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dreamytfw · 6 years

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Holloween

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I started writing this before season 14 premiered, so this contains no season 14 spoilers. This fic was written for @mybloodyrosered. On AO3.

Summary: Dean spirals into a deep depression after casting Michael out and ends up isolating himself. But Castiel WILL NOT let him spend his favorite holiday alone. (Words: 3,642)

Tags: Destiel, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester mentioned, Jack Kline mentioned, Mary Winchester mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Ideation, Depressed Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence, Halloween, First Kiss, Depression, Mental Illness, Unreliable Narrator

Dean didn’t know how long it had been since Michael got the boot. Not how many days, weeks, or maybe even months since nearly everyone in the Bunker had broken through the dream Michael kept him caged in and convinced him to revoke consent. Time didn’t mean a hell of a lot to him anymore. Maybe that was the one side effect left over from being chained to a comet. God knows he couldn’t tell how long he had been possessed, so maybe…

Michael hadn’t lied when he told Dean he wouldn’t leave him a drooling vegetable. Dean could walk, talk, shower, eat, and everything else just fine all by himself. So could Luthor, which surprised everyone considering how long Michael was inside him. The difference between Dean and Luthor, though, was that Luthor could still care.

Dean could do everything he did before Michael, but he didn’t care enough to. Sometimes he’d force himself to get up and eat something or duck under the shower for 10 minutes, but only when he couldn’t stand himself anymore and only when he knew the rest of the Bunker would be quiet. When the refugees from the apocalypse world wouldn’t glare at him and whisper behind his back. When Jack wouldn’t try to ask him to teach him how to train or play some card game in a falsely cheery tone undercut with pity. When his mom wouldn’t look at him tight-lipped before asking him if he wanted to go see a movie. When Sam wouldn’t give him his trademark puppy eyes and tell him that he was there if he wanted to talk. And when Cas wouldn’t stare at him like he was a world away, his insanely blue eyes drooped down in a silent, sad, judgmental tone.

Dean couldn’t talk about it. There wasn’t much to talk about. He’d made a stupid call and got burned. Again. Saving Jack and Sam and finally getting to ice Lucifer felt right, but the way he did it and what happened because of that was the part he regretted. He should have kept his cool and looked for another way. This wasn’t anything new, though. The ends always felt justified, but the means always made him feel like shit. What set this one apart from every other time was the lack of bouncing back. He was determined to do what he normally did and fake it til he made it. To pretend like there wasn’t a giant hole in his chest slowly sucking the life out of him. But Sam insisted he rest for at least a day just to make sure Michael really hadn’t done any damage and he just couldn’t force himself to get back up.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t see the point. When they brought him back it was obvious Sam could not only take care of himself but at least a dozen other people. Jack had those same other dozen people to take care of and look out for him. Cas had finally learned to look after himself and his mom never needed him to take care of her. They had a whole hub of hunters working every case that came over the line to the point where there were never any “left over” for him to take. No one needed him to be the leader or care giver. Even if they did, he was sure he’d just make another selfish choice that only put that person in danger – or even worse, get them killed like so many of the other people he’d promised to protect.

So he stayed in his room. It was weird at first. He felt like he should have been up and doing something. Cleaning the Bunker, or tuning up Baby, or trolling for a hunt. But the Bunker didn’t need cleaning thanks to the new team effort. Sam had taken care of Baby just fine and nothing was wrong with her. And there weren’t any extra hunts that he could solo. He had to keep reminding himself that there was nothing he could do. Weirdness turned to freedom. Freedom from prying eyes, scornful expressions, and whispers that followed him wherever he went. Freedom from having to constantly worry about taking care of the people he cared about. He could just be him and no one would care if he listened to the same song 50 times in a row, or if he didn’t change his clothes for a few days, or if he stayed up or went to sleep. No one cared, least of all him.

Dean slowly realized he didn’t care about anything anymore, no matter how much he wanted or tried to force himself to. All of his music sounded like static. He would watch hours of TV or movies on his laptop without taking anything in because it didn’t matter. His memory foam mattress seemed to have a permanent imprint of him curled up on his side. When laying in his own shape got annoying he would move to the floor – a decidedly less comfortable spot, but where else was he going to lay down while his silhouette faded from the mattress? Sitting up for any period of time just wasn’t an option anymore. It was so much more comfortable to lay on the floor than sit at his desk chair. He’d just end up slumped over with his head on the desk anyway, so may as well cut out the middle man.

