A/N: I apologize if my details for CPR are inaccurate, I did my best :)
(Gif not mine)
Rain poured down in thick sheets from menacing gray clouds. Had it not been for the fact that Dean had been in broad daylight less than half an hour ago, he would have sworn night had fallen. The storm darkened the rest of the world significantly as thunder crashed, and the unforgiving winds howled. Rain washed the blood from his hands and his gun, though it wasn't his own. Dean held his forearm above his eyes as he tried to keep the rain out of his face. Although he would never admit it out loud, he was lost, and this storm really wasn't helping him.
"Y/N!" He yelled the young woman's name into the void, but the storm's sounds immediately swallowed it. The two of them had split up when they followed the warlock into the woods, but Dean had quickly tracked him down and killed him. This raging tempest that kept increasing in intensity was a parting gift. Now that the hunt was over, Dean was anxious to find Y/N and get the hell home. He didn't know where she was, and the phone service was completely out. Wherever she was, he only hoped that she was having more luck.
"Y/N!" he yelled again. As Dean stepped over a fallen branch, pain suddenly flared up within him, and he clutched at his chest, groaning. "Y/N!" Her name came out as a panicked cry for help, far different from the tone he had been using when he was trying to find her. Dean fell to his knees, blinded by white light, though he couldn't tell if it was from the lightning anymore. Now, his only hope was her finding him.
"Y/N!”
Thunder crashed above you noisily as you shoved your phone back into your pocket. There was no use in it becoming totally useless from the rain if you didn't even have service to call Dean.
"Dean!" Your voice was starting to go hoarse from how many times you had called out for him. The trees that surrounded you all looked the same, and you had no indication of where you were, much less where Dean might be. You hadn't heard from him since before the two of you split up, and you were starting to feel anxious. It was even worse that you had no way of knowing if Dean had taken care of the warlock. The gun in your hand trembled slightly as you continued to scan your surroundings as you moved North - or at least what you were hoping was North. The strong winds whipped your hair into your face, stinging your cheeks. This storm was unlike any you had encountered before, and it made your job a hell of a lot harder.
When brief flashes of lightning illuminated the forest around you, your eyes locked onto a heap about one hundred feet away, and your heart dropped into your stomach.
"Dean!" Water splashed up onto the ankles and shins of your jeans as you sprinted toward him. He was on his side, totally motionless and unresponsive. You rolled him onto his back, shaking him vigorously. "Hey! Hey!" He didn't seem to have any flesh wounds, but the fact that he wasn't waking you up was still more than enough reason for concern. When Dean still did nothing, you pressed your ear against his chest, listening for a heartbeat. Nothing. "No." You suddenly felt panic creep up, but you forced it back down. You were no help to either of you if you couldn't even think straight. "No, no, no!" Without a second's hesitation, you pinched his nose and tilted his chin up, pressing your mouth against his to force air back into his lungs. You rocked back on your heels to lace your fingers together and lock your elbows, beginning a steady rhythm of compressions on his chest.
As you tried desperately to revive him, you noticed a piece of cloth peeking out from his jacket pocket, revealed by you rolling him onto his back. You knew right away what the object was, and your movements faltered before coming to a stop - a hex bag.
"Shit!" you swore. You had left your lighter in the Impala, not knowing you would need it. If Dean didn't have one on him, it was all over, and you refused to let that happen. A world without Dean Winchester was a world you didn't want to live in. Moving frantically, you dug through the man's pockets, searching for the lighter that he usually carried with him. Thankfully, he did have it, and you yanked it free of his clothes, taking the small, cloth sack in one hand, and flicking your thumb over the lighter with the other. The rain continued to pour down on the two of you as you struggled to set fire to the hex bag. This was an impossible task, and panic threatened to overtake you again.
As your breathing began to come faster, you forced yourself to slow your heart rate and think clearly. What would Dean do? The second the question came into your mind, you knew what you had to do. Likely, the reason Dean was in this state in the first place was the small canvas bag you had in your hand. Before you did anything else, you had to burn it and pray he would wake up. You held the object behind your jacket, shielding it from the unforgiving rain and winds. Over the open flame of your lighter, it took the damp canvas a few moments to dry out enough to catch, but it finally did.
