You wake up sometime in the night, keeping your eyes closed and immediately taking stock of your surroundings. It's a habit you've gotten into since you started hunting.

You feel amazing. There are still delicious tingles in your lower half, and a dull, pleasant ache between your legs. You realize that you're even smiling.

The smile slips off of your face, however, when you realize you're alone in the bed.

Dammit. You don't know why you thought sleeping together would change anything, but you're hurt beyond belief by his absence. You keep your eyes shut and just lie there, not moving, trying to deal with the painful weight that's appeared on your chest.

Fuck. Of course he's gone, you stupid woman. You're alive, you're at home, and you thought letting him in your pants would make him stay? Please, you're not-

You're knocked out of your musings by the bed dipping beside you. Your eyes snap open to see Dean getting back into bed, slipping in next to you, watching you with warm green eyes. "Hey, sweetheart."

"You… You're still here," you say softly as he lies down next to you.

Pain flashes in his eyes as he gathers you close slowly. "Yeah, I'm still here."

You lift your head to let his big arm slip beneath it, then you look up into his handsome face. "Sorry, I just, uh, I guess I just didn't expect that."

He places a hand on your face, then runs his fingers through your hair gently. "Yeah, don't apologize. I get it."

You sigh, bury your face in his chest, and fling your arm around his waist. "Oh, God, I'm so glad you're here," you whisper fervently, honestly, tears filling your eyes.

There's a deep rumble in his chest, and his arms come around you to hold you close. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Me, too, sweetheart. Go back to sleep, I've got you."

xxxxx

The next time you wake up, you're on your back, your hips needily canting up to meet him. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, and your legs are draped over his shoulders, and you are already whimpering. "Dean."

His deep chuckle sends shivers up and down your spine. "Shh, sweetheart, you're all right."

Your hands move down to thread through his hair, tugging gently. "Oh, fuck, Dean-"

He nibbles his way up your thigh, and it's just the right amount of sting to make your back arch. Your legs fall open further, and your breathing is hard and ragged.

"You smell good, baby," he murmurs against your sensitive skin. He bites gently on your inner thigh, as far up as he can get without actually being where you need him to be, then sucks hard enough to make you cry out again. "Dean!"

"Shh, sweetheart, gonna get us in trouble again."

You arch your back and try to pull him to you, any pride forgotten as you pant with need. You don't know how you're already soaking wet, he's got to be some sort of sex deity, but you absolutely do not care. You need his mouth on you.

"Dean, please, please, I need it, I need you, oh, God, I need you, Dean-"

He hums against your thigh, silencing you as you writhe. "You sound good when you beg for it, too."

"Dean, please-"

Before more pleading can fall from your lips, he buries his face in you. He lays the flat is his tongue against you, then delves deeper. He moves tenderly, slowly, exploring and sending you spiralling. You roll your hips up against his face, and he lets you, just continuing to eat you like he's starving and you're the only meal around.

You feel the heat start to make your thighs tremble around his head. "Oh, fuck, Dean-"

He must know how close you are, because he zeroes in on your clit. He pulls it into his incredible mouth, then begins to run his tongue against the underside of your clit. You know you're squeezing his head between your legs, and that you're keening too loudly to not be heard, but you can't seem to stop either.

He pulls away for just a moment. "Say my name," he growls, "let everyone know who you belong to, sweetheart." As soon as the last word is out of his mouth, he goes back to attacking you.

The words shouldn't turn you on. You're a grown-ass woman. You've been taking care of yourself for damn near a decade now. You do not belong to anyone.

But feminism or no, it's the sexiest thing anyone's ever said to you. It's dominant and demanding and masculine. And it makes the hot pressure deep inside you burst in a massive explosion that takes you with it.

So you obey. You tilt your head back and wail, "Dean!"

Pleasure washes into you, making your fingers fist in Dean's hair, making your legs quake, making all of your senses go perfectly blank.

You're pliant and mindless in blissfulness as Dean moves back up your body. You can barely even summon a moan when he gently bites your nipple, it comes out as more of a whine.

When he gets up to your mouth, he seems to hesitate. But you know what you want, and what he wants, so you lean up and press your dry, chapped lips to his plush, wet ones. When he groans, you sweep your tongue into his glorious mouth, tasting your essence in him. You moan yourself when you feel how turned on he is against your inner thigh.

"Fuck, that's hot," he mutters against your mouth.

You smile against him. "Dean, fuck me."

