#jus writes: I know when you go down all your darkest roads

[chaoticdean]

I know when you go down you darkest roads

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Chapter 4 — Personal pillow — Dean POV

Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through couple therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

~ 3.2K

I'm posting earlier than I'm supposed to, mainly because I'm going back to work on Monday and I'm not sure I'm actually gonna be able to update during the day. From here on, chapters will be dropping around Sundays/Mondays depending on my work schedule :)

Next chapter is going to be a bit different since I'm gonna dive into the "Cas side of it all", and I'm really excited for you guys to dive into it!

Also, if you liked the little texts I experimented with during this chapter, just know that they'll be back :)

Okay, MOVING ON. Have a great read, y'all!

— I know the SPNStayAtHome Challenge is over, but thanks to @bend-me-shape-me ; @helianthus21 & @pray4jensen for hosting and getting this story into motion! —

READ ON AO3

(Rebloggable chapter on Tumblr : Part I / Part II / Part III)

Dean’s mind is overwhelmed by approximately a hundred a twenty-five different things — the most prominent being if I had just stayed back there with Cas instead of running to drink my fears away, Stan and Sally would still be here, how surprising that someone has to die for your mistakes again, Winchester — when Mrs. Pritchard catches his arm.

“Dean, I think you should go back to your room and break the news to your husband. I’m almost sure he’s the last person who talked to Stan and Sally, so I’m guessing the cops will come for you both at some point” she says, wiping her face with a tissue.

Dean nods in agreement, suddenly realizing that Castiel isn’t there amongst the group of people standing around in the hallway. Which means he doesn’t know yet.

Great. As if this night could get any worse at this point.

“Okay. Let me get you back to your office first, you look like you’re about to pass out” he says, extending his arms, guiding her out through the hallway.

It takes them a couple of minutes to get there and once Dean is certain the therapist isn’t going to faint, he leaves and makes his way to his bedroom while avoiding the rest of the residents — everyone seems to be out there, except for Cas.

He pushes the bedroom door open, suddenly fearing that Castiel might have left (after all, he wouldn’t blame him at this point), but the angel is right there lying in bed, reading god knows what book he’s managed to get his hands on. And he’s wearing those damn navy pants with Dean’s shirt just like the night before. It’s like a punch in the guts every time Dean just looks at him.

The hunter sighs loudly, somewhat relieved to find him here. The angel cocks an eyebrow at him, tilting his head on the side like he always does.

“You okay?” He asks as Dean drops on the bed, face meeting the pillows in seconds, “I thought you might have left” he adds, and the way his voice breaks at the end make Dean feel even worse.

“I’d never leave you, Cas” he says, raising his face up to watch the angel, “I thought we were passed that?”

“I don’t know, you seemed so angry at me.”

Dean raises on his elbow, watching as Cas lowers his book — “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller, the hunter reads on the cover — his eyes locking-in with the angel’s.

“I wasn’t angry at you, Cas. I was angry at me.”

“Why?” He tilts his head again, and Dean’s heart sink.

“I…” he starts, wondering how he could translate everything into words, then deciding not to, “It doesn’t matter. Something happened, Cas. Stan and Sally…”

Dean doesn’t finish his sentence, letting the rest of it hang in the air until Castiel’s face gets paler as he understands.

“Oh, no… What happened? When?” He asks, tossing his book to the bedside table.

“I don’t know, I was outside talking with Mrs. Pritchard in front of the building and we saw the cops and an ambulance come in so we rushed back inside, and… It was bad, Cas.”

“Did you gather any intel? I thought the Algea only went after couples who had troubles, but Stan and Sally seemed to be the only couple who didn’t have any major problems if you put all their bickering aside.”

“Yeah, and they were killed having.. well, uh. Kinky sex. Which doesn’t fit the M.O. Not the kinky part, just the sex part.”

Cas tilts his head again, this time with a wondering look on his face.

“Kinky?” He asks, looking at Dean without blinking an eye.

Dean can barely contain a massive eye-roll, making Cas’s frown grow even bigger.

“Kinky as in ‘naughty’. Weird, deviant if you will” Dean finally explains.

“How does one have deviant sex?” Cas seriously wonders, and it takes everything in Dean not to burst out laughing. “Maybe we should call Sam in.”

“What, to ask him what he knows about kinky sex?”

This time, Cas rolls his eyes so hard Dean’s slightly afraid the whole world is going to shake, and he can’t suppress his loud laughter at the sight. Castiel returns his wide grin and Dean instantly feels lighter.

He still won’t want you, not today, and not in a million years, Winchester.

“You’re an idiot. I meant we should call him in, tell him what happened and see if there’s anything in the lore about creatures who go after both struggling couples and happy couples having deviant sex” he adds, watching as Dean buries his head back in the pillow with a loud groan.

“I don’t want to call him in, he’s out with Eileen somewhere on the West Coast and quite frankly, he deserves a break.”

“Well quite frankly, so did we. Yet here we are.”

“Aww, Cas. I thought this was our vacation?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“I can say it once more if you want me to.”

“You’re too fucking playful at this time of night, dude.”