With the offending curse broken, you threw the hex bag to the side, watching Dean hopefully. When his chest still didn't rise or fall, you shook your head frantically.
"No!" you exclaimed to yourself as tears rose up in your eyes. "That should've worked!" You were totally out of ideas as you pressed your mouth over his again. The only thing left to do was try more chest compressions, but if this didn't work... You were trying hard not to think about it. "Come on," you said to Dean, although you knew he couldn't actually hear you. "Come on!”
Dean's eyes flew open, and raindrops trickled down his face as he sat up, coughing and gasping for breath. You let out a relieved sob and threw your arms around him, still not quite able to believe that you had just saved his life.
"Y/N?" he asked over the howl of the wind.
"Don't you ever do that again!" you scolded. "You scared the fuck out of me!" Dean's hands came up to rub soothing circles on your arms, where they rested around his shoulders. "I thought I lost you." Dean pulled back to look at you.
"You're gonna have to try harder than that to lose me, babe." You smacked him in the arm, mostly with a playful nature, but still a little harder than you intended. "Ow!"
"Let's just get the hell out of here."
Thanks so much for reading!
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Some Headcanons about Vanitas and a iperprotective s/o who always is worried for him and stress out when they see even a little single scratch?
Vanitas :
Oh boi. It amuse him way too much for your own good
The first time, he shrugs it off. But when he sees you’re always worried, even scolding him???
He’ll come to see you after each training, showing you his injury to see your reaction. Faking a pain exclamation to make fun of you when you come to him all worried
Even if he teases you, mocking you, deep down, he likes it. Somebody is worried for him, that’s something... Nice
But obviously, when he’s really in pain and that you see him like this, it piss him off
No matter how much pressure you put on the open wound, the blood just kept coming.
"Sam," you said weakly from the back seat. The Impala's engine gave a small rev from as Sam pushed his foot down harder on the gas pedal.
"I'm going as fast as I can, Y/N," he snapped. In any other scenario, you would have given him hell for talking to you like that, but right now, Sam's tone of voice was the last thing you were worried about.
"Would you two quit freakin' out?" Dean asked. You looked down at him, his head heavy in your lap. "I'm fine!" Had it not been for the deep slice on the right side of his torso, you might have believed him. Sam glanced up at you in the rearview mirror, asking you with his eyes if that was true; if Dean really was fine. Biting your lip, you gave him the most subtle shake of your head you could manage. No matter what you tried, you hadn't been able to get the bleeding to stop. If Dean didn't get stitches soon... Sam swore from the front seat as street signs whizzed by outside the windows.
Everything felt wrong. It was a beautiful day - the perfect type of weather for having the windows down - and here you were, trying to make sure Dean Winchester didn't die in your arms. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you rotated your flannel shirt, now soaked in red, to press a less saturated part against the wound. Dean's blood seeped between your fingertips as you pressed down. You bit down on your lip again, harder this time, as it started to wobble. This was your fault. You had lost focus for one second, and the ghoul had lunged at you. You hadn't seen it coming, but Dean had. You didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late. He had shoved you out of the way, but he hadn't been fast enough to deflect himself from the sonofabitch. Everything you knew about hunting had gone out the window. Your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the fact that Dean had just taken the fall for you. Sam was the one who had to finish it off.
You didn't realize how badly Dean was shaking until he laid his hand over yours.
"You are absolutely not fine," you said to him, your voice breaking. "You're shaking like a damn leaf and..." You trailed off when you saw the fresh blood quickly soaking your shirt again. Shaking your head vigorously, you looked up to the rearview mirror again. "Sam, it's not slowing down at all."
"Just keep pressure on it!"
