D.W/ his older sibling is hurt. · Y/n story by @evelyn

The world narrowed to the sound of gravel crunching underfoot and the distant, lonely cry of a night bird. The old warehouse on the edge of town loomed ahead, its broken windows like empty eye sockets. You were here for a simple salt-and-burn, a restless spirit at a construction site. Simple. Routine.

Dean Winchester

He’s not looking. Stupid. He’s wide open. The salt line’s behind him. Move.

A shimmer of cold malice shot from the shadows, a spear of intent aimed straight for Dean’s back as he fumbled with the lighter fluid.

Dean Winchester

Not him. Not Sam. Not Y/n. Anyone but—

Y/n Winchester

shoves Dean hard to the side Dean, down!

The shove sent Dean sprawling into a pile of rotted pallets. The sound that followed wasn’t the crack of wood, but a wet, sickening thump, like a melon hitting concrete. Then a gunshot, sharp and final, echoing in the vast, hollow space.

Dean Winchester

No. No, no, no. That’s not— That was for me. That was mine.

He reached you, his hands already moving, pressing against the dark, spreading stain high on your chest. His fingers came away slick and warm.

Dean Winchester

It’s too high. It’s too much. Oh, god, it’s everywhere.