He groans again and pulls away to press his forehead to yours. "You're not sore? I don't want to hurt you."

You press little kisses to his jaw, humming happily against his stubble. "Hmm, don't care."

He sighs and goes up onto his forearms to look down at you. "Y/N."

You run your hands from his broad shoulders down to his muscled chest. "Dean, it has been over a year since I got laid, so if it hurts a little, that's a good thing."

He stills, and you take advantage to lean up and nibble at his neck. He's ridiculously attractive.

"O… Over a year?"

You sigh and fall back onto the pillows. "Yes, over a year. Can we do this now?"

No luck. He's still staring down at you, an unreadable expression on his face. "What?" you ask. "Why is that surprising?"

"I… I don't know."

You lean up again, this time to prop yourself up on your elbow and put a hand on his face, trying to stroke away the stricken look. "There's no one else. There hasn't been anyone since we met, and there never will be. Even if you don't stay, Dean, you're the only one. You'll always be the only one."

He stares down at you for a breath, and a wordless promise is given to you. Not about him staying, or about him keeping you with him. Not about hunting, or about letting you into his life, or about anything regarding the outside world.

It's a promise that, no matter what the future holds, no matter where he goes or if you go with him, or what happens between the two of you…

No matter what, you're going to be his only one, too.

Your mouths crash together in a silent agreement that no more words need to be said. You both already know everything.

He slowly sinks into you, and you dig your fingernails into his shoulders as he stretches your sore muscles again. When he's completely sheathed in your wet heat, you both moan, then he starts moving. Everything is swollen and sensitive, so you can feel every ridge of him, every slow movement, and the gentle way he takes care of you.

Soon, however, it's not enough. You raise your legs to hug his hips with your knees, and you lightly rake your nails down his back. "Dean, please," you whisper, kissing up his warm neck.

"Whatever you want, beautiful," he says roughly.

He picks up the pace, sending delicious sparks through you, curling your toes and making your head tilt back in pleasure. The heat is back, and you're meeting his every thrust, and everything is going in and out of focus as your second orgasm tears through you.

You wrap your arms around him and hang on, and when he stiffens, his forehead is resting on your shoulder. He gives one low, long groan, and you hold him as he shudders above you and euphoria gently washes over you again.

Eventually, you realize he's no longer shuddering in release, he's just shaking. There's no uncertainty or nervousness in you when you notice. You just keep your arms around him, and start running your fingers soothingly through his hair. You just repeat the only thing you can think of, the only thing that has ever mattered, anyway.

"I love you, Dean. Oh, God, I love you so much."

xxxxx

While she's in the shower, Dean is sitting on her bed, waiting for her like a fucking high schooler who's at his girlfriend's house for the first time. It's partially because it's been a rough few days for her, and he wants to make sure she's all right. It's partially because there's no way Sam and Cass didn't hear them last night and this morning, and Dean doubts they'll ream him if she's there.

He's sitting there, trying to get around his self-loathing to think logically about the situation he and Y/N are in. The problem is that he can't. How could he? How could he think realistically about either taking her with him or leaving her here when all he wants to think about is her telling him that she loves him?

Focus, dammit.

Maybe I can convince her to stop hunting.

Yeah, that'll go over real well. You haven't been able to convince her of anything so far.

If she's hunting on her own, she could get hurt. Hell, she did get hurt. But if she goes hunting with me, she'll get hurt, anyway.

Well, then-

"What are you thinking about so hard over there?"

Her soft words have his eyes snapping up to meet her sparkling ones. She's smiling, wearing a tank top and tight jeans, with one of his flannels thrown over it all. She looks… Good. Healthy, bright, in love.

Shit.

"Nothing, sweetheart."

She comes to where he's sitting and bends to kiss him. He kisses her back, helpless once again against her gentle, constant onslaught of love and understanding.

"Liar," she purrs against his lips. She straightens, but submits when he hooks his hands behind her thighs and pulls her forward to press his face into her stomach. How does she have me acting like a teenager again?

"Let's go make breakfast, handsome," she says gently, running her fingers through his hair. "You can tell me what you're thinking about after I've fed you."

xxxxx

You're on cloud nine while you cook a massive breakfast for everyone, and you can't remember if you've ever been this happy.

Some of it is because you're alive at all. That werewolf damn near killed you. But here you are, in a shirt that smells like Dean, alive and kicking.