At some point people started trying to come in and talk to him. He knew better than to lock the door. Locked doors made people worried and he didn’t need anyone worrying about him and trying to take away his carelessness as a result. He couldn’t ever say what the conversations were about, what the other person said filtering through his mind as whomp-whomps like he was a kid from the Peanuts and the other people were adults. Sometimes the words were soothing and coddling, other times they were impatient and firm. Mostly, though, they just felt like noise. He would respond at the appropriate times, saying anything to get the person to go away and leave him to his confined freedom. He would arrange his features to make reassuring expressions and make it seem like he really was fine and just needed a little more time without feeling what he was saying. He couldn’t really feel anything anymore.

Not long after that he’d start finding things on his bed after coming back from foraging or showering. A copy of On the Road he had lent Cas years ago. A tape of Zeppelin IV. A list in Sam’s handwriting of shows to watch on Netflix. A DVD box set of the original Star Wars trilogy. Things Dean normally would have enjoyed but couldn’t anymore. He’d put the gifts on his desk and watched them pile up over time with a detached amusement. It was like his personality and identity was slowly filtering out of him and into the pile of well-intentioned junk on his desk. The only thing missing from it was Baby.

There were times when he’d pass the garage on his rare outings. Sometimes he’d just stand in the doorway and stare at her for a few moments, aching for the days when he could care about her before moving back to his room. On rare occasions when he got tired of being in his bed and his back complained about being on the floor, he’d slide into the back seat of the Impala. He’d lay there with his hand running over the leather as he stared at the back of the front seat or the carpeted floor or the smooth tan ceiling, the scents the car had collected over the years folding over him. They brought back memories of when he’d almost fallen down similar holes. But those times he’d always had something to keep him hanging onto the edge, even if it was just with the tips of his fingernails. Rarely, he thought about starting her up, laying back down, and letting her take his hollow shell. He’d never do it. Outside of suicide not being the Winchester way, the garage was too big and someone would definitely hear the car running. But sometimes it was reassuring thinking that if he wanted to, he could.

Dean knew he couldn’t keep living like this. He knew sooner or later, something was going to give and life would come crashing back in on him. He knew he needed to prepare. To get his shit together and make some sort of effort of at least faking it. But the more he tried, the more he even thought about it, he found that he just couldn’t anymore. He wanted to tell Sam or his mom about his inability to care when they would knock on his door to come and check on him, but the words wouldn’t come out. He wanted Jack to keep an eye out for him in case he did something stupid, but he couldn’t bring himself to put all his baggage on the poor kid. He wanted to reach out and pull Cas down next to him just so he wouldn’t be alone, but he could never find the will to lift his hands or say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything to make contact with the people he wanted to care about again, and Dean hated himself for it.

So when a knock sounded on his door as the Bunker lay unusually quiet, he thought it would be the same old song and dance of wanting to connect while pushing away.

“Come in,” Dean heard himself say, his flat tone sounding unfamiliar to his own ears. He didn’t even bother to look up when the door opened, his eyes remaining fixed on the wall in front of him. He heard a heavy sigh he recognized as Cas’s and silently agreed.

“I’m glad to see you’re not on the floor this time.”

Dean gave a short hum, his mind sluggishly trying to come up with a reply.

“Makes me stiff if I lay there too much.”

He could hear the angel shift, a familiar stiff rustling noise that Dean’s slow mind couldn’t quite place added to the usual sound of fabric.

“I’d like to spend some time with you, if you don’t mind.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean replied on autopilot. He winced and started screaming at himself in his head, but the words just spilled from his mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Allow me to rephrase,” Castiel said. Dean heard the door click shut and felt Cas’s weight at the foot of the bed the next moment. That finally got him to turn his head and look at the other man, blinking dimly at the stern concern etched into his features. “I’m spending time with you tonight whether you like it or not.”

Dean swallowed. Slowly, painstakingly, he rolled over onto his back and sat up, leaning back against the headboard.

“Cas-” Dean began protesting, but was cut off.