“No, I’m not, I'm being realistic.”

Dean smiles into the soft tissue of the bedcover, realizing they got back to their easy banter as if nothing happened. He finally rolls on his side, locking eyes with his partner.

“Do you want to hit the lore?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d rather go to bed. We don’t have anything before therapy tomorrow at 11, that leaves us enough time to research before” he finishes before yawning hard.

“Okay Rip Van Winkle, let’s get you to bed, alright?” Dean says, getting up on his two feet and grabbing his nightclothes — his old Zeppelin ’73 tour that he’s owned for at least 3 decades, and a pair of black sweatpants matching Cas’s.

“Technically, I’m already in bed…” Cas adds

Dean is very pleased to realize Cas is still watching him while he strips from his day to nightclothes in front of him, completely unbothered. He’s about to ask if he likes what he sees — damn it’s hot seeing Castiel looking at every inch of his skin like this — when the voice in his head slams his thoughts away with a distinctive “you’ll fuck him up too, so just back away and don’t”.

“Okay, FYI, if we’re sleeping together every night until we get through this case, I’m using you as my personal pillow,” Dean says with a sigh as he drops on the bed, “D’you mind?”

He slips under the covers, almost praying for Cas to say something along the lines of “Yes, please fucking use me”, or more realistically something resembling a simple “yes”. But suddenly Castiel is right there inside his personal space, his scent everywhere around Dean as he pushes him back into the mattress and presses his whole body against him.

“I don’t mind, but I’d rather have you as my personal pillow than the other way around,” he says, dropping his head in the crook of the hunter’s neck just like the night before, “do you mind?”

Ah, that playful tone again. Dean could almost sigh in content at the feeling of deep satisfaction the whole thing gives him.

“I don’t mind, babe,” he says, brushing a light kiss on Castiel’s forehead as his arm gently closes around his waist, bringing him even closer.

He told you not to call him babe, why are you even trying?

Castiel pulls even closer, his nose brushing against Dean’s skin on his throat while the hunter extends an arm, turning off the lights.

“You know, at some point, we’re gonna have to talk about the fact that you’re sleeping a lot more lately, or how you need coffee in the morning and meals more often” Dean adds, his arm coming back around the angel’s waist, settling in against his back.

Most of the time, Dean tries not to dwell on it too much. Whenever Castiel would be ready to assess this, he’ll be here waiting. But it was becoming an almost daily situation, with Cas falling asleep almost every night for a couple of weeks now, and the coffee situation started almost 2 months ago.

“Sure. Whenever you’re ready to talk about why you were so angry at yourself you chose to literally run away from me and this room instead of talking to me, we can talk about it” the Angel mutters against Dean’s neck, the warmth of his breath giving Dean goosebumps.

“Yeah, okay” he sighs, rolling his eyes in the darkness of the room, “you’ve made your point.”

I’ve been in love with you for more than a decade and I don’t think I can survive the look on your face when you ultimately reject me.

Kissing you, calling you “babe” and being your husband all day gives me a sense of happiness, but happiness is always a lie, it gets people killed.

I’m terrified of what I feel, and I’m terrified of losing you if you ever find out how I feel. That’s why I always run when it gets too complicated to keep it inside.

Because it doesn’t matter how it hurts to keep this to myself if I get to spend a few more moments by your side. That’s why I run. That’s why I keep running away from you.

But of course, this all stays inside.

“I’m serious, Dean. This is exactly what we talked about in therapy today —“

“Cas, it’s an undercover case, it’s not like we’re really going through therapy” Dean interrupts him, and immediately feels Castiel tense up against him.

“So what? Our issues are real, even if we’re not the lovely Cartellones. You’re always doing that” he almost growls, obviously fed up by Dean’s assessment.

“What?”

“Whenever you’re angry at something you always decide that it’s best to move away from the people who love you and brood in a corner by yourself without telling anyone what’s really bothering you. It’s infuriating, Dean.”

“It’s just the way I am.”

“Well, like I already said, just because you’re that way doesn’t mean you can’t change.”

“This is just my way of coping, Cas. I don’t know how to do that without storming away from everything.”

“Well, it hurts the people around you when you do it. It hurts Sam. It hurts Jack. And it hurts me, most of the time, even if I do understand why you do it.”

Dean’s heart crushes at the single thought of hurting Cas. He’s not oblivious to the fact that he hurt him before, and he still hates himself for it. But having Castiel lying tightly against him, his low voice resonating inside his throat where his lips are almost pressed up, saying to his face that he keeps on hurting him… That’s another level.

“I’m sorry. I never mean to hurt you” he says, his eyes closing on impact.

“I know you don’t. So change. Talk to me. To Sam. To Jack. Hell, to anyone. Stop pushing people away.”

“It’s easier said than done, Cas.”

“Just give it a try. For me.”

Dean swallows hard at the thought of actually telling Castiel why he ran away earlier, when the angel’s hand finds its way under Dean’s shirt and he starts stroking the skin of his back almost absently. If he wasn’t so self-conscious right now, the hunter is almost sure his starved-touch self would moan disgracefully at the single touch of Cas’s fingertips along his skin.

