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o0kawaii0o

Something I had on the brain for bit

·˚ ༘ Harsh winter air, are you there?

word ct: 3.4K

TWS: suicidal ideation, SH, frost-bite.

ׂׂૢ hurt/comfort, cuddling, emotional talks !

or, Dabi gives himself frostbite (to a point) !

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Distantly, Dabi can feel the ache forming in the back of his eyes the longer he stares up at the ceiling. His body feels cold, shivers running up his spine. He doesn’t know why exactly he’s still lying like this. He knows if he got up and closed the window it wouldn’t be cold like this anymore.

He blinks and his eyes want to glue themselves shut the second he closes them. They feel frozen solid, but he opens them again. He can feel how dry they are. It makes him think about how it would feel dying in the freezing cold instead of the scorching heat.

He flips over, cold air instantly running up his back. He shivers, sucking in a breath at the feeling of the cold. When he puffs his breath out, he can see his breath due to the chill. He stares at it for a long moment. He wants to reach for it.

During the cold months, he likes to pretend he lives a different life. He stares at his breath when he breathes out due to the visibility from the cold. He likes to imagine it’s from him being actually born with an ice quirk as well. He likes to pick at the icicles on buildings and hold it in his hands, envisioning if it were to come out of them instead.

His whole body is trembling from how freezing he is, lips becoming chapped from the chill. He stares forward, pressing his shaky fingers over his face. He can barely breathe, teeth chattering as he tries to force himself to not cry thinking about the life he could’ve had if he was born perfect.

He could easily make himself warm again if he wanted to, spread a fire across the room and burn up with it. In the back of his mind he believes that even if he were to burn up again, he would still come crawling back. For some reason, no matter how many times, and no matter how many ways he tries, killing himself never works. It agitates him to his core, and that fact alone is what is apparently keeping him alive. His absolute rage; there’s no other way to put it, but deep down he wants to put that fire out, and has wanted to for a long time.

He often spends his days motionless, waiting for something to happen but that something (which, he doesn’t even know what it is), never arrives.

He forces himself to fall asleep in the cold.

He wakes up to the abrupt sound of a window slamming shut. At this, his heart annoyingly decides it’s time to begin slamming against his chest as well. He’s so alarmed that his brain is screaming at him to sit up, to do something, but he instantly finds that he simply cannot. His muscles are refusing to co-operate with his mind, and he realizes he can’t feel anything at all. He wheezes, heart sinking when he hears someone talking to him because he realizes he also can’t see a thing. He literally can’t open his eyes. He’s numb all over, he can barely breathe, he can’t move, he can’t do anything.

His chest heaving is about the only thing he can really feel due to how hard he’s suddenly breathing. His nostrils flare but they’re a clogged mess and his throat feels like it’s on fire. It’s too dry and it’s causing him to wheeze. He wants to claw at himself but he can’t seem to get his arms to move.

His breath hitches and he thinks he can feel himself jolt when he registers someone holding his face. He can feel the breath, and can also feel the panic in their motions as they check over his body. It’s a gentle touch, they’re barely moving him at all. He feels drowsy, and once it clicks who it is he gets a sudden wave of guilt all over. He thinks the shame makes his face warm. His delirious state made him forget that he was self destructing in Hawks’ apartment. Hawks’ bed, Hawks everything. He feels so panicked and ashamed that he can barely breathe, he thinks he’s gonna explode all over again.

Hawks must’ve decided it was safe enough to sit him up because he’s being slowly moved upwards. Hawks is holding his face and all Dabi can think about is how ridiculous all of this is. He feels so mixed up, his body and mind screaming all different things at him at once and yet he can do nothing but sit and dwell on it. He wants to scream, wants to fight, wants to do anything and he can’t do any of it at all. His chest is still heaving, but now Hawks is cradling his face despite how limp he is. Partially, at least now, it’s on purpose. Dabi doesn’t want help. Doesn’t want Hawks to see this, to see him. It’s pathetic. He can feel his head hanging, and Hawks holds onto the back of his neck, putting light pressure against it with one hand while he slowly drives Dabi’s neck against his shoulder.

He can feel himself shaking, still unable to breathe and chattering all over. He doesn’t know how long he’s sat against the other until he blinks his eyes open, and they hurt. The second he opens them the world doesn’t come into a full view, it’s blurry and wrong and shaky. His face feels like it’s made of wax. He closes his eyes again, too dizzy and too nauseous to keep them open for much longer.

He can feel Hawks putting simple pressure on his neck, and he just wants to cry. He blinks again a few times, and the world comes out a little less blurry but his vision shakes and he closes them again. He thinks he feels bile rise to his throat the moment they shook, and he thinks he might die if he were to throw up.

He knows Hawks’ is talking to him, or at least trying to. Moreso, he’s talking at him because Dabi can’t reply because he can’t even breathe right, along with this, can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. He can hear his heartbeat, and with every pump he feels it across his veins.

He inhales sharply, coughing so roughly that he’s sure he must be bleeding from his throat. He’s heaving, unable to catch his breath and it only gets worse with the sheer panic that he feels all over. For the millionth time in his life, he’s terrified. His head is constantly swarming, yelling at him that this can’t be it, don’t let this be it (On the contrary, it likes to tell him that today needs to be his last; it’s not worth fighting anymore.)

He feels Hawks hand on his back, and it fails to ground him in the moment. He forcefully opens his eyes, and the room is still spinning. It once again nauseates him, and he’s still mortified to throw up. He begs himself silently to not. He keeps forcefully blinking, and the world spins a little less. The first thing that really comes into view is a sharp, vibrant red. It takes his brain a few seconds to catch up and recognize that they are obviously Hawks wings. They’re wrapped forward around Dabi as a heat source.

He ultimately begins sobbing, and it comes out as harsh, half-wails that don’t fully come out because every time he breathes it feels as if there’s needles pricking in his throat. He heaves, fighting himself like a wild animal to stay alive. There’s trails of snot down his nose, tears mixed with blood leaking down his face.

