Prompt:- Person B (Reader) knowing they're undoubtedly going to die within the next few minutes, likely from a gaping wound they're bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A (Dean) and carry on a full conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before time runs out.
This one is an angsty one guys- let me know if you want a happy sequel!
Please review to get chapters up quicker and to fill prompts! A few words mean the world guys.
You were dying, and not the I-just-stubbed-my-toe-the-pain-will-be-my-downfall situation but more in the a-wendigo-just-tore-through-my-chest-and-I'm-coughing-up-blood sort of way.
The soil is damp and cold underneath your back, moisture from yesterday's storm soaking slowly through your supple leather jacket, bringing a round of painful shakes to your body as the frost hits the exposed skin. The odd juxtaposition of warm blood steadily trickling from your chest and lips to the freezing atmosphere sends your mind reeling with confusion, a sudden wave of vertigo slamming down as the thin, reedy trees loom above where you lay.
Dean.
It's no shock or surprise to your unconscious mind that it's the first person you're thinking of in this situation, as the realisation you're not just going to get up and walk away from this now, hits you heavily.
Dean. The man who showed you what it was to love.
The man who stormed out of the bunker angrily after a heated disagreement about this very hunt you steadfastly refused to do by yourself.
The man who's last memory of you was a flushed face and raging tears, clenched fists and heaving chest.
God, he was going to be mad.
The nulling and sharp feeling that was radiating deep from within the festering claw marks flared up rapidly, eliciting an intense gasp that left little air in your lungs and puff of condensed breath into the frozen air.
Shakily, you reached down with your right arm, fingertips gently skirting over your ribs, before slipping carefully down in your jacket point to retrieve your mobile.
Please don't be smashed. Please don't be broken.
You let out a broken sob of relief, as the screen remained shatter-free with one fluttering bar of signal in the top right hand corner, blood making your hold weak and slippy on the back.
Inhaling deeply, not only through the now sickening and agonising pain of having your insides slowly dripping out of your chest, but also through the pulse of anxiety and fear of speaking to Dean.
God, this will kill him. He's never going to recover from this.
A sudden spark of a previous conversation with Sam worked its' way to the forefront of your mind, the clarity and sureness of his words echoing in your head.
"Him having you makes me the happiest brother, but the most scared. If he ever lost you darling.. it'd kill him. He'd carry on surviving, but he won't be living and I don't think I can see him go through that. Just keep on being here, okay?"
To ring him up now, to tell him.. It's impossible to do and you couldn't think of one worse thing to do to the man that you loved.
So, you elected not to tell him. But as the idea began to form in your mind, a dark voice in your head called out, sly and deceiving words threading tendrils through your doubt.
But he'll find out.
Find out you lied.
Find your body..
Shaking your head angrily to dispel the voice, your fingers quivered as they hit the familiar buttons on the screen, number memorised off by heart.
The dialling tone paused and for a split second you thought you'd lost signal and that was it.
God, was the air getting colder or was it just you?
Suddenly, the ringing began close to your ear, the monotone shrill expelling itself through the trees.
This was it.
"'ello?"
God, just that word alone spoken in his deep and whiskey-roughened voice was enough to drag a strangled sob from your sore throat, slipping out before you could contain it.
A pause stretched on the other end, a heartbeat and then a sudden clatter.
"Baby? What's wrong? You hurt?" Heavy footsteps muffled Dean's voice slightly but the concern and blatant worry was clear enough over the buzzing in your ear.
"Hey D, jus' me checking in.. I finished the hunt."
A quick exhale that anyone else would mistake for annoyance was clearly relief in your ears as he murmured something to someone in the background.
Probably Sam, your mind supplies. Guess he went back to the bunker.
"God, sweetheart, you had me worried. Coming back home and seeing you gone.. Well, anyway, wendigo all taken care of in your capable hands?" The sudden contrast of his gentle and soothing words were quickly replaced with sarcasm and the previous anger that had worked its' way into the conversation previously.
"Please babe, I don't want to fight, I'm just.. I took care of it, okay?" You spoke softly, tears wetting your flushed and blood spattered cheeks, as the realisation your final conversation with him might end in anger and irritation at your actions.
A sharp sigh from the other end signalled Dean's fresh disapproval at the situation, but failed to comment further.
"I know you did sweetheart, I just worry, you know? You're capable of kicking anyone's ass, hell, even mine, but the thought of losing you to the big bads.."
It was a sudden epiphany that any pain and affliction ceased to exist, and instead a growing numbness and cold seeping had began to taken over, fuzzing blackness creeping at the edges of your vision.
This was it.
"Where are you baby? I'll come pick you up and we can go get something to eat, have a few drinks, a movie night where you can pick the films and we don't leave bed. That sounds good, right?"
God, the hopefulness in his voice was enough to send a fresh set of tears springing in your eyes and blurring the view of the dark sky above.
"Sweetheart?" The panic and worry was back in his tone now, you could hear it.
"That sounds great, D. I just.. You know I love you right? More than any other thing or one in this messed up world."
A sudden squeaking of springs shot through the line, signalling Dean had stood up abruptly, a simple tell that he'd clocked on that something wasn't right.
"Course I know that. Where's this coming from? You hit your head?"
It wasn't often either of you proclaimed your relationship or those words to each other, but god, if you left this world without telling him one more time..
"I need you to know, okay? One last time, once more before I…"
Shit, you'd said too much, you'd hinted at your situation and now he'd figure it out.
"You're scaring me baby. Tell me where you are so I can check you over and make sure you're not hurt. Tell me right now." The voice was sharp and demanding now, shaking you from the encroaching blackness with a tone that commanded respect and obedience.
"I'll be back home soon, D. Back to you. Just carry on looking after Sammy whilst I'm not there and I'll be back before you know it."
"Baby?" Dean's deep and rolling voice was suddenly small and whispered, thick from sudden emotion and you knew he was holding back tears.
"You'll be okay, Dean Winchester, you hear me? I promised you that you were stuck with me for the long run, so you've just got to stay in the run for me. Promise?"
"Sweetheart, you tell me what's wrong and you tell me right goddamn now or I swear.."
The idea that you were dying and the man who had no idea was threatening you with the affliction was enough to let a short burst of laughter escape your lips, before a sudden bolt of white-hot agony lanced through your chest at the movement, a cry of pain following swiftly afterwards.
"Jesus Christ, Sam get her GPS signal and fucking get it now." You faintly hear Dean buzz, over the engulfing blackness that begins to swallow your senses.
"Stay with me baby. Stay right there. I'm on my way, okay? I'm coming to get you and bring you home with me. Just fuck.. Just stay. I've got you." The hopeful words mixed with his wet and strangled voice was enough to drag the edge of your lips upwards in a loving smile- one last grin for Winchester.
You couldn't feel the cold anymore and the stars pin-pricked in and out of existence, winking and waving at you, the dying girl, one last time. The rustling of the leaves and the damp breeze carried over the smell of iron and soil, but surprisingly was soothing to the last tether you had left to feel.
"Not if I've got you first, D. God, I'm going to miss you."
The dark chasm swooped in swiftly, stealing away any remnants of pain or consciousness you had left.
"Sweetheart, you still with me?"
"Always, baby. Always."