...

When he became a doctor, you really didn't know what to believe. At first you thought nothing of it, until it came to his checkups.

Out of six sons, one is working? Ouch. Even you didn't wanna believe it when you heard about it.

And the glances, and the cheap medicine. And the sheer abundance of it, that medicine became. He was worried for you, for a while now- but what the fuck? You felt like a sugar baby. Not like you couldn't afford your own medicine. You didn't know to take pride that people wanted to spoil you, or to be upset over him thinking he had any right to hold this responsibility with you. For you. That just wasn't his role to choose, and you never asked him for help. You didn't. Who said he had any right to step into your life like this? You didn't want to be indebted to him. It wasn't kindness. You guys barely spoke. It was embarrassing.

Can he just stop?

"I'm sorry?" *Oh, did I say that out loud?*

Looking at him, he looked unsettled. Like he wasn't used to you being mad. Like he wasn't used to *you*. You guys dated a bit in high school, and sort of kept in contact after. You lived in the same town, so running into him was evident in nature. He knows you're a little.. snappy, I guess.

"..nevermind. My mind was off somewhere else." "Everything okay?" "Yes."

You've been less active recently, never heading out or running into him. Over the holidays, you've been alternating between sleeping at home and the occasional hospital visit. Truth was you haven't been well. You couldn't go to work. Hospital was just an excuse, you needed the papers. You didn't know what to think, anymore, and when. One way to escape thinking altogether was to sleep in the hospital, blowing through your money.

He seemed to know you weren't fine. These acts of charity...

He knew you wouldn't deny. Actually, you couldn't speak up. About anything. You just wanted him to buzz off. One more nuisance to..

"Y/n, y/n?" "A-ah, right, yes, s--so..rry."

You bowed your head. Weirding yourself out-- to treat him so formally, respectfully. He knew you thought nothing of him, and barely had any respect left for yourself, too. You dressed yourself in whatever, but had to look presentable nowadays knowing he'd just pry more if you didn't. This bitch-

"Are you.. overwhelmed?" "Huh?" "Your face is red. Do you have a fever? Let's check again." "Ah.. okay."

He placed the apparatus in your ear. Well you did feel faint. He said to rest more, and handed you some water.

Well!! You really couldn't tell him!! That it was none of his business!! Ahh.. you wanted a drink.

He knew you weren't actually sick. It hurt to see someone treat you and your health so seriously, and dance around the subject so carefully. This was all professional, remember? Stop getting all up in my face and do your job.. else I start feeling bad about it, too. Taking away the one thing I don't want to lose, total absence.

"Can.. uh." "Hm?" "Can I.... s." He leaned in closer. "canireducetheamountefconsultations-" "..m?" Did he pretend not to hear you?! No, wait. You spoke too fast.

"Can I.. please.. u-um, leave?" "What? I mean, yes, of course, self admissions are--" "No, n-no.. toilet." "Ah." He paused. Or were you looking too much into it? "Okay. I'll be here."

"Ichimatsu, I'm leaving the hospital," You announced before closing the door, praying it was loud enough for him to hear. You felt off. Just off. You couldn't explain it any other way.

You hated yourself for wasting his time. I mean, it was part of his job, but still. You were so useless you couldn't do a simple thing like a hospital consultation--

No, you couldn't handle a friend. Especially one that showed up unannounced.

You didn't go to that hospital anymore.

The fees were gone, you were just waiting. The day that will come tomorrow, where you'll need to go get paid, go work, go study.

Ah... you wanted to die.

Closing the 7/11, the staff wasn't expecting your late visit. You thought they were open 24/7. Grabbing a few drinks to have at the park, who cared if you'd shown up drunk tomorrow? Who should.. it matter? To..

He was in your face. "What."

Dressed in slacks, he looked.. like shit. He just looked like shit. Under this convenience store lighting, in his shitty dumbass sandals, he looked like he just woke up. Did work do that to a person? His hair was messed up. Or did you just never notice? You were always looking at the floor, after all. Huh? "Ah.. is the store closed?" Apparently it closed early on holidays, looking at the sign he seemed stuck on. What the fuck? He didn't even notice you?

Leaving the convenience store, you looked at your plastic bag. "Hey." He looked back, alert. He knew you by your voice. Your disappearance didn't work at all, huh? "Wanna have a drink?"

You had held up the bag a bit. While he stared, you looked for a good spot. You usually sat at just anywhere, but would that be good? "A..ah. Yeah, sure." At least now you wouldn't feel indebted to him.

Sitting down by the nearest lamp, you put the plastic bag at your lap. It wasn't much, but definitely enough for two. You hadn't been thinking about how much would get you drunk, so you just got whatever felt good for the next few hours. "I won't be at the hospital anymore, so you can rest easy." He nodded, as you handed him a beer. It was cold out, and he was wearing slippers? Seriously? Even you had put on something warm. "Were you glad? To hear it?" Nursing your beer, he asked you if you couldn't sleep. "Mm."

You breathed out, watching the steam dissolve. "And you're out for the cats?" "..yeah."

Taking off your scarf, you thought that if he was cold, you might as well be cold, too. The beer would be fine instead, anyway.

You wanted to cry. "I can't sleep at all.."

Downing a second can, you sighed. It felt better, to know that you'd be off sleeping soon. Drinks knocked you out. That you'd forget this.. you had bad memory for little details like these. When, how, where, whats. You just remembered feelings.

Drinking, you could really get teary. You could do anything. You could blame it on the drinks. Of course you wouldn't do anything, but it just felt nice to remember that could forgive yourself drunk. You could sob, and shake and groan, and all would be forgiven. He wouldn't even remember. "How can you take care of me when you can't even take care of yourself, mm?" You grumbled, wrapping a scarf around him.

"..did you drink anything today?" "What?" "N-no, I mean.. never mind." He murmured, taking his second can as well. You moved onto your third. "If you're worried about me being dehydrated again.. don't. I can't deal with this much, y'know?" "I don't care." "Then don't ask!"

