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whispersandwhiskerburn · 7 years

Text

Moving On

Summary:After a hunt goes badly wrong, the Reader ends up in the hospital. She’s accepted what’s coming, but she’s having a hard time convincing Dean to let go. Sam says his goodbyes. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 3,235 Warnings: Angst. So much angst. Tears. Hair-rending. Etc. Reader death (see the summary). I bawled multiple times myself while writing this—and I think that’s the most accurate warning I can give. Author’s Note: I wrote this angsty thing because I was inspired by Ana (@just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms)’s “Shit My Patients Say” 2k Challenge where I chose the prompt: “Where are all the cute doctors?” and Angelina(@atc74)’s 1k Celebration where I picked the first stanza of “I’m Moving On” by Rascal Flatts (you should listen before reading…it definitely sets the mood). Both of these awesome challenges are still open at time of posting, and deadlines aren’t until May, so check them out! This fic is set during Season 3, when Dean’s soul is sold and Castiel isn’t in the picture yet. Apologies for any medical inaccuracies. Also for the tears.

What kind of ghost isn’t repelled by salt? And stays completely invisible?

You were hurt. The blood was running from several deep cuts, almost like claw marks that had sliced into your stomach, ripping the fabric of your jacket to shreds. Ripping your skin to shreds.

It didn’t move or sound like a hell hound—but that was your closest comparison.

Except that made no sense either.

You were hurt. And you were scared.

You stumbled into another room with one arm clenched around your stomach, and saw movement from the corner of your eye, a shadow that didn’t belong in the room. A shadow that was growing.

Ghosts didn’t cast shadows. Neither did hell hounds.

What the fuck was this thing?

“Y/N?! Where are you?”

You heard Sam and Dean down the hall. No way they’d get here before that shadow reached you.

“Here!”

You aimed your shotgun, useless as it seemed to be, and fired. Maybe it wouldn’t do anything more than draw the boys towards you, but at least you’d go down fighting.

The gun was knocked from your hand, and you were thrown across the room, landing on your back. You felt those claws sink into the flesh there and you couldn’t help the scream that forced its way out of your mouth.

Your legs went numb, but you could feel the blood pooling around you, could smell it in the air. You managed to glance up at the wall in front of you and saw the shadow of a hooded figure with fingers like Edward Scissorhands.

Then the door slammed open and Sam and Dean rushed in, Dean wielding his own salt-filled shotgun and Sam with an iron bar.

“Not a ghost!” You pointed at the wall, but the shadow was already moving, and the edges of the room were getting darker.

“Dean, it’s a daeva! Flare!”

What the hell was a daeva? The room wasn’t getting darker… you were passing out. Your vision was almost gone, your hearing getting fuzzy.

You heard the snap and saw a bright glare as one of the Winchesters lit a flare, then an unearthly yell as the whatever-it-was retreated.

You came to again when Dean picked you up off the floor, the pain in your back and stomach enough that you wanted to scream again, but all you could manage was a grunt.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. We’re gonna get you patched up, Y/N, just hang on. Hang on, baby.”

Then your world went dark and it didn’t matter anymore that your legs were useless.

You heard the steady beep of a heart monitor and smelled antiseptic.

Hospital.

At least you’d made it far enough to get to one; for a moment there you’d thought the lights were going out permanently….

“She’s coming around now.” That voice was wrong. Where was Dean? Sam?

You blinked your eyes open, your throat parched. Damn hospitals should make you feel better, not drain you.

The man in front of you was probably 70 if he was a day, and bald as a bowling ball. He had kind eyes though, and you tried to smile up at him as he checked your vitals, his little flashlight going back and forth over your pupils.

He didn’t smile back.

In your experience, when the doctor wouldn’t smile at the patient, there wasn’t going to be good news anytime soon.

“So, what’s the verdict doc?” Your head swiveled towards Dean. He was sitting right beside you, his hand tight on yours. Sam was standing behind him, his eyes worried and his brow furrowed.

“Y/N’s lost a lot of blood. We’re replacing it as fast as we can, but her injuries…the bear that mauled her severed her spinal cord between the T8 and T9 vertebrae. The damage to her intestines, stomach, liver, pancreas, and the blood vessels there are all massive.”