“Dean, please,” Castiel pleaded, placing a hand on the mattress and leaning forward earnestly. “It’s Halloween. You always said this was one of your favorite holidays and I will not let you spend it alone to rot in your own misery.”

Dean blinked again, not really sure where to start. A guilty look flashed over the angel’s features, the expression Cas always had when he thought he’d said too much.

“…Halloween?” Dean asked dumbly. He could feel his mind struggling with the concept. He’d felt frozen in time for so long that the idea of a specific date felt completely foreign to him. And yet… something about hearing what day it was made something click in his brain. He could feel the rusted out cogs in his brain try to move, to try and make him aware of his surroundings again.

“Yes,” Castiel replied with a wary look. “That’s why it’s so quiet tonight. Sam and your mother took Jack and the children out trick-or-treating with the other parents and everyone else is out celebrating at a local bar.”

Dean sat there for a few moments, attempting to process this information. His brain scrambled, trying to contextualize the information, trying to feed him memories of the last thing he could remember before everything went grey and flat.

“…has it really been six months since Michael…?”

Castiel frowned in confusion, concern returning to his features. “Do you not remember all of us bringing you home?”

“I do. I just can’t really remember when that was,” Dean replied slowly, a sense of shame coming over him. How could he not remember when they brought him home?

“You’ve been home for three months.”

Dean stared at Cas dumbstruck. Three months? It felt like both too short and too long of a time frame. It didn’t make sense. If it had been that long, why hadn’t anyone tried to snap him out of it? Dean leaned his head back and let it lull to the side, his vision falling on the pile of stuff on his desk. Then he realized they had tried to snap him out of it. They’d been trying hard for months. Coming into his room every day, bringing him things they thought he’d enjoy. Sam had always been there to talk to. His mom offered to take him out and get his mind off of things. Jack asked him to teach him things and tried to bond with him. And Cas always came in to check on Dean what he could only assume was every day. They’d all tried so hard to get him to come around. He was just too wrapped up in his own selfishness to respond. A pressure started pushing in on his chest and down on the back of his throat. The world was crashing in on him.

“Three months?”

Castiel simply nodded, his eyes drooping in sadness.

“At first we though Michael did something to you while we were trying to cast him out. But once it was obvious that you were capable of taking care of yourself, we realized it was something else. We all tried to bring you back to some semblance of normalcy, but short of physically dragging you outside, it didn’t seem like there was much we could do.”

Dean’s gaze drifted from Cas to the wall behind him as he tried to draw in breath, the world spiraling. He’d been home for three months. He’d abandoned everyone for three months, longer if you include Michael taking over. They’d all known something was wrong and tried to help him for three months, but he’d been too stubborn and caught up in finally not caring to realize what was going on. He was such a self-centered bastard.

“Dean?”

Dean took in a shuddery gasp, desperate to pull air back into his lungs. The world was closing in around him and it was smothering him. He was drowning in his own thoughtlessness. He could practically feel water it was so heavy. His chest felt like it was tearing itself apart, threatening to implode as punishment for his arrogance.

And then, there were arms around him, trying desperately to hold him together. The world crashed in on him like a wave and everything he hadn’t felt over the past three months came flooding into him at once. Cas was his only means of staying afloat in this maelstrom of emotions and Dean clung to him. He clung to him and let go.

“I’m sorry,” Dean sobbed, his head tucked into the angel’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up so bad. I’m such a useless, selfish, arrogant, stupid piece of shit.”

“No you’re not,” Castiel reassured Dean gently, his voice cracking. His hands moved soothingly over the hunter’s back and his head nudged in against Dean’s. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Yes it is. I left you. I left all of you. Just so I could… I don’t even know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was doing. I just know that I didn’t want to care anymore and now I can’t no matter how much I want or need to. I need help but I’ve been too chickenshit to ask anyone for it.”

“You’re asking for it right now. And you’ll get it,” Castiel said gently. His words were like air and Dean clung to Cas tighter, pulling the source in closer to his own drowning, gasping, desperate form. He didn’t know how long he cried, but Cas cradled and spoke gently to him the entire time. At some point they ended up lying down with Dean’s face pressed against Cas’s chest, but Dean couldn’t tell who had dragged whom into that position. All that mattered was that Cas was there. Dean stayed nuzzled up to Cas long after the tears stopped, just breathing the angel in.

