#Felt good to write it out though so yay for self-indulgent angst?

[providing-leverage]

Fic in Review 2023

This looks fun, thanks to @writer-and-thrasher for the tag

Total Number of Completed Stories: 16, which is great because my goal was 12 (one a month, which didn't happen, but oh well)

Total Word Count: 77,440! Again, I had a goal and surpassed it (getting to 300k on my account) and it feels really good.

Fandoms Written In: So much Ted Lasso, which I discovered after Sunflowers came out and was trending. I saw canon gay characters and went sign me up even if I don't normally like comedy stuff. I'm super glad I did because I've not written so much for a fandom so fast since my Shadowhunters hyperfixation years ago. Other than those 12, I did some PJO, Supernatural, and Batman, and Teen Wolf.

Looking back did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expect: so much less! Ted Lasso brainworms truly won this year

What’s your own favorite story of the year, personally?: I'm super proud of myself for finishing Past and Present Now Embrace, one of my few non Ted Lasso fics. Bianca was a very interesting character and the Percy Jackson universe it a great sandbox to play in.

Did you take any writing risks this year?: I think my trend towards gen stuff, because obviously romantic stuff gets more hits a lot of the time so I've trained myself to sprinkle it in even when it doesn't really need to be there. But with Ted Lasso I really felt like I could embrace the platonic stuff and when I did write romance it was because I wanted to.

Do you have any fanfic goals for the New Year?: I want to write a multichapter, and I'm hoping that multichapter will be either Stranger Ranger or Guard Your Heart. I've also been watching to rework the second and third parts of SSA Sam Singer.

Best story of the year: personally I'm really proud of the Fundamentals of Love and Lying, which is so self indulgent

Most popular story of the year: Get It Off Your Chest for sure, and I think that's all to do with the blurb I used in the summary

Most personal story of the year: Oh for sure it's a rather touching notion which is also probably the one I wrote the quickest. An aroace character figuring out who they are, feeling outside of so many social interactions because they lack romantic and sexual attraction? Pure projection. Also The A Team because yay autism.

Funniest story of the year: While the summary for Get it Off Your Chest is funny, Colin's reasons for picking up lesbians is deeply sad so I can't really say that. Eliza's exasperation with Jamie in Flowers for Dani is pretty funny though.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Fundamentals took a lot of work but it's also a rarepair I invented the tag for and narrated by a character that is basically an OC, so I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea.

Most fun story to write: Holy Novelty Socks Batman is pure fluffy crack and made me smile a lot

Story with the sexiest moment: none of them really. Fundamentals and some of the other TL fics have some sex allusion though.

Sweetest story of the year: I'll say Shake It Out, a teen wolf fic from early this year that I'd completely forgotten about. What's sweeter than breaking into your school at night for a date?

“Holy crap that’s wrong even for you!” story: dito on not doing scandalous, but for angst then maybe this fic where I give Dani my caffeine sickness

Hardest story to write: Past and Present Now Embrace, for sure took the longest, with me working on it for over a year. I wanted to get it up before the Sun and the Star came out but that didn't happen.

Biggest disappointment: Not any published fic in particular but I have a lot of drafts I wish had been able to see the light of day this year

Biggest surprise: the community I feel like I've found this year, especially within Ted Lasso. Doing these tag games, trading asks and ideas with other writers, is something I've never gotten to do before and I feel so lucky and grateful for my mutuals.

Speaking of... @orbitalpirate @mearpsdyke @manwholovescabins sorry if any of you have already been tagged

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Tourniquet - Part 1

Jim Mason x Named Reader/OC

(Jim is in his 20s on this fic. I know most people prefer Y/N or second person, but this one is hard for me to write and hits very close to home, so I gave the reader a name in order for me to feel some distance when writing. It also didn't feel right to wish any of these feelings on "you". Adding it under a Read More because of the possible triggers.)

Summary: While in an appalling rehab hospital, Jim sees another person struggling to deal with life, emotions, and the crushing desire to leave it all behind. She ends up adding a little spark of excitement to his usually mundane day and drawing his interest.

Word Count: 1, 888 (is a baby intro chappy!)

Warnings: SO. MANY. WARNINGS. Please heed the warnings, loves, and don’t read if anything will upset you or make you uncomfortable. If I have missed anything, please let me know so I can add it as soon as possible. Thank you!