He’s suddenly steaming all over, and before that happened, he didn’t think he could be more panicked. He breathes in sharply, and his body is aching all over. He can feel himself burning up. He’s still chattering all over, somehow still too cold but all too hot. His brain is screaming at him to not let this happen. Please don’t let this happen, please not now, he wants to live, he needs to live, he has to, he has to -

He must’ve said some of it out loud because he’s being suddenly moved, a little too quickly at that, before Hawks corrects himself and moves him with more thought. Dabi shuts his eyes before he can get a good look at him, he doesn’t think he can bear it.

His body is on fire. His limbs are tickling with a constant, burning sensation. It’s a much unfamiliar burn than he’d usually feel. It’s the most he’s felt in a long time, and his body craves it in such an intense way, but all the same, he despises it. He doesn’t want to feel this. It’s awful, and humiliating.

He can feel Hawks holding his face just as well as he can feel his sharp gaze, even with his eyes closed. Though, he can’t fully put together what he imagines his face looks like at the moment. He doesn’t at all want to, either. He doesn’t want to imagine the rage in his face. Why wouldn’t he be angry?

He breathes easier, though it still comes in quick puffs. His limbs are aching worse now, and a new addition is that they itch all over. When he moves his arms upward, sharp pains are instantly shot through them. He snivels, arms shaking harshly. Hawks placed feathers under his arms carefully, warm hands still splayed across his face. Dabi pathetically sobs harder.

He doesn’t know how long he and Hawks sit like this. His body continues to ache all over but the pain becomes dulled after some time. With this, he refuses to open his eyes. It mortifies him. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he’s mad at himself for feeling so scared to open them. He’s been burnt to a crisp and witnessed much scarier things than this.

Mostly, he doesn’t want to face himself, or Hawks, or any of the world.

Despite this, he knows he can’t ignore it for much longer when Hawks' voice comes out, quiet compared to the previous rush in his ears. “Dabi,” he says, voice shaking, and then swallows. Dabi doesn’t open his eyes to look at him. It’s silent again for a long, drawn out moment.

When he hears Hawks sniffle, it shocks him so bad that his eyes pop open. It’s not as blurry as before, and Hawk's face comes into view rather quickly. Dabi wants to shut his eyes instantly when he gets a good look at him, though. His eyelashes are all clumped up, cheeks rosy and obvious tear stains down his face. When they meet eyes, and Hawks fucking smiles at him, Dabi crumples all over again, shamefully trying to turn his face out of his hands.

It doesn’t work, and Hawks’ begins talking. “Fuck. You scared the shit out of me,” he whispers, sniffling again. “Don’t- don’t do shit like that. You can’t do shit like that.” He says, and despite everything he doesn’t sound angry as Dabi had expected. Though, thinking about it now, Dabi can’t remember the last time Hawks had really reacted with anger at him. That in itself is making him feel sick and dizzy. He can’t figure out why he’s like this. Hawks just hugs him, pressing his head against Dabi’s shoulder.

The lump in his throat gets worse when he does this, and he croaks out: “I-I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he begins to ramble, and Hawks shushes him, attempting to soothe him but Dabi plows on. “Dunno what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.” He says, desperately trying to let him know. Hawks just shakes his head. They’re silent again for a while.

Hawks lifts his head, looking him over for a long moment. Dabi can’t reach his eyes. Despite the tingling under his skin, overall he just feels numb. “Stay here a second,” Hawks tells him as he gets up, his movements hesitant as he makes his way out. Dabi stares forward, swallowing hard.

He feels disconnected from the world as he stares forward, unblinking until his eyes begin to burn in his head. He stares at his lap, not looking up when he hears the door creak along with Hawks’ quick footsteps back to the bed.

The other sits down, grabbing Dabi’s face with his hands. He has loose feathers wrapped around a giant glass of water. “Drink this,” Hawks’ asks, feathers bringing it up to his mouth. “It’s warm. Should help you.” He says, still holding his face. Dabi lets the glass be pressed to his chapped lips, allowing himself to take a few gulps of it. It does help, as Hawks’ had said it would.

Dabi can tell Hawks wants to say something more by the look that's plastered on his face. He also knows that the other can’t quite find the words to say. It’s not like he blames him, because he doesn’t know what to say either. He wants to keep apologizing. He wants it to be over.

They sit in silence when Dabi’s finished with the water. Hawks has removed his hands from the other’s face, instead, pressing his head against Dabi’s shoulder. It’s quiet, but Dabi can briefly hear the tap-tap-tap sound against the window from the breeze outside. He can hear Hawks’ fan, and most notably, he hears the subtle sniffle that’s slightly muffled by the position of Hawks’ face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again, and it comes out as a harsh whisper. His throat is too raw.

Hawks’ shakes his head. “Don’t be, please, just…” he trails off, lifting his head from Dabi’s shoulder, and when Hawks looks at him, Dabi still doesn’t meet his eyes. He stares off elsewhere. “Fuck. Why would you do that?” He asks, and his voice shakes. It’s a strange contrast to how he sounded when they’d first been acquainted. He now knows all too well the different ways Hawks’ sounds.

Dabi, despite the obvious plea in Hawks tone, doesn’t give an answer. He shrugs, not noticeable unless you’re really looking, but Hawks eyes are sharp all over him. “Dont - Don’t do that. Please, please talk to me. Don’t do that.” Hawks begs, and Dabi’s stomach sinks. He’s begged to be listened to his whole life and now that someone is desperately listening he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He craves it and pushes it away all at once. There’s too much to say, too much Hawks’ doesn’t know, too much no one knows.

Dabi turns his face away as much as he can. Looking at him is too much. When Hawks reaches for him, he lets out a pitiful whine, attempting to push him away. It doesn’t work. Hawks’ continues to hold him, waiting for an answer. His stomach churns as the other waits.

