thing. How can you not see that I am ninety-percent crap and your amazing and there's just no making that better? I don't deserve to be here, to be with you! I don't add anything to the group and all I do is get in the way! I know that's why you always leave me behind!" My words began as barely a whisper but raised to a screech before I ended.
I did not mean to reveal so much, and I regret it the second the words are out of my mouth. I see the shock on Dean's face and the moment he realizes that his leaving me behind had factored into my episode.
I curse myself under my breath and try to backtrack. "Dean, I didn't mean...I mean, what I was trying to say...It's not your fault...I'm just not…"
Dean's fingers on my lips stop my babbling before I can build up decent speed. His eyes are sad and I hate myself for being the cause. He simply looks at me for a few moments before sighing and angles my head so that he can kiss my forehead. He leans back and looks me straight in the eye.
"How can you think so little of yourself? Don't you realize how much you mean to this family? You are a Winchester, both in spirit and in name. I chose to put that band on your finger and I chose to give my all to you. I chose you! Though it wasn't really a choice. From the first day we met, you were seared on my heart and my soul. So don't you ever do that again! Do you hear me? Don't you ever try that again!" He chokes on the last word and a single tear runs down his cheek, more threatening to fall in its wake.
My heart constricts within my chest and I want to find the words that I would need to comfort him, to show him that everything is ok now and that I will never think to abandon him again. Yet I gulp on my own sobs because all I feel is pure hatred. Not toward him but toward myself.
Dean sees the struggle in my eyes and grips my face harder. "I know how you look into mirrors, and you hate what you see. But have you ever considered that I don't? I love everything about you. Can't you see that there ain't no me if there ain't no you!"
I can't take it anymore. His words reach my soul and I know that they are true, yet my brain tells me that it cannot be. I feel my heart break within my chest, the pain echoing in my words.
"BUT WHY ME!" I scream at him. "Why would you give a crap about me? I AM NOTHING! I'm not strong enough to be a part of this family and I just can't keep pretending that everything's alright."
The kiss is sweet and slow. Dean's lips pressed gently yet firmly against mine. He tries to convey all of his feelings, hoping to reach me through action and touch when he cannot through words. My lips tremble under his. I want to give in to my love for him, but the darkness inside threatens to drown me. Dean gently traces my cheekbone with his thumb. The tenderness with which he treats me has my heart clenching within my chest. I lay my my good hand against his cheek, feel the two days stubble scrape my palm, and simply float in the sensation.
The kiss is sweet and slow, two people doing nothing more than showing their love for each other. Soon it becomes desperate. Desperate to be closer, to prove to the other that they aren't going away. That they are completely and irrevocably bound together.
We are animals, ripping and clawing at each other, wanting nothing more than the feel of skin on skin. Dean grabs the edges of my shirt - his shirt actually, a plaid button up that I had stolen from his closest after he left, wanting to fall asleep with his scent surrounding me - and yanks. The buttons go flying and the sound of ripping fabric sends heat straight to my core. He growls as he bends his head, taking my nipple into his hot mouth. He sucks at it through the fabric lace of my bra until it pebbles and then nips at it playfully. My fingers bury in his hair, trying to push him closer to my chest as my head falls back and presenting the column of my neck. Dean leaves my breast despite my disappointed groan to attack the newly exposed flesh. He bites and licks along my collarbone until he reaches the juncture where shoulder meets throat. He latches on to my pulse point and begins to work the skin beneath his teeth. Eventually he comes up for air and licks at the spot like a cat lapping at cream, admiring the bruise that effectively marks me as his own. He grabs the backs of my thighs and hoists me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as my fingers grip tighter into his hair.
He walks us over to the bed and tries to toss me unto the mattress, but I have such a tight hold that he tumbles down after me. He lands on top of me with a rush of breath. I giggle and let go of him in order to strip. I get sidetrack however when Dean begins to pull off his jeans and briefs. So when he turns back toward me, I have only gotten as far as my bra and panties. He groans and when I see his eyes blown wide and hungry, I whisper silent thanks to whatever prompted me to wear his favorite set. He told me once that the dark lace was both heaven and hell, revealing glimpses of skin but still providing a little mystery.