The hunter sighs in content instead, Castiel’s head finding its rightful place and settling in the warmth of his neck. There’s newfound confidence and some drops of bravery left in Dean when he actually stretches his left arm out and cards his fingers gently inside Castiel’s hair.

When he groans in content, Dean could swear the shiver that goes through his entire body could light up Antarctica.

“We should do that more often,” Cas says, his voice drowsy like he’s minutes away from drifting off into sleep.

“What? Talking?”

“Cuddling. Sleeping together. Kissing.”

Wait.. what?

“You’d wanna do that… more often?” He asks warily, not wanting to jump to conclusion too fast here and get his heart smashed into pieces, “With me?”

“Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Hold on, let me pull up a quick list for you here: hum, everyone? I’m a lost cause, Cas. I’m not worth it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, babe,” he says, placing a soft kiss on Dean’s jawline, his lips brushing against the light stubble of his cheek, “you deserve everything. All of it.”

Suddenly it’s like Dean can’t breathe anymore. It takes him almost a minute to recover, and by then the angel’s slow breathing indicates that he’s already fallen asleep, despite Dean’s heart thundering like crazy right there where he’s lying against him.

Dean’s hand is still inside Castiel’s hair, and he keeps on softly stroking it as he watches him sleep, the dull light of the moon illuminating the angel’s features in the dark.

It’s actually insane how beautiful he looks. The way the white soft light caresses the line of his jaw, the stubble that grew on his cheek looking even more magnificent by the minute.

“I love you” he murmurs into the dark, well aware of all the implications these three little words bring, and taking advantage of Cas being asleep to say them before drifting into sleep moments later, “I love you so much, for so long already. I just wish I wasn’t this person, that way I wouldn’t fuck you up. I can’t risk that. I can’t risk losing you.”

His arms tighten around the angel, and he drops a soft kiss against Cas’s hair. The last thing he remembers before giving up to sleep is thinking he could have so much more if he only stopped hating himself so much.

**

When Dean awakes the next morning, the sun is filling the room and the first thing he feels is cold.

He extends an arm already searching for Castiel but only meets cold sheets and an empty bed. He opens his eyes, groaning as the light attacks his iris, quickly assessing that the room is empty except for him.

There’s a pit in his stomach as he sits up and reaches for his phone, and he kinds of hate himself at the bitterness he can already feel inside his throat.

What if he left? What if he doesn’t remember what he said last night? What if he doesn’t want to talk about it because he figured out how fucked up it would be?

The screen lights up and tells him it’s 8 am already. There’s a text from Sam asking if they’re okay and how the case is going, a couple from Jack rambling about the superhero hole he dived into while they’re away, but nothing from Cas. Dean quickly texts him, hoping to have an answer that suppresses this uncomfortable feeling inside of him. And sure enough, his phone beeps half a minute later.

Dean sighs in relief, dropping back on the mattress. He lingers for a moment, his face pressed up against the pillows. Cas’s scent is everywhere, and no matter how hard he tells himself he’s such a cliché about this, it really does wonder on his mood.

Cas said he liked kissing him.

Cas said they should do it more often.

He’s still not sure he really believes it, but it still makes him giddy inside.

You’re not a schoolgirl, Winchester. That was probably just your head talking to yourself. No way Castiel could want that with you.

When Castiel finally appears 20 minutes later with a box of donuts in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other, sporting a brand new light blue shirt — I swear to God I will kill you for making me endure this, Sammy — Dean is buttoning his own very new emerald shirt while whistling to Led Zeppelin.

“You’re in a good mood,” Castiel says, putting down the box and one cup of coffee for Dean to drink on his bedside table.

“Do I detect a surprised tone in your voice?” Dean answers playfully, opening the donuts box like it’s going to disappear.

“Well, you’re usually pretty grumpy until you’ve gotten your first coffee.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him, shoving half a donut inside his mouth. Castiel is still watching him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dean can’t help but notice how good that new shade of blue suits him, and he mentally smacks himself for it.

“So, did you find out anything useful?”

“Sort of. I still think we’re hunting an Algea, but I found out that they like to kill couples while they’re having sex. Something about the taste being sweeter, according to the books I’ve found.”

“Fucking great” Dean mutters, finishing his coffee, “So they just kill them while they’re getting some sweet time just because they taste better if they do? Silver still kills it though, nothing wrong in your book about that?”

Cas nods, watching as Dean comes closer. He reaches for his collar with a smile, unbuttoning the shirt further down a little. The angel looks at him with a frown on his face.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“Nothing, I just think you look better when it’s unbuttoned a bit more, just like that.”

Pleased with his work, Dean uses the last drops of bravery he has left and reaches for Cas’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the angel’s cheekbone with a light touch.

And immediately senses Castiel tense up, as he crosses his arms across his chest while averting Dean’s gaze.

Well, if Dean had been looking for any kind of answer, he’d guess that would be it.

What the fuck did you expect, Winchester? I’ve been telling you for two days, and over a decade: he doesn’t want you. Isn’t that enough for you to finally believe me?