Angst, Poor Medical Practices, Rehab Setting, Trauma, Drug Use, Drug Overdose, Withdrawal Symptoms, Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Severe Depression, Self-Harm, Scars, Language, Violence.

Tourniquet - a device which applies pressure to a limb or extremity in order to limit – but not stop – the flow of blood. It may be used in emergencies, in surgery, or in post-operative rehabilitation.

It had been a while since he’d been brought to this place. The plain walls and terribly uncomfortable cot of his room greeted him day after day. Jim had lost count of how many days that had been. He remembered there were at least a couple days where Medina had come to visit and wished him a happy birthday. It should have been a day for them to celebrate together, and instead she was here with him in this awful place.

“I’m so sorry, Medina,” he would whisper as they laid on his cot together, nearly nose to nose. A slight burning sensation tickled his nose every time, but his eyes were too tired to release any more tears. He simply stared at his twin, or through her more like, and let the guilt eat him inside.

“Jim, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you. You’re my best friend, my other half. It’s just you and me, remember?” Medina always pulled him close and whispered comforting words to try and quell the storm inside of him. It just made him hate himself more. She should have been outside, free and living her life, enjoying the waves she loved so much. Of course, that wasn’t something he would ever share with his loving sister. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

Jim was just...confused. His best memories of the place were the days Medina would visit. She would bring magazines and articles on surfing or the places they had talked about visiting someday. Envisioning a life beyond this mundane and monotonous existence always brought him a fleeting joy, but that feeling always left with his sister. It was exhausting to have his emotions swinging back and forth inside of him like a tangled yo-yo. He wanted to see her, to feel happy for even the smallest moment, but was it worth the inevitable and painful crash that followed? The guilt that he was holding his sister back and the fear that she resented him?

“Perhaps we should limit your sister’s visits. We could see if that helps improve your mental state.” The doctor had made the suggestion one day after one of Jim’s episodes following Medina stopping by. He’d bruised his hand and nearly punched a hole in the wall in his frustration as he’d spiraled once again. Jim did not take the suggestion well. Orderlies were called in to restrain him while he cursed out the doctor, screaming that his sister “was all he had left”, and he’d been put under heavy sedation for at least a day until his mind and body were too numb to fight back anymore.

Rehab. A place where he was meant to heal and recover and lose his dependency on drugs and stolen medication. All he found was that they used his problems to load him up with all new drugs and all new problems. Most of his day was spent laying in the same spot on his cot, as close to the wall as possible, and counting the flecks of dirt that had gotten stuck in the paint on the wall. He found it hard to sleep after the episodes requiring sedation. His hands trembled and his heart raced. More often than not, his nights consisted of pacing the short distance of his room and clutched his chest in fear that his heart would burst through his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe and swore he was suffocating, panicking, crying for someone--anyone--to help him and make it stop. Please!

It was a day like any other the first time he saw her. They’d forced him into the common room where some patients played games together or watched whatever sitcom rerun showed on the shitty cable tv. Jim sat by the window, tired, empty eyes staring at the palm leaves swaying in the breeze as he dreamed of the ocean waves he’d surfed with Medina. He wondered if she was out there at that exact moment. His thoughts were interrupted by an unusual silence filling the room. Everyone turned to look at the doorway where a nurse was giving a tour to a slightly smaller young woman. Her hair curtained her face as she stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. A sense of holding the shattering pieces of herself together, most likely. Not once did she look up to see who else was stuck in this place with her.

Jim didn’t blame her. Most of them came and went, only to come back again if they didn’t manage to find the eternal freedom they all chased at some point. Jim knew the mark of defeat she wore so obviously; it was identical to his and everyone else that was forced to be here. “Danger to themselves or others” they called them. Her shoulders tugged her upper body down to the ground, her steps slow and aimless as she shuffled over to sit at the far end of the window. Her legs tucked up to her chest and she shrank into the chair in an attempt to disappear. Jim’s eyes widened at the slow droplets of tears slipping down her cheeks. The dark circles beneath her eyes mirrored his own. She was sedated, too. He wondered what had happened to her, why she was here, and then he noticed the thick gauze bandages wrapped around her wrists. Oh.