"I just.. it's out of habit." "Well you'll fix it someday." "Yeah.."

"Oy, Ichimatsu." "Hm?" "I'll tell you what. Caring for a girl means you go all the way. Go fill up this can with the water fountain pretty-pretty pleeease..." You dealt an empty can towards him as he leaned away- a scorn on his face. "Not your butler." "Do it!!!"

He brought out a coin. "I'll flip it to decide who goes." "No. No. No." "Let's just go together then.." "..fine."

Somehow, being lazy together makes it easier. Walking over and drinking the filled can, you were surprised by how fast you finished it. So you really were dehydrated.

"Y'know, I can just write you letters." "Huh?!!!" "Yeah. You don't even need to come. It's not like we're that big a clinic." "Holy cow, seriously??" "Yeah. Whatever you want, it's not much for me." "It's okay??" "Said it was." "Serious?? Are you serious?? I feel like I shouldn't do all that though?? Like, am I even allowed to do that?? Morally speaking??" "I don't care. Just do whatever."

He sipped the beer. "Have you been taking the medicine?" "A-ah! No, I haven't.." "They're actually not painkillers. You didn't need them, so I just replaced them with those vitamin candies we gave kids." "Ah. What the fuck?" "Yeah. I'm surprised you don't know." Growing up, you did always love to eat those little vitamin pills the clinic gave when you were sick. You made sure to take them from now on. "Ah! I actually have some on me right now.." You shuffled around it your jacket pocket, and pulled out a packet. "Ooh! You're right, they look just like the ones I got when I was younger!" "Ah, I'm glad you like.."

He watched as you took the entire packet at once. He blinked, and reached for an empty can and filled it with water.

"Y/n, if you take that many with just beer and a can of water in your system, you'll throw up quick." He sounded shocked. In disbelief. "Ah, that so?" You chugged two cans of water. Ahh, it was refreshing. You really needed that water.

About that. You suddenly didn't feel an itch to drink anymore. Did you have enough water already? You felt full.

You looked to the rest of the cans. "What's wrong?" "Well.. it'll take long for me to get anywhere without an empty stomach." "...seriously? Like two cups of water and a packet of vitamin C and you're full?" "Haha, I know right? I have no clue how I do it, either. I'm usually such a fatass with food. Guess it's 'cause I'm sleepy."

You downed another can of beer. You'd pee soon, anyway. Wouldn't hurt to have one more.

"Hey.. can I have tomorrow off?" "Mm? Yeah, sure. Not like I care." "Woohoo!" You cheered, breathing in the midnight air. Suddenly, it didn't feel so stuffy anymore. "Ahh.. shoot. I need to piss." You looked around, holy shit it was far. Or maybe you just felt lazy. "Ichi. Piggyback me." "I'll drag you." You two walked to the bathrooms, with you groaning and muttering the whole way. "I'm siiiiick... of dragging my ass around, god damnit." "I'll cure it.. with paper."

You came out the toilet, and you couldn't see him.

You felt really scared. Like, really scared. It was dark out. There was no wind, just quiet.

"Boo." You screamed.

"Holy shit. I almost pissed myself." "I-- I'm bad with stuff like this, okay?! I can barely even go to the toilet at night!" "Oh.. I know two people who can't, now." "Are you fucking crazy?! Apologise!"

You felt unsteady. You hadn't eaten anything the whole day. He noticed how slow you were walking, and proposed to bring you home. "Don't push yourself." "I hope someone pees on you, fartface." "I don't wanna walk you anymore."

...

You were in his care.

Sitting in the driveway of your own house, you watched him come with a packet of dried fish and medicine. You had fallen ill.

He sat by you and drank some water. "Y'know, I've actually never seen a car here." "Oh.. it's my mom's, she comes and visits sometimes. Maybe you never saw it back in high school because she was always off working." "Right. I don't think I ever met your mom." "I'm... not sure. I don't remember much of anything back then. I just remember the general gist of things.." You blew your nose. "Right," He rummaged around in his bag, giving you anti-inflammatories and some other stuff to take with that protects your stomach lining. It was nice to be taken care of like this. It's like your mom's home.

Mourning the loss of your independence and unset boundaries, you took the medicine and watched the garage wall. "Ah. I forgot the note." "..wanna write it inside?" "Sure."

He was in your room again.

Sitting on the floor, he logged into his account on your computer and printed out a note. You sat on the bed, looking. The process was interesting, and quiet. The clacking and whirring..

"Y/n." "Whuh?"

He placed his hand on your forehead and frowned. Your fever. "I thought you were getting better." "You did say it was gonna take a few days.." "Yeah, with your body. This is bad. Maybe you've been eating too little." "..mm."

You murmured, touching your hair. It was hard to stay awake. "'m gonna take a nap." "Tch.."

Setting a glass of water on your bedside table, you heard his footsteps fade.

You woke up sneezing.

Stepping out of the bedroom, you went to the fridge and threw away your forehead patch. ..was that there before? You weren't sure if you had put one on..

Grabbing at a new one, you closed the fridge, turning around to see.. miso soup!! Right on the table!

Looking around, you began to sit down and eat.

*Delicious!*

...

The snow stopped outside.

"Could you not?" The items on your desk were rearranged. Your pencils were put away. "I got bored."

You had a high fever. He fed you water, and woke you up for food. Which was usually soup. Yum. You couldn't believe you were actually skipping out on work because of sickness. You felt proper, somehow.

He switched out your cooling patch. "I'll be going home soon." "W-wait." You stirred. "I'm cold."

He sighed and brought you a cup of warm water and a hand warmer. "Say ahh." "Aa..."

"I feel like I'm in an elderly care centre..hehe.." "Yeah. I feel like a hell of a nurse." Before he could get up and leave again, you convinced him to stay. You wanted a bedtime story. It was scary being up so late on your own, you had only recently heard a bunch of stories cannibalism related. Everything was scary.

He stayed by your side until you fell back asleep. You didn't hear him leave.