Eventually, it all comes out at once. “I can’t do it anymore,” it’s a harsh whisper, and when he says it his voice shakes. Hawks’ somehow holds him a little tighter. “I-I can’t, I can’t, it’s too much, It’s, It’s not worth it, you don’t understand, It’s not worth it,” he babbles on, feeling sicker. “I-I don’t have any reason to live, it isn’t worth it a-anymore. I don’t- I can’t, It isn’t worth it. I’m sick of feeling like this.” He hiccups, stumbling over his words at every step. “I don’t wanna be angry b-but i’m so fucking angry, i-it’s the only thing fueling me, but I don’t want to feel it a-anymore. I should’ve died a long time ago, so, so, so long ago, Hawks. I-I have to.” he sobs, hoarse and painful. Hawks shushes him, petting his hair.

He sobs harder as Hawks’ continues to shush him, brushing back his hair. He keeps whispering how it’s okay, it’ll be okay, you’re okay, Dabi. He doesn’t believe him.

They sit like that for a while until Dabi calms down again, and he’s exhausted. He wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t know how much longer he can handle it. Luckily for him, Hawks’ somehow seems to know him through and through. He pulls back, grabbing the water from the table. “Here. Have some more of this, and we’ll get changed and you can lay down,” he says, holding the water out to him. “That’s okay, yeah?” He asks, and Dabi takes the water, merely nodding while he takes small sips.

Hawks hums, standing up and digging through his drawers for just a moment. He pulls out the two absolutely ridiculous pairs of matching pajama pants they got a while ago. It was meant to be a “joke,” or at least, that’s what they both pretended it was a lot of the time. Dabi’s are an ocean blue with some lighter polka dots surrounding them, while Hawks’ are a deep red with lighter red polka dots surrounding them. He can see him pull out two plain black shirts to go along with it, along with fresh pairs of socks.

He crawls back on the bed, shuffling Dabi carefully out of his shirt and helping him slip the new one on. He helps him with his pants, helps him put on the socks, and everything. Dabi wants to tell him he doesn’t need to help him put on clothes, because that's ridiculous, but he knows Hawks’ wouldn’t have any of it. And, although he won’t usually admit it to himself, he likes it when Hawks’ is all sweet with him.

Hawks’ changes next, and Dabi just watches silently as he moves. He questions why Hawks’ decided to stick with him like this. He can’t wrap his head around it.

Hawks’ crawls onto the bed, and this is where he begins to check over every spot on Dabi’s skin. Dabi is silent as he does it, and he wants to tell him it’s okay, there’s nothing to check. Dabi knows it’s not true. He doesn’t argue about it this time.

Hawks looks up at his face when he decides he’s done checking over his arms, moving forward and kissing his cheek a few times. Dabi flushes so bad he feels like he might explode, stomach dropping as too many emotions swirl around at once. Ridiculously, it makes him want to start bawling again. “Do you feel sick?” The other asks, and Dabi shakes his head. “Too hot?” another shake. “Too cold?” another shake. “Kay,” Hawks’ breathes out, petting back his hair again and then kissing his other cheek. Dabi crumbles all over again, tears flowing down. It hurts and his chest shakes. He loves him. He really loves him.

“It’s okay,” Hawks says again, kissing his nose. “Here, I'm gonna go get a cloth and a brush, I'll be back.” He states, standing and moving across the room to go into the bathroom.

He walks back after a moment, scooching towards Dabi and wiping off his tear stained face with a warm rag. He wipes gently, pushing back his bangs to wipe across his forehead incase he was feeling sweaty as well. He did this often, because Dabi often had days where he wouldn’t get up and would feel disgusting; so Hawks’ would sit him up and tell him it’s all okay while wiping around his face so he felt a little less dirty.

The other wiped behind his ears and wiped around his neck, setting it down on the table so he could start brushing his hair. He moves behind him and starts brushing in silence. He stops for a moment to grab the remote, letting a feather plop it into Dabi’s lap. “Here, you can turn something on,” he says, and then begins brushing again. Dabi fiddles with the remote for a while before he actually turns anything on at all.

Hawks’ uses his feathers to turn off the light in the room. Dabi hadn’t really noticed how much time had passed until he did this. It was quite dim outside. Hawks’ has Dabi shuffle down, running his hands through his hair as he settles himself against his lap. He feels exhausted. He doesn’t really want to sleep because he wants to keep feeling Hawks’ hands in his hair. He stays awake for a little longer just to feel it, but eventually he’s so tired that he knows he won’t be awake for much longer.

Hawks’ shuffles down, moving them both under the covers. Dabi’s head is pressed against Hawks’ chest and the other continues to run his hands through his hair, stopping only to kiss his head a few times. He lets himself fall asleep.

#mha #my hero academia #bhna #dabi x hawks #dabihawks #dabi todoroki #mha hawks #bnha hawks #mha dabi #dabi my hero academia #mha fanfiction #dabihawks fanfic #hurt/comfort

belovedroach

I like drawing Virgil a little too much and drawing specific headcanons even more

local emotionally repressed emo struggles to properly express affection

Shigaraki🙆

#mha #bhna #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tenko #my hero academia #tenko shimura #shigaraki tomura #my hero academia shigaraki #deku #izuku #mha izuku midoriya

#golden kamuy #gk ogata #ogata hyakunosuke #ogata fanart #vasily pavlichenko #golden kamuy vasily #gk vasily #vasio

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy shiraishi #tanigaki genjirou #ogata hyakunosuke #gk fanart #gk ogata #gk shiraishi

vampofthevalley

Basically what happened

oliveoil422

𖤓 ⋆˚࿔ Sound of Your Voice ⋆˚࿔ 𖤓

Destiel fic ~ part one

Summary~ after the confession, Dean is lost and he doesn’t know what do to anymore

Word count~ 1.8k

Warnings~ depressive episode, slight self harm (scratching), bleeding, talks of suicide, many chick flick moments. Dean is very sad. Very bad grammar

Not finished will be working on more parts, also posted on ao3

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊၊||၊|။||||။

“I love you” the words rotted in Dean's ears even if it was hard to still hear it in Castiel's voice. Everywhere he turned he felt like he was being watched by the angel. If Dean thought about it he truly did love him too, but when he realized it, it was too late as Cas was dead. Dean didn't understand love, he never received it, only in short bursts that happened in dirty motel rooms just to be forgotten the next morning. Love wasn't something Dean thought he could need or want but right now he's longing for it, longing for Castiel, his gruff voice that he's seen as comfort after he was pulled from Hell. Every morning he expects Cas to be on the couch watching stupid cartoons or listening to the music dean gave him, but he's just not there because he's empty. Sometimes when Dean closes his eyes he prays he closes them so tight it hurts.