His voice was gruff, and you absorbed each word in a trance, your face completely blank.

“She’s paraplegic, and most of her organs are damaged so bad that, honestly, there’s nothing we can do. I’m frankly astonished that she’s awake at all.”

You turned your head towards Dean, watching the storm clouds gather across his face. Sam’s hand clenched on his brother’s shoulder, holding him in his seat, keeping him from reacting physically. You felt him grip your hand tighter and you drew in a shaky breath, oddly calm.

“How long do I have, Doctor?”

The old man’s kind blue eyes met yours and measured you in the quiet moment.

“A day? Maybe a week, if we kept you on the machines? Your heart and lungs were protected by your ribcage and sternum, but the rest of your internal organs…I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

He looked at the two men, then apologized quietly again before turning and leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

No one knew what to say.

I mean, hunting was a deadly business. Everyone who was on the job, died on the job—usually bloody. It was understood.

But you’d never thought you’d get a chance to say goodbyes—where the hell did you even start?

You thought over what Dean would say if he were in your shoes, and you chuckled lightly.

“Where are all the cute doctors? Seriously, I get stuck with grandpa? What rotten luck.”

Sam’s smile was painful to watch. Dean didn’t even try, his eyes still dangerously dark.

You couldn’t look him in the eye. You couldn’t say goodbye to him. You looked up at Sam instead, not loosening your grip on Dean’s hand.

“So, what was that thing? You recognized it, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam cleared his throat, his hand going up to wipe over his mouth. “We tangled with one once before; it’s a daeva, a shadow demon from Zoroastrianism…. Hell hound with less training basically, controlled with powerful spell work. We used the flare to—“

“Y/N, I know what you’re doing.” Dean’s voice was low and steady, despite the fire in his eyes, and Sam stopped babbling immediately.

“Dean… it’s the gig. You know that. And if it’s my time, then—“

“Don’t give me that shit!” Dean was up on his feet and crossing the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He leaned against the wall, glaring at you.

“We are not giving up on you. And you are going to fight this until we find some Hoodoo man or… spell, or something.”

You looked over at Sam, who avoided your gaze, the chicken-shit. Fine.

“Dean, you know better than pretty much anyone, the miracle cures that do exist out there always come with a price tag.” You saw Sam wince at that, and knew it was a low blow, with Dean’s soul currently under contract for Sam’s miracle.

You’d met the Winchesters not long after that, and despite Dean being up front with you, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from falling for him. You knew it was doomed, but like Sam, you weren’t going to let Dean get dragged downstairs without a fight.

Who knew your time would run out before his?

God, you’d never wanted to do that to him. You felt the burden of blame for Dean’s heartbreak already—this might just finish him off. You had to get him to let you go.

“I’ve been a hunter for a long time, Dean—practically my entire life. I’ve dealt with my ghosts and faced all my demons. I’ve seen and done things in this life, lost loved ones… and I met you two. And you took me in. You helped me to finally be content with a past I regret. I was trapped in the past for too long—lost in revenge and blood. You gave me something to fight for.”

You took a deep breath.

“I love you, Dean. But I can’t stay like this,” you gestured to the beeping machines that were keeping your body alive right now, to the dead legs in front of you on the bed that you couldn’t move or feel at all.

Sam sniffed beside the bed and you looked over to find tears in his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to control himself, and your heart clenched in your chest.

“Sam—I didn’t mean for this to—“

“Don’t, Y/N. This isn’t your fault. If we had been with you…” He tightened his jaw, then nodded, “I’ll call Ruby; maybe she—“

“No, Sam.” Your voice didn’t have the slightest hesitation in it. Sam should have known better than to bring her up.

“I don’t trust that bitch. She’s poison, Sam.”

You swallowed your anger, not willing to let their last memory of you be a lecture.

“Look, I’ve made my decision. I’m moving on. And I need you two to make peace with that. Because it is my decision.”

Sam let that sit in the room for a second, then turned on his heel and followed the doctor out of the door. Knowing Sam, he was probably going to pace the hallways. He always felt less helpless when he was moving.