Waking up to the sun, you felt better. Like, spick and span, like never better. Was it the soup? You haven't had anything home cooked in ages. Your legs had gone numb, and you were about to bring your fist down to wake them until you almost punched Ichimatsu square in the face.

Confused for one second, then realising he fell asleep in the next, you slowly slimed your way out of bed and covered him with a blanket.

Could he afford to sleep in, actually? Didn't he have a job to do?

Taking milk out of the fridge, wait, didn't he have a job to do?

Looking back at your room and watching him strut out and towards the main entrance with his eyes closed, you wondered how he took care of you the whole time you were sick. Didn't he have work?

He yelled outside your door, and ran off. Oh. He did have work, didn't he? He forgot to go home and change, too. Did he usually set alarms, here?

Has he been sleeping here?

Did he take days off?

..whatever. Thinking back on it was useless. You were so sick, everything was a blur.

You just hoped you didn't drool too much as you slept.

This feeling won't go away.

As he sat at your desk, and you took your meds, you had not met him at the garage in a while. Purely because you were too lazy. You needed him out. Out. You needed alone time, for what, forever?

He wrote you another slip. "Ichimatsu." "Hm?"

You eyed him. "..nothing."

How could you..? Get the slips.. without..

"..Ichimatsu." "What is it." Eek!

He checked you for a fever. You closed your eyes as his hand reached your forehead again.

"Ichi!" "What." "I'm... fine! So.." Gaze cast around your room, you sounded exasperated. "...........I'll be in your care." Oh, yeah. You couldn't say it. You couldn't live without him. You didn't wanna go to work. You didn't wanna make food. You didn't wanna get out of bed. You didn't wanna think. Ahh, whatever. No decision! The answer always is to do nothing and forget you ever thought! "..okay."

SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!

You're stuck with him.

You went back under your covers, staring daggers at the wall, while he typed away at your computer.

The sound was nice.

You fell asleep.

"Y/n?"

You were awake, staring at the ceiling. "Y/n."

"...yes?" "Wanna head out? The plum trees are blooming." "..you should go without me. I'm still sleepy... a little bit." "Okay."

He stalked off, and you got out of bed.

You wanted to watch them too!!!!!!!!!

Walking out the house in your pajamas, you were met with his face, "I thought you'd reconsider."

"I.. don't.. know." "Let's go, before it gets dark."

Your feelings toward him were complicated, and disregarded. You didn't want to worry. So you didn't think it.

One late night, you were laying still on your bed. You felt like a skank. Always letting him in just because he treated you to favors. Because he treated you well. Because he respects you. You needed him, practically used him, this guy who you barely knew. You felt cheap. Easy. This guy who you never cared to.. ahh, forget it.

You were stressed out. Too much to think about.

The next day, he got mad at you. You hurt him, disrespected him. Apparently his patience wasn't limitless, after all. You had gotten fish, that he was in charge of raising. "*You can't even take care of yourself,*" Somehow what he said felt familiar.

You had met up with an old friend, who went to go find fish for the new year with you. It was always auspicious to have fish in the house, and they gave you a bag too after confirming you had a fish tank.

You had forgotten to put the fish in the tank. Ichimatsu was so mad that he stormed out immediately after getting everything ready for the fish. If he had noticed any later..

You were shaking.

He didn't come anymore.

You showered, and went out to the clinic. He wasn't gonna come anymore? That wasn't right, he used to come over every day. Today he didn't even show up.

You waited outside the clinic until closing hours. He didn't even look at you when he left.

You clenched at your chest, taking a deep breath. Was your only option to die?!

I'll do better?! No, no.. I miss you?! *what?!*

He was getting farther and farther away. "I know.. I know, I know, so, I'm sorry.."

Your voice was weak, and you had stood tense at the door. "Ichimatsu.."

Fighting the tears that you knew would only come to be of nuisance, you tried to close the gap between you and him.

Aah. No good. You might just kill yourself.

Running home, you called your friend to take back the fish and never left your bed since.

*I'm horrible*

...

You woke up to him one day. "Afternoon." "Ah.. I keep forgetting you have a spare key." Hair messy, he sat on the floor, and drank some tea.

You got out of bed, and knelt in front of him. "I'm sorry." "Mm." "I.. I.. um.." Clutching at nothing, you evened your breathing. "It's.. I can't.. I can't, um.."

You wanted to cry. "I'll.. I'll.. I don't know how to make you feel better, because I don't know you.. I can't.. remember a single thing.."

You didn't know how to make people feel better because you didn't even know how to make you feel better.

"Please.. don't.. go."

You bowed your head to the floor.

"Stay with me forever..."

Neither of you knew how small your voice was. "Creepy." "E-eh?" "Creepy. It's like you don't care about my life outside you.. what about my future girlfriend? Wife? How do I get a life outside you?" "I.." Your voice caught in your throat.

"Let's get married,"

Peeking out at him, you immediately looked back down. Holy shit you could piss yourself dead. Those dead-fish eyes.. absent from love and compassion.. looked like they wanted to kill you. No; you are already dead. This is an after image.

"Listen," He sounded muffled, and you peeked out again to see he's cupped a hand over his mouth. "I'll let you answer me again. Think properly."

"I'm serious!" "Dude.." "I-- I.. I.." Speaking into the floor, "..I..."

Your voice was wobbling. No; you hated this.. your knees were the ones shaking. You've never been so dumb. This feeling.. that you couldn't do anything. That you can't do anything. You can only pray. For forgiveness. You couldn't imagine a bleaker future. "Think properly." Biting your lip, you blubbered.

"Huh?" "sfgssfsdh" "What. Spit it." "Hfssfdfssfg" "Y/n." "I'll.. show you. I'm not.. asking for too much."

You couldn't even focus your eyes. You couldn't do anything.

"How?" You didn't know.

"Give me one week! I'll prove.. hghck.. I'll prove it.. please.. t..trust me, just one last time.."

You couldn't tell, but he had a hell of a boner.

"Sit up." You responded meek, sitting up with your head bowed.