"What do you think I'm doing back here?" Looking back down at Dean, your heart almost stopped. He was uncharacteristically pale, and his eyes were closed. You shook him hard, heart leaping into your throat. "Dean!" When he didn't respond, you gave him another shake. "Damn it, Dean, come on!" Your hand came down hard on his cheek, and the sharp sound of skin against skin resounded throughout the small space. Dean's eyes flew open, looking startled, and you gripped him tightly. "Don't do that," you scolded as relief flooded through you. But still, you weren't out of the woods just yet.
"I was just resting my eyes," Dean defended. You pushed down on the wound a little harder, earning a hiss of pain from him.
"Well, don't! We're almost back to the bunker, okay? I just need you to hold on a little bit longer." His eyes fluttered again, and you could see him straining to keep them open. This wasn't good. Okay, Y/N, think. "Hey, do you remember the time you thought I had a concussion?" He blinked hard.
"From the wraith or the poltergeist?"
"Poltergeist," you answered. Dean chuckled.
"I'm surprised you remember that. Hit your head pretty damn hard. Sam and I heard that loud-ass thunk from all the way on the other side of that house. We had to give you stitches for that, didn't we?"
"Yeah, but only a few." He snorted.
"Less than I'm gonna need, anyway." Your heart sank into your stomach. He was right. By the time the three of you got back to the bunker, it was still going to take some time to get the stitches finished. There was no telling how much more blood he was going to lose by then - or how much more he could afford to lose.
"You and Sam saved my ass that day," you added, trying to keep both his and your mind off of the deep slice in his torso. Dean gave your hand a small squeeze, which was incredibly reassuring.
"We've gotta look out for each other, Princess." Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you gave him a watery smile in return.
"Can you tell me that story?" you asked. "I think I remember less than I thought." Dean looked surprised but then nodded. You already knew this story, and you knew he did too, but anything that could keep him talking was good. When Sam caught your eye in the rearview mirror with a confused frown, you bobbed your head back at him, hoping your meaning was communicated - trust me. The older Winchester let out a sigh through closed lips.
"Uh... well, that one was in Pennsylvania," he began, his eyes already looking more alert as he worked to recall the information. You readjusted your shirt against the wound, almost entirely unnoticed by him. "And I could tell within five minutes of talking to the sheriff it was gonna be a rough one."
"You were right," you put in.
"Yeah, no shit," Dean snorted. "That poltergeist was one nasty sonofabitch. Probably the worst we've ever seen. I mean, they can usually throw things, physically manifest to attack, you know, the usual."
"Sure."
"But this was like next-level stuff," Dean continued. "That damn thing shook the house like it was a friggin' earthquake."
"Y/N." Upon hearing your name, you looked up, realizing that Sam was pulling into the bunker's garage. You rubbed Dean's shoulder in what you were hoping was a comforting gesture.
"All right, Winchester, we're back. Sam and I are gonna help you, but I need you to be ready to move, all right? We've gotta get you to the infirmary pronto," you explained. Giving you a wry smile, Dean snorted.
"'The infirmary?' What, are we in Harry Potter or something?" All traces of his teasing expression quickly faded away when he tried to sit up. About halfway through the motion, he froze as what little color he had left drained from his face. "Fuck!" he swore, biting back a groan.
"I've got you," you reassured as you supported him with a hand under his back. "You're doing great, Dean, you're already halfway up." Instinctively, he clasped your other hand in a death grip to work himself through the pain. "Come on, on three, all right? I've got you." When he was ready, he nodded, breaths coming quicker as he steeled himself. "One, two, three!" This time, there was no holding back the pained sound he made, and your heart broke for him. Dean rested his forehead against you as he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. At least he was upright, and not a moment too soon. Sam had barely put the car in park when he got out of the driver's seat, opening the door closest to Dean and holding out his hand.
"All right, come on, buddy," he coaxed, trying to keep the urgency in his voice to a minimum. "We've gotta get you in there so Y/N and I can get you patched up."
With Sam's help, you got Dean down to the infirmary, hooked up to an IV, and ready for stitches in record time. You were aware that it would still take a few hours for the transfusion to take effect, but just knowing that Dean was going to get back the blood he lost was a weight off your mind.
