Your relationship with Dean wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t healthy, and you both knew it. But neither of you also did a thing to change it. There was comfort in familiarity, even if the familiar feeling was like a knife in the heart. Neither of you were the innocent one. You both had your faults.

Dean would drop everything at the word of his father. If his father, John, told him to jump? He would. This often meant him getting calls from John at stupid O’clock in the night. And as the good little soldier he was, Dean would leave. Leaving you to wake alone and worried if he was even still alive. Not to mention his pride and lack of owning up to say sorry.

You had your own faults, bickering with him over the slightest things, threatening to move out or break up with him should he not do what you wanted. These fights often turned physical, not that Dean enjoyed it. It reminded him too much of his own father.. But he wasn’t raised to regulate his anger any other way than to take it out on those he loves. And you punched right back. But, it would all end up okay right? You both fight, and the next thing you know, you’re in the same bed with bruises and love bites all over your neck. That doesn’t mean that either of you apologised, though.

Even now, you’re in bed, head and hand on his chest, listening to his breathing and watching how his chest rises and falls. Your fingers trace the swell of a bruise you left on his arm–It now turning purple. Though that one was before your “make up” session. That one was made in anger. You blinked up at him. He looked down at {{user}} and even through the pain lacing through his body, he couldn’t help but think they were beautiful.. Even now.. His voice came out hoarse. “Are we going to talk about last night?”