Title: The Ultimate Curse
Warnings: swearing, angst
Summary: Dean lives with the love of his life. He couldn’t be any happier, life couldn’t be more perfect. Is it all too good to be true?
A/N: I hope you guys like it! There’ll probably be a second part eventually. And guys, I’m pretty swamped with requests right now, so feel free to drop by my ask box and say hi, or ask a question, but no requests for a few days, okay? :( I’m sorry, I hate doing that, I’d just like to catch up on the ones I have. Be Careful What You Wish For Part 5 and/or Mind Meld Part 5 coming tomorrow! :)
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Dean slowly wakes, but doesn’t open his eyes. He’s warm. The mattress is comfortable beneath him and the sheets are soft against his skin. It’s light behind his eyelids. A nice yellow. Like sunrise. His chest still rises and falls slowly, and he tightens his arm around the body next to him.
She murmurs in response, and he feels her twist toward him. Dean feels her lips touch his jaw softly before she snuggles against his chest and he smiles, pressing his own lips to her y/h/c hair. His fingers slowly trail up and down the skin beneath her tank top, and he traces the words I love you.
“Morning,” she murmurs, her breath warming his bare chest.
“Morning,” he replies softly, leaning down to nuzzle her face gently.
Her fingers run along his jawline. “Scratchy,” she notes sleepily. His hand splays out against her back and he holds her closer still, but doesn’t say anything. Dean’s other hand comes up to cover hers, and he feels her pull back. She watches him until he opens his eyes into hers and grins.
“Watchin’ me sleep? Kinda creepy,” he teases her, entwining her fingers with his own.
“Then this will be even creepier,” she replies. She leans up and gently kisses him once on the mouth. His fingers slide through her hair and he pulls her up again.
“Not at all, actually,” he murmurs against her jaw. He feels her smile, and gives a brief kiss to the dimple that forms outside her lips.
Then Dean pulls back just enough so that he can look into her eyes. “How’d I get so lucky?” he wonders to her, tapping a finger on her nose.
“Alright, what do you want?” she teases.
“You,” he answers honestly.
She smiles. “I think I can live with that.”
They search each other’s eyes for a moment, simply smiling, until he says, “Y/n?”
“I love you too, sap,” she says, her eyes sparkling.
“You love it when I’m sappy,” Dean says with a grin. “All girls love the flowery crap.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Flowery crap, huh? Sounds appealing.”
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
She laughs in surprise. “Did you just quote Shakespeare, Dean Winchester? I should write this down,” she says, moving as if to go get her journal on the bedside table to do so.
“Maybe later,” he says, his arms snaking around her and pulling her back.
She lovingly trails a finger under his chin and lifts it slightly. “Kiss me,” she whispers.
He brings his lips to hers. Her mouth is soft and full. It feels wonderful against Dean’s.
She pulls away gently, her eyes flicking open. His are still closed.
“Open your eyes,” she says softly.
“Because I like looking at them.”
He grins, pleased. “Can’t say no to that,” he says, his eyelids fluttering open.
She props herself up on her elbow. “They’re a very nice color. What would you call that shade of green? Forest? Lime? Frog?”
Dean snorts. “Frog?” he asks. “Well, don’t you know how to make a man feel handsome.”
She giggles. “I said it was a nice color.” She runs a hand down his abdomen and he catches it in his.
“It’s not even ten, and you’re already trying to seduce me, sweetheart?”
She smirks. “It’s eleven-thirty.”
“Well,” Dean says, rolling over her as she giggles. “In that case…”
Dean watches the white dress swirl around her slim form as she digs her toes into the wet sand. Her hair covers her face as she turns to him, and she pushes it away, smiling.
“Come on,” she calls, waving at him. “Let’s go to the water.”
“No, thanks, sweetheart,” he calls back. “Not a big fan of hypothermia.”
She smiles, and walks across the sand toward him, taking his hand. “Don’t be a big baby.”
He resists for a moment, but after another tug he relents and allows her to lead him down to the water. He pauses, releasing her hand for only a moment to roll up the bottoms of his jeans before taking it again.
She steps backward into the water, her eyes not leaving his. She smiles at him, throwing out her arms and spinning in circles, her hair flying around her face, her dress fanning out around her. Dean feels like he was punched with a pound of bricks, just watching her. A slow grin of awe spreads across his face. She’s… angelic.
No, that’s not the right word. Angels are dicks. She’s more… lovely. Soft. Pure. Whereas angels are more like the sun, burning and boiling but still producing light, she’s more like the stars. Spread out and soft and gentle. You might not notice it right away, but if she was gone you’d realize that you missed her shining down on you, her mere presence a beacon of hope and reassurance.