"...I just wanted you to say you wouldn't do it again. Got it?" Nodding gratefully, tears began to pool at your eyes, "You hurt my feelings. Don't do what you did again. Don't.. stress the small stuff."

Of course that's not what he wanted. But hell if he wasn't in a better mood yet. Hell, he doesn't know if he's ever felt this way. You were, in full spirit and understanding, completely for him like a dog. You shook with his every word. He could reward, or punish you. Your dynamic was so fucked up.

"I'll have the next week off. Let's go see the new cat cafe in town." "Yes! Yes, of course, yes.."

You were sobbing.

---

"I wanna come to your house, I just do."

"you wanna? what? to do what?"

"i wanna come over"

"um..... like....

Let's go! To the park,"

He started to feel awkward, you knew as he tilted his head

"umm.. ok." In a small voice, and gesture- he grabbed your hand, bringing you somewhere. "aaa... nothing to do, so it's okay!"

He seemed visibly panicked, put off.

Though you had a hunch it was all in good nature, seems that it started to upset you, how you disturbed him.

Pulling back- tugging your hand, "ch. changed m' mind. just send me home."

you just wanted to get away, forget about anything

"no, no no no no no way. No way!" "Just send me home," "Dun' wanna!" This was the most frustrated you've ever felt with him.

"Hey, let's stay here a while, the two of us? Okay? Together?"

Grass and shelter. Sitting in the shadow shielded you from the sun. You couldn't say the same for him, you couldn't tell. You haven't been able to meet his gaze this whole conversation.

Sitting down, there was a pause- before he hugged you.

He seemed so, so incredibly worried. He wasn't physical with you, today was the first time he's ever done anything like grab your hand. And he even wouldn't let go.

It was worrying. How you were acting. You could tell he felt tense about the whole situation- his exclamations slightly more confused than usual.

Never asked for this. Lightly fisting his hoodie, you couldn't feel anything but frustration.

"I wanna cry" Your voice came out as nothing but a murmur. You needed patience for this. It was tiring. Everything was tiring. Why won't he just go away?

You cried.

He held on tight. Stopping occasionally to check if he had anything to wipe your tears with- then returning to his hug. It was the first you've seen him so quiet. Many firsts for you today.

Hands weak and unfeeling, you grabbed at fabric and cried.

He was so much.

In a good way?

He didn't let you do what you want, even when you really, really needed it. Idiot. Asshole. Why won't he just go away?

You were really at the end of your wits. You felt him pat your back as you hiccuped, sob ending here. You were trying so hard. Trying your best. Why wouldn't it go your way? You were trying to push him away. Why didn't it work?

You loved him. You really did. "Don't touch me," He heard you over the hiccups, and apologised in turn. He started to alternate between patting and rubbing your back, seemingly because he had grown tired of just patting.

It brought on a giggle. How could he? It was stupid. He got bored just from that? He really is just like a kid.

Planting your forehead against his shoulder, you took some deep breaths.

You thought about how he usually smelled like detergent. But your nose was too blocked to pick up on anything now, even as you were basically breathing through him.

"Tired. Sleepy. Thirs-ty."

Riding on his back, he brought you to a nearby convenience store and sat you down, bringing you a drink.

You didn't even notice until you were on his back. He was surprisingly quick.

'Should we get married?' Was a quiet question in your mind. 'I mean, nobody knows me better than you. Nobody cares.. remotely like you,'

He fed you the water. This idiot-- you could do it yourself. You managed a whack to his head, although lightly.

"Stop worrying over me, and get a job already." You said, disregarding the gasp that it got out of him. "I never asked for your help.."

"You....!!! Tsun! Tsun! Tsundere! Tsundere?!!"

Finishing the rest of the water on your own, you rubbed your eyes. His hoodie had gotten some stains from you. "Can... you wear my jacket? Instead of your.." He nodded, and immediately started undressing.

He was such an honest man.

"You feel better now, thank goodness.." "Huh?" "Well, I mean, you started looking at me again!"

He still smiled as brightly as usual.

He padded down the hall, the old wooden floors creaking under his weight, making his way to the kitchen. As he got closer, he noticed a soft glow of light spilling out from the doorway. That was odd. Everyone should’ve been asleep by now.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to see you there, sitting at the table with a glass of whiskey in front of you. The bottle was on the table, half-empty, the amber liquid catching the light. You were staring down into your glass, lost in thought, your shoulders tense, your face drawn. You looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it sent a pang through Dean’s chest.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Dean’s voice was soft as he spoke, not wanting to startle you.

You looked up at him, a faint, tired smile playing at your lips. “Yeah,” you replied quietly, your voice sounding as worn out as you looked. “Just… couldn’t shut my brain off.”

Dean nodded in understanding. He’d been there more times than he could count. “Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “Go ahead.”

Dean grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured himself a drink before sitting down next to you. He didn’t say anything at first, just sipped his whiskey and let the silence stretch out between you. He knew better than to push. If you wanted to talk, you’d talk. If not, well, he’d just sit here with you until you were ready to head back to bed.

But something about the way you were holding yourself, the way you stared down at the table, told him that tonight was different. There was something heavy on your mind, something you were trying to work up the courage to say. Dean waited, giving you the space to find the words.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you let out a long, shaky breath and looked over at him. “Do you ever…” You hesitated, biting your lip before continuing. “Do you ever feel like… no matter how hard you try, you can’t get away from the things you’ve seen? The things you’ve done?”

Dean’s chest tightened at the question. Of course he did. The things he’d seen, the things he’d done—they haunted him every day. But he’d never really talked about it, not like this. He wasn’t sure how to. But he knew you needed to hear something, anything that would let you know you weren’t alone.

“Yeah,” Dean said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah, I do. All the time.”

You nodded, like you’d expected that answer, like it was some kind of relief to hear it. “It’s like… no matter how many good things I do, no matter how many people I save, it’s never enough. Those… those memories, they’re always there, waiting for me. I can’t escape them.”

