The Heavier Things
Supernatural fics that deal in heavier topics, such as musings on bodily autonomy and abuse.
(Closed, Unmoderated)
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Summary
Dean Winchester walks out of state prison with nothing but the clothes on his back and the ghosts of every mistake he’s ever made. Living under his brother’s roof means rules, curfews, and constant supervision—measures meant to keep him steady, to keep him clean. But loneliness is a dangerous thing, and Dean’s restlessness eventually leads him to the last place he ever thought he’d go: a church.
That’s where he meets Castiel—quiet, widowed, and hiding behind walls no one dares to climb. Dean’s never been good at boundaries, and something in Castiel’s sadness calls to him like a prayer. What begins as hesitant conversation turns into lingering glances, then late-night confessions whispered in the dark.
Dean doesn’t know if Castiel is salvation or sin—only that being near him feels like breathing for the first time. And when friendship starts to blur into something far more dangerous, both men are forced to decide whether love born in brokenness can still be holy.
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Loneliness brought him to the church. Desire made him stay. Love might just save him.
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Dean is fragile—like the silence that has made home in his throat. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, when it’s just him and his cold, dark and empty room, Dean would reach up and feel his own face—a baseless need to make sure he hasn’t turned into mist or whatever. It’s not that Dean’s lost his voice or anything—he can feel it down in his throat, though it’s rattling in his chest, stuck and unmoving. Every time he tries to speak, the weight of each word presses down on his chest until he feels his ribs ache, like he’s having compressions done on him and his bones are starting to cave under the pressure. There’s something vaguely familiar about this feeling—an urge to make himself as small as he can until he sinks into the walls. Everything around him feels out of place, and a size bigger—the bunker, his room, his own skin—with too many empty spaces like an ill-fitting suit. He could pull a few words out of his throat if he pushes hard enough, but Dean’s so goddamn exhausted.
But, even when he feels like a shadow of who he used to be, Cas is still the one thing that makes him feel more alive than his own burdened beating heart.
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After Michael, Dean stops talking.
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Summary
Dean has been procrastinating on his suicide for a long time.
It's been years now, he thinks. Like yet another apocalypse that's been happening silently in the background of all the others the Winchester brothers keep surviving. But this one, this special apocalypse is his own, personal, intimate one.
Mary died a year ago, already. At forty-one, Dean's body has been broken so many times he can't hunt anymore. His relationship with Sam is slowly dying out and Cas only visits once every few weeks.
He's alone.
So he tries to blow his head off. He misses, of course, like the failure he is.
But Cas comes back into his life when he's the most needed. He tends to his wounds and tries to help Dean exhume what's been buried for decades: himself.
What if Dean actually likes talking about his feelings? What if he doesn't want to lie anymore? What if he's not straight? What if he's not who he thought he was?
What if there's still hope?
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Summary
Dean isn't entirely sure why he chooses to let Castiel read the torn-out journal pages where John detailed some of the worst things he put Dean through as a boy, but he does. It sets off a months-long chain reaction that eventually culminates in something far more honest and tender than Dean feels like he's worthy of.
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Please see author's note for more detailed info on the archive warnings, as non-con and underage sex do not necessarily occur directly in the fic, but are discussed at length as part of Dean's past and as part of a case they are investigating. -
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Summary
Cas comes back to the edge of the bed, a hand outstretched. "Dean?"
"Yeah."
Cas touches him, and he feels that sickening rush of mending, skin growing under fresh scabs. Bone grinds in his chest as a rib shifts minutely—he didn't even realize it was fucking broken. The pink and green hotel room snaps into a disgusting level of focus and he's left with cottonmouth and a faint headache but none of that blanketing drunken numbness, his pain both dragged to the forefront and almost completely diminished.
He jerks away from Cas too late to make a difference. "Fucking hell," he starts, then closes his eyes and takes in a few gasping breaths. This is wrong, he's not ready to stop hurting. This is wrong.Cas returns to their lonely hotel room as Dean is picking up the pieces of a really bad night. Set during season four, when Dean and Sam are on the outs. Content warning for brief but specific references to real-world hate crimes.