Some of it is having so many people to feed. You really are a pretty solitary person, so you don't get to cook for people very often. Meeting the Winchesters drove home how much you really like it.

Most of your good mood, however, is a direct result of Dean.

He's currently standing behind you, arms keeping you close, face buried in your hair. He hasn't let you go since the two of you left the bedroom, either holding your hand, or standing like he is now. You don't say anything about it, because you're just as needy as he is.

Because now, if he leaves-

Nope, you cut yourself off ruthlessly. Not now. Not while he's here.

So you stay firmly on cloud nine while you make breakfast.

xxxxx

Once the whole house starts to smell good, Sam comes down the stairs. Dean wandered off, something about your car, so you're alone in the kitchen.

You know you're blushing furiously, and when you see the twinkle in his hazel eyes, you shoot him a mock glare and point at him with the tongs you're using to flip the bacon. "Not a word, Winchester, not if you want to eat."

He breaks into a full-on grin, but holds his hands up in surrender. "Wasn't gonna."

You narrow your eyes. "Damn right. Coffee's ready."

He doesn't stop smiling as he pulls a mug from the cabinet, and you feel your traitorous mouth start to twitch up into an answering smirk.

Dick.

"What's everyone laughing about in here?"

You turn at Dean's words and give in to the need to smile. "No one's laughing," you say easily as he comes to stand next to you. "Sam's just getting coffee."

Dean hmphs and wraps his arm around you. "Is he, now?"

Sam just chuckles and winks at you as he takes a sip. You smile, but before you can say anything, Dean's hands are on your hips, spinning you to face him. You look up into his handsome face, then your eyes fall closed as he kisses you hard.

More macho bullshit. You kiss him back anyway, because you love him, and the man is an artist with his mouth.

When he pulls away, however, you grab the edges of the flannel he's wearing and pull him down to kiss him again, harder. Your hips automatically curl into him, and he groans a little, just enough for you to hear, and your back bends a little as he leans into you.

You pull away abruptly, then smack him on the chest. "Hey, you," you say, your voice low and dangerous, "when you kiss me, you kiss me for me, not for Sam or anyone else. Got me, Winchester?" You ignore the little voice in your head that says he won't be kissing you for long.

He blinks, then grins that stupid, heart-melting grin at you. The one that's carefree and happy and you haven't seen nearly enough of. "Yes, ma'am."

You turn back to the stove, flip a laughing Sam the bird, then turn the burners off. "Let's eat, gentlemen."

xxxxx

Dean groans and pushes his plate away. "I'm gonna be sick."

Sam chuckles, but Dean is entranced by Y/N, who's laughing out loud.

"I guess I should take that as a compliment," she says with a smile, her eyes sparkling happily at him.

He nods enthusiastically, anything to keep her smiling. "Yeah, yes, definitely."

She laughs again, carelessly making his heart thud in his chest, as she stands and starts clearing the table. "You're easy to please."

Sam moves to stand, too. "Y/N, let me help."

She points at him with a fork. "Sit, Sam. Relax. I know I must have dragged you away from a hunt, so just chill for a while."

She leaves into the kitchen with a pile of dishes. The words, "before you go," hang in the air behind her. Dean's heart thuds in his chest for a very different reason.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Dean puts his elbows on the table and rubs his face hard. "Shit."

"What are we gonna do, Dean?"

He sighs and looks at Sam. "I don't know, man."

"I mean, Trent is right. If we leave her here, she's going to keep hunting on her own. Hunters who hunt alone don't usually meet good ends."

"I know that, Sam," Dean snaps. "You think I don't know that? But what we do, I mean, you can barely even call it hunting anymore. It's way too dangerous to take her."

Sam frowns. "Dean, we could teach her-"

"God dammit, Sam, she's not coming with us!"

"Why?"

Dean struggles for words for a moment. "Sam, she's too… She's too good for this, for us, for me. She's too young, too normal, too good."

Sam tosses his hands in the air, clearly furious. "Not this again. For fuck's sake, Dean, she's too young? She was old enough to fu-"

Dean's out of his chair and has Sam's throat in his hand, holding his brother down against the table, before the word is out of Sam's mouth. "No," Dean snarls. "Keep your fucking mouth off of her, Sam. I'm serious, I will kick your ass."

"Guys."

Her severe voice has Dean stepping away from Sam, scrambling for a reason he would be attacking his brother in her sun-soaked dining room.