Her eyes caught his staring at her forearms, and she quickly tugged the sleeves of her sweater down. He couldn’t tell if the look in her glassy eyes was hurt, embarrassment, or anger. Maybe all of the above. She wasn’t sure either. She curled in on herself and turned sideways to rest her forehead against the window. Her chest rose and fell with the jagged breaths she tried and failed to control. Jim forced his gaze back to the world outside, but the quiet sniffles from the armchair a few rows away brought his eyes back to her. She looked tired. So tired.

And she felt tired. So tired. It hurt to feel her heart beating. Each miserable thump inside of her chest continued to pump blood and forced her to keep breathing when all she wanted was for it to stop. Why couldn’t it just stop?! A soft sob parted her lips, and her distress only made her heart beat stronger. There was no more room for her to hide within herself. The muscles in her body shook for exhaustion and the effort she put into trying to will her body into an implosion. Weren’t the meds supposed to help them feel better? Now the guy across the room was staring at her like he didn’t have the same dead eyes and weight inside his soul. Asshole. Fuck him and his gorgeous crystal eyes that shone like the ocean in the sun.

One of the other patients that had been playing cards came over and sat down in the chair next to her. Her eyes remained glued to the outside, and that didn’t seem to sit well with her visitor. He wanted to know her name, why she was so sad, why she was there. Jim knew the guy, Harry, meant well, but he just didn’t know when to leave things alone and call it quits. It wasn’t going to end well for Harry. You never made someone already on edge feel interrogated and pressured. The biggest mistake came when he reached for her arm to see the bandages peeking out from under her sleeves. She jumped up quickly, ripping her arm out of his grasp, and cradled her arm protectively against her chest again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Her scream filled the room, and she let loose a right hook that landed on his nose. 

“Oh, shit!” Jim’s eyes widened in surprise and an unusually bright smile lit up his face. The crunch of bone on bone let anyone within earshot know the guy’s nose was broken. He crumpled to the floor with a cry, holding a hand to his bleeding face, while she stood and panted over him with panicked eyes. A nurse rushed over quickly and looked between them, and two orderlies came running in. one of them bent to help Harry while the other held the girl firmly by her shoulders to keep her back.

“Samantha! What did you do?” The nurse glared at the young woman, Samantha, who opened and closed her mouth while trying to calm herself enough to form words in her defense. Her arms were wrapped around her middle again, and Jim could see her nails digging into her palms from where he sat. Large, fearful tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked up with wide eyes at the nurse towering over her.

“Harry grabbed her arm. She was just defending herself--I saw it. It looked like it hurt a lot.” Jim decided to help her out. Seeing her knock Harry on his ass had been the best thing he’d seen in months, if not years, and he still had a lazy smirk on his face from replaying it over in his head. Samantha stared at him in confusion. He had no reason to defend her, and yet here he was, trying to get her out of trouble. There had to be some ulterior motive, and that made him dangerous. She shrank back against the burly orderly holding her upper arms, even more so when the nurse reached forward and pulled her hand to move her sleeve up. Small patches of red had begun to blossom on the gauze, and the nurse sighed.

“Thank you, Jim.” The nurse nodded at him and quickly turned her attention back to the girl before her. One orderly was already taking Harry to get cleaned up and away from everyone else. “Come on, Samantha. Let’s get you looked at. You know you won’t be allowed to socialize with others if you can’t control your outbursts.”

“What a fucking loss,” she muttered under her breath.

“Samantha! Language!”

They walked past Jim, and he watched her go. Her eyes were trained on her slippers until she stepped next to him and gave him a sideways glance through her hair. He smiled softly only to be met with a teary glare. Jim lifted his hand in a weak attempt at a salutation. Samantha’s brow furrowed and she quickly turned away. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed him for stepping in on her behalf. The orderly pushed her forward and broke their eye contact. 

Jim wondered when he would see Samantha again, if she was going to be punished. Samantha hoped she didn’t have to see Jim’s blue tourmaline eyes peering into her ever again. It felt like he could unravel her from the inside out, and she didn’t need any help in that department. She glanced back at him once to see that he was back to looking out window, tired, empty eyes staring at the palm leaves swaying in the breeze as he dreamed of the ocean waves he’d surfed with Medina.

------------------

This one is a bit different and not for Michael. If you’d like to be removed from the taglist for this fic, please let me know!

@guiltyfiend @drasangel @michaellangdonstanaccount @jimmlangdon

[catzula]

Confessions.