He removes his hand as quickly as if he’d been burned, and immediately back off, dropping on the edge of the bed to supposedly puts his boots on — it’s a very practical position to avoid looking at Cas and right now, looking at Cas to see the colors of rejection and disgust painted on his face is pretty much the last thing he wants to do.

“I’ll just… Meet me in the common room when you’re ready, alright?”

Castiel’s voice dropped a tone, like it does when he’s uncomfortable or doubtful. When Dean raises his head to watch him leave, he gets a glimpse at the sadness in the angel’s eyes right before the bedroom door slams shut and he’s left alone.

The emptiness he feels growing inside himself is perhaps even worse than the rising pain.

[sweetestlamb]

Stronger Part 4 (A New Day Has Come)

Summary: Mun-yeong spends some time with someone important and a gets a surprise.

Author's Note: Got an annoying comment on this story yesterday and it motivated me to write lol so thanks! Hope you guys like and comments, that motivate me even more 😉🥰 nothing like love to drive out hate! The story is coming to an end unfortunately, I'm thinking 2 more chapters maybe three. If I had time I would drag it out for 9 😂😂 but schools start Monday so there goes my life. Happy reading y'all.

Solitude gripes at her insanity, tearing her apart until she succumbs to the thoughts that plague her mind of her inadequacies and how insignificant she is to those around her.

Being around Sang-tae oppa fills a portion of the void in your chest but his presence only reminds her further of another that she's dreadfully missing, his messages overflow her phone now. Taking a swift turn from condescending to something sweeter and more pleading. It takes every ounce of restraint in her body not to open them, relying on the bits she can see in the previews. Fully turning a blind eye to him is beyond difficult for her, every atom of her being is calling out for him.

She has dragged herself from the car too many times, desperate to run to him and soothe his pain, eager to see what he wants to talk about, maybe just maybe he's ready to apologize and unclench the clamp he placed on her heart that day on the beach.

But.

What if he isn't? What if he wants to share more of his past with her in the hopes that she'll overlook all that came before. In the past that might have been the case, she had been ever forgiving, something that only he was privy to. But his words ring in her ears- one time event, get lost- invading her dreams and taking the place of her mother's floating figure terrorizing her nightly.

Somewhere along the way she realized that she puts him first, his emotions and comfort have taken precedent over her own and when she'd searched what exactly that meant the answer made her head spin.

A four letter word that most humans will experience except Ko Mun-yeong.

She's much too selfish and destructive to be ever love or be loved by another, she knows that know. When he'd finally opened up to her, there'd been a plethora of emotions that clawed to the surface and vengeance had been one of them, it wasn't enough that he was sharing his darkest secrets because of everything she'd been through to get there. It was as if he'd stabbed her in the chest, left her bleeding only to return and patch up her wounds, too much had occurred and the scarring remained.

So she left in the middle of the night, abandoned that godforsaken place, stuffing expensive fabrics in a vintage Louis Vuitton luggage set, eager to escape the dead silence that rang out in the castle without the Moon brothers pumping life back into it.

In the end she didn't go far, finding a guest house that reminded her of that brief getaway with him, she paid for the week and turned off her phone fielding persistent check in calls from Sang-in. Gang-tae hadn't tried to call merely texting that they should talk and it was almost laughable that despite his seeming desperation he still seemed reluctant to go the full mile. Only her deep rooted sadness stopped her from chuckling at her circumstances, what a tragic mess.

She didn't let his current persistence fool her, fool me once shame on you fool me twice, well everyone knew the rest. It was time she stopped looking like a fool. Regardless of what she felt for him she knew that that this couldn't be, he'd been right all along.

I hope I never see you again.

So much heart ache could have been prevented if she'd heeded his warning. So she was doing it now, her anger had fizzled off tempering into bitter acceptance.

He would give up soon enough, that was his style.

The woman in charge of the guest house steers clear of her and the first day she lays carelessly on the bed roll, not even bothering to comb her hair. Simply, being. It's intoxicating and new, her phone remains turned off tossed to the side as she thinks about nothing- ignoring the way that nothing something has deep sad eyes and a bowl hair cut. She's trying to think about nothing and that's what counts.

She has food delivered and it's strange to eat something that isn't a Subway sandwich after all the food Sang-in as been bringing her and temporarily guilt forms in the pit of her belly, he's probably going crazy trying to locate her but she's just not ready. She's still tired. Bone chilling fatigue.

The next day she walks down a dirt road, her long white dress dragging on the ground, dirtied but the thin material allows a passing breeze to wash across her body and she's content, staring at the sky and thinking of nothing. She spots a lone bird sitting in a tree and wonders if all the other birds have left it behind, whether it has nowhere to go and no one to see. Then she berates herself for worrying about a bird, all this time alone is pushing the limits of her sanity.

The days bleed into each other, dawn folding into dusk with watercolor skies and earthy morning dew.

She tries to write but it's hard to get any words down that aren't depressing and she can't think of any morals or lessons besides don't let anyone in.

Then she tries her hand at drawing, a portrait of her twisting a deer's neck.