Neither Winchester handled helplessness easily.

“So… your decision is to leave me, leave us. To give up.”

Dean’s voice was angry. You knew it was masking his pain, his fear, his guilt. But you didn’t enjoy being called a quitter. Especially not by a man who’d traded his own life without blinking.

“Dean, for once, I’m at peace with myself. As far as ways to die go, this one isn’t so bad.” You hated how he winced at the word die. You hated how the word felt on your tongue.

You didn’t want to die!

You had more to do… you couldn’t leave them like this! You still hadn’t figured out how to save Dean.

But try as you might, you couldn’t see your way out of this one. And you couldn’t bear the idea of watching them try to find a solution to this and failing. That would kill Dean as surely as the hounds were going to try to.

Dean walked over to your bedside again, sitting down in the chair next to you with a heavy sigh.

“I can see straight through that bullshit, you know. You aren’t all zen right now about this, either. And you shouldn’t be. I want you pissed. I want you fighting. I want you—“

“To live? To get out of this bed and walk out of here with you? To whine and cry about the unfairness of life? To make sweet love to you, get married, and have kids, and…” you voice broke, “and grow old together? What the fuck kind of good would that do, Dean? I’m all but dead right now.” You finished on a whisper, “You might as well be talking to my ghost.”

You couldn’t hold back the bitter outburst, and felt bad about your moment of weakness as soon as it was out in the open.

Just because the situation was hopeless didn’t mean that admitting it made it any easier.

Dean stood up, grabbing your hand and leaning over you, his forehead resting on yours, his closeness and the scent of his breath working almost as well as the drugs coursing through your system—numbing your pain and making it easier to get a grip on yourself.

His instinct was to comfort, but you could feel the tension in his jaw, in the tight grip on your hand. You reached up with your other hand, threading it through the short hairs at the back of his head, holding him close to you as you closed your eyes, unable to stop the tears from sliding out from between your lids.

“No, baby, please, don’t—“

Dean’s voice was a rough whisper, and he was kissing away each tear drop as one fell after another. You sniffed loudly, trying to pull yourself together, trying to find that hard outer shell that every hunter develops to do the job. Trying to find strength enough to finish this damn goodbye and stop hurting the man you loved.

“Dean… you’ve got to let me go. I can’t stay like this. I’ve got to move on.”

Dean leaned back enough to look you in the eyes, his own green ones wet now with tears he didn’t want to let go.

“How, Y/N? How do I… I can’t just let you go….”

Your lip quivered without your permission and the tears started to fall again. Your brave Dean.

“I know, babe. You’ve never let anyone go—you’ve always fought for your loved ones, done everything you could to protect them. But this isn’t some monster you can kill for me. There’s no deal you can make that can save me.

“I’m going to die. I don’t want to leave you, especially not like this, but my reaper’s on the way… and, I’m going with it.” You gave him a shaky smile through the tears and little gaspy breaths that you were giving. “Hey, if I’m lucky, my heaven’s just going to be a lot of reruns with you anyway….The day we met and I kicked your ass.” Dean tried to smile at that, “That night at the lake in Michigan… That morning when you told me you loved me in Baby’s backseat….”

You let your voice trail off, slowly regaining control, stopping the tears through sheer force of will and stubbornness. Dean wiped away the one tear that had escaped down his cheek.

“What am I supposed to do, Y/N?” It was said so softly, it might have been rhetorical.

You pushed him gently, and he leaned back the rest of the way, sitting beside the dead lump that was your thigh. You were glad the bed had you sitting slightly up so you could look him in the eye easier.

“You give me a hunter’s funeral. You hunt down the sonofabitch that is controlling that daeva thing and get the revenge I know you’ll need. Then, Dean Winchester, you figure a way out of that damn deal. Just because I’m leaving, doesn’t mean you have to. Sam needs you. Hell, the world needs you both.

“And many, many, many years from now, when you finally do kick the bucket, you get your ass to my heaven so my reruns can become real. You hear me?”

Dean locked eyes with you, the pain in them almost enough to break your resolve. But you stayed strong. Because it was what he needed.

