Soldiers
Warnings: ANGST. wee bit of fluff
Challenge: This was @angelschallenge ‘s Spring Challenge. My prompt was Polliwog [it’s in bold letters in the text]
A/N: To be entirely honest to y’all, I don’t really like the ending. feedback is greatly appreciated :D Also really want to thank @impala-dreamer for quickly rushing the editting of this fic in her busy schedule. When I saw the mistakes I made, I was banging my head on my desk so thanks for saing my ass.
There were very few times you had the luxury to act like a child when you were young. Being brought into the hunting life at a very young age and making it your first priority to protect your younger siblings, acting immaturely, having a normal childhood was just out of the question. And your family made damn sure you were aware of that. Every moment you spent as an actual kid and not a soldier in training you owed to Bobby Singer and the Winchester brothers.
Your family were best friends with the one and only John Winchester. When you were born, a total freak accident that was simply not supposed to happen, you entered the hunting life unwillingly, head first. Everything about the life was simply horrific. The blood, the pain, the physical and mental suffering, the traumatic experiences, images, none of it was made for people, never mind a seven-year-old girl with pigtails.
Then you met the two brothers, Sam and Dean, and that shitty reality became a bit more bearable. Because even though life was throwing at you all the shit that she could muster up, you had two people there for you, two wonderful boys you called your best friends. When your two twin siblings were born, not so much of an accident this time, you and the brothers swore to protect them. And by doing so you had to train more and forget your age. You weren’t a child, no. You were a soldier.
Once in a while, ol’ Bobby Singer would take all kids to the park, just to get you in touch with your age, give you a taste of what it’s like. His heart broke at all five of you being ripped of the right to be plain children. Ungrateful, whining, stupid, immature, happy children with toothless grins and unrealistic dreams. He’d let you run off, play baseball with the boys and push your and your little sister’s swings. Occasionally, you and Dean, whom you were closer to than Sammy, ran off to the lake near the park, trying to catch polliwogs and butterflies, giggling and making meatballs and cakes out of dirt, grass and flowers.
You could count those moments on one hand.
You eventually had grown to a powerful, graceful, strong, adventurous, and independent woman. Your 18th birthday soon arrived and you ran off with 21-year-old Dean, in his beloved impala, away for the night. The best night of your lives.
He surprised you earlier in the day by grabbing you mid-training by the waist and spinning you around. You shrieked his name, grinning like a mad fool. He made you change and took you to a grassy field surrounded by trees. He got out of the car, grabbing some beers from the trunk and a blanket, and spreading it on the hood of the car. He jumped on, pulling you with him and to his side.
You had obviously fallen for him; for the green eyed, golden-hearted, amazing person that he was. How could you not? You had known him as long as you could remember and could honestly not see your life without him.
You had leaned against each other, looking up at the sunset and admiring the beauty of it all. When the stars appeared in the sky you started explaining the constellations to Dean. You told him how you and Sam had done all-nighters just studying about them because they were so interesting. You pointed, titled, and talked about the stories behind each one. When you were out of lore, Dean started talking about the childhood memories, the pranks, the laughs, the shits and giggles, the parties, the drinks, the tears, the stories… You talked about everything until it was around 4 in the morning.
You looked up at Dean who stared at you lovingly, pulling you closer and drawing your lips to his. You kissed back, more willing than ever, wanting nothing more than to stay there for eternity.
Needless to say, Dean was your first. At everything. Your first kiss, your first sexual experience, and most of all, the one and only love of your life.
“Here’s to us,” you said, leaning against the cold stone. You placed the bottle of Johnnie on your lips and swallowed a mouthful, feeling the sweet liquor trailing down your throat leaving a soothing burn behind it. You leaned your head back on the silver lettering of the tombstone.
It never really stopped hurting. The moment that demonic motherfucker stabbed Dean’s spine and smiled so sickeningly wide, you felt your knees buckle. Of course the bastard is dead. Before he even made it a step further, he was on the ground with an angel blade in his throat. Dean was on his knees, with a hand on his chest, struggling to breathe. Blood was spilling from his mouth and a panicked look was on his face.
“No no no no,” you had cursed, falling to your knees in front of you. You grabbed him from his flannel, looking over his shoulder, to his back, inspecting the wound. It was clean through.
“Hey, hey look at me. Dean! You’ll be fine, Sammy and I will patch you up, you’ll be fine” you pulled him back to look at his beautiful eyes which were now dark and not focusing. “You’ll be fine, stay with me, keep your eyes open, come on.” I cupped one hand on his face, “Dean!” He felt boneless, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and fluttering shut.
You were crying. Of course you were. It had been months but the wound was fresh and all you could do was cry about the lost love of your life. Your dead best friend.
“Y/N?” A voice called out behind you. You didn’t move, watching Sam appear in front of you. “I thought I’d find you here,” he sighed, looking at the grave. You looked down, folding your legs to your chest. Sam took a seat next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You glanced at the bottle, passing it on to him. He took a sip and placed his arm around your waist.
“It’s our anniversary,” you whimpered, your eyes brimming with tears.
“I know,” he whispered and tightened his hold on you. “What a great fucking birthday you’re having,” he muttered. You snorted humorlessly, nodding your head in agreement.
“I should’ve done something,” you said. “I should’ve seen the bastard coming, warned Dean, something.” You sniffled, burying your face in his neck and beginning to sob.
“This is in no way on you,” he said, letting you wet his shirt with your tears. He didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry it out, holding you close to him.
As time passed you became calmer, taking comfort in Sam’s embrace, eventually entirely stopping. You were left tired, drained, completely empty. Sam said nothing but got up and stretched his hand out to you. You stared at it and took it, letting him effortlessly pull you up. His hand didn’t leave yours, offering mental support.
“Come on.” He pulled you away from the tombstone. “Let’s go home”