A\N: is this self-indulgent? Yes, yes it is. And did I cry writing this? Positive. Okay, the thing is, this is something I've been wanting to publish for so long, but I didn't have the courage to do so. But recently, I told someone about the whole ordeal and the reaction I got was so different than I expected, so I thought why not write this? Even if one person sees it and relates, or maybe even encourages them to talk to anyone about it, (even if you don't have anybody please I beg you come to me I'll always listen to anything you want to say), I would be so happy. Please don't think this is because I'm trying to get sympathy points, it's not. I don't want anything like that, just to actually help anyone who was in my situation. This fic (rant more like it) isn't fully based on my situation, mine is different, but I didn't feel comfortable talking about that, oh and this isn't edited, I didn't really want to read it over and over again so idk. So, anyway, I'll be posting one of the requests today too, it's fluff yay and my first aizawa attempt, so... Yeah. A/n is longer than the fic itself, seems like it.

Warnings: delicate subject, mentions of sexual harrasment, reader isn't in a good mental state, guys if it's triggering don't read it please I have no idea if there's any other things that could be triggering

Genre: angst, some fluff in the end

Pairing: bakugou x reader

W.c: 1,6k

You felt weak.

You have never felt this weak before, so helpless and unsafe.

You felt like you weren't supposed to talk about this with anyone. It was like if you told anyone, they would shame you, like they wouldn't believe you, or maybe even tell you it was your fault.

It didn't make any sense, why would anyone think that your logical part asked. But your insecurities wouldn't let you tell anything to anyone, making you feel sick when you tried to even hint it.

So you decided it was the best not to say anything, hide it forever even. Though you thought that was for the best for everyone, it was the hardest thing you probably ever did.

Your friends were aware of how jumpy you were late, how whenever someone touched you for anything, or even brushed you slightly, you froze with fear. But when they asked about it, you would brush it off as nothing.

They noticed how moody you were too, how frustrated you were with everything, crying, or getting mad at random, small things.

How you distanced yourself from people, hid for them, isolating yourself.

It was hard for them to see you like this -you were trying your hardest to smile and laugh like you always did, but they could see how much it hurt you to pretend- but it was especially hard for one certain angry boy. Bakugou was going insane, not knowing what was hurting you so and not being able to do anything about it.

Though he could never admit it, he had a crush on you. The worst kind, at that, or so he thought. He didn't like this feeling, of liking someone so much that you were constantly on his mind, his mood changing according to yours, laughing when you laughed, getting furious when you cried.

And lately, it was killing him. He knew you had feelings for him too, he knew how much you tried to look happy when he was around but it was just hurting you and that was even worse.

It was only until that one day he heard your soft voice, trembling with sadness as you explained what was going on to your best friend, Kirishima.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but it was impossible for him to just leave when you were crying so.

"I'm sorry." You told Kirishima between your tears. "I'm so sorry."

***

You knew you had to tell him some time. You just hoped it would be later. But there was no running away when Kirishima pulled you to the roof, making you sit and waiting for you to speak.

"You have to tell me." He told you as you squirmed to get away. "I need you to speak to me, Yn. I need to know so I can help you, you're my best friend and I can't keep pretending nothings going on."

"I can't either." You answered, whispering without even noticing.

"I can't lie anymore, I'm tired." You sighed and hid your face in your hands. "Eiji, you have to promise me you'll listen to me until the end, and don't do anything I tell you not to do."

"Of course." He promised.

"This is about my professor." You finally admitted.

"The one you get along very well with?" He asked cautiously, afraid that wrong words were going to make you stop.

"Uh, yeah." You answered with a dry, humorless chuckle. "Apparently, we weren't getting along for the right reasons." At this, his head snapped up, his eyes locked with yours. "What?!"

"He-he tries to touch me." You mumbled in your hands. "Y/N, what the fuck does that mean?" He tried to stay calm, but how could someone stay calm over that?

Your insecurities infecting you, you felt like he was questioning you, not believing you and you swallowed hardly. "You know what? I-it's really not that important, I exaggerated." You told him, feeling uneasy all of a sudden. But he wasn't having it. He scooted near you, taking your hand in his. "No, Y/N, we have to talk about this! What do you mean by- by trying to touch you?" Your heart hammering in your chest you decided to rip the band-aid off.

"He touches me." You repeated, a lump in your throat, not allowing you to speak more than a whisper. "And he always has that- that smile... that smile that shows he knows what he's doing, and he knows how weak I am, how I can never do anything about it." You went on, feeling the hot tears tumbling down your cheeks. You shuddered with the unwanted memories.