“Come back please” he mutters his voice so soft and quiet it scares him. “I need you here. I don't care what state you are in, I just need you. please Cas” what scared him more was the tears that streamed down his face. He wiped them away aggressively like the water coming from his eyes was physically hurting him as if it was acid. “How could you tell me you love me and then leave” He flinched as he raised his voice, talking to a shadow that wasn’t there. “I love you too, I'm so sorry Cas. Please come back. I can't do this without you. You're my best friend. I love you damn it.” He felt breathless like someone had a hold of his lungs causing his breaths to be short and rasped. He felt like he was suffocating. He could feel the world around coming closer, his whole world was collapsing and he knew it was. He gripped the floor beneath him as his legs gave out and he was no longer able to stand as his knees made connection to the floor with a big thud. His hands were scraping at the wooden planks nails digging into the floor.

There was a knock on his bedroom door that he barely heard in this state “Dean?” Sam's voice sounded as if he was underwater to Dean’s panicking ears. “Hey you good?” Sam put his ear to the door knocking again before coming in. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he was about to take in. His big brother gasping for air clinging to the floor so hard his nails are starting to bleed. Sam ran up to dean hesitant to grab dean but decided to anyways. “Dean! Stop you're hurting yourself man!” Sam grabbed Dean's arm which he jumped to like he hasn't been calling his name.

“GET OUT!” Dean yelled in a deep voice as soon as he came back to reality tears were still streaming down his face “please just get out,” he pleads again but this time in a more exhausted tone. Sam listened with a worried look on his face. He's seen Dean like this before and knew nothing good would come from him staying. Once Dean was by himself again he was able to ground himself letting him breath in the air and letting it fill his lungs.

He grabbed his computer and looked up weird deaths, scrolling through finding hunts, the only thing he ever knew. He found one, 3 kids dead, blood completely drained from their bodies. Perfect vampires whats better then beheading a monster it’s free therapy.

Dean didn't get much sleep that night; he hardly slept for an hour straight. Every time he woke up he would shove his headphones deeper in his ears and turn Led Zeppelin all the way up. He woke up in the morning with a shutter like he felt eyes on him, eyes he's felt for years and then suddenly they were gone all he felt on him was cold. He could imagine looking into them and seeing the whole ocean, where the water met the horizon, he saw people being happy, maybe in another life that would be him happy on the beach with his toes in the sand, maybe he would even have a ring on his finger, sitting next to his best friend.

He just stared at the ceiling for a long minute thinking about all the things that could have been, and what never will be. He's been praying more lately, most of it is just his anger, he never really knew what to say when he prayed most of it was for Castiel telling him, he needs to get down here, he needs him. Of course nothing ever happened, cas was dead, because Cas saved him. Dean got out of his bed throwing the blanket messily over the bed and walking to the bathroom splashing water over his face, “get it together Dean” he says looking in the mirror staring down his reflection. He washes the dried blood from his broken nails.

~~~

“Are you sure you are up for this?” Sam looked worried, it seems like he always does nowadays, you have to be that worried when your brother is as self destructive as Dean is.

“Of course I'm ‘up for this’ I’ve been hunting my whole life” Dean huffed, throwing his duffle bag in the back of Baby.

“Im just saying Dean it’s okay to take breaks.” Sam shook his head as he was speaking, Dean knew this would start some kind of conversation that could be categorized as a chick flick moment.

“When we take breaks people die.” Dean didn’t shout but his tone was just as effective as if he was, “Know what Sam, you can drive since you’re so worried.” And with that he tossed the keys to his younger brother. Sam looked confused, annoyed and worried all at once, but he still took the keys and got in the car. Dean opened the passenger door and pressed his head to the window as Sam started his prized possession.

It didn’t take long for Dean to fall asleep after the countless nights where he hasn’t gotten any. The impala has always been soothing, reminding him of simpler times, when he thought that the thing in his closet couldn’t possibly be real. Or the times when he thought nothing bad could ever happen, because he didn't know better, yet. His mother with her music playing singing long and looking back patting Dean’s little knee with the song rhythm, he tried to sing the big words that his toddler mouth couldn’t exactly form but she always looked so proud at him for trying even when he was just blappering.

“Dean” a soft but raspy voice called out for him, it echoed in his mind. He turned around as quickly as he could and there he was sitting on his bed. If anyone saw him like this right now they would know immediately that he’s an angel. He looked just perfect; he looked untouched like nothing had happened, his trench coat didn’t even have one wrinkle. Oh and his eyes were just as memorizing as always, like he could see the whole ocean just from looking into this man, no, angel’s eyes. He wasn’t sure how this was happening and he definitely didn’t want to question it, scared this miracle would vanish right before his eyes.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was cracking, the angel’s hand came up to Dean’s face, holding his cheek. “Where have you been? We looked everywhere for you, man. I thought you were gone.” Dean is leaning into Cas’ touch now like he needs it. Cas opens his mouth to reply, his lips are moving like he’s talking, but there’s no words. Dean looks at him worriedly but Cas just keeps talking like nothing is wrong, Dean tries to substitute Castiel’s voice into the words that he's trying to say but it dawns on him, he doesn’t remember. It's been so long he doesn’t remember Cas’ voice. “Cas please say something, anything, please.” His heart was heavy as he looked at Castiel’s face; it didn't even seem like he heard him. “Cas please!” Dean was sobbing grabbing onto his angel’s coat but it slipped through his fingers like the fabric was made out of sand

He was gone. Again.

Dean was alone in his bedroom, he couldn’t breathe, his heart was pounding just like it did that day he couldn’t feel anything but the dread the pain, the hopelessness-

“DEAN!” Sam shouted, shoving his brother, “Dude I've been calling your name for like a solid 10 minutes. It looked like you couldn’t breathe.” There's that worried look again, the classic Sam face, you would never have guessed Dean is the older brother right now.

“Where is he?” Dean asks frantically. His hands are shaking and he’s looking around the car, because they weren’t in his room. Cas was never there, because he’s gone.

“Where’s who?” Sam looks like he’s ready to pull the car over. “Dean no one is here” Sam halfway scoffed

“Damnit I know that!” Dean shouts it came out of nowhere so much so Sam almost flinched, he definitely looked away from Dean.

“Cas is dead, Dean.” Sam said way too casually, ‘how could he just say that’ Dean thought, but his thoughts were screaming and yelling, scratching to get out. “You can’t just keep doing this, no sleep, no eating, just drinking and hunting you're going to get yourself killed.” Sam was concerned and it was evident on every feature of his face.

“Yeah? Well then at least I’d be with him.” Dean couldn’t have relied in a sharper tone, he was serious, he didn't mean for the words to come out until they did. The car stopped, pulled to the side of the road so quickly Baby’s brakes were hissing in protest

“Don’t say that, don’t just give up. When have we ever given up?” Sam looked at his older brother and truly looked this time, saw the tired look in his eyes the same look he’d get after asking for more cereal over dinner when he was little. The eye bags that were from years of watching over instead of sleeping. “I’m sorry he’s gone, but I’m not sorry you’re here.” Sam’s breath was a deep exhale that came from the bottom of his lungs.

“I miss him so much and if not for me he’d still be here he died saving me!” Dean was sobbing, he let out his own shaking breath, “it’s my fault.” He looked away from Sam, he didn’t want to see the pity smeared on his face.

“It’s not your fault, Dean, he made that deal to save Jack, he just chose to save you too.”

✎𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

Thank you guys so much for reading, if you like it please like it so I know to write more!!!!

oliveoil422

𖤓 ⋆˚࿔ Sound of Your Voice ⋆˚࿔ 𖤓

Destiel fic ~ part one

Summary~ after the confession, Dean is lost and he doesn’t know what do to anymore

Word count~ 1.8k

Warnings~ depressive episode, slight self harm (scratching), bleeding, talks of suicide, many chick flick moments. Dean is very sad. Very bad grammar

Not finished will be working on more parts, also posted on ao3

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊၊||၊|။||||။

