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Weak Spots ( Dean x Reader ) :iconeleuthero-phobia:eleuthero-phobia 2 0
Untitled by eleuthero-phobia Untitled :iconeleuthero-phobia:eleuthero-phobia 1 0

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Literature
What the Old Masters Were Alluding To
Leonardo Da Vinci
Studied hands, studied skulls,
Harriet Hosmer sculpted the clasp
of Elizabeth and Robert Browning.
Carvaggio painted them
Coming out of the darkness,
Adam reaching out to receive
life from his creator.
Antonio Canova, shaping Psyche
to revival by Cupid;
Isis, holding Nefertari’s hand
As she is granted eternity.
Delicate, desperate, reaching, grasping, begging.
Hands, in art.
My hand, in his.
:iconAfterTheNonSequitur:AfterTheNonSequitur
:iconafterthenonsequitur:AfterTheNonSequitur 80 16
Literature
Page 120
Turn to page 120.
It's written in the margins of every volume, in the blank pages at the front and back, over and over again, in shiny brown ink. Turn to page 120.
Childish scribbles in a set of ruined books, I knew, the reason this encyclopedia was dirt-cheap at a yard sale. I didn't care: who needs a paper encyclopedia these days? I bought it because it was too good a deal to pass up, because I thought it'd make me look learned, academic. The encyclopedia aesthetic. And I did find it amusing to poke around in, scribbles aside: outdated information preserved in ink and paper, brief summaries of complex concepts, the occasional racist aside. An old encyclopedia is a world unto itself. And wherever there was once a white space the same message: turn to page 120.
Who wouldn't be curious? It takes minimal effort to find a certain page: you don't have to expect much of a payoff for that to be worth it. Of course I turned to page 120.
Every volume I checked, it was the
:iconGDeyke:GDeyke
:icongdeyke:GDeyke 122 54

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"Just let me go, Dean. Please." You begged as you lay against shattered glass, or what used to be a window until Raphael decided Sam looked more like a baseball than a moose.

"No, I can't. I won't. I almost lost you last year, (Y/N). Not again." He clutched to your blood covered shirt.

"Dean, look around. I've already done enough. It's me or Sam." Your eyes felt heavier and heavier, and colors were beginning to fade.

"Who's it going to be, Winchester?" Raphael's voice boomed through your chest, seeming to do more damage to what you assumed was your broken ribcage. You had also begun clutching to Dean, the hunter that had saved you that night in the bar. While people looked on, screaming "catfight" and other things, it was just work for you. If it weren't for him, you'd been dead a long time ago.

But maybe that would've been better.

After all, it would've spared you this emotional pain.

"Dean, I'm your brother. We're blood. You know what Bobby says, Dean. Family don't end in blood." Sam spoke across the room, his hands tied above his head while blood seeped out of his bruised lips.

Blood. That sprouted an idea in your aching brain.

"Shut up, Sammy. (Y/N) is just as much family as you are. I'm going to find a way to make this work." He was yelling now, something that made your head pound with each syllable.

You had gotten caught up with Raphael when you and Sam were lookout while Dean stole some files for a case you three had been working on. Raphael had grabbed you from behind and shot you both into the basement of an old penitentiary, with Sam not far behind. Dean, however, had taken three days to show up. This gave Raphael ample time to do what he pleased.

You worked up the courage to turn your head slightly, and all you saw was Dean pacing. Back and forth, and back and forth. His head was in his hands as he went, and although it was hard to see, you noticed his beautiful green eyes stare into your (Y/E/C) ones, crying.

You knew his decision. Hell, you knew from the moment Raphael asked. Why would he waste his brothers life on some junkie he met at a bar? You figured that to him, he never looked at you as more than a friend. Just another hunter. A friend. Nothing more.

"Excellent choice," Raphael said, as though you were a portion of meat at the deli. "But Dean, it's a bit unfair that your brother has to have all these physical scars, so why don't we give you a few emotional ones too, huh?"

"Like I don't have enough already." Dean was slouching against the wall now, seemingly admitting defeat.