The guest house keeper asks her if she hates bears the next day and that's the end of that endeavor.

The week is coming to an end and she's no where closer to knowing what to do, maybe it's time to go back to Seoul, leave this all behind like a bad dream.

When she finally deems herself mentally prepared she turns on her phone, pinging and vibrating from all the forlorn messages, sputtering in her hand as she watches in shock. As expected Sang-in has called and messaged and threatened, she smirks at his empty threats, heart slightly warmed.

Ju-ri, Seung-jae, Sang-tae, and him. All their names flash on her screen. Surprising her, as she'd never expect them to notice her disappearance. Much less reach out to her. Strange. But she writes it off, maybe Sang-in had roped them all into it. With trepidation she opens her messenger and responds to one, keeping a promise, with a few presses and a selfie she sends the message and closes the phone with a sigh.

Done.

The next day the clouds are smoggy ash grey in the sky, darkening the skies into something fierce and she pulls on a sweater and forgoes an umbrella welcoming the storm. Electricity swelters in the thick air causing a sheen of sticky perspiration to cling to her skin. She dons a simple sleeveless mini dress and sandals, trekking to the familiar dirt road.

She walks for hours, aimlessly without a care or worry in her head. Thoughts of him still push their way in at times but she's come to accept that as her baseline, once she returns to Seoul he will be nothing but a faint memory of the time she dreamed too big.

The first drop of rain on her skin makes goose pimples explode across her flesh, fat and chilled as they cascade from the atmosphere. Turning her head up towards the heavens she grins bitterly at nothing, her whole life has been nothing but rain, the moment is oddly fitting.

Mud splatters to her feet coating her toes in sloshy brown that slides between her toes, drenched from the downpour she slowly walks back no haste in her movement, steady footsteps despite the speed of the rain as it pelts against her.

The guest house comes back into sight as she meanders to the gate, vaguely remembering that she'd pulled it shut yet the doors now swing open. Blaming that on the rain she steps through, pulling it shut behind her continuing to stride to the steps.

As she hears the sliding door she eyes catch a figure blurry through the watery sheet in front of her eyes, the voice calling her name stops her in her tracks, no longer able to pretend that it's a mirage.

Her eyes aren't deceiving her, there he is. Once again finding her in the rain, except this time she doesn't need to be saved, she'll be the one doing the saving. For them both.

She takes him in, the rain soaking his hair flat onto his face, clothes plastered to his body as he stands eerily still, dark pools intensely taking her in as well.

After the slight hiccup, she continues walking taking off her sullied sandals and tossing them to the side and then she places her hand on the door, prepared to enter and forget what she saw. Ignorance is bliss.

"Mun-yeong."

All he has to say to get her heart pounding like a drum, she screams in her mind. That time spent apart should have made this easier, why didn't this feel easy? All the fatigue that she'd been running from hits her like a freight train crashing through her passive wall.

"Get lost."

He moves to block her way and her rage simmers below the surface.

"I've been worried about you. We all were so worried. You can't just leave like that, why did you go without saying anything?" His voice is wavering between anger and something softer, more human that makes his voice crack on the last syllable.

"Move."

She's not ready to assess what his being here means, what his voice and his concern mean. None of it makes sense and she's going to file it all under: unexplained phenomenon.

"Can't we talk first, please?"

"I don't want to talk." She sidesteps him, reaching once more for the door.

"Mun-yeong let me explain, let me make this right. I'm sor--"

"Shut up. I said I didn't want to talk. Go back you saw me, I'm alive you don't need to say anything more."

She's not sure she'll be able to contain herself if he says anything else, she's already dangling off the cliff. She can't allow herself to fall and burst apart.

"No! Why are you pushing me away? I need you! I told you I needed you I meant that, you can't just run away damn it."!

She stares blankly before her throat croaks and laughter tumbles from her lips. Deep belly chuckles that shake her body viciously.

Then quick as a switch the laughter stops.

Diamond hard gaze locked on his bewildered face before she speaks, "You think you're the only one who wanted? Do you? I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to fight for me, to let me in. I wanted you to see that I was hurt and apologize and mean it. You think a kiss is enough, you think telling me everything is enough after you break my heart? It's not!" Her voice pierces through the cacophonous drone of the rain beating the world, crying its heart out.

He jolts at her pained cries, fingers reaching for her but she immediately moves out of reach feeling naked and raw under his stare.

You broke my heart.

She's shown too much of her cards already, it's too late to bluff.

So she'll take a page from his book.

Throwing the door open and slamming it shut, holding it tight.

He doesn't try to open it. She sighs in relief leaning back against the hard wood, feeling all the fight evacuate her body.

He's probably gone. You pushed him too hard. Who are you to reject him? No one else will ever tolerate you.

Her thoughts don't scare her, just like Gang-tae had chosen his brother and the life he knew she was doing the same, choosing herself and the loneliness she'd grown accustomed to. Why give him another chance to throw her away he was clearly capable of it, it was only a matter of time she wouldn't change. Couldn't change. Immovable object.