“Sorry about that,” Dean eventually muttered. “You know I don’t usually… I just… Three months. It’s a lot to think about.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m glad you finally reached out to me.”

“I think you technically reached out to me, but whatever.”

Castiel chuckled and the warmth of it seeped through Dean. Somehow, it was the most comforting thing Cas had said the entire time.

“How do you feel?”

Dean paused and thought, his face dragging down into a confused frown. He sat up and wiped at his eyes, his voice small. “Numb.”

Castiel let out a sigh next to him. Dean felt his weight shift and a hand cup his cheek, turning his gaze towards sincere blue eyes.

“I’ll be here until that goes away,” Castiel smiled, his thumb wiping at the wetness on Dean’s cheek.

Something in Cas’s eyes hit Dean hard in the chest, leaving him winded. Memories came back to him suddenly, flashes of the day dream Michael had kept him in so Dean couldn’t revoke consent. Driving to the Carolinas with Sam next to him and Jack, Cas, and his mom playing “I Spy” in the backseat. Sitting on a warm beach, watching Sam and his mom teach Jack how to swim while Cas sat next to him holding his hand. Getting a little too drunk one night in the hotel room he shared with Cas and finally telling him how he’d felt for years. Seeing that same look on the angel’s face that he was seeing now and the warmth it gave him to hear Cas say he felt the same way. The feeling grew with each returning flashback. It wound and hooked itself around his heart and tugged him forward slowly until his forehead came to rest against Cas’s.

“Dean? Wha-”

“I was an idiot,” Dean’s voice felt rough against his own throat as he closed his eyes and brought a hand up to cup the back of Castiel’s neck.

“You didn’t have a choice. Michael-”

“Not that. I mean, yeah, I was an idiot about that too. I should’ve known that dick wasn’t gonna keep his word. But that’s not what I’m talking about here.”

“I… We don’t need to-”

Dean closed the small space between them and pressed his lips against Castiel’s, cutting off his stammering. The feeling hooked into his heart squeezed tighter and Dean needed more of it. It was the first good thing he’d felt in months and he needed more of it. There was another tug when he felt Cas return his kiss and melt into it. They sat there for a few long moments, Dean scared to move for fear of the feeling ending or the world crashing back in on him. It was Cas who moved first, his other hand coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder.

“As much as I enjoyed finally getting to do that, I don’t think now is an opportune time to talk about this.”

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas with a confused need. The feeling was fading and Dean leaned back in to try and bring it back, but Cas pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice steady. If Cas rejected him now, he didn’t know what he’d do. Cas coming in here was like a ladder being lowered down into whatever hole he had fallen into and if the angel refused him he’d be taking that ladder with him. “You said you liked it. We don’t have to talk. Just…”

Castiel offered Dean a comforting smile, silently asking Dean what he was going to do with him.

“I did, and I would like to do it again, and frankly more if I’m being completely honest,” Castiel paused, his endlessly blue eyes searching Dean’s puzzled green ones for a sign of comprehension. “But I think it’s more important for you to get better first. I’ll be here with you for however long that will take.”

“It might take longer than we want it to,” Dean grumbled glumly, laying back down as his body sagged under the weight of his slowly returning apathy. He felt exhausted all of a sudden.

“I have time,” Cas spoke softly. Dean felt the angel’s weight shift on the bed again and heard the same stiff rustling from before. “I also have candy and a movie if you’d like to spend Halloween together.”

Dean raised his head and saw Cas holding a bag of Twizzlers and a bargain bin DVD of Frankenstein. His eyes shifted back to Cas’s hopeful look. He was tired and he didn’t think he’d be able to actually enjoy the movie or candy now that he felt nothing again. But at the same time, he didn’t want Cas to leave either. And that small island of want in his sea of apathy was something at least.

“Yeah, okay. Sounds nice.”

#PBExchangeHalloween #ProfoundNet #SPN #Supernatural #Destiel #Castiel #Dean Winchester #OTP #my precious bby angel #fan fic #fan fiction #mybloodyrosered #suicidal thoughts #suicidal ideation #hurt/comfort #depression #mental illness #Halloween #op

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