Dean kneels on the bed and begins to kiss his way up my calf, randomly biting at the skin as he goes. By the time he reaches my thighs, I am panting and soaking wet. The tip of his tongue darts out and traces the outline of my hipbone beneath the skin. He follows the edge of my panties until his hot breath is hovering right above my center. Just when I believe that he'll show mercy, he lunges upwards to claim another kiss, capturing my distressed whine in the process. He wraps his hands around my back and pops the clasp to my bra - throwing it carelessly behind him. We hiss in unison as our bare chests finally connect. Dean pulls away, my lips chasing after him, not wishing to break contact just yet. He chuckles at me when I fail and begin to pout.
He begins to kiss his way back down my body, stopping to tease my breasts once more. He does not continue on his journey until my nipples are peaked, hard, and verging on the side of pain. He follows the planes of my chest, laps at the creases under my breasts. He reaches my navel and dips his tongue inside and my back arches off the bed as I choke on a sob. He once again traces the edge of my panties, then grips the fabric between his teeth and pulls. He works them down my legs and past my feet, throwing them to the side to join my bra. Dean finally settles his whole weight on top of me and I am drowning in his scent: a combination of leather, sweat, and a flavor that has no name but is all Dean. I open my knees, letting him fall in the space between my thighs. I groan as I feel him, hot and hard as steel, against my center.
Dean tangles his fingers with mine - careful of my injuries - and holds my hands above my head. Attacking my throat once more, I feel Dean enter me, his passage made easy by how wet and slick I am. Usually we would never continue past this point without proper protection - we have both learned first hand that this life is no place for a child - but tonight is not a night for barriers and I am thankful for that. I can feel every inch of him stretching and filling me like no other ever has before. He touches places inside me that have my heart stuttering and my body arching violently.
I'm not the only one affected it seems. Dean's face is pinched and his eyes tight, a look I've learned to mean his control is slipping. He opens his eyes and gazes down at me with such love and affection I feel tears form behind my eyelids. That look breaks me and I swear to whatever deity or angel or demon will listen that I will never again try to abandon him, I will never be able to even consider it. I rear up to catch his lips with mine and wrap my legs around his waist once more. As I steal his breath, I begin to writhe beneath him and dig my heels into his ass, urging him to move. His composure final breaks and he begins to pound into me with abandon. Our passion and desperation combine, making us insatiable, and we begin to rut against each other like rabid animals. We grasp and claw at each other, wanting nothing more than to crawl into the other and live as one being rather than two. The only sounds to be heard are bated breaths and strangled moans. No words are needed in this moment, just actions that speak more about our hearts than words ever could.
Dean hovers above me, both of us balancing on the edge, ready to fall but desperately wanting to prolong the ecstasy. He bends toward me as he continues to piston his hips, grinding us together bone against bone. He nips at my bottom lip and kisses both of my eyelids. The tender actions are a heady contrast to the animalistic pounding of our lower bodies. He hits a spot deep within me and I throw my head back, moaning at the sensations accosting my body. Dean thrusts harder, egged on by my outburst. We speed up, chasing that finish we both crave. I feel warmth pool deep in my stomach creating a knot of energy waiting to explode. Dean repositions and his skin grazes that sensitive nub above my core. The unexpected contact is too much and the dam finally breaks, heat spreading out to all of my limbs and starbursts flashing behind my eyes. I distantly feel Dean's rhythm stutter as my inner walls clench around him. His pained groan reaches my ears as if I am submerged. A few more thrusts and Dean is spilling inside me, head thrown back as he howls into the night.
We lay there painting in the aftermath, limbs entangled and heavy breaths mingling. Dean is laying on top of me, his comforting weight pressing me deep into the mattress. He is still buried deep within me and it seems neither one of us is ready to sever that bond. I see him raise his head from where it is laying on my chest and tenderly kiss the skin between my breasts. He looks up at me through his lashes and smiles radiantly at me, dimples showing and eyes crinkling at the corners. I return that smile, content and happy in his arms.
We both know that all is not well. I will have other outbursts and he will might not always reach me so quickly. But I trust him with my heart and my soul, with all of my being, and I know that what we have is special. It's not unicorns and rainbows, we just aren't those kinds of people. It's dark and scary and raw, but it's real and it's ours.
And I am proud of us.