The rain falls and falls, washing everything away and making the world anew. She lays on her back wondering how far he's gotten in this downpour. How had he even found her? All questions she'll never get the answers to.

Sleep tugs her eyelids shut as her thoughts swirl until they too fade to black.

Hands held high over her head, she pulls her tired bones feeling the tension melt with each stretch. Gathering clothes to take a much needed bath she carelessly tugs the door open only to jump back when he almost tumbles into her room.

What.

"What? What are you doing here?" She shrieks, avoiding collision by the barest inch.

"Waiting for you."

She blinks at him, taking in his drenched clothes-noting his shivers- and the dark circles that sink into the skin beneath his eyes, resembling a raccoon.

Had he slept outside all night? And if he had was he insane, why didn't he go back home?

"Why didn't you go back? Are you crazy? You can't sleep outside in the rain!"

She blushes at her outburst, slapping a hand over her traitorous mouth. He merely looks at her, she overlooks the tender glint in his eyes.

Stepping forward he grabs her hand, she fights to pull her appendage away but he tightens his grip which contrasts immensely with the softness in his eyes.

Voice like warm honey he answers, "Because you're here and I.....need you. I'm not going anywhere."

The sun shines brightly outside as a new day rises somewhere in the distance a lone bird's call is answered by another.

[chaoticdean]

I know when you go down all your darkest roads

Chapter 3 — I keep diggin' myself down deeper

Dean and Castiel go undercover as a couple going through couple therapy, in order to catch a monster that specifically targets couples dealing with issues, feeding on their distress, anger, and pain.

~ 2.6K

Things get ANGSTY (and I'm not even remotely sorry about it), but keep in mind... There's a 'angst with a happy ending' tag, so things will get better :)

(You're still allowed to yell at me in the comment section tho, I won't mind)

If anyone wants to be tagged in the next couple of updates for this, please let me know! Or you can subscribe through AO3 — further updates will be dropping every Monday(ish)  until I’m done with this story!

— I know the SPNStayAtHome Challenge is over, but thanks to @bend-me-shape-me ; @helianthus21 and @pray4jensen for hosting and getting this story into motion! —

READ ON AO3 / FIRST PART HERE / SECOND PART HERE

“So how long have you two been married?”

They’ve been sitting at the same table for an hour already, and it’s at least the fifth time this question has come up so by now they’re used to the story they’re telling to the point Castiel finishes Dean’s sentences and the other way around.

“What’s it been, babe? Two years?” Dean asks the angel sitting very close to him, his hand grabbing at Cas’s fingers laying on the table, a smile on his face.

“Yeah, we’ll be into year 3 in a couple of weeks actually,” Castiel says, smiling back at the hunter.

Facing them was an older couple, Stan and Sally, who have been married 30 years and are actually there at the retreat for the 4th times in three decades, only because they enjoy getting therapy together. They argue a lot but in the loving, tender way that shows how much they still love each other after all this time.

Dean briefly wonders what it’d be like to have that before the little voice in his head slammed the thought away with a distinctive “you’ll never have that, Winchester, you’re too fucked up to have anyone, let alone Castiel. He deserves better than you.” 

The worst thing about this little voice inside of him is, most of the time he agrees with it. This his how he thinks of himself, and how he thinks of Castiel. And most of the time, that little voice is a mix of his father’s and his, and it hurts just a little more to realize this. 

Suddenly, all he can think of is the flask of whiskey he always has in the pocket of his jacket, and the distinctive burning feeling sliding down his throat, coupled with the delicious sensation of numbness that comes within the first couple of drinks.

But Dean doesn’t have that jacket — and that flask — with him right now because he’s undercover, with Cas. 

Don’t fuck this up too, Winchester.

Collecting himself from the ashes of his own self-loathing, Dean returns to the conversation sporting a wide smile. He knows Castiel can see he’s struggling by the way he slightly tilts his head. Moving his hand away from the table to Dean’s thigh to offer support, he gets back into conversation mode easily, asking Stan and Sally questions about their previous stays.

Once again, Dean is astonished to see how easy this all seems to be for Cas. He’s always been the oddball at this kind of thing, following the brothers’ lead every time he had to head outside of his comfort zone. But there he is now, handling the casual questioning of two people at once while doing small talks and supporting Dean’s mental breakdown by offering his touch-starved partner some affection.

Who are you, and what have you done with Castiel, the love of my whole damn life, Angel of the goddamn Lord?

Dean knows he’s letting him down right now, letting him take the lead while he sinks in despair. Trying really hard to save face, he reaches for Castiel’s hand and squeezes it, stopping the angel mid-sentence.

He quickly turns his head to watch him, catching sight of Dean’s struggle.

“I’m sorry but I’m… I’m really not feeling good right now, I think it’s best if I go back to our room and call it a night” Dean tells to the lovely elderly couple, Castiel’s inquisitive gaze still on him.

“You’re okay, sweetheart? Do you need me to come with?” Cas asks while Dean stands up, patting his shoulder lightly.

“No, don’t worry babe. Enjoy the night, I’ll see you when you get back” Dean answers, lowering his head and dropping a quick kiss on Cas’s temple. 