"So," you said as you threaded the sanitized needle for his stitches.
"So?" he echoed.
"You never finished telling me that story." Dean nodded and heaved a sigh.
"Ah, that's right. Where was I?"
"House shaking like a damn earthquake," you reminded him.
"Oh yeah, so, Sam and I were running all around that damn place looking for the poltergeist - and you. Anyway..." Dean wasted no time launching back into the story. In fact, he got so into it that when you pushed the needle under the skin of his toned torso, he barely even flinched. Although, that could have been attributed to the fact that he had done this many, many times before.
Your timing really couldn't have been better. As he neared the end of the story, you had just finished closing up his wound. "And after we killed it, I went running over to you, because you know, you were still out cold. Sam and I couldn't wake you up at first, and the back of your head was bleeding." Dean looked at you, sincerely. "You scared the hell out of us that day, you know. But after we got you all stitched, you woke up." He chuckled to himself as he relived the memory. "I was so damn scared you had a concussion, I thought you were gonna go comatose if I let you fall asleep. So, I..." Realization dawned on his face, and he looked over at you in disbelief. "I made you retell stories about our old hunts all night, so you would stay awake." You smiled softly at Dean in response, before gently patting him on the uninjured portion of his torso.
"You're all good to go," you informed him. He grasped your hand, squeezing it.
"Would you mind staying here? Just for a bit." Reciprocating the small squeeze, you leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
"Dean, I'm staying here all night to make sure you're gonna be okay." He looked relieved but quickly cleared his throat to try and hide it.
"Well, I'm sure I will be, thanks to you and Sam." As you settled in for a long night, Dean interrupted your wandering thoughts. "Thanks, Y/N. Seriously." You smiled again.
"Don't mention it, Winchester."
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Today marked two long weeks. Two weeks of the doctors saying there wasn't any sign of improvement. Two weeks of watching Dean grow increasingly despaired. And through all that time, he hadn't left once. You already knew how unhealthy it was for him to stay there 24/7, but every attempt to get him out for some fresh air failed miserably. After a few days, he stopped talking to you altogether. You had given up on trying to get him out of the hospital. The only time he would even move was to go to the bathroom. You were the one to always bring food and make sure he at least ate something. It's not that you expected Dean to not be worried - Sam was his little brother after all - but you couldn't let this go on. All the stress would make him sick. You stood from your chair in the corner and approached him.
"Dean?" He flinched. "I'm going to get some lunch. Will you come with me?" Nothing. "I think a little time out of here will really do you some good." You put a hand on his shoulder, and he yanked away. Words weren't needed for you to know he wasn't going. You sighed. "I'm taking the Impala again, okay?" You paused for a moment, still hoping for something. Anything would have been enough for you, really. When you again, received no response, you left the hospital room. "I'm headed to grab some food," you told a nurse, whom you had grown fond of over the few weeks. "Can I get you a coffee or anything?" She shook her head.
"I'm all right. Thank you, though." The nurse looked towards the hospital room you had just emerged from. "How's he doing in there?" You looked to the ground, shrugging your shoulders.
"Not so great. He still hasn't said a word, and I'm lucky if he even eats a bite of anything I bring back. Sophia, I don't know what else I can do." She came around from behind the counter and patted your arm comfortingly.
"Honey, you're doing everything you can. Just give him some time."
You came back half an hour later with a bag full of food. As you approached Sam's hospital room, your ears perked up at the sound of someone sniffling. As you grew nearer, you slowed your steps, peering in through the door frame. There he was in the same spot as always, head buried in his hands. You let out a light sigh and knocked on the open door. The effect was instantaneous as Dean quickly swiped a hand over his face, never once looking at you. You tried not to take it personally. After fishing out your burger and fries, you placed the paper bag of food in Dean's lap. The way he looked down at the brown sack reminded you of the way he used to look at you when you ordered pineapple on your pizza. This wasn't good. You had noticed over the past few days that Dean hadn't been eating as much, but him not eating at all was not an option. You were just as worried about Sam as Dean was, or very nearly, at least, but you also knew that the younger Winchester wouldn't want either of you killing yourself over it. Just as you were about to tell Dean to eat something, his eyes flicked down at the bag again, and he opened it, rifling gingerly through the contents. When he discovered that you had brought him back a container of cherry pie, you didn't miss the way his eyes lit up ever so slightly.