"Did he-" Kirishima stopped talking, wide eyes watching you. "Did he ever..." Although he couldn't finish his sentence, you knew what he meant. "No." You told him. "He never went all the way, it's more like he's toying with me."

"How did this happen?" He asked, words so silent, you almost didn't hear them. 

You shrugged. "It started small." Your voice faltering with tears. "At first I thought it wasn't on purpose." You told him as you relived the memories. "His hand sometimes brushed my breasts and my skirt... He would also press his body against mine when he was walking in the hallways..."

Oh my God, this was terrible. Just talking about it made you feel so weak. Why couldn't you just say something, do anything? Why did you always freeze with fear instead of fighting? Maybe some people just didn't have it. Did this make you unworthy?

"Then it just started to get worse. He would full-on grab me when he 'helped' me with my questions, would always come so- so close to me that I could feel him. He started to corner me, made me stay after class, and just always tried to catch me alone." 

"Oh my God," Kirishima mumbled, unable to say anything else. "Why didn't you say anything?" 

Yes. Why didn't you? 

"I was scared." You whispered. "I was scared of- of you thinking I was lying, that I was saying this for attention, that I was exaggerating, that this wasn't important that this was my fault."

Was it your fault? Maybe you could have worn pants instead of skirts. Or maybe you smiled at him too much, did you give him the wrong impressions? Was it really your fault?

His head snapped up, angrier than you had ever seen him. "How could you think all that?" He asked voice laced with anger. "He is a... a well-loved person, Eijirou. Everybody likes him, trusts him and he just looks so nice... Why would anyone believe me when-" You stopped talking when he hugged you once again, tighter than ever before. "I would always believe you."

I would always believe you. Words you longed to hear so damn much, making you cry uncontrollably.

"I feel so weak, Eiji." You said once again, the nickname you had given him falling off your lips for the first time in a while. "I can't even say anything to him... I'm weak... I'm afraid of people judging me, and I just can't feel safe anymore. I can't even trust myself." 

"I'm so sorry." He told you between the sniffs he was trying to hide, you thought it was ironic that he was the one apologizing. "I'm so sorry Y/N." 

Both of you weren't aware of the angry boy listening to you, shaking with anger and sadness. He couldn't believe there was someone out there making you feel like this when he himself couldn't even dare to tell you his feelings, let alone touch you.

***

"Where are you taking me?" You asked at the boy tugging at your wrists, pulling you somewhere.

Bakugou came to your door the next day he heard your conversation with Kirishima, a plan in his mind to help you, at least a little bit.

"Okay, we're here." He told you. He had brought you on a small field, surrounded by trees and flowers, an empty space in the middle. Your heart beat fastened in your chest, but how could it not when he looked this way to you?

"I will teach you self defense." He told you.

"What?" Wasn't that a little too random? "You heard me." He answered gruffly. "I'll teach you how to defend yourself."

"I- I mean- thank you!" You said, laughing a little. "But I don't understand..."

Oh no.

"Why?" You wanted- needed his answer to be something, anything other than what you had in mind. But it was obvious that it wasn't, when he stayed quiet.

"You heard us." You whispered, hand trembling with fear. The boy you liked, the one you had the biggest crush on, had heard how pathetic you were, how you didn't even have the courage to speak, to push this man's hand and confront him.

"No-" you choked. "It's not what you think." You said as you thought about what you could say, but your mind went blank when his hand caressed your cheek. "Don't." He told you. "Don't lie to me, you don't need to. You don't have to talk about it either, but I'll be here, always here for you to speak, to seek help, and now I will teach you self defense. You said you didn't feel safe, you felt weak. I'll be your safe place if you need me to, but I want you to feel safe yourself too."

You opened your mouth to say something but he didn't let you.

"Look, this isn't because I'm pitying you, or because I think you're not capable of defending yourself. I just- I want to help you, be with you, and this is the only thing I can do."

"Thank you." You whispered and without giving any warnings, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "You have no idea how much this helps."

A long silence went between you, allowing you to ask that one question.

"But why are you doing all this for me, Bakugou?"

He pulled back with your question, though so slightly that your noses almost touched each other. "It's because-" he stopped, fear clawing in him. What if you didn't feel the same way? He knew you did, but what if you didn't?

