This is War(Supernatural AU)

Chapter Eleven

"Dad..." muffled sobs could be heard as you and Dean walked down into the hospital garage. You looked all around the hospital perimeter for Sam and John, and this was your last spot.

You and Dean exchanged quick glances, then kept walking toward the direction of the noise. You eventually approached Sam, who was hunched over on the ground, holding John in his arms as he sobbed. His hands were covered in blood, which also seeped across the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean croaked. You let him go and he immediately dropped down beside Sam, tears swelling up in his eyes as well.

"I heard a gun shot," Sam inhaled, "He was on the floor, bleeding out by the time I got to him. I couldn't save him."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean tried assuring him the best he could, but you could tell he wasn't taking this too well either.

For once, Dean actually looked scared. And not just for Sam like he usually is, but for himself as well. His dad meant everything to him. And now John lied lifeless and bled out in a vacant hospital parking lot.

"I should've come earlier," Sam cried, "I could've saved him."

"Look at me Sammy," Dean told him harshly, and he complied, keeping a tight grip on his father. "Don't you ever blame yourself for this. You don't get the right to do that. And dad wouldn't let you. This is all on that son of a bitch, Azazel."

Sam was quiet, but slowly nodded before looking back at his father. "I just wish...we had more time. There's so much I didn't get to say."

"It's okay. He knows," Dean said, gently shutting his father's eyes with his fingers.

~Time Skip~

It had been only two weeks since John Winchester died. The boys had a funeral for him and invited both you and Bobby. Even though you barely knew John, you knew how much it mattered to Dean that you were there for him. Ever since the funeral though, he's been more quiet than usual.

Bobby let you three stay at his place, at least till you figured out your next move. Sam was willing to talk everything out with you and whenever he just needed to rant, you listened. But Dean had a different way of coping. When he wasn't locked in his room, trying to get a lead on Azazel, he was in the junk yard, fixing up his impala.

"Hey Dean," you waved as he walked into the kitchen. It was a rare sighting. He took a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and poured some into his mug of coffee. "Don't you think it's a little early to be drinking?"

He shrugged in response, taking a long swig of his drink. Without a word, left the room. Once you heard the door close and were sure he was gone, you turned to Sam, who had been on his laptop the whole time. "Should I talk to him?" you asked.

"Dean doesn't talk," Sam told you, "He bottles everything inside and lets out his anger into his job. It's just who he is."

"But I can tell he's really hurting," you sighed. "And he isn't going to get any better by avoiding it."

"It's not like I haven't tried getting through to him, (Y/N)," Sam explained, "He's stubborn."

"People can change."

"I highly doubt that."

"Well I just can't see him like this," You said, standing up from your chair.

"Where are you going?"

"To knock the stubbornness out of him."

~Time Skip~

You walked out into the junkyard to spot Dean lying under his sleek lack impala. His mug rested on a wooden table nearby, almost empty. It was quite hot out and the radio was turned all the way up, playing "Jump."

"Really? Van Halen?" you asked with a raised brow, crossing your arms.

"It's a classic," Dean said, not moving from his spot.

"Need any help?" You asked.

He was silent at first, then finally replied, "You mind handing me the splint joint pliers?"

"Uh..."you gazed over at his tool shed, practically clueless.

"It looks kind of like bolt cutters except with sharper ends," he explained, holding out his hand from under the car.

"Oh," you picked up what seemed to fit the description and handed it to him. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Dean said, going back to work.

"So..." you leaned awkwardly against the car, "How are you feeling?"

You could hear an exasperated sigh coming from under. "(Y/N)-"

"Dean, you have to talk about it at some point. If not with me, then at least your own brother," you told him.

He swiftly rolled out from under the car and stood up, rubbing his greasy hands onto a rag. "I'm fine. You and Sammy can stop playing therapist, okay?"

"It's okay to grieve, Dean. But not like this. Your dad wouldn't want yo see you like-"

"Don't tell me about what my dad would have or would not have wanted," he snapped.

"You're right," you held up your hands in surrender, "That was a low blow. But I know what you're going through."

"Oh really?" Dean finally turned to you, looking unimpressed.

"Why do you think I even got into the assassin business?" You asked. "It doesn't only run in your family."

Dean's eyes widened. "Your parents were assassins?"

"My sister was," you corrected.

"You have a sister?"

"Had," you gulped nervously, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "She introduced me into the whole business a couple years ago. Told me how good the money was, even trained me. I won't go into too much detail, but one night, I was in charge of being the look out. But me being the idiot I am, I was sloppy and got her killed."

His face softened, "(Y/N), I'm so sorry."

"No need to feel sorry for me. I'm the one who's got to live with that for the rest of my life. And just like you, I thought the best way to cope was to drown my sorrows in alcohol and ignore the problem," you explained. "My point here is, that didn't work. You're never going to move on if you don't face that pain head on. Whether you're sad, scared, or even furious, you've just got to let yourself feel something."

"All my life, my dad's told me to stay strong. For Sammy, you know?"

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Sam is all grown up now. And it's okay for you to hurt. It's time for us to stay strong for you, Dean."