And it was what you needed too.

He linked his fingers through yours and nodded slightly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You had signed all of the necessary paperwork, removing yourself from the life support—basically pulling the plug on yourself. The doctor said he’d up your pain medication so your last minutes, or maybe hour or so, wouldn’t be in agony—which you were thankful for. Not so much for yourself, but for Sam and Dean’s sake.

You hadn’t been able to convince them to leave the room.

Though, maybe you hadn’t tried as hard as you should have.

The truth was, you didn’t want to die alone. You wanted them both there for as long as possible. And if that made you selfish, then so be it. You were about to die. You were entitled to be selfish one last time.

The doctor finished what he was doing with the machines, then stepped back, pulling the privacy curtain around you and the brothers.

This was it. God, you wished you knew what to say.

God, you wished you could stay—Stop it.

Sam was there, leaning over you, wrapping your torso up in one of his large bear hugs, his giant arms pulling you away from the bed gently to pull you into his broad chest.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and returned his hug, letting the tears fall as Sam held you close.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know how I would have kept sane in these last few months without you. Thank you for helping me with Dean, for….for…”

He broke off, leaning back and releasing you. You nodded, knowing what he meant, even if he couldn’t say it.

“Goodbye, Sam. Tell Bobby, Jo, and Ellen that I love them, and that I’ll look over each of you as much as I can…. Be careful, you big lug. Your brother needs you—and I need you to look after him for me, since I’m not going to be around to do it anymore, okay?”

Your voice was thick with tears again, and his started to roll down his face as he licked his lips, nodding his agreement.

Then he backed up and Dean moved in, sitting on the bed like he had earlier.

The two of you locked eyes, then looked away. It was awkward, with Sam there, and the old doctor just behind the curtain. Or maybe it was awkward because he was Dean and you were you.

The numbness of the pain medication was spreading up from your waist, and you hurried to think of something before you lost the chance forever.

I love you? He knew that already.

Thank you for everything? What was this, a Hallmark card?

“Dean…I….”

He shook his head slowly, leaning forward and placing the gentlest of kisses on your lips.

Fuck that. If you were dying, that was not going to be your last kiss.

You grabbed his head, holding him close as the tears streamed down your face, throwing every ounce of passion left in your sleepy body into the kiss—transforming every bit of love, pain, regret, and loss into that tangle of tears and tongues. Dean’s arms scooped under your shoulders, and he lost himself in the kiss too.

You broke apart, and your lungs struggled to breathe. The kiss? The medicine? Death?

How much longer did you have? He only had three months left.

“Dean, promise me—no matter what happens, don’t ever stop being you. My Dean. My brave, stubborn,” you cradled his face, and he did the same to you, “self-sacrificing, idiot Dean. You remember what’s important—family, and friends, and love. And you remember that it was worth it.”

You pressed your fingers into his face, forcing him to look into your eyes, to really listen to you. Your tears were drying on your cheeks, and you could feel the tracks clearly. There weren’t any left to cry. There was no time left anyway.

“You hear me, Dean Winchester. It was worth it. I wouldn’t trade a single damn minute. Not one. So you promise me.”

He cleared his throat. His voice was broken, and it broke your heart. “I promise, Y/N. I promise.”

And then Dean Winchester leaned down and placed his forehead on yours. You closed your eyes on that rickety uncomfortable hospital bed and breathed in your lover’s scent and gave permission for the numbness to take over the rest of you.

The darkness followed soon after, but you held onto Dean’s scent.

You held onto the sound of his breathing, the feel of his calloused hands cradling your face.

And when you took your last shuddering breath on Earth, when you moved on from this life, it was while you were in Dean Winchester’s arms.

And that was enough to hold onto for forever.

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#Shitmypatientssaychallenge #Angelina's 1k #angst #triggering?#reader death #dean x reader #crying #ugly tears #I'm so sorry everyone #sad #this might be my angst masterpiece #I think it's the angstiest I've written so far by a wide margin #dean winchester #sam winchester #daeva #angelwrites #I wrote this in one evening because once I started I couldn't stop #sorry if it's crap #feedback is life

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