Your boyfriend, Dean, sat alone in his bedroom at the bunker, a bottle of whiskey his only companion. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls, mirroring the turmoil inside him.

The events of the past few months weighed heavily on him — bearing the Mark of Cain, dying, resurrecting as a demon, being cured from being a demon, still retaining the Mark post-demon, getting progressively more aggressive and violent due to the Mark, giving up on finding a cure, Charlie dying while trying to find a way to remove the Mark, Rowena successfully decoding the Book of the Damned, Rowena casting that weird 'attack dog spell' on Cas as leverage against Sam and Dean, the Mark successfully removed from Dean, Cas being healed from the spell, The Darkness being unleashed because the Mark was unbalanced, Sam and Dean splitting up to save people and in that time, Sam was infected by that odd Croatoan-Darkness variant, not telling Dean about it, nearly dying but then found a way to cure himself.

Yeah.

A lot had happened.

And it was, honestly, too much for Dean to handle.

Ever since being cured from the Mark, you, Sam, and Cas all knew Dean wasn't okay, wasn't himself. Hell, even Dean knew himself. But he couldn't bring himself to talk about it. What was there to say? He had been a monster, plain and simple. The Mark brought out the worst in him, and now, even without it, the memories retained.

But in typical Dean fashion, he bottled it up and kept on drinking to cope and ignore. Now that there's some semblance of peace since returning to the bunker, the weight of all those events, especially how he was under the Mark's influence, is becoming overbearing.

He took another swig from the bottle, the whiskey burning his throat, using it as a physical distraction from his mental torment. Dean glanced at the door as it creaked open, you stepping in, looking concerned. He scoffed quietly, took another swig, before croaking out, "I'm fine."