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“Dean!” You couldn’t help flinching as the man’s fist slammed into the wall.
“Dammit,” he hissed and shook out the offending limb. Dean’s pacing began anew. He stalked from wall to wall, rubbing his face, running his hands roughly through his hair, baring his teeth in a snarl occasionally.
You watched him in silence from the safety of the nearest doorway, your hands trembling against the wooden frame. The latest hunt… There hadn’t been anything the guys or anyone could have done for that poor girl. The hardest part was that she survived long enough for them to get her to the nearest hospital, but died on the gurney before they even got her inside.
Dean was taking this one so hard. The girl had been so young. But it wasn’t his fault. That ghoul had already been feeding on her for days. The best thing they could have done for her was everything they did: show her a little human kindness and try to alleviate her suffering.
You flinched again when a chair clattered and smashed its way across the room, toppling a lamp on its path of destruction. Catching your breath just before the glass fixture shattered on the floor, you watched Dean finally bow his head in utter defeat. The glass sprayed across the floor, but in the silence that followed, something louder was breaking into pieces which was what finally drew tears to your own eyes: Dean’s heart.
“Dean?” you breathed, stepping out into the room at last. The man’s white-knuckled grip on the nearest chair and bowed features remained unchanged. Shards of green glass crunched beneath your sneakers as you approached. Each step was calculated. Your watery eyes didn’t leave the man in front of you.
“Dean,” you whispered again, now standing directly in front of him, very aware of the fact that he could go off again any second.
As soft as your whispered tones, you slid your hand on top of his white knuckles. He didn’t relax, but he also didn’t recoil. Your eyes followed to your next target as you then reached down and gently cupped his opposite wrist; bruised knuckles already beginning to show. Lifting the weaponized hand to your mouth, you then slowly and carefully pressed your lips to each of the damaged joints, closing your eyes and letting the tears slide silently down your cheeks. Two offending drops splashed onto Dean’s hand and you finally felt his white-knuckled grip loosen.
“Kara…” Dean croaked. Though your eyes remained closed, you nodded and pressed more delicate kisses on his hand as if you could help wash away the stain of the girl’s blood that Dean saw there.
“I know,” was all you muttered between breaths. When you did open your eyes, all you could see through the watery haze were red-rimmed viridescent pools staring back at you. “I’m sorry.” Tugging lightly at Dean’s bruised hand, you gently drew him into your chest, wrapping your arms around his neck so you could plant a soothing kiss on his forehead and cheek.
“I know. It’s ok,” you whispered into his ear. The man almost sobbed as he wrapped both arms around you, robotically at first, and then with increased desperation as if clinging to you was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality and away from the hellscape of his mind.
He had provided the same assurance to you countless times, but finally being able to return the favor made you realize that not even a fraction of this moment in time could ever be considered a burden. This was love: deeper than anything physical or emotional. Nothing so fleeting. These moments pierced to the very souls at the cores of the two beings sharing in the experience, and that love, could not be severed outside of themselves.
This thought, this trust, evoked an involuntarily smile as you smoothed the hair on the back of Dean’s head, easing him through his grief. As Dean released you to stand flat-footed in front of him – for the duration of your hug, you latently recalled that you had been on your tip-toes – you gave him a sad smile and dabbed at the drops on his cheeks and the drips sliding from his nose with the cuff of your flannel.
“You’ve saved so many people Dean Winchester. This one, does not make any of the others less important. You do everything you possibly can, and that’s 1000 times more than any other person ever would.” You did your best to console him, but Dean’s crestfallen face told you that he hadn’t heard a word you had said, let alone forgiven himself in the slightest.
“Dean.” You claimed his wandering mind once more with a slight tonal change. “When we got to the hospital, the girl, she told me something to tell you. Something very important.” Dean’s desperate eyes bored into you, pleading for an answer to the question his soul wasn’t even able to articulate.
“She said ‘thank you’ Dean. She said thank you.” You used the pad of your thumb to wipe away the fresh tear that slipped down the man’s cheek, replacing it with a soft kiss. Dean’s eyes closed and his forehead dropped down against yours. His hot breath blew past your face and though his hands tightened their grip on your waist, you could tell the conflict within him had finally stilled.
You stood like this, just breathing, until Dean sighed and replaced the pressure of his forehead with a lingering kiss. You smiled softly up at him, wrapping your arms around his torso in a hug which allowed him to kiss you again on the top of your head.
“Thank you,” Dean muttered hoarsely, and so much was behind those words that you couldn’t even respond. All you could do was nod and bury your face in the well-worn plaid that was the flannel clad chest of the bravest and kindest man you had ever known.