"Think of it as a DIY project. A little Do It Yourself."

You started sobbing. That was all you could do. Not even the pain of your ribs, or the slivers of glass in your hands, or your bleeding, scarred face could amount to this pain. Dean Winchester, the man you had known so well, the man you loved, has to kill you.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)." Dean whimpered.

You looked up at the man. You always thought to yourself he would be the death of you, but you didn't mean it literally. He looked even more broken than you did, and no one had laid a hand on him. He had endured so much pain. He should be dead by now. But he was a fighter, and you knew it. All of you knew it.

Raphael handed him a blade. It was one of Deans. A nice silver one, that happened to be of the Winchester brand. You had gotten it for him on his birthday a few years back. 

Dean towered over you before crouching in front of your face, noticing the scar on your cheek where your dimples were, or your bloody hands that you wanted to be in his.

He leaned forward, being careful to avoid the glass around you.

"I'm sorry. There are only a few times in my life where I mean that. You have to believe me, (Y/N). I mean it," He kissed your forehead lightly. "I love you."

He put one hand in yours and brought the blade back with the other, ready to end your suffering.

"Wait." You demanded. Dean halted, sending Raphael into a state of panic when he realized what you had done.

Blood. Angel banishing sigil. You weren't sure exactly why Raphael hadn't caught you. Maybe he was too distracted playing with Dean's emotions.
You pressed your hand against the sigil, sending Raphael back to heaven.

--

Waking up, you noticed you no longer tasted the coppery blood, your arms and hands had been washed clean, and the cut on your leg was nearly gone.

You couldn't remember if it was a dream or not.

Until, of course, you noticed the white walls, flowers, and a gown that was certainly not your leather jacket, jeans, and boots from the night before.

And then you noticed Dean. He was fidgeting with a small rectangle, but your vision was blurry from the medicine you'd been given.

"Stupid friggin remote. You have one job and can't even do it right." Oh, it was the remote.

You watched him, smiling to yourself for the first time in a long time. He really did make you happy.

Wait, if last night was real, then...

"I mean it. I love you."

The sentences echoed in your head over and over, replaying so you can get a grip on what's happening before-

"(Y/N)! Oh my friggin God. I thought you died." He pulled up a chair and grabbed both of your hands and held them against his forehead. You listened to way he spoke to you, he sounded like a broken record. He was broken.

"Where's Sam?" You managed to squeak out.

"He's a room over. I asked if they could put him in here, though, so the whole family would be together."

"Family? First you say you love me, now i'm family?" Oops. You were saving that until later.

"About tha-" You cut him off.

"Save it. The feelings are mutual. I love you too. I have for a very long time. But right now my voice is going to shit and I can't see." You said, every voice crack more prominent than the last.

"Yeah, the nurse said there was some damage to your vocal chords when Raphael strangled you. There was almost damage to that wall over there when she told me that." He pointed to a wall that had a painting of a kitten on it and chuckled.

"I really am sorry, (Y/N). You have to know I didn't want to do it. You have to know I did everything in my power to stop it." He gripped your hands tighter. "I can't lose Sammy. I can't lose you either. I love you too much." He took his hand and ran it through your (Y/H/C) hair.

"Good thing I saved our asses." You said before chuckling, and inevitably coughing.

"Shh, just lay back, (Y/N). Now is not the time to be a smartass."

"I love you, Dean. That sounds really nice now that I get to say it outloud."

"I love you too."

You let the shitty hospital music and the lull of Dean's breathing, along with heavy dosages of drugs, put you back to sleep.
Weak Spots ( Dean x Reader )
Imagine Dean having to choose between killing you or killing Sam
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:icongdeyke:
GDeyke Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2017   Writer
Thank you so much for the favorite, and welcome to dA! :D
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:iconbelrhaza4017:
BelRhaza4017 Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Welcome to Deviant Art! :) :hug:
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:iconeleuthero-phobia:
eleuthero-phobia Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks! 💗
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:iconbelrhaza4017:
BelRhaza4017 Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
u r welcome
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