~~~

“Are you sure you are up for this?” Sam looked worried, it seems like he always does nowadays, you have to be that worried when your brother is as self destructive as Dean is.

“Of course I'm ‘up for this’ I’ve been hunting my whole life” Dean huffed, throwing his duffle bag in the back of Baby.

“Im just saying Dean it’s okay to take breaks.” Sam shook his head as he was speaking, Dean knew this would start some kind of conversation that could be categorized as a chick flick moment.

He was gone. Again.

Dean was alone in his bedroom, he couldn’t breathe, his heart was pounding just like it did that day he couldn’t feel anything but the dread the pain, the hopelessness-

“Where is he?” Dean asks frantically. His hands are shaking and he’s looking around the car, because they weren’t in his room. Cas was never there, because he’s gone.

“Where’s who?” Sam looks like he’s ready to pull the car over. “Dean no one is here” Sam halfway scoffed

“Damnit I know that!” Dean shouts it came out of nowhere so much so Sam almost flinched, he definitely looked away from Dean.

“It’s not your fault, Dean, he made that deal to save Jack, he just chose to save you too.”

✎𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

Thank you guys so much for reading, if you like it please like it so I know to write more!!!!

oliveoil422

Let’s Go Trick or Treating!!!!

Halloween smau!!!! (Bkdk)

Hope you liked this one!!!!

DESTIEL | ONGOING |

tw: slight s/h, mentions of suicide, drinking, internalized homophobia, implied/referenced child abuse, drinking & smoking

hurt/comfort, happy endings, fluff and angst

It’s too much. He can’t quite place it. Everytime time he feels like he’s beginning to understand what's happening, where he is, why there’s this constant feeling of anxiety coming like a wave and crashing into him, screaming that he needs to be somewhere else, not here, Not here - it’s stopped by the crushing of his skull. Buzzing so loud in his head that he can’t place why his head is screaming not here. Not here? Not where? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know, because he’s watching the angels fall. A beautiful eclypse from below to most, but he knows that in all reality those are warriors. His siblings. And he ruined it. Somehow, despite everything, he messed it up.

He was trying to help. Despite this he remains an anomaly of a being, a disgusting, disgraceful being who is filled to the brim with pure sin. It’s leaking out of him like oil, black sludge filling his veins and rushing through his ears like a river.

Black sludge. Everywhere. It’s so dark. Why is it so dark?

The thought leaves as quick as it came, so suddenly filled with anxiety that he feels as if flies are all over him, picking him apart to his very core.

Jesus— Jesus. What is happening? He can’t figure it out. He can’t place it. He can’t place where he is. It’s just so dark. It’s dark until the angels are falling again, like meteors in the sky. Until there’s fire surrounding him, because he lied. He lied and was working with Crowley. Bright because of his family he betrayed, angel blade sinking deep and grace shining outwardly, bright and powerful and all encompassing. Inevitably the brightness went away, and they were sent here in the dark.

Here. His head echoes, and the buzzing is getting worse. So much worse. A million things seem to be picking and pulling at his brain, stringing it out, trying desperately to tear away all the knowledge that it’s obtained. He can’t figure out why. When he tries the crushing force on his skull is back, forceful, cracking with purpose and ease. Something too powerful for him, because he’s weak.

Weak because he failed every person who ever mattered. Failed his father, failed his siblings, failed Dean, Sam, Jack- Everyone. He failed and tore apart their lives. His disgrace is like a disease that can only kill, ripping through the cells until there is nothing left, only the void of the being he once was.

Screaming. Everything is so loud. He wonders how he could’ve been so terrible. Everything he’s ever done was bad, no matter how much he wanted it to be good— wanted to be good, it only caused devastation. He’s a weight that only drags others down. Drags his family down. Dragged the angels from the sky and created chaos. Dragged Dean down to completion. Dean hates him.