He gulped and took a deep breath. You have been acting so brave for the longest time, he couldn't even understand what you had went through- even though you couldn't see how brave you were yourself. So he decided it was his turn to be brave now.

"It's because I'm in love with you." Your breath stuck in you, eyes wide but a smile of relief on your lips. "Bakugou..." You whispered as he leaned in a little more.

"I love you too."

[tibbinswrites]

Hi! Absolutely LOVE your writing!!! If you still have a spot left for your prompts can you do #7, Destiel, cannonverse, and angst as long as it ends happy? Also, just wanted to say a couple years back I struggled really bad with depression and self-harming (though I haven’t in 3 years now, yay!) and how you write Dean just resonates so much with me and makes me feel like I’m not alone. You just portray that so well, so thank you so much for your sharing your writing with us, it is wonderful! 🙂

Hi!  I didn’t forget about this, I promise! I’ve just been struggling to write anything lately so I was doing like a sentence at a time. Congratulations on making it 3 years! That’s an incredible achievement, you should be so proud :D I’m so happy that my Dean resonates with you. You are not alone and I’m really glad that my Dean helps with that.  Thank you so much for your kind words, here is your fic ^_^ you asked for a happy ending, but given the subject matter the best I could do here was a hopeful ending. I hope you like it :)

Alcohol/Alcoholism cw.

Prompt 7. “Are you drunk?”

It was a bad habit of his, he knew. Probably his worst habit if he had to rank them. When a beer at the end of the day became two, became a half-dozen, became almost a full fifth of whisky. It didn’t happen every time, he comforted himself by reasoning. Sometimes he really did have one beer and could leave it at that, but sometimes, even on good days but without the excuse of a party, he could be found passed out in one of the rec rooms, or in the kitchen, or that one time in the hallway.

This morning he woke curled up in the backseat of Baby like he was in his twenties again. Every screaming, cramped muscle quickly reminded him that that wasn’t the case. He groaned and untwisted himself slowly, giving his spine time to ease back towards straightening. His mouth was tacky and disgusting, his head a throbbing mess and he smelled his own rank alcohol-sweat infused into his clothes and the leather below them.

“Sorry Baby,” he croaked, resolving to clean her later. After he’d had a shower and brushed his teeth. But he didn’t even get that far when, during the process of inching his way out of the car, he saw Cas at the mouth of the garage, watching him. “Are you drunk?” He asked, his voice harsh and too firm for Dean’s sensitive ears. “No, Cas. If I was drunk I wouldn’t hurt all over.” Cas made an angry sound and shook his head. “You don’t approve?” Dean said, trying to add as much mockery into his tone as he could with his head pounding away like Michael was still in there.

“No.” Cas said shortly. “What if Jack had seen you like this?” “Pretty sure he has. What? You’re worried I’m a bad influence?” he chuckled. “Bit late for that.”

Cas just pursed his lips and watched as Dean leaned gingerly against the car, holding his hand to the cool metal for a few seconds and then pressing it to his forehead. It helped, a little.

“I just don’t understand,” Cas said. “It was a normal day. We returned from a hunt two days ago so you’re not going stir-crazy, the hunt itself went well so it’s not the after-effects of that, you were in a good mood all day but we weren’t celebrating anything and you didn’t sleep before you started drinking so it wasn’t a nightmare. You don’t have a reason to get as drunk as you did. I don’t understand why you keep doing this.”

Behind the anger in Cas’ voice Dean could still hear the worry, the desperation, and suddenly he didn’t feel so cocky anymore.

“I don’t either.” He said. “But it’s safer this way.”

“Safer?” Cas repeated. “Dean, you’re killing yourself.”

Dean winced. He didn’t think of it that way. He knew that drinking was an unhealthy coping mechanism, and he was pretty sure that that’s what it was that drove him to the bottle on bad days. He knew what alcohol did to the body and he saw some those effects in himself. He was pretty sure it was an addiction, but he also knew he could never admit that. Logically, he knew that if he were anyone else then yes, absolutely he’d be drinking himself into the grave, but realistically? With the life he had he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get the chance to die of liver failure.

“Safer than going on hunts when my hands are shaking and my eyes get blurry?” He shot back. “I know my limits, Cas.”

