Dean x Reader One Shots

The Bravest Man (Heartbreak) (Imagine writing to Dean because you can't stay)

Summary: Imagine writing to Dean after realizing you can't stay with him anymore.

Word Count: 2,865

You sealed the envelope with your tongue, something you hated doing after having worked so many office jobs, but you knew this was likely going to be the last envelope you'd lick, the last letter you'd write, the last time you'd bother with emotional monologues, the last time you'd bother try to bring someone back from over the edge. It had been a week, after all, a week of murder and torture and your constantly trying to clean up after it—even Sam was getting discouraged, the fighter that he was. He loved him, you knew it with your whole heart, but he was tired. Castiel was tired. You were all tired.

So maybe you were a coward. Hell, you knew you were a coward. You knew what you were doing, knew there was a much greater chance that you were about to do far more harm than good, but you couldn't do much to control your emotions anymore. Your insides ached from the wicked emotion that flowed through you at such a high, nearly lethal velocity, your soul had begun peeling away, one layer at a time months ago and by now you figured it must be nothing more than a hard pit of logic and the smallest bit of emotion.

You always figured a soul was like that, like a fruit or something. There was the pit, the hardest and most secure part that was your logic, your most primal and instinctual self that might be cold and hard, but it was what you needed to survive. It wasn't going to shake, wasn't going to break, wasn't going to soften into something weak and fragile that could be easily killed or taken. Surrounding the pit was the kindness, the love, the overwhelming sense of admiration you once held, but you knew that fluff had long since burned away, been ripped away by a devastating mixture of circumstance and whatever ghost was left behind after love leaves a person's body. You were just a pit, now, with the smallest amount of goodness left, which you put into the letter you now held, sealed, in your hand.

You hadn't cried, hadn't really felt much of anything but somehow that didn't surprise you. It was hard to feel these days, hard to acknowledge the difference between heartbreak and love and anger and homicidal wishes. Honestly you were surprised that he had lasted this long, that Sam had stayed with him, that Castiel held hope that he was still somewhere inside that shell of what used to be the most righteous and loving man you'd ever met.

You had a lot of things running through your mind while you wrote that letter, a lot of the good memories that would normally have made your heart ache, a lot of the not-so-good ones that ended far differently than the not-so-good incidents of present day. Thoughts of how his morals had changed over the years, how his priorities were mostly the same but skewed a bit to the side, how you watched by helplessly as his heart morphed into stone. You had thought about the first day you'd met him, how flirtatious and frankly annoying he had been, how persistent he was, how surprised you were to see that there was layer after layer hidden behind a pair of green eyes and freckle-clad cheeks. How surprised you were to see him smile after learning what darkness he carried.

Or maybe the time he broke into your apartment late one night and cleaned up after you called him and mentioned offhandedly that you needed to clean but had no motivation to do it.

Or maybe the time he took you to an orchestra concert even though you knew he hated orchestra music and you never truly told him it interested you; you were still curious as to how he knew, how he could possibly have figured it out. Maybe he knew you so well from the start, maybe he was so willing to put time in that he fixed your puzzle before you even knew you had one.

Or maybe the mornings you used to spend together, not waking up until eleven or twelve o'clock and then making pancakes, sometimes waffles when you were feeling especially ambitious. Maybe the times he would wrap his arms around your waist and tickle the back of your ear with his lips, sending shivers down your spine and a laugh from your mouth while you twitched away, knowing full well that he was only doing that because he knew it was your tickle spot. You threw pancake batter at him once, got him right in the eye, and somehow he managed to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, laughter making his upper body shake while he ran into your bedroom and threw you onto the bed before pouring his own cup of batter on you. You hadn't even known he had carried the batter with him, so you were especially surprised when the goopy mess made its way down your shirt and into your belly button.