Dean’s heart ached for you. He knew that feeling all too well. He’d seen it in himself, in Sam, and now, seeing it in you—it hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He didn’t want you to carry that kind of pain, but he knew there was no way to shield you from it. The life they led didn’t allow for that.

“What’s haunting you?” Dean asked gently, his eyes searching yours. He wasn’t sure if you’d tell him, but he needed to ask. He needed to try to help, even if he didn’t know how.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, your hands gripping the glass in front of you like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “There was this… hunt. Before I met you guys. It was bad. Worse than most.”

Dean stayed quiet, his heart thudding in his chest as he waited for you to continue.

“I was tracking this demon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It had taken a family—a mother, a father, and their little girl. I thought… I thought I could save them. I was so sure I could.”

You paused, your voice catching in your throat. Dean could see the pain in your eyes, the raw, unfiltered agony of a memory that had never healed.

“But I was too late,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word. “I got there, and the parents… they were already dead. And the girl… she was still alive, but barely. The demon had… it had tortured her, Dean. And I couldn’t save her. She died in my arms, and there was nothing I could do.”

Dean felt his heart clench, his throat tightening as he listened. He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, the way your shoulders shook as you tried to hold it together. But he knew you couldn’t, not tonight. You’d been carrying this for too long, and it was too much for one person to bear.

You finally let the tears fall, your head bowing as you cried, your body trembling with the force of it. Dean’s instinct was to reach out, to hold you, but he hesitated. He wasn’t sure if that was what you needed, wasn’t sure if you wanted to be touched right now. But then you looked up at him, your eyes pleading, and that was all the permission he needed.

Dean scooted his chair closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. You didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. Instead, you buried your face in his shoulder, your hands clutching at his shirt as you sobbed. Dean held you tightly, his hand gently rubbing your back, trying to offer what little comfort he could.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered through your tears. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, his heart breaking for you. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You did everything you could. You were there for her. You didn’t let her die alone. That matters.”

But he knew it wasn’t enough. He knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t take away the pain you were feeling. You’d lost someone, a child, and that kind of pain didn’t just go away. It stayed with you, gnawing at you, haunting you in the quiet moments when you were alone with your thoughts.

They stayed like that for a long time, with you crying in his arms and Dean holding you, feeling completely helpless. He wished he could take your pain away, wished he could somehow make it better. But he knew he couldn’t. All he could do was be there, to hold you, to let you know that you weren’t alone.

Eventually, your sobs began to quiet, your breathing evening out as you slowly calmed down. Dean didn’t let go, though. He kept holding you, kept rubbing your back, letting you know he wasn’t going anywhere.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were red and puffy, your face streaked with tears. But there was a sense of relief there too, like a weight had been lifted, even if only slightly. You wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “I’m here for you, always. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You nodded, offering him a small, tired smile. “I know,” you said quietly. “And that means more than you’ll ever know.”

Dean wanted to say something else, wanted to tell you that he’d always be there for you, no matter what. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” Dean said after a moment, his voice gentle. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to rest.”

You didn’t argue, just nodded and let Dean help you up. He kept his arm around you as he walked you to your room, making sure you were steady on your feet. When you reached the door, you turned to him, that same tired, grateful smile on your face.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you said softly.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice just as soft. He wanted to say more, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he didn’t know what else to say. So he just watched as you slipped into your room, the door closing quietly behind you.

As Dean made his way back to his own room, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d told him, about the pain you’d been carrying for so long. It hurt him to know that you’d been dealing with that on your own, that you’d been haunted by those memories without ever reaching out for help.

Dean knew that he couldn’t take your pain away, but he made a silent promise to himself that he’d be there for you, no matter what. Because you mattered to him more than he could ever put into words, and he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone. Not anymore.

You had seen Dean face death before. You’d fought side by side with him in battles that seemed impossible, and you’d always made it out, always found a way. But this time, there was no way out. This time, it was different. This time, it was the deal coming due—the deal that Dean had made to save Sam, the deal that had a countdown ticking louder and louder until it finally hit zero.

When the Hellhounds lunged, everything went into slow motion. You screamed his name, lunging forward, trying to get to him, but it was like moving through quicksand. You weren’t fast enough. You weren’t strong enough. And you had never felt so utterly helpless in your entire life.

The first hit was enough to knock Dean off his feet, and the sound that escaped him—a guttural, agonized cry—cut through you like a knife. You watched, horror-stricken, as the invisible beasts tore into him, ripping at his flesh, dragging him down. His blood sprayed across the floor, vivid against the dark, and you could see the pain in his eyes, the terror as he fought against the inevitable.

“No!” The word tore from your throat, raw and desperate, but it didn’t stop the onslaught. You were on your knees now, reaching out, trying to get to him, but it was too late. It was already too late.

The room was filled with the sound of snarling, growling, and Dean’s broken cries of pain. You wanted to close your eyes, to look away, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t leave him, not even for a second, not even in this final, horrifying moment. You had to be there, had to bear witness, even as it tore you apart.

Dean’s body convulsed under the weight of the Hellhounds’ attack, his blood pooling around him, soaking into the cold, unforgiving floor. You could see the fear in his eyes, the desperation, and it killed you because there was nothing you could do to save him. You had failed him. You had failed him in the worst possible way, and the realization crushed you, suffocating you with its weight.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle as if the very air around you was too thick to breathe. You couldn’t feel your limbs anymore; all you could feel was the overwhelming agony that seared through your chest, burning with a pain that you knew would never leave you. It was the pain of loss, of watching someone you loved die in front of you, and being utterly powerless to stop it.

Dean’s eyes locked with yours in those final moments, and the look he gave you—it broke you. There was a plea there, a silent, agonized plea for help, for it to stop. But there was also something else—something that would haunt you for the rest of your life. It was acceptance. He knew he was dying, knew this was the end, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice choked with tears, barely audible over the sounds of death surrounding you. “Dean, I’m so sorry…”

But he couldn’t hear you. The Hellhounds were relentless, their jaws clamping down on him with brutal finality. Dean’s body jerked one last time, and then he went still, his eyes staring up at you, empty and lifeless.