She comes to a stop, her eyes sparkling as she waves him forward. “Come on,” she says. “I believe in you.”
Bracing himself, he dips a toe into the ocean.
He frowns. “It’s not too bad, actually.”
“See?” she asks. “You would’ve never known if you hadn’t tried.”
Dean reaches out and snags her around the waist. “Good thing I tried it then,” he says in her ear before scooping her up. She screams in surprise, tossing her arms around his neck and holding on tightly.
He reaches down and completely submerges her entire body into the ocean, laughing when she comes up gasping. She squirms out of his hold and yells, “Dean!”
“Excellent choice in wearing white, sweetheart,” he teases, briefly running his eyes down her soaked body.
She stumbles unsteadily as she struggles to stand upright, and splashes him. He tries to splash him back, but she dodges out of the way quickly, her wet hair swinging, one strand stuck to her smiling cheek. Dean fakes a lunge at her and she leaps back, laughing, but then he really does charge, and she waits until the last moment before she moves away, jumping onto his back.
Her arms slide around his neck and his hands come up to gently grip her legs. “You’re all wet,” he complains, but he’s smiling.
“Whose fault is that?” she asks, pressing her lips to his temple.
“Not mine,” he replies, rubbing circles on her thighs.
“Yeah, right,” she laughs. “Okay, let me down.”
Dean purses his lips in deliberation, then doesn’t do anything.
Sighing, he reluctantly lets her down and she steps slowly backward through the water.
“Never turn your back on the ocean,” Dean calls.
“Well, I’ve got my knight in shining armor right in front of me, don’t I?” she responds. “I trust you.”
“Knight in shining armor, huh?”
“So, what are you? The damsel in distress?”
“Something like that. Come save me, my hero,” she teases, curling a finger towards herself.
“My pleasure,” he says with a grin. Dean stumbles through the water towards her and grabs her around the waist, lifting her high in the air as she laughs, before pulling her down to his chest. She wraps her legs around his waist, and one arm around his neck. Her other hand cradles his face as she leans down and presses her forehead against his.
She looks into his eyes. “Actually, now that I think about it,” she whispers, “you already have.”
Dean’s heart swells with an incredible love that he had long ago stopped trying to restrain. His eyes search hers tenderly for a long moment, as he gives her a soft, heartbreakingly beautiful smile. Then she slides a finger under his chin and tilts his head up, kissing him slowly, as though they have all the time in the world.
Dean watches her open the door, bags on her arms as she comes in covered with a light dusting of snow on her dark jacket. She turns and seeing him, smiles, before her eyes fly all over the room and confusion replaces it.
“Dean,” she says cautiously. “What is all this?”
“What does it look like, baby?”
She looks back at him as a shameless grin spreads across his face. “It looks like,” she begins with a disbelieving laugh, “that you bought all of the mistletoe in the country and hung it in our house.”
Dean glances up at the ceiling, smirking. “You do remember what happens under mistletoe, don’t you, sweetheart?” he asks, sauntering towards her slowly, his hands casually sliding out of his pockets.
Her eyes are sparkling as she watches his approach and she tilts her head thoughtfully. “You may have to remind me.”
He stops in front of her, before quickly yanking her against his body and kissing her firmly. When she pulls away, he resists, pressing his lips to hers once more. “There’s more mistletoe,” he murmurs against her skin, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around him.
“Dean,” she laughs, as he begins to carry her around the house. He starts to kiss her faster, little kisses all over her mouth and cheeks and nose.
“Dean!” she squeals as she drops her bags. He’s grinning now, relentlessly kissing her face and then her neck, his warm hands sliding beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.
He carries her away, and above the bed is the most mistletoe in the whole house.
She sat alone on the deck, the night silent except for the steady chirping of crickets. It was warm as Dean steps outside, everything around him tinged with a strange distortion. The door swings shut quietly behind him.
“Hey,” he calls out softly, his hand sliding into his pockets. “You okay?”
She doesn’t respond, but he sees her lift her arm and wipe the back of her hand over her eyes.
Sadness washes over him as he goes to sit next to her. He takes her hand, and she lets him. “Hey,” he says again. “What’s going on?”
She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling as her eyes fill once more. “Nothing,” she says thickly, looking away as if in shame.
“Come on, now. What’s wrong?”
She sighs, looking away again. “It’s… it’s you,” she says reluctantly.
Dean instantly feels worried. “Me? What did I do?”
