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The fight was worse than Dean had expected. It was eight vamps against the three of you, and they were extra angry after Dean had decapitated one of their nest back in town. By the time you’d found them at their hideout in the abandoned building, the vamps were hungry for your blood, and not for feeding.
Every once in a while during the fight, Dean would glance your way to make sure you were doing okay, before he was pulled back into it with one of them. He was worried about you, even more so now that the two of you had actually admitted your feelings for one another. He knew it was crazy – you were a good hunter – but he still was going to worry.
He’d gotten two vamps, he knew, and he was sure Sam had gotten at least one or two as well. Their numbers were dwindling, but that meant the ones who were left were becoming a little reckless. One of the girls was fighting with you and the next time Dean glanced over, the two of you had moved the fight out into the hallway. He quickly killed the vamp he was fighting and started after you, hoping to help you finish the girlie vamp off, but was cut off by yet another in his path.
Dean went in swinging, wanting to make quick work as he kept your fight in his periphery. Your machete was being held between you and the vamp, a battle of strength that would determine who would live or die.
Dean swung his knife to decapitate his opponent and he ran for the door just in time to see you and your vamp lose your footing. The jostling of your bodies made the knife slice through her throat, sure, but it also made you fall over the railing.
“NO!” Dean yelled, running for the edge. He’d find you holding on by a finger, he would pull you up. It’d be okay…
When he got to the railing and looked over, he realized his thoughts were in vain. You weren’t there, hanging at the edge. You were ten stories below, laying face up on the hard, concrete ground.
With no thought for Sam and the other vamps left, Dean began racing down the stairs, jumping corners and steps when he could. In too long of time, he was kneeling at your side.
“Y/N?” he asked, his hands shaking as he reached out for you. There was no answer. “Y/N?!” he asked more urgently, his fingers touching your shoulder and shaking slightly.
Your head flopped limply to the side, the angle all wrong. A horrible feeling seeped into Dean’s gut as he realized that your neck was broken.
He carefully lifted you into a hug, holding your head close to his face. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered to no one, letting the tears fall.