The room fell into a deafening silence, the Hellhounds retreating into the shadows as quickly as they had come. All that was left was the mangled, bloodied body of the man you loved. And the crushing, suffocating void that now filled your chest.

You crawled to him, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you reached out to touch him, to feel the warmth that was already fading from his skin. The blood coated your fingers, slick and warm, and it made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn’t stop. You needed to hold him, to touch him, to make sure this was real and not some horrific nightmare that you might wake up from.

But it was real. Dean was gone. He was gone, and you were left in a world that suddenly felt cold, empty, and devoid of all meaning.

The tears came then, hot and unrelenting, streaming down your face as you cradled his lifeless body in your arms. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words that might bring him back. All you could do was hold him, sobbing brokenly as the reality of what had happened crushed you under its weight.

Everything inside you screamed at the injustice of it all. Dean had been the strongest person you knew, the one who always found a way, who never gave up, no matter the odds. And yet here he was, torn apart by forces that you couldn’t fight, that you couldn’t protect him from. You had never felt so utterly, completely defeated.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken, a desperate plea to whatever higher power might be listening. “Please, bring him back. Don’t take him from me.”

But there was no answer. No miracle. Just the cold, empty silence of a world that had lost one of its brightest lights. A world that had lost Dean Winchester.

The minutes stretched into hours, or maybe it was just seconds—you couldn’t tell anymore. Time had lost all meaning as you sat there, holding onto Dean’s lifeless body, your tears mixing with the blood that stained the floor. You couldn’t let go, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe without feeling like your entire world was collapsing in on itself.

Dean had been your anchor, the one who kept you grounded, who gave you strength when you had none left. And now he was gone, ripped away from you in the most brutal, heart-wrenching way possible. The thought of a future without him, of a life where he wasn’t there by your side, was more than you could bear. It felt like the world itself had ended, and all that was left was an endless, suffocating void.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, clutching onto Dean’s body, praying for something, anything, to bring him back. But deep down, you knew it was futile. Dean was gone, and with him, a part of you had died too. The grief that consumed you was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a black hole that threatened to swallow you whole.

And as you finally, reluctantly, pulled away from him, your hands shaking, your heart shattered beyond repair, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Dean was gone, and with him, your hope, your strength, and your reason for fighting.

The world had become a darker place, and you were left alone to navigate the wreckage, forever haunted by the memory of the man you loved, the man you couldn’t save.

The world had become a darker place, and you were left alone to navigate the wreckage, forever haunted by the memory of the man you loved, the man you couldn’t save.

The first kiss was unexpected, born out of desperation and fear, but now that the dust has settled, you can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t stop thinking about the way Dean held you, the way his lips felt against yours, the raw emotion in his eyes when he finally let his guard down. 

You’re in the kitchen, absently stirring a cup of coffee, trying to focus on anything other than the thoughts swirling around in your head. The dim light above the stove casts a warm glow over the room, and for a moment, you allow yourself to just breathe, to savor the rare moment of calm.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to see Dean entering the kitchen. He looks tired, the shadows under his eyes a little darker than usual, but there’s something softer in his expression as he spots you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and rough from a night of little sleep. He walks over to the counter, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee. His movements are slow, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure what to say.

“Hey,” you reply, offering him a small smile. You take a sip of your coffee, the warmth of the mug grounding you as you try to ignore the flutter in your chest at his presence.

Dean leans against the counter opposite you, his gaze fixed on his mug as he takes a sip. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged with the weight of everything that’s gone unspoken since that night.

You’re not sure how to bring it up, or even if you should. Part of you wonders if Dean regrets what happened, if he’s been avoiding you because he doesn’t know how to deal with it. The thought sends a pang of anxiety through you, but you push it down, determined not to jump to conclusions.

After a long moment, Dean finally looks up, his green eyes locking onto yours with that same intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, his voice unusually soft. “About… what happened.”

You swallow, your grip tightening on your mug. “Me too.”

He nods, like he expected that, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t regret it,” he says, his voice steady. “But I don’t want you to think that I… that it was just because of what happened that night. It wasn’t just about the hunt, or the fear… it was more than that.”

His words take you by surprise, and you can’t help the way your heart leaps in your chest. You’ve been so caught up in your own thoughts, worrying that maybe he didn’t feel the same way, that you hadn’t even considered that he might be feeling just as uncertain as you are.

“Dean…” you begin, unsure of how to articulate everything that’s been going through your mind. But before you can say more, Dean pushes off the counter, closing the distance between you in a few short steps.

He sets his mug down on the counter next to yours, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. His touch is warm, steady, and you lean into it instinctively, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you savor the contact.

When you open your eyes again, Dean is watching you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no uncertainty—just a quiet determination and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

“I need you to know that this is real,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Whatever this is between us, it’s not just about what happened that night. It’s not about the fear, or the heat of the moment. It’s real, Y/N. And I don’t want to ignore it anymore.”

His words hit you like a wave, washing over you with a force that leaves you breathless. For a moment, you’re not sure what to say, how to respond to the raw honesty in his voice. But you don’t need to say anything—your heart is speaking for you, and it’s telling you exactly what you need to do.

Without another word, you close the remaining distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face as you pull him into a kiss. This time, it’s not desperate or frantic—it’s slow, deliberate, full of a longing that’s been building between you for far too long.

Dean responds immediately, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. There’s a tenderness in the way he kisses you now, a softness that contrasts with the roughness of the first kiss, but it’s no less intense. If anything, it’s even more powerful, because this time, it’s a choice—a conscious decision to embrace whatever this is between you.

The world outside the bunker fades away as you lose yourself in the kiss, the warmth of his body against yours grounding you in the moment. It feels like everything else has fallen away, leaving just the two of you and the quiet, undeniable connection that’s been growing between you.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to steady your racing hearts. Dean’s hands are still on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, like he’s afraid to let you go.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not good at this… at letting people in. But I want to try. I want to try with you.”