Dean absolutely hates him. Wants him to perish. He got what he wanted. That must’ve been what he wanted— that’s what his head is screaming at him. Dean is screaming at him. I hate you. Stupid fucking piece of shit. It’s echoing through his head, spreading into his very core until he’s shaking with it.

And Jack. Jesus. He failed him too, ultimately crushing his life. That must be the truth. Fuck. What is happening?

He destroyed the whole world. His fault. He destroyed god's creation. His father’s creation. His father wanted it destroyed too. And he couldn’t even stop him. He was a fool. Fooled for so long by a man who could never be bothered to show up. Sin. He’s so full of sin, black sludge. It’s leaking through.

It stops. It’s so sudden that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s quiet. Still dark. Still dark. Not here swoops through his head again. Where?

And then there is Dean. Dean. Dean. Clear as day. Bright. Dean fucking hates him. But he’s praying. He’s on his knees, on the floor, eyes closed and full on begging. Buzzing. Buzzing is filling his ears. The buzzing. Like angel radio.

Dean is begging. He’s shaking so hard it’s like a machine gun is going off in his body, rattling the man to his core. Castiel can’t make it out. He can’t figure out what he is praying to. Who is he praying to?

He can’t make it out, because there’s darkness clouding his mind all over again. It’s desperate, pulling and ripping its way through until it makes that specific vision go away. But Dean is praying.

Dean is praying. Begging. Why is he begging?

I love you, you stupid son of a bitch! Damn it, fuck. Shit. Is something he knows he’s not supposed to hear. It makes everything still, because Dean Winchester loves someone. And Castiel is hearing it.

He loves someone. Who he loves is what Castiel can’t place. It feels like he’s being sucked into a black hole, insides gushing out of him until there’s nothing left.

“Please, fuck. Jesus. Jesus christ. Castiel, you stupid, stupid son of a bitch. Fuck. Jesus. Please.”

Silence.

“Jesus. Jesus Christ. I love you, man. Please. Fuck. Can you hear this? Can you?”

Ringing.

“I love— fuck. I love you, Cas. Castiel. I love you, fuck, please. Jesus, I can’t- Fuck. Please, I can’t.”

He’s swung himself up so quickly into the real world that he can’t catch himself. It’s still dark, but he’s awake. Really awake. He’s no longer trapped in the nightmare. He can see his hands, oh, Jesus.

He heaves, gagging and trying so hard to be quiet. Because jesus. Jesus. Not here. Not in the empty. He’s in the empty. He is awake. He can’t breathe. He’s shaking so hard he’s afraid he might shatter into pieces. He can’t stop heaving, everything is so blurry and he can’t suck in a proper breath. It’s not registering that technically he doesn’t need to breathe. He’s an angel. He’s an angel?

He can’t. He can’t grasp what’s happening. His palms are being pressed hard over his mouth to try and make the sudden sob that’s ripping out of him quiet down. He doesn’t understand. Dean hates him. He ruined everything. Dean is dead, everyone is dead. That’s what his mind has been screaming at him. Screaming at him. Because- Because he has to stay here. He has to stay.

He shouldn’t be awake. Everyone is… He doesn’t know. He can’t breathe. Jesus.

Abruptly, he wants to pray. Wants to start praying. Wants to beg. Wants to beg desperately, despite the fact you aren’t supposed to beg. Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives; everyone who seeks finds; and to the ones who knocked, the door will be opened. Matthews 5:42.

He clamps his eyes shut, desperately digging into his eyes with the heels of his hands, brain engulfed in the darkness just like before. He takes a few more heaving breaths. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2.

and 1.

He opens his eyes again, and mutters to himself. “Jesus. Please,” his voice is scratchy. It hurts. Please, please. His hands sit on his lap. He can’t help but stare. There’s no need to look around, really. He understands now where he is. Why was his mind fighting so hard against waking up. Split into two, at war with itself because somewhere in the corner of it, it needed him alive. Dean Winchester was praying.

Castiel stands, and ultimately cannot get a step in. As soon as he stands he’s met with himself. The empty taking the form of him, rather. Rising up. Awoken again to his disheveled self, not a man, certainly not an angel, just a pitiful blackhole.

Enraged, the empty is already blurting out hate. “I can’t. You know, I truly can’t have a restful fucking day. You, again, somehow manage to fuck it up!” It seethes, and Castiel can only stare back. Withering from within. God, please.

“I wasn’t - I didn’t. I hadn’t intended to wake up.” He replies, voice rumbling and they just stare at one another.

It tsks, walking back and fourth. Castiel feels absolutely miserable. Because he’s awake again. And he feels scared. All of the things a being like himself isn’t supposed to feel he feels them in full force. He always has if he’s honest. He was never supposed to.

“It’s quite interesting that, despite the fact you’re supposed to remain asleep, you continuously wake up.” It stops in its tracks, spinning on its heels to face Castiel again. He just stares back.

It continues. “And do you know what that does?” It asks, and Castiel can’t tell if it's supposed to be rhetorical. “It wakes me up. Me.” It says with emphasis, obviously annoyed. Castiel wishes he was still dead, because he cannot deal with this. His brain feels so rattled, because for who knows how long the horrors of the universe have been playing through his head. Everything he ever did wrong. He shakes with it.

“Im supposed to be the only one to fucking interfere here!” It shrieks, pacing wildly again. “And you. You. Every Time it’s you.” He’s gonna throw up.

“It’s always you. Somehow, you keep waking up! Those nightmares are supposed to keep you asleep. You’re supposed to stay dead.” It continues on its rant. “If I fucking kill you right here will you stay dead? I doubt it! And that shouldn’t be possible! No one else is supposed to have any play here but men!” It’s practically panting with frustration. Castiel wishes he was still dead. That’d be better than this.

“You know what?” It spins around so quickly he’s surprised it didn’t fall. It’s heaving, shaking. Fully enraged. Castiel stares. Closes his eyes.