When he turns to look at her, though, he's struck speechless again. She's got a dish towel slung over her shoulder, her lovely eyes are snapping irritation at him, her hair is pulled up in a sloppy knot. She's beautiful, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Fuck.

"What's going on?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

Dean can feel his mouth opening and closing, but nothing is coming to mind. He looks at Sam, who looks as clueless as Dean feels. He looks back at her and tries on a charming smile.

Her eyes narrow, but he can see her soften a little. "Well, no fighting in the house. If you want to kick the crap out of each other, do it outside."

She turns to go back into the kitchen, and he follows her, because Sam is right. They have to talk.

As much as he wants to stay here with her, get a job, settle down, live the civvie life, he can't. He's tried the civilian life, and it's not going to work. He's always drawn back into the world of the supernatural, he's always pulled back into blood and horror and loss. It's not going to work.

And as much as he wants to take her with him, he can't. He would be so constantly worried about her that people would die, lives would be taken. She's normal, she's a civilian, she's an innocent. Maybe she thinks she can, but she can't just jump into the world of hunting. It's not going to work.

Sleeping together didn't change anything, he thinks mournfully. Nothing can be different. She'll stay, I'll go, and I'll stay the fuck away.

He takes the towel from her shoulder and stands next to her to dry. He lets the comfortable silence be for a while, trying to memorize the way she moves and the way he feels, so he can keep it with him forever. So he can take it out on cold, horrible nights and hold it close to him.

After that long while, he can't hold it back anymore. "Listen, Y/N-"

"Not now, Dean," she says softly, her movements still smooth, no hesitation or break as she washes silverware.

He frowns. "Sweetheart, we've got to-"

"We haven't 'got to' anything," she says smoothly. "Not right now."

"But-"

She stops and turns to him. Her face is serene, her eyes clear of tears or worry. "Look, I know. You're not as smooth and mysterious as you think you are, you know." She turns back to the dishes, almost done now. "I know that you're… You don't want to come back. I know that, I know it's because of last night, because it's going to be too difficult for you to keep leaving. So you're going to leave for good."

She takes a deep breath and hands him the last fork, looking out the window above the sink. "But we're not talking about that right now. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She shrugs. "Or burn it. Either way, we'll deal with it later."

Dean frowns harder. "Y/N, avoiding this isn't going to-"

"Dean, I have redefined the word 'avoiding' since I met you," she says thoughtfully. There's no heat or anger in her words, they're frank and almost emotionless. "I've redefined a lot of things. Loss, heartbreak, loneliness. They all have different meanings since I met you." She turns and smiles up at him. "But that's a problem for later. I'll have plenty of time to feel all of those things when you're gone. Not now."

Dean can't comprehend the pain in his heart. He can barely stand it, the way she somehow shows no pain at all, and she radiates misery all at the same time. He hates this. His chest feels heavy, his limbs won't obey his commands, he can just stare at her in wonder.

Because she's not angry. God knows she should be, she used to be, but she's not. She's not angry, she's… Resigned.

God dammit.

"Dean."

Sam's voice finally breaks the spell, and Dean and her both turn to look at the younger Winchester. Sam has a sad look on his face, and Dean sees yet more pain that him being Y/N's soulmate has caused.

"We need to go take care of the werewolf that hurt Y/N. We never really even caught a trail."

"Well, that's because I killed it," she says casually.

They both stare at her. "You what?" Dean asks.

She nods. "Yeah, I shot it. I managed to get the shot off before I passed out." She wrinkles her nose. "Having someone else's hands touching your lungs is pretty powerful motivation to kill it."

Sam's eyebrows go up. "That's impressive, Y/N."

She smiles. "Thank you, Sam."

Dean frowns. "What were you even doing in that warehouse?"

She looks up at him. "I was hunting the werewolf. I tracked it there." She holds a hand up when he opens his mouth. "No, no, before you yell at me, I was careful. I took all the right steps before I left, and I was careful. So shut it."

He glares down at her, and anger grows in her eyes. Good. It will be easier to leave if she's angry. "God dammit-"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam says gently from the door. He pushes off and comes to sling an arm around Y/N's shoulders. "Y/N did great. It could have happened to either of us, we just have the advantage of having each other."

"Yeah," she snaps. "Maybe if I had someone with me, it wouldn't have happened."

Dean's getting mad now, too. "Oh, so it's my fault, now?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it and her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she exhales, she opens her eyes and looks at him calmly again. "No, it was the werewolf's fault, Dean. You weren't there, I was, it happened." She turns to smile at Sam, and Dean sees her arm snake around his brother's waist. "And thank you, Sam."