Of course, his limits had changed over the years. Once upon a time drinking while on a case was unthinkable, now he had no problem with it. He never overdid it when they were specifically going in for the kill, but in the preliminaries? Just asking questions and coming up with theories? There was no harm in indulging a little. The burn in his throat made him feel clearer. It was a sharp comfort, familiar and warm. Plus, his tolerance was solid. It took him a lot to even get buzzed, and when that wasn’t his aim, he hardly ever needed to go that far.

“I hate that I can’t heal you of this.” Cas said, his voice quiet but echoing in the garage. “I can sober you up, heal your liver, but I can’t stop your craving. I can’t stop you from doing the damage again, I can only take it away once it’s done.” Dean didn’t know what to say to that but he felt guilt begin to shift around inside him. He never liked to think about what other people thought of his bad habit, especially people he actually cared about. He’d tried to turn it around once, remembered how it had felt to see 2014 Cas strung out on drugs, powerless and grinning, stupid with his own misery. Was that how the others saw him? He’d followed that thought with a bottle and a half of Jim Beam until he forgot all about it. Looking at Cas now, that same helplessness he’d felt was in the angel’s eyes. He wanted to take it away, but he knew that doing so would take something from himself, something that he wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. It wasn’t about the drinking, not really, it was about the comforting habit of it, like a child sucking their thumb. It soothed him to know that no matter how shitty the day, there would always be booze at the end of it, smelling like gasoline and promising a few hours of blank memory.

They all needed something. He’d said it before. Hunters always needed something and he was far from the first to choose the bottle. His father had, and Dean, always eager to shrug into John Winchester’s ill-fitting jacket, had copied him. Sam hadn’t developed his obsession with food until later. He’d never minded burgers and chilli fries growing up, though Dean had done his best to make sure Sam ate at least some vegetables, and only after they began hunting together in earnest, with the stakes getting increasingly higher, that Sam began to clamp down rules on what he would and wouldn’t eat. The rules didn’t always make sense to Dean, and they seemed to vary from day to day. More than once Dean had offered to make something that Sam had asked for the previous week, only to be snapped at like he’d said something offensive. He always tried not to snap back. It was just Sam’s way of getting some control back in their lives that seemed to constantly go off the rails.

Drinking didn’t exactly give him control, but it amounted to the same thing. If you took away the thing that a hunter used to cope, you’d have an inefficient and probably quickly dead hunter. He couldn’t afford to give it up when he stood to lose so much more if he did. He was a damn good hunter the way he was, and with the world in the balance he couldn’t risk tipping the scales.

“I can’t do anything about it any more than you can right now,” he said wearily. Dropping even more of his weight back against the car. “I know how to work like this, Cas, it’s the only way I know how to work. We’ve got bigger things to deal with. Like I said, it’s safer.”

Cas didn’t look pleased, but he edged forward all the same. Dean felt his heart warm, even though the defeated expression on Cas’ face hurt him. “And after? Once we’ve dealt with what needs to be dealt with? Will you give it up then?”

Dean reached for the angel and drew him in close. This was a new thing between them, well… not really, Dean had wanted it for a very long time, but only recently had they decided that they wouldn’t lose anything by trying, because in the grand scheme of saving the world, who cared if an angel and a hunter admitted they were in love? This specific happening was pretty new though. Usually it was Cas comforting him. After a bad hunt or when grief threatened to overwhelm him or when he had nightmares Cas always held him, rocked him, soothed him. But now it was Cas clinging to him like a barnacle, tucking himself against Dean’s chest as though he didn’t care that Dean smelled like a dumpster in a heatwave. Dean ran a hand down his back and up again, pressing kisses of apology into Cas’ hair. “I’ll try,” he promised. “I really will.” Maybe it wasn’t the happiest of conclusions to this conversation, but this was a healing that Cas couldn’t do, and Dean knew himself that there was no quick fix. He hated hurting Cas like this, knew that he was hurting Sam too, but at the moment, it was too dangerous to do anything else. There was hope though. Dean had already figured out that he drank less when he was happy, and this was the first binge he’d had since he and Cas had decided to let it be called love. Dean already called that progress. It might not be the progress that Cas wanted, but he was proud of it all the same, and once the world was safe he really would try to give it up. It would be a hard slog, but what in his life wasn’t? And it would be worth it. To stop his family worrying, to see Cas’ huge, gummy smile, to see the quiet pride in Sam’s eyes. Maybe it was a long way off, but as he tightened his hold on Cas, he knew that he would make damn sure he got there.