“Please, fuck. Jesus. Jesus christ. Castiel, you stupid, stupid son of a bitch. Fuck. Jesus. Please.” Dean is begging, on his knees and he can’t stop. Tears stream down his face and he’s shaking all over, rage filling to his core, mixing with the despair that’s oozing out of him. He can’t do this, doesn’t understand why it has to be this way.

He takes a shaking breath, and it hurts. “Jesus. Jesus Christ. I love you, man. Please. Fuck. Can you hear this? Can you?” He asks into the empty room, hands squeezing together as hard as possible as he continues to pull in a breath. He’s shaking so hard he thinks he may crumble.

“I love— fuck.” He still struggles to get it out. He hates himself for it. Why can’t he say it? He should’ve said it. He can fucking say it. His hands fall and he’s hitting himself in the legs as hard as he can, sobbing and leaning over, re-pressing his hands together on the floor, whole body leaning over. “I love you, Cas. Castiel. I love you, fuck, please. Jesus, I can’t- Fuck. Please, I can’t.” He begs, and he can’t breathe. He can’t—

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. Eventually he scooted himself back against the wall, hands rubbing against his skull. He can’t do this. He lost everyone. Everyone. Everyone is gone. His head is spinning and he doesn’t know what to do. He needs— he needs to drink. Needs to forget.

He stands up, still shaking. He can’t stop fucking shaking. His head is already spinning. He doesn’t care.

He slams 5 beers as soon as he reaches the kitchen. It’s not enough. Doesn’t feel like enough. He’s still shaking and he can’t stop thinking. He wants his head to be empty. Needs it to be. He needs it.

He drinks 5 more. He thinks it’s 5, at least. And despite this he thinks he’s feeling too much. He hates this. Hates being alive. He’s so fucking hollow he doesn’t know how to take it.

And then he’s driving, though he doesn’t remember getting in. His hands are tight against the steering wheel and he feels dizzy and a little delirious. Was he out here for something? He can’t seem to remember. Maybe he was supposed to go shopping. Yeah. That must be it. They’re low on food.

He keeps driving, but he’s feeling so dizzy that he— he needs to pull over.

As soon as he’s out of the car he’s throwing up. He kneels over, body convulsing as he vomits excessively. It’s making him feel more dizzy and it fucking hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. His throat burns when it’s over and he’s heaving. Damn it.

“Fuck.” He heaves out, hands gripping the grass so tight that his knuckles are turning white. “Fuck! Damn it, fucking damn it!” He shouts, and it hurts, throat sore and he fucking hates it. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck!” Someone is gonna think he’s crazy if they hear him. He punches baby, his precious car over and over. No damage is done besides that now, his knuckles sting. They’re sore, bruised and bleeding. He can’t make himself care.

He’s back in the car and sitting in silence. He can’t see right and he has a migraine so bad it’s rattling his head. He wants to die.

Once he’s parked outside of a store he stumbles out, knuckles pulsing and blood dried all over them. He’s in the store and it feels like everyone is fucking staring. Fuck, they probably are. Who cares, he doesn’t care. Why is he here? He pauses, looking around. Ah. Right. Groceries. He can buy groceries, no problemo.

He pushes around the cart, grabbing copious amount’s anything that catches his eye. Then he’s back in the car. He’s not too sure he remembers it being this dark. Whatever. He wants to drink again.

He does. He’s stopped at a bar, inside and he can't count how much he’s already drank.

“You might wanna slow down there, bud.” He looks up as the bartender approaches him, speaking calmly to him. He stares. He doesn’t know why it aggravates him so much.

He scoffs, hand gripping the bottle he has in hands. “You can fuck yourself. I don’t gotta do shit.” He snaps out, and the bartender doesn’t seem to have much of a reaction to it. Guilt gnaws at his core, either way.

“Uh-huh. You got someone taking you home?” He asks, and it makes Dean seethe. He stands up abruptly, slamming money down on the table.

“Yeah, I sure fucking do!” He shouts, making the bar quiet down. “Matter of fact they’re here right fucking now.” He spits out, and turns around so quick it gives him whiplash. He runs into multiple people on the way out, aggravating everyone and he can hear the murmuring once he does it.

He’s just like his fucking father. Mean old fucking drunk. His dad would probably want to kill him right now. Throw him around and beat him and make him feel worthless to his core. He would deserve it. He wants to be hurt so bad. He deserves it, he needs to fucking die. He remembers the look on his dad’s face the first time the man realized what a disappointment Dean really is. Fucking stupid failure. Piece of shit. He can’t fucking do anything right.

His father hates him. His mother would hate him. Fuck, she probably did. Worthless. Fucking stupid. Sammy hates him too, Cas hates him. Fuck.

They all hate him. Fuck it. Fuck John, Fuck Mary, fuck Sam. Fuck Cas. Fuck everyone and anything they think. He’s fine. He’s fucking fine.

He can’t stop fucking shaking. He doesn’t know how long he’s been shaking for. His hands are shaking hard on the wheel. He starts hitting it frantically. “Fuck! Fuck this!” He yells into the empty car, swerving on the road.

He stops again on the side of the road, pacing around frantically. He’s fucking fine. He’s punching himself in the arms, punching the car and hitting anything he can. He’s fucking fine. He’s back in the car, knuckles gushing blood at this point. Whatever. Fuck it, who fucking cares.

He wants to drink. He wants to smoke. Wants to have sex. Wants to kill himself. He wants to fucking die. Who fucking cares. Fuck it. Everything hurts. Who cares.

He’s back in front of the bunker before he knows it. He paces around outside for a while before he grabs all the groceries. His hands are aching. He refuses to make a second trip, carrying all the bags at once.

Once he’s inside, he places the bags on the counter. And then he can hear someone - Sam. Running into the room. “Dean?” He says, sounding angry. Fuck him. “Dean! Shit, man!” He says again once he’s facing him. “Where the hell— what the hell— where were you?! I called you like 10 times, man!” His brows are furrowed and he’s looking between Dean and the bags.