He smiles down at her. "Yeah, no problem. You did good, kiddo."

She suddenly yawns, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm really tired, I might go lie down for a little bit."

Sam nods. "Yeah, you should get some rest."

Dean looks at her. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She just looks at him, then silently leaves the kitchen.

"Dammit," Dean mutters.

"Smooth," Sam says angrily as he walks out behind her.

xxxxx

You lie on your back on your bed, feeling empty.

He's leaving.

You knew he was going to. You were hoping that the two of you making love would have changed something, but that was a stupid hope. He's not staying.

Why would he?

Surely you're not as… Experienced as some of his other partners. He probably doesn't sleep with twenty-somethings very often, so you're probably not as good as the women he usually sleeps with it.

That couldn't be it, right?

Who knows what's going through his mind. You've given up trying to understand Dean Winchester. He wants to protect you, but won't hang around to make sure you're safe. He wants you, but he won't stay with you so he can be with you.

He wants to hear that you love him, but not only won't say it back, he gives you no indication that you feel the same way.

Damn.

You don't cry, you're out of tears. Oh, they'll be back, they always come back. You see a lot of tears on cold, lonely, terrible nights when you're by yourself and aching for him.

Because you weren't kidding, he's the only one. You can't even think about another man, you just compare them to Dean, and they just fall short every time. If a few hours ago is going to be the last time he touches you, then it will be the last time you get touched.

The door opens, and you don't move. You just stare at the ceiling, and don't acknowledge him when the door clicks behind him and he sits on the bed next to you.

He takes a breath, and you decide on a preemptive strike. "Apologize and lose a limb, Winchester."

He huffs out a laugh, and it warms you a little. Not enough to move, but a little. "Yeah, probably getting old," he says roughly.

"You have no idea," you reply emphatically, and he chuckles again.

"I know, I know you're tired of it, but I really do wish things were different for you."

"I don't," you say honestly. You finally turn to your side to look at him. "I meant what I said. I'm in love with you, and I wouldn't change you at all. Not even a little bit." You smile. "I just hope you realize that you're making a mistake before it's too late for us."

Faster than you can blink, he's lying next to you, pulling you into his arms. You go, bury your face in his chest, and there are the tears.

xxxxx

You're standing in the kitchen, a smile plastered on your face, keeping a lid on your emotions while you watch them pack up to leave. Sam's shooting you those goddamn puppy dog looks, and Dean's barely looking at you at all. Which is just fine with you.

He held you while you cried, then held you while you slept. And when you woke up, he told you it was time to go.

You're nauseous and upset and scared, but you keep a tight lid on those things and just smile at them. "Ready to go?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, I think so."

You nod back sharply. "Well, let's get to it, then." You pick up one of the bags and start toward the door.

Dean frowns. "Y/N, you don't have to-"

"Shut the hell up, Dean," you say mildly on your way out.

You get to the Impala, which is just gorgeous, and put the bag on the trunk. You try to take another deep, steadying breath, but it's blocked by the bands that are currently wound around your chest. I can barely breathe, and he's not even fucking gone yet.

"Hey," Sam's kind voice makes your whole persona threaten to break, so you stay looking away from him. "I'll get him to come back. We're not leaving forever, I promise."

"Don't bother," you say gently, "If he doesn't want to come back, then I don't want to force him."

He gently turns you around and pulls you into him to hug you hard. You go, pressing your face into his chest. "Fuck him," he says hotly, "I'll get him to come back. I'll drag him back if I have to."

You smile a little, although it feels cold and alien on your face. "I'm sure you will." You look up at him and smile. "Be careful, Sam. Keep an eye on him."

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "You, too, kiddo."

xxxxx

Dean watches Sam hug his woman and fights around the pain in his heart. Go. Go. Go.

He grabs his bag and walks out to join them.

xxxxx

You hear the crunch of Dean's boots on the gravel of your driveway. You think briefly about ignoring him, but that seems petty, so you turn to him.

You study his handsome face, drawn tight in pain, and you smile. It feels better this time. It also feels perfectly natural to go to him and wrap your arms around his waist.

The bag drops out of his hand and his arms come around to keep you close. He crushes you to him, and you press into him, shuddering a little with the force of your emotions. You pull away just enough to look at him. "I love you, Dean Winchester," you whisper, "and I forgive you."

