The bed beside you is empty — cold in that way that tells you he’s been gone a while. You blink into the dark, the soft red glow of the alarm clock slicing through it: 3:04 a.m.
You sigh, dragging your hand across the empty space where Dean should be. The sheets are twisted, the pillow dented deep. It’s not the first time he’s gotten up in the middle of the night. You know it won’t be the last.
Still, your chest aches as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, tugging on one of his worn T-shirts. It smells like whiskey and gunpowder and something warm you can never quite name.
The bunker feels huge when it’s dark like this — every footstep echoes, every shadow looks like it’s watching. You pass the library, the war room, all silent. Until you see the faint, flickering glow under the kitchen door.
You already know.
Dean’s sitting at the table, elbows on his knees, a bottle half-empty beside him. His head’s bowed, hands clasped tight like he’s praying, but his eyes are open — bloodshot, rimmed with red. The haunted kind of red.
“Dean?” you whisper, voice small in the big room.
He flinches like you just yanked him out of something deep. Then he straightens fast, scrubbing at his face with both hands. “Hey. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” You cross the room, stopping in front of him. “Couldn’t sleep without you.”
His eyes flick up, guilt flashing hard. “Yeah, well. I’m not great company tonight.”
You study him for a beat. He looks wrecked. Not physically — no fresh cuts, no bruises. But his face says he’s been fighting something anyway. “Nightmare?” you ask softly.
He exhales through his nose, like it hurts to admit it. “Yeah.”
You reach for the bottle, pushing it a little farther away. “You wanna tell me what about?”
He hesitates — you can see it, the battle behind his eyes. But then something in him cracks. His voice goes rough, low. “You. You were—” His throat tightens, and he can’t even say the word. “Gone.”
Your stomach drops.
He stares down at his shaking hands. “It felt real. Like, too real. You were bleeding out, and I couldn’t—” His voice breaks. “I couldn’t do a damn thing.”
You kneel in front of him, your hands resting on his knees. “Dean…”
He laughs bitterly, wiping at his face again. “I’ve seen a lot of death. Caused a lot of it. But watching you—? That’s not something I can do. Not again. Not ever.”
“Again?” you ask, even though you already know. He’s lost too many people to count.
He swallows hard. “Every time I close my eyes, you die in some new way. And every time, it’s my fault. Because I wasn’t fast enough, or smart enough, or just—because I’m me. And I can’t—” He drags a hand over his mouth, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t keep putting you in danger just by being near you.”
Your breath catches. “Dean, don’t.”
He shakes his head, eyes shining. “No. It’s the truth. You’d be safer if you left. Hell, I should’ve never let this happen.”
You stand, anger flaring hot under your ribs. “You think you get to decide that for me?”
“Someone has to,” he snaps, too fast, too defensive. “Because you won’t! You keep saying you’re fine, you can handle it, but one of these days, it’s not gonna be true, and I’ll be the reason you’re—” His voice cracks again. “I can’t lose you like that.”
Your voice wobbles, but you force it steady. “You think pushing me away will stop it from hurting if you lose me? You think I don’t know what I signed up for?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stares at the floor, shoulders tight, every inch of him a coiled spring.
“Dean,” you say softly, stepping closer, hands resting on his shoulders now. “I chose this. You. Every monster, every nightmare, every danger — I knew it came with the package. And I still said yes.”
He lifts his head, eyes glassy, searching your face like he’s begging you not to mean it. “And if you die because of me?”
You smile sadly. “Then I die loving you. And there’s worse ways to go.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s killing me.”
You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Then stop fighting me. Stop pretending that pushing me away is noble. You don’t get to love me halfway, Dean Winchester. Not you.”
For a second, he just stares at you — broken, torn, bleeding from places no one can see. Then, finally, he folds.
His arms wrap around you in a desperate, crushing hold, his face buried against your shoulder. His breath comes in ragged shudders. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “I just can’t.”
You hold him just as tight, fingers threading through his hair. “Then don’t. Just stay. Right here. With me.”
He nods against your neck, a choked laugh slipping out — half misery, half relief. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
You smile against his temple. “So I’ve heard.”
He leans back just enough to see you, his eyes red but clearer now. “I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. “You don’t have to be sorry. Just don’t shut me out when it gets bad.”
He nods, slow, solemn. His forehead drops to yours, breath trembling. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” You whisper it against his lips before closing the last inch between you.
The kiss is soft — not desperate, not fiery — just steady. Certain. Like both of you are trying to remind the other that you’re still here. Still alive.
And for now, that’s enough.
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a lot of normal people liked supernatural normally. i was one of those people, i knew several who were those people. just liked the stories. so i wonder if the show's fixation on their slash fandom was nonsense or boring to normal viewers. or if they were also laughing at the kooky shippers. im not sure most normal viewers were plugged into destiel
i wonder if castiel is looking into the abyss of the empty and imagining constellations strung amidst the darkness. if, despite the immense pain he is subjected to, despite all of the guilt, he sees the distraught reflection of fireworks in dean’s eyes, eons away, ringing in another year without him by his side.
*The image(s) I’ve used for the reader on the cover DO NOT reflect what the reader actually looks like*
Season Summary: Kelly Kline gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, and he might be the one to destroy your world. Jack tries so hard to do what's right and to fit in, but there is still so much that he has yet to learn. It's a damn good thing he has three dads, a mom, and a best friend to help him navigate life. However, things start to take a turn when another universal threat is itching to get his hands on your world—the archangel Michael. This Michael? He'll do anything to tear your world apart by the seams.
*dates are subject to change at a moment’s notice*