The angel suddenly reaches out, grabbing Dean’s chin with his finger, and kisses the hunter’s lip softly before he’s gone. Stan and Sally release a couple of “aww”, and Dean can’t help but melt into the kiss a little.

But he kind of hates himself for it too.

He knows it’s all fake, and he knows Castiel is doing this for the purpose of the case. He knows it’s wrong to enjoy this, to demand more, and he suddenly feels bad for marking Cas’s skin with his lips, for kissing Cas in the silence of their room just because he wanted to.

But he loves it. He loves it. He loves it.

And that’s the whole damn problem.

There’s no relevance in doing this for the case. He doesn’t need to. He does because he wants to. And right now, gulping down whiskey down his throat feels equally painful as the realization that he’s been living his fantasy without taking Castiel’s feeling into account.

He’s suddenly almost sure the angel loathes him for doing this, and he takes another sip of whiskey just to feel the burn.

It’s cathartic, almost soothing. The way the alcohol burns along the way until it reaches his stomach, filling the pit of despair and sorrow in his lower abdomen. 

The hunter closes his eyes, his mind drifting off to Cas, how good it felt feeling his hand on him supporting him, how right it felt to feel his lips brushing against his, how fulfilling it was to press against his mouth —

You don’t deserve shit, Winchester. Especially not him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his flask in one hand, he almost doesn’t hear the door open.

And Castiel is suddenly standing before him, watching with worry first, and discontent after noticing the flask.

“What is wrong with you?” He asks, his voice coming off unexpectedly harsh.

It hurts Dean everywhere, including places Dean didn’t know could hurt.

“Dean... What the hell is wrong with you?” Cas asks one more time, coming closer to Dean, his voice sounding even harsher than before. “They were our best shot at having more answers and you just… you bailed out on me.”

“I can’t do this right now Cas” the hunter finally answers, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, making sure he doesn’t meet his eyes, drinking from the flask once more.

That’s when Cas loses it.

“Did you… Left me behind so that you could get drunk?”

“I can’t get drunk on 8oz of whiskey, babe” he answers with a depreciating smile, finally meeting Cas’s gaze. 

“Don’t “babe” me, Dean. I’m not your babe. I’m your partner, we’re on a case, and you’re ditching me in the middle of an investigation so you can get back to your pity party and drink your night away! What the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Oh, this hurts.

This hurts so bad. 

Dean could almost laugh at the use of the air quotes that are still so Cas if he wasn’t too busy trying to collect the pieces of his heart lying before him. 

Of course, he knew this was a bad idea from the get-go.

No one sane enough goes undercover as a couple with the very person they’ve been dreaming of being in a relationship with for a solid decade.

How stupid did you have to be to think it meant anything? It’s just a case, Winchester. You’re not living a fantasy, and Castiel doesn’t want you. He never has, he never will. Now get up and go fuck someone else’s life up, instead of wreaking havoc inside of Cas’s. Poor guy doesn’t need that.

So he does. He put his jacket on, keeping the silver flask he’s been carrying around for years inside his hand and reaches for the door without ever meeting the angel’s gaze. 

Until there’s a firm hand on his chest, and an inquisitive finger pushing at him — the same finger that sports a very distinctive silver wedding band, Dean can’t help but notice — and Castiel stands between the hunter and the door.

“Dean where are you going?” Cas asks, his eyes glimmering with so many different feelings that Dean’s mind could easily start spinning again. 

“I need some air. Please let me go.” He almost begs, his voice sounding so damn needy — and he hates himself even more for it.

“Not until you’ve talked to me. What’s the hell is going on?”

“I can’t talk right now Cas.”

“I can’t let you go.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re struggling with something and I can clearly see how much it hurts you, and I want to help because I — you’re my best friend, Dean.”

He doesn’t love you like that. He never will. He literally just asked you not to call him “babe”. He just called you his best friend. Get away from him before you hurt him again, Winchester.

“Let me go before I hurt you, Castiel.”

This time he pushes all his anger through his voice, and he picks up the glimmer of sadness inside the angel’s blues.

It hurts. 

But it doesn’t hurt as much as knowing he’ll eventually wreck his life like he always does. Like he already did multiple times.

Castiel deserves better than a fucked up, alcoholic, beat up excuse of a man, let alone a hunter.

Dean just needs to get away from him for a little while, to try and collect what’s left of him, to try and find some distance.

Castiel finally strays away from him, watching as Dean opens the door and leave, making a beeline for the exit at the end of the doorway.

The cold air takes him by surprise, and it feels like a hammer hit him the face.

“Mr. Cartellone? What are you doing out here?”

Oh, the goddamn therapist.

As if Dean’s night could get even worse.

But after all, he is on a case, as Cas remembered him. Why not work it?

He puts on his fakest smile and joins here as she’s sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette.

“I just needed some air. It happens.”

“You know I’m a psychologist, right? I can literally tell from the way you’re doing that thing with your hand, and the way you’re standing, that you just had a fight. I’m guessing with your husband. I’m guessing over some misunderstanding. And I’m guessing you made a beeline for the outside world instead of facing him and talking to him, just like he said in therapy today. How close am I?” She says with a weak smile, watching as Dean mask’s crumble.