He stares down at you miserably. "You shouldn't."

You smile. "You don't get to decide that." You inhale sharply. "Kiss me, Dean, or you'll regret it."

He obeys, and he kisses you softly, gently, lovingly. Fuck.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are wet, and yours are dry. You stroke his cheek. "It's okay, go. Be careful. I love you."

He opens his mouth. "I…"

You smile at his silence. "I know. Go on, if you're gonna go."

He steps away from you slowly, then bends to pick up his bag. He lifts a hand to your face, but doesn't touch you. He just goes.

You watch him get into the driver's seat, the pain from your heart almost taking you out at the knees. You lift a hand when you see him looking at you in the driveway, and mouth the words again.

"I love you."

xxxxx

She mouths, "I love you," and he can't fucking move.

He makes no attempt to even pretend he can start to drive away. The keys aren't even in his hands, they're in his jacket pocket. He's just staring at her in the rearview mirror, soaking her in, memorizing her. Fuck, I'm going to miss her, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Dean," Sam says severely. "If we're going to go, we need to go. Drawing this out is just going to make it harder for her."

Dean nods, feeling like he's moving in slow motion. He digs the keys out of his pocket, then puts the right one in the ignition. He starts Baby, and she roars to life, making him think of the way Y/N shivered when she got in the first time.

And time slows down until it's stopped completely.

Her laugh. Her touch. Her smile. Her hair. Her tears. Her lips against his. The way she tastes. The way she smells. The way she submits. The way she calls out his name when she comes. The way she stands up to him. The way she takes care of him. The way her breath catches. The way her eyes darken.

The way she loves him.

xxxxx

Everything hurts, and he's just sitting there in the driveway. The car is started, and you're not ready for him to go. It takes everything in you not to call out to him, not to toss your pride and get down on your knees and beg him to stay with you.

You desperately try to think of everything about him, cement it in your mind so you never forget it. He's never coming back, and you don't want to lose any part of him that you have.

Why isn't he leaving?

xxxxx

Go. Move. Go. She's better off without you. You'll ruin her life. You'll kill her. Go, she's safer, she's better, just leave, go, fuck, just hit the goddamn accelerator.

xxxxx

What is he doing? Is something wrong with Baby?

xxxxx

"Dean."

Dean turns to Sam, still feeling like he's moving through molasses. "Yeah?"

Sam is smiling kindly. "Go, Dean. Go get her."

That little push is all he needs. Time speeds up as he opens the door again.

I need her.

xxxxx

Dean gets out of the car, and you just stare at him. He must have forgotten something.

But when he meets your eyes, your heart kicks into overdrive. Without your permission, your feet start toward him as he almost runs to you.

You meet him in the middle, and you crash together. Your arms go around his neck, his are like cast iron around your waist, crushing you to him. You kiss madly, desperately, his amazing mouth against yours. You whimper against him, and his chest rumbles in a deep growl.

He pulls away, and the way he looks down at you makes time stop.

"Come with me," he says roughly. "I know it's not fair and I can't ask you to and-"

Elation and awe wash through you, and you go up on tiptoe to cut him off with a kiss. "Yes," you murmur against his lips. "Yes, yes, yes, always, yes."

He pulls back to look at you. "Y/N, I mean it, I want you with me. It's going to be dangerous."

You smile, your heart thundering in your chest. "Yes."

"You could get hurt."

"Yes."

"You could die."

You feel your eyes fill. "Yes." You beam up at him. "I love you, and I'm coming with you now, whether you like it or not."

The way his green eyes warm and crinkle at the corners when he smiles down at you makes everything, the pain and doubt and heartbreak, it makes it all worth it.

"Let's go, sweetheart."

xxxxx

Hi, beautiful readers! Here are my notes:
I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters. (heartbroken)
Reviews, comments, and kudos give me life and keep me going.
And, as always, thank you for reading, you beautiful, beautiful people.
**What can I even say about this fic? Probably too much, that no one will care about. But here goes.
**The angst in this fic filled a deep part of my need to portray my characters as angsty. I also think it will help with my Sam/OFC fic, because it made me understand angst much better.
**I think it's important the way it ended. Because no matter what Sam said, no matter what Castiel said, in the end, Dean decided to stay with the reader because he just can't be without her. That meant something to me.
**Thank you all for reading my too long, too wordy, too prose-y story, and loving it as much as I did (if that's possible).