you and dean had fought— again. same fight, different night. he always came back though. it was always hours later and he was always quiet and guarded, but he came back.

except this time, he didn’t.

you waited, phone in your hand, tension eating at your chest until it hurt to breathe. the two of you never left things bad, never went without making up, but apparently tonight was different. eventually, sleep pulled you under, your heart heavy.

it was past two am when the door finally opened. he didn’t say anything, just stood there, blood on his hands, a fresh cut across his cheek. whatever he got caught up in had gone too long, and he was feeling the guilt for it now.

he sighed quietly, tossing his jacket somewhere on the floor. he took his boots off, and shirt peeled over his head, then he was in bed beside you— gentle and careful.

his fingers brushed your hair back, jaw clenched. “i didn’t mean to stay gone.” he mumbled, like a confession, voice rough and full of guilt. “i’m here now, i’m not mad.” he whispered the last part, knowing the amount of time he was gone for had probably messed with your head.