The next morning was rough. You had decided to mix things up a little bit and bring Dean pancakes, black coffee, and extra bacon. As soon as you got there, though, you could tell by the circles under his eyes that he hadn't slept. In fact, if someone were to ask, you wouldn't be able to tell them the last time he slept. Maybe the coffee hadn't been the best idea. Still, at least this time, he accepted the food and ate without hesitation. You couldn't help feeling like all the effort you were putting in was a little bit futile, but still, you couldn't give up on him now. For both his sake and Sam's.
For lunch, you picked up a Philly cheesesteak with a spinach salad. You had already known while you were ordering it that the salad was going to remain untouched, but still, you could at least try to get him to eat something with a bit of nutritional value. Unfortunately, though, it had been just as you suspected. As you were straightening up the hospital room that afternoon - something that had become part of your daily ritual - the plate that Dean's food had come on had a few crumbs from his sandwich, and a full serving of the green, leafy vegetable. You sighed. It had been worth a shot. When you threw the plate in the trash, you noticed him watching you out of the corner of your eye. It was the first time he had looked at you in two weeks. You tried not to get too excited as you smiled warmly at him, a smile he didn't return. Not that you had been expecting him to.
"Here." You handed him a water bottle you had bought from the vending machine down the hall. "You should stay hydrated." Begrudgingly, Dean took the plastic bottle from your hand but then proceeded to down half of it in the first gulp.
Later in the evening, you knocked on the hospital's open door, headed for your usual seat.
"Soup's on," you called out, trying to keep your tone light. "You'll love this. I was headed to pick up a pizza, but then I saw a sign in the window of that diner I always drive by, you know, the one I told you about yesterday. They have the best bacon, Dean." At this point, you weren't sure if Dean was even listening to you anymore. Hell, you weren't sure he had ever been listening to you in the first place. But you were pretty sure that just talking to him helped his mental state immensely. Even if he didn't ever respond. "Anyway," you continued, "they had a sign in the window saying it was $6 steak night, so guess what we're having?" Not waiting for an answer, you held up the plastic to-go bag, which crinkled loudly. "Strip steak and mashed potatoes. Oh, and broccoli. You really need to try to eat a vegetable or something." Dean looked at you, evidently unimpressed as you handed him the styrofoam container with his dinner. "I also took the liberty of having them throw a dinner roll in there for you." As you got settled in with your own meal, you watched Dean discreetly, waiting to make sure he ate before you dug in. When he popped open the to-go box and began to eat, you felt some of the weight lift from your chest. "It was finally a little bit warmer today," you informed him. "I went for a walk after we ate lunch, and it was beautiful out. Nice and sunny. You would have liked it." Dean wasn't in the mood for talking, he hadn't been for a while now, and the one-sided conversations left you feeling incredibly drained. You knew that you had to be the one to keep things going, but the weight you carried on your shoulders was beginning to drag you down. You weren't sure how much more of this you could take. As soon as the thought entered your mind, you gave your head a firm shake, trying to clear the dark cloud from your brain. You would take as much of it as needed until Sam woke up. And if he didn't... Well, you didn't like to think about that possibility, although it was becoming a very real one. If the younger Winchester didn't wake up any time soon, then you would keep doing this for as long as it took.