You feel a surge of emotion at his words, the vulnerability in them making your chest tighten. “Me too, Dean,” you reply, your voice equally soft. “I want this too.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you can feel the tension slowly start to melt away from his body as your words sink in. It’s like a weight has been lifted, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of peace between you.

Dean pulls you into another kiss, this one softer, more tender, and you melt into it, letting the warmth of his embrace surround you. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise, a silent vow to face whatever comes next together.

And as you stand there in the quiet kitchen, wrapped in each other 's arms, you know that this is the beginning of something new, something that’s been a long time coming. The fears and uncertainties that have been haunting you both are still there, but they seem smaller now, less overwhelming, with Dean by your side.

When the kiss finally ends, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s a sound that calms you, grounding you in the moment, and you feel his arms tighten around you as if he’s trying to hold you even closer.

For a long time, neither of you speaks. You simply stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, letting the quiet and the warmth of the moment wash over you. There’s no need for words right now; everything that needed to be said was spoken in that kiss.

Eventually, Dean pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. There’s a small, genuine smile on his lips, one that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“You hungry?” he asks, his voice gentle, a hint of that familiar Dean humor creeping back in.

You can’t help but smile back, the tension between you finally easing into something more comfortable, more familiar. “Yeah, I could eat.”

He nods, still holding you close as if reluctant to let go just yet. “How about we make something together? I could go for some pancakes.”

You chuckle softly, the normalcy of the suggestion bringing a sense of comfort. “Pancakes sound perfect.”

With that, Dean finally releases you, but he keeps one hand resting on your lower back, guiding you toward the stove as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go completely. There’s something endearing about the way he stays close, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, feeling more at ease than you have in days.

As you work together in the kitchen, mixing the batter and heating up the griddle, the weight of the past few days begins to lift. It’s not just the pancakes or the casual conversation that flows between you—it’s the unspoken understanding that things have changed, and that change is a good thing.

Dean isn’t just a hunter, and you aren’t just a friend. There’s something more between you now, something that neither of you has to question anymore. It’s real, and it’s worth fighting for.

When the pancakes are finally done, you sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen, plates piled high with warm, golden stacks. Dean reaches across the table to take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a simple, affectionate gesture that makes your heart swell.

You meet his gaze, and in his eyes, you see the same quiet determination you felt in that kiss—a promise that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

And as you dig into your pancakes, the taste of maple syrup and butter filling your senses, you can’t help but smile. Because for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

Quietly, you slip out of your room and head down the hallway, your footsteps nearly silent on the cold floor of the bunker. You don’t have a destination in mind—just the need to move, to escape the confines of your own head. Eventually, you find yourself in the kitchen, the dim light from the range hood casting a soft glow over the countertops.

You open the fridge, the cool air brushing against your face as you scan the contents. You’re not really hungry, but maybe a glass of milk or something will help calm your nerves. You’re just reaching for the carton when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

Your heart sinks a little when you turn around and see Dean Winchester standing in the doorway. Of course, it’s Dean. Anyone else, and you might have been able to brush them off, but with him… Well, it’s complicated.

He’s wearing his usual sleep attire—a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt—and his hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene, clearly puzzled.

“What’re you doing up?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that breaks the silence. There’s no bite in his tone, just genuine curiosity.

You quickly turn back to the fridge, trying to hide the unease that’s bubbling up inside you. “Couldn’t sleep,” you reply, keeping your voice casual. “Thought I’d grab a drink.”

Dean steps further into the kitchen, his gaze never leaving you. “In the middle of the night?”

You shrug, pulling the carton of milk out and setting it on the counter. “Yeah. It happens.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as you pour the milk into a glass. The silence between you stretches on, heavy and awkward, and you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s trying to figure out what’s really going on.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You grab the glass and turn to face him, forcing a small smile. “What about you? Why are you still up?”

Dean leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Same reason as you, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.”

The admission surprises you, and for a moment, you just stare at him. It’s rare for Dean to admit when something’s bothering him, even to Sam. But then again, you’ve noticed the subtle changes in him lately—the little signs of restlessness, the way he’s been more on edge than usual. It’s clear he’s dealing with his own demons, though you doubt he’d ever talk about them openly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your milk. “Seems like neither of us is getting much sleep these days.”

Dean nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. He’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder if he’s going to drop the subject. But then he looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft but serious.

The question hangs in the air, and you suddenly feel exposed, like he’s peeling back the layers you’ve worked so hard to keep in place. You’ve never been good at letting people in, especially not Dean. The way he challenges you, the way he always seems to get under your skin—it’s easier to keep your distance, to maintain the walls that keep your emotions in check.

But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the weight of your sleeplessness pressing down on you, those walls feel fragile, ready to crack at any moment.

“I don’t know,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You immediately regret it, wishing you could take them back. But it’s too late now.

Dean’s expression softens, and for a second, you see something like concern flicker in his eyes. He steps closer, his posture less guarded than usual. “What’s going on, Y/N? You’ve been off lately.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The last thing you want to do is burden him with your problems. Dean’s got enough on his plate as it is, and the idea of opening up to him—of all people—feels both terrifying and absurd.

But there’s a part of you that wants to. A part that’s tired of carrying it all on your own.

“It’s just… everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like, every time I try to sleep, all these thoughts keep coming at me—things I’ve done, things I’m worried about, stuff that could go wrong… It’s just too much.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his expression. But when he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, almost understanding.

“Yeah. I get that.”

You glance up at him, surprised. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no teasing or sarcasm—just a quiet understanding that catches you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You’re so used to the back-and-forth with Dean, the way you’ve always butted heads, that this softness feels foreign. But it’s also comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

Dean shifts his weight, leaning against the counter next to you. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s oddly grounding, like an anchor in the midst of your spiraling thoughts.

“I get it, Y/N,” he repeats, his tone low and sincere. “It’s not easy to shut that stuff off. Trust me, I’ve been there more times than I can count.”