“Yeah, you’re pretty good at that aren’t you?” He says with a laugh, rubbing his face before taking out the flask and getting a sip of whiskey.

He offers it out to her and takes another sip after she refuses his offer, watching as he drinks the last drops. 

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“God, why does everyone always want to talk?”

“That’s my job, you know. And that’s kind of why you came here, right?”

“My husband’s idea, actually. I’m not the most talkative person on Earth, especially when it’s about feelings” he answers after a while, watching as a few cars pass on the road.

“Oh, shocker” she mocks him a little, but Dean can see she really wants to do good “you know, you two look like a handful.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear from the get-go that both of you are high heels over each other” Dean chuckles lightly, thinking back at the way Castiel’s lips felt over his mouth, and how it felt so good holding his hand inside of his for everyone to see, “but you both act like you don’t want to acknowledge it. I see the way you look at your husband when he’s not paying attention, and he’s doing the same. And right now, you’re literally sweating pain. It’s written all over your face.”

Castiel doesn’t want me. Castiel doesn’t love me. I’m just his friend. I wish we could be more, but he deserves better, and he doesn’t want this with me. You’re wrong, I don’t care how many PhDs you’ve got, you’re wrong.

“Yeah, well. What else is new, uh?” He answers after a while, still stunned by how well Mrs. Pritchard was able to see all that from a 20 minutes appointment and 24 hours on the facility. 

His eyes wander off to his hands, lying on his lap, and he can’t help but brush lightly against the silver wedding band he’s been wearing — the exact same as Castiel, obviously. When he and Cas figured out the monster was going after married couples and settled on going undercover as a couple together, Sam decided to go ring shopping behind their back while they were prepping and came back with these (“If you two are playing the married card, you need wedding rings, I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, Dean, you can’t pass for a married couple without these”). He even had them engraved, “just in case someone gets too nosy,” he said (but Dean suspected he just went soft like the big ol’ sap he’s always been), so there’s a distinct “Dean and Castiel — 20.07.2018” written on the inside band. 

“So, yeah. Do you want to talk about it?” The therapist asks again, watching him carefully.

Dean rubs his face again, weighing the pros and cons. As Cas rightfully said, they’re on a case and Mrs. Pritchard is still a suspect. Plus, he could use the advice from a neutral party.

“I break everything I touch. I always have. And I probably always will. I couldn’t save my mom. I couldn’t save my Dad. I couldn’t take care of my little brother enough for him to have a normal life. I’ll eventually end up wrecking Castiel’s life. Look at us, almost three years married and we’re already going through therapy. And I just, I can’t… I can’t do this to Cas. He means too much to me” he finally blurts out, trying to make out what he means without lying too much, his eyes fixated on his wedding ring.

“Can I ask… How old were you when your mom died, Dean?” She says, her voice soft.

“4. Sammy was a few months old. I carried him out while the house burned.”

“And your dad?”

“27.”

“Dean… I know nothing about your family’s life, and quite frankly, I don’t have to, to know that A) you can’t save everyone and B) let alone while carrying your baby brother at age 4, or at 27.” She answers, watching carefully as Dean’s head drops on his hand

“Castiel deserves better than what I have to offer.”

“He loves you, you know.”

“I have doubts.”

“Well, I don’t. Maybe you should just pay attention to how he behaves around you. That way, you’ll see what I see.”

Dean thinks back at how good he looked in that navy shirt all day. How good it felt to fall back asleep inside his arms last night, finally feeling safe enough to let go. How good it was to kiss him for the first time.

You don’t deserve him, Winchester. And he doesn’t want you.

The sudden sound of a police siren coming in at full speed breaks them from their conversation, Dean jumping on his feet as soon as the car parked over, noticing how an ambulance appears in the distance.

Mrs. Pritchard stays by his side and grabs his arm as they’re making their way toward the entrance, noticing that people are gathering at one of the bedroom doors.

Glancing at the room from where they’re standing, Dean quickly assess the blood staining the carpet and sheets, and here on the bed, fully naked in the midst of what looks like a kinky sex game —

Stan and Sally.

***

(If you enjoy reading this, please consider reblogging/liking, and leaving kudos on AO3!)

[chaoticdean]

For those of you reading my latest fic (I know when you go down your darkest roads), here’s a little teaser for what’s coming onto the next update (dropping Monday, hopefully) 😌

[chaoticdean]

Me, after writing a 4K chapter that is almost ready to post on Monday: okay but hear me out... what if I wrote an entirely new chapter from the other character's POV to post before the one I just wrote?

Me: You know, in less than 36 hours?

Me: Because I have a death wish?

[chaoticdean]

Do you ever write something, like a one shot or maybe a chapter of a fanfic you’ve started posting, and you’re very passionate about what you wrote but when you’re close to posting it you suddenly fear it’s going to flop and you get through fifty different state of hell re-reading it all and finding flaws on every lines?

Asking for a friend.

(It’s me, I’m the friend)