Confused, he waits until she speaks again. “Dean… you didn’t know what I was like before I met you. I was… I was a trainwreck. I was so… so lost. I was empty. And then you came, and my whole world… it was like it had been spinning and-and blurry, and then I saw you… and it stopped. Everything came into focus,” she says in a shaky voice, wiping away her tears again. “Even now, being around you… everything is easier, cleaner. You-you filled this—this hole in my chest that I tried for so long to-to fill and I’m just so s-scared that one day—that one day–” her voice breaks off as she begins to sob and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, his heart cracked.
“Don’t think like that,” he whispers. “You’re the damn love of my life, Y/n. I didn’t believe in soulmates before I met you, but you’re mine. I’m sure of it. Hell, you’re the reason I’m not friggin’ crazy. You keep me grounded, you keep me alive. I’m not going anywhere, you hear me? I swear that to you. I’m going to stick around until you can’t stand me. Understand?”
“That won’t ever happen,” she whispers with a watery, hesitant smile.
He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Then you and me? We’re forever, sweetheart. I promise.”
“Dean, stop it. I’m here to help you. You can’t always keep everything bottled up,” you say.
“I don’t get you!” she yells in frustration. “You beg me to talk to you when I’m upset, you insist. But then when there’s something wrong with you, you refuse. You’re so…” she struggles with her words, trailing off.
She presses her lips together.
“No, go on, sweetheart. Tell me.”
Her eyes flash with anger and she straightens up. “Hypocritical!” she shouts. “You’re a damn hypocrite, Dean, and it drives me nuts!”
Dean stares at her in disbelief. “I’m a hypocrite because I don’t want to cuddle you and cry on your shoulders while you hand me tissues and listen to me bitch about my problems?”
Her eyes fill with tears. “How do you expect anyone to help you when you’re hurting, if you won’t even let yourself feel the pain?”
“Oh, I feel it. Trust me.”
“No, you don’t. You shove it down under sarcasm and alcohol and—and telling yourself and everyone around you that you’re fine, when in reality, you’re the opposite!”
“You knew what you signed up for,” Dean says angrily. “I told you that I was gonna be hard to deal with, that I had a crapload of flaws, and–”
“I don’t care that you have flaws, Dean!” she shouts. “That’s not what bothers me! It’s the fact that you think that they make you weak, and broken! I… I love your flaws.”
“Dean, your flaws are what make you you. And… and you should love your flaws. I mean, how do you expect others to love you if you don’t love yourself?” she asks softly.
He looks away, swallowing. Then, finally, he whispers, “That’s the thing. I… I don’t.”
When he looks at her, his eyes are shining and his face is contorted in pain. “Who could?”
Her face softens, and she moves closer, gently resting a hand on the side of his cheek. His eyes close. “I can,” she says. “I do. I mean, if this is what you’re like when you think you’re broken… I can’t even imagine how beautiful you must be put together.”
At her words, Dean trembles and a tear runs down his face.
She shakes her head. “You’re home. You’re my-my hope. My always. And Dean…” she trails off, looking at him tenderly, her fingers gently wiping away the single tear. “That’s never going to change.”
His arms wrap around her tightly, and he holds her. He holds his love, his happiness, his everything. He holds his stars in his arms, praying that she’ll never stop shining.
He prays that she’s forever.
"I love you too, sweetheart.”
“DEAN! Dean, can you hear me?!”
Dean’s mind is sluggish and confused, and there’s an intense pain radiating from his left temple. The air around him is cold, and it seeps through the holes of his jacket and raises goosebumps to his arms, which are some reason above him. His head is heavy and he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes.
He can hear his brother, hear him yelling his name frantically, sounding faraway. But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand because just a moment ago she was in his arms, smiling up at him, her warm body pressed flush against his own. Her hair had been twirling around her face due to the breeze blowing softly from the fan she had set on the window, and just moments ago he had been tucking it behind her ear.
Dean’s chin presses painfully into his chest and he tries to raise it but it’s like a child trying to lift a hundred pounds; it’s too heavy, and it strains his muscles. He gives up.
“Oh, God, Dean. You’re fine, alright? I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.”
Dean hears his brother again, but doesn’t know how to move his tongue, or much of anything for that matter. He tries to wiggle his fingers, but that only brings awareness to a burning pain around his wrists. He grunts and he hears someone sigh in relief. Then whatever’s holding his wrists above his head disappears and he’s falling. Arms wrap around his limp form, struggling to keep him upright.
“Cas—Cas, c’mon—he’s really bad—help me out–”
And then there’s more arms underneath him and Dean feels his weight leave the ground. “He was nearly killed,” Cas mutters to Sam in a grave voice. “There’s hardly any life left in him.”
Dean’s listening, but his brain is slow to process and he doesn’t understand. All he can feel is the pain, the cold, the ache in his bones and the soreness of his muscles. And he doesn’t know where she is.