A few hours later, you had just finished up one of the books Sam had recommended to you when a soft, rumbling snore practically made you jump out of your seat. Out of all the noises that could have startled you, that was the one that you would have expected last, although you couldn't say you weren't relieved. Sitting across the room from you was Dean, slumped over slightly in his chair, finally asleep. You gave a happy sigh as you checked your watch. It was late. Much later than you had realized. Unlike Dean, you didn't usually spend your nights in the hospital aside from the first few nights Sam had been here. You stood from your chair by the window and picking up the styrofoam container from Dean's dinner, you smiled as you tossed it in the trash. He had eaten the broccoli. Before heading out for the night, you reached for one of the extra blankets Sophia had brought in earlier, wrapping it around Dean's shoulders. Feeling slightly more at peace than you had a few hours ago, you turned to leave but jumped in surprise when a warm hand gently grabbed your wrist, pulling you back. As Dean wordlessly wrapped his long arms around your torso, you rested your chin on top of his head, feeling your heart tighten in your chest. You stayed at the hospital with him that night.
Dean was gone. That was the first thing you noticed the next morning when you woke up. Your eyes darted over to the room's private bathroom, if not a bit frantically, your mind still frazzled from an unrestful slumber. When you saw that no one was in the bathroom, you couldn't help but feel a little bit panicked. It was the first time in weeks that Dean had left the hospital room. Something had to have been wrong. Yanking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed Dean's number, a number you knew by heart, and pressed the speaker against your ear. When the call went to voicemail, you swore softly to yourself.
"Hey, it's me," you started after the beep sounded in your ear. "I just woke up, and you're gone. I'm a little worried."
"I'm right here." The familiar gruff voice had you whipping around as your next sentence died on your lips, the phone still pressed against your ear. Dean stood in the doorway, holding a plastic bag from the diner. You watched him in slight awe as he wandered over to the table, setting down the bag with a light thunk. "Waffles sounded good to me," he stated, "hope that's okay." You shut your mouth, blinking a few times to make sure you weren't still dreaming.
"Yeah, of course, Dean," you replied. "Waffles sound great." As he set up the to-go containers on the table, you ran a hand through your hair. Dean noticed you watching, and threw you a sidelong glance. "Somethin' on your mind, princess?" Crossing your arms, you swallowed, giving your head a slight shake.
"I woke up, and you were gone." Dean paused to look up at you.
"Worried?" You nodded.
"A little," you admitted. "I thought you might've gone to make a deal or something." When you gestured at Sam lying motionless, Dean shook his head.
"He wouldn't want me to do that." You paused, the heart monitor the only sound.
"That never stopped you before." Dean looked you in the eye, a gentle smile gracing his face.
"I couldn't do that to you. Hope you're hungry." You smiled, letting out another relieved sigh.
"Are you kidding? I'm starving."
"Me too." Dean looked at you with sheepish eyes. "I actually starting chowing down a little bit on the drive back. Your smile broadened. Finally, he was starting to act a little more like himself. "And Y/N, you were right." When you cocked your head to the side in confusion, Dean gave you a small wink. "This place really does have the best bacon."
That night, Dean agreed to go out to dinner with you - something you had been incredibly relieved to hear. The two of you went to one of the pizza places nearby in case something happened, and you needed to be back at the hospital quickly. The food wasn't the best, but you honestly could not have cared less. For the first time in weeks, you had been able to get Dean out of the hospital. And even better than that, he was smiling and laughing. You spent the next hour reliving some of your best stories and memories, trying to remember every single detail of them all. And after dinner, the two of you went back to the hospital again, where you talked for hours before you finally fell asleep in chairs next to Sam's bed. When a gentle hand rested on your shoulder, though, you jerked awake. Immediately, your mind went to Dean.
"Dean?" you asked, grabbing the hand on your shoulder. "You okay?" He squeezed your hand, smiling tenderly.
"Yeah." You sat up in your chair.
"What's going on?" Dean ran his free hand across the back of his head as he shifted awkwardly.
"Can we go home?" he finally asked. You paused, looking back at Sam.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he nodded. You gave him a gentle smile.
"Okay. Let me grab the keys." When you stood to retrieve the keys from the table, you were stopped by Dean wrapping his arms around you. You blinked, surprised, but returned the embrace. He kissed the top of your head, a gesture that made you feel incredibly at peace.
"Thanks for holdin' down the fort," he muttered into your hair. You squeezed him.
"You don't have to thank me for that."
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