“You’re not my fucking father!” Dean spits back. “I didn’t get the fucking calls, what the fuck ever.” He stops getting things out of the bags, hands rested on the counter. They’re pulsing, aching pains filling his bones. There’s so much blood on them, now that he’s really looking. They’re covered in blood along with his sleeves. He reeks of alcohol. Guilt fills his soul. “I bought groceries.” He says, with much less venom. His head is screaming at him. Sam looks at the bags, then back to him.

“I can see that,” he starts, then staring at his hands. “Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?” He says, stepping forward and looking at Dean’s hand. Dean flinches back. He doesn’t fucking know why. Sam stares harder at him for a moment. “Did you… Did you get into a fight? Was there a monster? What happened?” Sam asks, and it’s making Dean shake. He feels fucking furious. He’s fucking fine.

“No, and fucking no! Im fucking fine, Sam. Leave it be!” He screams back, way too loud and it’s ringing in his own ears. He feels so guilty, but he’s mad. He’s fucking

and he wants to kill himself. He wishes he was dead. Fuck. Fucking fuck. “Nothing is fucking wrong. I dunno why you gotta fucking nag at me! Im fine! Nothing is wrong!” He’s still shouting. Sam just stands there, and now that he’s this close he can see that Sam looks more concerned than angry. Looks like he’s been crying like a little baby. Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with him?

He’s supposed to protect Sam, it’s his duty and here he is just fucking screaming at him because he’s fucking worthless. Worthless piece of shit who can’t do anything right. John would be so disappointed. Dean should kill himself, bash his own fucking head in. Anything. Fuck this, fuck this fucking shit.

Sam runs his hands down his face. “Damn it, Dean.” He mutters, sighing. “Just— stop it. Go wash your hands, man. You’re gettin’ blood everywhere. I’ll put away all of this shit.” Sam says, giving him some sort of ‘I’m not fucking around’ look. Dean scoffs, shaking so hard still he might explode. He slams his fists on the counter, walking away to the bathroom. He slams the door, locking it and turning on the sink. He stares at himself in the mirror, and it makes rage fill in his entire being even stronger.

He’s disgusting. Fucking ugly and worthless. He’s a sinner and has done nothing good in his entire sad fucking life. “Damn it. Fucking damn it!” He grits out, hands shaking at his sides and he’s clenching his fists so hard, he doesn’t know how it’s possible. They fucking ache so bad. He fucking deserves it. He’s worthless.

He’s a sinner. Dirty fucking disgusting sinner. He deserves to be hated, dead rotting in the ground. He never deserved to come back

He misses Cas. Fucking idiot. What the fuck is wrong with him? He can’t even fucking say I love you back, cause he’s such a dumb fucking stupid idiot. Piece of shit loser who can’t even say normal fucking words that everyone uses. Worthless.

John would get a fucking kick out of that to. His son loves a man. What a fucking dissapointment, going against everything he was taught. Fucking idiot.

He wants to punch something.

He does.

He punches the mirror so fast and hard he barely remembers it. It shatters in an instant and he’s still punching it, until he grabs the glass that’s shattered everywhere— into the sink, on the ground, across the toilet. In his hands, and he’s grabbing so hard it’s punching through his palms and he’s slammed himself against the wall, falling to his ass on the floor and there is blood gushing everywhere all over. His hands ache so bad and there’s blood everywhere. On his knuckles, gushing. Gushing from his palms and he just keeps pressing harder, keeping his hands closed because he deserves it. Fucking deserves it because he’s such a worthless, disgusting piece of shit.

He didn’t notice Sam slamming on the door. Or Sam saying his name, or the lock picking until Sam is in front of him on the floor. Kneeling, talking to him. He blinks hard, flinching back. Where the fuck— he doesn’t know where hs is. What the fuck, what the fuck!

The person in front of him is still talking, he’s squeezing his eyes shut, shaking violently against the floor. He’s sweating and there’s blood everywhere and he fucking reeks.

“Dean! Dean, damn it— shit.” Sam. Oh. Sammy. His eyes are open again and he’s staring at him, tears streaming down his own face. Sam looks like he’s freaking out. “Hey. Hey, fuck. Can you show me your hands? Please?” He asks, and Dean stares for a moment before he puts his hands out. “Open em’, please man. C’mon.” He says, and Dean lets his hands open, shards of glass dropping out of both of them. They’re shaking and they fucking hurt. Sam exhales. “Shit. Okay. Jesus, Dean. Okay.” Sam is standing, quickly getting the medical supplies out of the bathroom cabinet. Dean feels hysterical.

“M’sorry, Sammy. I’m so - Im so sorry. Im sorry, Sam.” He repeats over and over, struggling to breathe and he’a sobbing. He feels like a fucking baby. Fucking worthless.

“Shh, shit dean. It’s okay. Shit.”

The rest of what happens is a blur. He’s sitting on the couch, he thinks. Blinking at whatever is in front of him, head swimming. It hurts so fucking bad. Everything hurts.

He jumps when he hears someone - Oh. Sam’s voice. blinking until it’s not blurry and then turning his head to look at him. “You sure bought a shit load of pie.” He says, placing a plate of it down. “And alcohol.” He says, giving Dean a look. “Can’t be having that tho, clearly.” He mumbles, and Dean stares at his hands. They really hurt. They aren’t covered in blood anymore, though. They’re all bandaged up.

“Oh. Yeah.” He says, voice scratchy. He feels fucking exhausted. “Im sorry.” He says, and he can feel Sam’s frown.

“It’s fine, Dean, really. You just… Need a break. Let’s take a break, yeah? We can watch whatever you want, too. Eat pie, whatever.” He says, sitting on the floor and placing his plate down - which has a salad, not pie. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Kay… Okay, Sammy.” He nods, bringing a shaking hand to grab his fork. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“Jesus, Dean. It’s okay. Let’s just eat, okay? What do you wanna watch?” He asks.

“I dunno, Sammy. I’m sorry.” He says again, and Sam sighs. He ends up turning on scooby doo. Dean just holds his fork, not actually eating. He’s not fucking hungry. He wants to kill himself. What is wrong with him.

He wants to die. He needs to fucking die.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel novak #sam winchester #deancas #casdean #destiel fanfic