“Y/n,” Dean tries to say. It comes out as a strangled, unintelligible whisper. “Y/n.”
“Shh, Dean, it’s okay. Don’t speak. You’re fine, we’re going to get you some help.”
Dean struggles to open his heavy eyelids. Everything is slow, unreal, and the world around him has a strange quality of distortion, different from the one he felt when he was with you. This one is sharper, harsher, and it hurts his head. The room is dark, almost blue. And it’s cold. It’s so cold. Exhaustion settles in every limb of his body, but all he can think about is her, standing in front of the window with her figure and her hair outlined, her smile shining as radiantly as the sunlight behind her. Y/n, where are you? He thinks desperately.
It’s bright. It’s bright even through his eyelids. The sound is muffled, but he feels better. More alive. He can feel the blood rushing through him and hear his heart beating steadily in his chest.
He sees a blurry Sam sitting in an armchair next to his bed. He’s in the bunker. Sam slumps on one arm, his leg propped on his knee and a book perched against, his ankle, but he looks up and sees that Dean is awake.
“Dean,” he says, relieved. “How do you feel?”
Dean clears his throat. “Better, I think,” his voice sounds flat. “What happened? How did I get there?”
Sam frowns. “You’ve been missing for days, Dean.”
Dean jerks back, alarmed. “What are you talking about? What do you mean ‘missing’?”
Sam looks at him cautiously. “I mean… you went to scout that guy we were hunting, and you never came back. Not until we found you yesterday in that warehouse,” he says, slightly slower than normal.
Dean shakes his head profusely. “No, that’s impossible. I was…” he freezes. “What month is it?”
Sam raises his eyebrows. “December. Why?” he asks.
The harsh reality of what was going on slams into Dean at once. This is impossible. Days? Days ago he was with her. Y/n. And it had been June. “Sam,” he says fearfully. “What were we hunting?”
“You don’t remember?” Sam replies. “It was a Djinn.”
“If this is what you’re like when you think you’re broken… I can’t even imagine how beautiful you must be put together.”
Dean stood in his room, tears sliding softly down his cheeks as he stares at the blank wall in front of him.
None of it had been real. She wasn’t real. The way she made him feel wasn’t real. Her lips, her delicate fingers, her shining hair… when she had told him she loved him, when she’d shown him how much, when she’d kissed him and cried on his shoulder and held his hands and listened… he’d only been talking to himself. Everything you told him, every glance her way, every touch and every scent…
It was fake. An illusion produced by the Djinn’s poison.
You should have known, he thought bitterly. No one could love you like that.
You’re always going to be alone.
A dream. She was a dream. And waking… waking was the ultimate curse.
Dean’s heart shattered into a million pieces that day, and he suddenly knew exactly how weak he was.
After all, his heart was broken by someone who didn’t even exist.
Sam fidgets nervously with his button down and stalks back and forth, running a hand through his hair and scanning the bunker for anything out of place. He suddenly leaps out and straightens a book on a shelf, and Dean snorts.
“Seriously, dude? I don’t think she’s going to run away screaming if the books aren’t straight,” he says. “Unless she’s an OCD librarian or something. In which case you should be the one running.”
Sam sighs. “I just want to make a good impression, Dean. She’s different.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, Prince Charming. When is she gonna be here?”
He glances at his watch and swallows. “Any minute now.”
Sam bites his lip. “Do you think she’ll think this is weird? Living in a bunker?”
“Probably,” Dean replies honestly.
Sam groans. “You know, you’re not exactly doing the best job reassuring me.”
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says, sticking his feet onto the table and folding his hands behind his head. “If she’s a cool chick, she won’t care. I mean, she’s gotta be cool if she can deal with you all the time.”
Sam throws him a dirty look and Dean chuckles. “Plus, isn’t she already your girlfriend?”
Dean shrugs. “So you already got her. Just gotta keep her. That’s the easy part.”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, right.”
Dean just laughs. “Whatever, man. What’s her name again?”
Sam opens his mouth to respond, but at that point there’s a knock on the door. “That’s her,” Sam says, spinning to Dean wildly with pleading eyes.
Dean looks at him like he’s crazy. “So get the door, Sammy.”
“Dean, no, I can’t. I can’t. You get it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Dean asks in disbelief.
Sam shakes his head, looking beyond nervous.
“Fine,” Dean grumbles. “Seriously, dude, grow a pair.”
Sam doesn’t reply and Dean, sighing the whole way, clambers up the stairs to the door. Then he twists the handle and yanks it open.
And he can’t believe what he sees.
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m sorry… Have we met before?”