You look at him, really look at him, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, the lines etched into his skin from years of carrying burdens that no one should have to bear. Dean’s been through hell—literally—and somehow, he’s still standing. If anyone would understand what it’s like to be kept awake by anxiety and fear, it’s him.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice small, almost hopeful.

Dean nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. I don’t talk about it much, but… sometimes, it feels like my brain’s running a marathon. Can’t slow it down, can’t turn it off. And when you’re stuck in that loop, it’s damn near impossible to get any sleep.”

You bite your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. There’s something about hearing him admit that he struggles too, that he’s not as invincible as he seems, that makes you feel a little less alone. Like maybe you’re not as broken as you thought.

“What do you do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “When it gets like that?”

Dean hesitates, glancing away for a moment before answering. “I usually just… keep busy. Work on the car, clean my guns, watch crappy TV. Anything to keep my mind off it. But that’s just me. Sometimes, talking about it helps too. You know, getting it out there instead of letting it fester.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. You’ve never been one to open up, especially not to Dean. But right now, in the quiet of the kitchen, with the night pressing in around you, it doesn’t feel so impossible. It feels… safe, somehow.

“I’ve just been feeling overwhelmed,” you admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “There’s so much going on, and I’m scared I’m going to mess it all up. And then I start thinking about everything that could go wrong, and it just… it feels like too much.”

Dean doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his gaze steady and focused on you. There’s no judgment, no impatience—just a quiet understanding that makes it easier to keep talking.

“And I know it’s stupid,” you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “I know I should just let it go, but I can’t. It’s like my brain won’t stop reminding me of all the ways I could fail, all the mistakes I’ve made, and it keeps me up at night. It’s exhausting, Dean.”

He nods, his expression softening even more. “It’s not stupid, Y/N. We all have those moments. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve stayed up worrying about stuff I can’t control. But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re still standing, and that’s what matters.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, a wave of emotion crashing over you. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that, to have someone acknowledge your struggles and remind you that you’re not alone in them.

“Thanks,” you whisper, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I just… I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Dean gives you a small, almost sad smile. “I get that. I’m not exactly the poster boy for emotional support, but… I’m here. And I mean that, Y/N. If you ever need to talk, or just… not be alone, I’m here.”

It’s a simple offer, but it means the world to you. For so long, you’ve been keeping everyone at arm’s length, afraid to let them see the cracks in your armor. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to do that anymore. Maybe it’s okay to let someone in, to lean on them when things get too heavy.

You nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I appreciate that, Dean. Really.”

He nods back, and for a moment, you both just stand there in the quiet of the kitchen, the weight of the night pressing down on you both. But this time, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. With Dean there, it feels manageable, like maybe you can get through it.

“Come on,” Dean finally says, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s go back to bed. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words settle over you like a warm blanket. There’s a comfort in the simplicity of his suggestion, in the way he doesn’t push you to confront everything right now. Just one step at a time, one moment of peace in the chaos.

“Yeah,” you agree softly, feeling a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Dean gives you a small, reassuring smile, one that reaches his eyes in a way you don’t often see. It’s a glimpse of the man behind the armor, the one who cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it.

You set your glass of milk down on the counter, realizing you don’t need it anymore. The anxiety that had you in its grip has loosened its hold, if only just a little. And that’s enough for now.

Dean waits for you, not in a hurry, just letting you move at your own pace. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel like he’s really there for you, not just in words but in action. As you turn to leave the kitchen, he falls into step beside you, his presence a steadying force.

The walk back to your room is quiet, the silence between you companionable rather than tense. The bunker is still, the only sounds the soft hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of the floor beneath your feet. It’s late—too late for conversations like this, but somehow, it feels like the perfect time.

When you reach your door, you pause, turning to face Dean. He stops too, his gaze meeting yours with that same steady intensity. There’s something unspoken between you, something that wasn’t there before—an understanding, a connection that feels deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

“Thanks, Dean,” you say again, feeling the need to express your gratitude one more time. “For everything.”

He nods, his expression softening in that way that’s becoming more familiar. “Anytime, Y/N. You know where to find me.”

There’s a moment where you consider saying more, opening up even further, but you decide against it. This is enough for tonight. You’ve taken a step forward, and that’s what matters.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, reaching for the doorknob.

“Goodnight,” Dean replies, his voice low and warm.

You open the door and step inside, but before you close it, you glance back at him one last time. He’s still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression. It’s almost as if he’s making sure you’re really okay before he leaves.

With a small smile, you close the door behind you, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. The bed is still rumpled from your earlier restlessness, but as you crawl back under the covers, it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming anymore. The anxiety is still there, lurking at the edges of your mind, but it’s muted now, softened by the memory of Dean’s words and his presence.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, and this time, sleep doesn’t seem so far out of reach. You know the worries will still be there in the morning, but somehow, it feels like you might be able to face them with a little more strength. After all, you’re not alone in this.

As you drift off, the last thing you think about is the way Dean looked at you—like he really saw you, like he cared. And for the first time in a long time, that thought brings you a sense of peace.

In the hallway, Dean stands for a moment longer, staring at your closed door. There’s a part of him that wants to knock, to make sure you’re really okay, but he knows you need your space. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He’s never been great at this—at connecting with people, at being there for them in the ways that matter. But tonight, he thinks he might have done something right. And that’s a start.

With one last glance at your door, Dean turns and heads down the hall toward his own room. He’s tired, the weight of the day—and the night—settling heavily on his shoulders. But there’s a lightness in his chest, too, a sense of relief that he doesn’t fully understand.

Maybe it’s because, for once, he didn’t push someone away. Maybe it’s because he let himself be there for you, and in doing so, found a little bit of peace for himself too.

When he finally lies down in bed, sleep comes easier than he expected. And as he drifts off, his last thought is of you—of the way you looked at him, of the trust that seemed to pass between you in those quiet moments in the kitchen. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, he’s content to just let it be.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester falls asleep with a sense of hope.