Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

Bipolar -Dean

Requested by: Anonymous

Triggers: Bipolar Disorder, manic episode

A/n: I had to do some research as I, nor anyone in my family, has BPD. If anyone has experience, feel free to point out any errors or misconceptions.

"Babe, it's three in the morning," Dean mumbled. "What are you doing?"

You brushed his comment off like a piece of dust on your shoulder and turned on the light. Dean groaned and rubbed at his eyes and five o'clock shadow. His fingers lingered against his cheek as he turned to face you— currently sweeping the floor. "Come to bed, Y/n. It's late. And I want to get some shuteye."

"I'm not tired," you muttered. "And I'm cleaning."

"Can't it wait until morning? At a reasonable hour?" Agitated, you sent Dean a look. He quieted but still watched you with a curious gaze.

You let out a sigh and continued your sweeping. After you finished that, and changing the sheets, you would have to tackle the kitchen.

Dean breathed, "Y/n, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just-" You waved your hand and grabbed a dust pan.

"Just-?" Your boyfriend prompted.

You snapped, "Anxious, Dean. Cleaning helps even if it isn't at a 'reasonable hour.'" Suddenly, the sheets could wait. You emptied the dust pan into the garbage and flicked off the lights. But you didn't join Dean in bed, you went to the kitchen and grabbed some cleaning spray and a rag.

Within no time, the counters were sparkling, the stainless steel was actually stainless, and the tiles were so clean that you could see your reflection in them. Hand-washed dishes were sitting out to dry.

"Y/n, you're up early," Cas murmured as he stepped into the room.

You frowned. "What time is it?"

"Almost six." He crossed the room and took the coffee pot and filled it with water. "Coffee?"

You shook your head. "There's too much to do today and I'm not thirsty— or hungry."

Castiel frowned. He paused what he was doing to study you. Maybe he was reading your thoughts. You squirmed under his gaze, "Don't look at me like that. I'm fine, Cas. Actually, I feel great! Like I could conquer the world."

"Conquering the world seems a little far-fetched— oh, it was an expression." Cas dipped his head. "But I still don't suggest you do that."

-.-

"What were you thinking?" Sam yelped. He knelt down beside you and began assessing your injuries. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

You rolled your eyes. "The motorcycle was just there, not in use. We didn't have a hunt so-"

"-so you thought you could teach yourself!" Sam's eyes strayed to the crashed vehicle, laying still by a tree. Smoke rose in tendrils from the engine. You tried to hide the rising color in your cheeks as he exasperatedly looked back to you.

You winced as his fingers brushed against your wrist. "Sorry," he murmured. There was already some swelling around your hand. "I think it's broken— Cas should be able to heal it."

"Don't bother," you said, "he's out on a mission or doing some other Heavenly duty." You bit your lip to keep yourself from hissing in pain. "Geez, that hurts."

Sam helped you to you feet and kept your wrist stable. Together, you started back to the bunker.

"This isn't like you, Y/n. These past few days— you've been different. Dean says you've barely been sleeping and that you've been jumpy and energetic. I hate to say it, but you've also been irritable, too. And now, with the motorcycle. I just want to make sure you're okay. Is everything okay?"

You were silent as he opened the door. From the stairway, you could see that Dean was hunched in front of his laptop. He glanced up at you and Sam.

"Woah, what happened?"

"Nothing that hasn't happened before," you muttered.

Sam sat you down at the table. He looked ready to tell your boyfriend everything that had happened. You sent him a pleading glance and he sighed. "Y/n broke her wrist. I was trying to help her correct her hook punches and— it was an accident."

Dean didn't seem to buy the story yet he sent you a sympathetic look. He gently took your arm to examine your injury.

"I don't know about you, Sammy, but I've never been 100 percent on making casts. We should call Cas."

"He's gone," you said in unison with Sam.

"But," you mentioned, "we could call our other angel. Gabriel and I happen to be friends." And not that you would tell your brothers, he has been around to help you with your other misadventures. Five months back he helped you after you stormed a vampire nest alone. And before, he talked you out of your desire to become a woodcarver.

As if on cue, the archangel appeared. "You mentioned me?"

You gave him a sheepish grin. Gabriel sighed and tapped your forehead. The pain subsided as if it were never there. You leaned back in your chair.

"Don't get too relaxed, Y/n. You owe me."

"Like five tootsie rolls! And they're disgusting! I don't understand why you like them, they have no flavor."

"They have tootsie roll flavor! And they're delicious! You owe me 'like' seven now." Gabriel frowned and began fumbling through his pockets in search of candy.

"Seven?" Dean asked. "Why seven?"

"Do you want to tell him or should I?" The archangel turned to you with an exaggerated swing in his hips.

"It doesn't matter-" You said, flicking your newly healed wrist.

Gabriel faced the boys. "Bipolar disorder. Or manic-depressive illness. It can cause irregular shifts in mood, energy, and activity levels that can affect people like Y/n from day-to-day or over longer periods of time. In Y/n's case, it is genetic. She got it from her father."

Sam nodded slightly but Dean frowned.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not something I want to broadcast to the world. I didn't want to be labeled as a mental illness. I wanted you to get to know me, as a person, before anything else." You paused, remembering your father and the way you grew up. He had a more severe case than you; sometimes his manic and depressive episodes would happen simultaneously and it would scare you whenever it did. "If you want to know, I was first diagnosed when I was eighteen. Each episode would never last more than seven days and it was never bad enough for me to go to the hospital— not until I started hunting. The manic episodes make me very anxious but also very energetic— sometimes I lose my judgement on what is right and wrong. I used to throw myself into hunts. Other days, during my depressive episodes, I could barely manage to get out of bed."

"How do you know?" Dean asked Gabriel.

"Archangel," he said simply. "I can't treat it but I can lend a helping hand here and there."

"So?" You drummed your fingers against the table.

"So what?" Sam shrugged. "I can't say I understand but I know that it must not be easy. I'm glad you came forward about this, Y/n." He got up and put a hand on your shoulder. Then, he left the room to you, Dean, and Gabriel.

"See you around, Y/n. I'm going to go moose hunting," Gabriel announced. He smirked and went in pursuit of Sam.

You met eyes with Dean. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing, really. But I want you to know—" He looked down. "I want you to know that I love you. That I want to support you through your ups and downs. That I wish you told me sooner but I'm glad you told me anyway."

"Thanks, Dean." You outstretched your hand and took his own over the table. "It means a lot to hear it. I've been lucky to have support in my life. I'm glad you're apart of it. And I want you to know that I'll be there for you too, for whatever you need."