therapy | destiel

Chapter Eight

Jack's POV

Dean still has not returned.

I do not know where he has gone, and neither does Sam. I find that unsettling, but Sam does not feel it merits his worry. He says that Dean just needs space.

There is space here, why does he have to leave? It is too cold to be out there without proper protection. However, Sam knows Dean better than I, so I settle into the cushions of the couch, leaving the second bed open for Dean, when he gets back.

Sam is out almost instantly. I do not have that skill. I lay back, my eyes tracing the pattern on the ceiling.

Still, I cannot sleep. Something is bothering me, but I cannot figure it out. Plumping the pillows, I try adjusting my accommodations. Then, I try getting a glass of water. After that, a bite to eat.

Nothing helps.

Hours seem to tick by. Dean is still not back. His bed lays there, open and inviting. It does not take long for me to give in.

The bed is much more comfortable than the lumpy couch, but again, I cannot sleep. Apparently the problem does not lie in the quality of mattress.

As I lay there, I am hit with the strangest feeling. Pain, but not my own. It is so poignant, so sharp and clear. Without even thinking, I make my way to the door, remembering to grab my coat, and follow the trail of agony into the woods.

—

When I stumble upon the source of the pain, it does not surprise me to see Dean Winchester in the centre of it. What does surprise me, however, are the twin tracks of tears and the fist that he keeps slamming into the ground.

I now know why monsters are terrified of Dean Winchester.

As I come closer, I can see him sobbing. Whether from physical pain or mental anguish, it is impossible to tell. Probably both.

Slowly, carefully, I approach him. Though I try my best not to startle him, he still jumps at the sight of me. It's painful to see a man like Dean Winchester in such a state, but it is, at the same time, humbling.

Gently, I take his hand and wrap it in cloth. I'll bandage it better once we get back to the motel. All the while, I speak softly to him, just like Sam did for me.

I pull him to his feet, and notice that his pistol is laying on the ground. I pick it up and tuck it in my belt before proceeding to lead Dean back to the room.

I suppose it is true, I think as I guide him home. Dean Winchester truly did love the angel Castiel. With all his heart.