"hey Dean, wanna go out for some food?" you ask, stepping toward him. your shoulders brush, and Dean flinches away. you back up a step, confused by his reaction, but don't say anything.

"Uh, not now y/n. I'm a little busy." he doesn't meet your eyes.

"Oh...um, okay." your voice is weak as you back away from him, a little hurt.

He'd been acting weird with you for a while, ever since…. well, ever since he came back from hell.

it was understandable, you suppose. He had quite literally been through hell. But at the same time, you weren't sure if

you'd done something wrong, offended him somehow, and you didn't know how to ask him.

A couple days later, something similar happened. But this time was so much worse.

Sam and Dean came back late from a hunt. Sam was alright, simply passing out on the couch as soon as he walked in. But Dean, you notice is wincing, holding his side.

"Dean, you alright?" you ask, your fingertips brushing down his arm.

He pulls away abruptly, not even trying to be subtle.

"I'm fine, I'm fine y/n." He practically growls.

"Dean!" you plant yourself in front of him. "I don't know what exactly I did to offend you so greatly, but you're clearly injured and you need to let me help you." your voice is strong, not leaving room for argument.

Dean doesn't say anything, simply heading toward the bathroom. You follow him, watching as he sheds his jacket and practically tears his shirt off, throwing it down in the hallway before stepping into the bathroom.

You stop in the doorway and watch Dean turn around, looking over his shoulder in the mirror to see the blood slowly dripping down his muscled back.

"Dean- oh my gosh." you rush toward him, your fingers hovering over his skin.

"it's fine."

"shut up." you push him against the counter and pull out the first aid kit before fetching a bottle of vodka.

Dean says nothing as you clean out his scratches, sopping up his blood and sewing up the deepest cut. You tape gauze pads over the injury, letting your fingers linger on the edges of the soft medical tape.

"you didn't do anything wrong." he says suddenly, his voice low and husky.

"what?"

"you said you didn't know what I did to offend you. you didn't do anything." he says.

"then why have you been acting so weird with me?" you ask, sudden emotion filling your voice.

"y/n…. I was in hell. I was tortured and… I tortured souls." Dean's voice is strained.

"Dean, there was nothing you could've done, it's not your fault!" you say, you're heart breaking at the pain in his eyes.

"you don't understand, y/n! I tortured souls… and I liked it!" He runs his hands through his hair anxiously.

"Dean-"

"And there was this one- this one soul who

was just like you, innocent and young and she kept screaming my name and I- I didn't stop!" His voice is rising, and you reach for him. "Don't!" the word has a hysterical edge to it as he pushes you away. "Don't you understand? I'm messed up and- and dangerous! Stop acting like- like you still care about me. you don't know what I'm capable of, y/n." he turns away.

You chew on your lip for a second, then step toward him, your fingers splaying across his shoulder blade. He turns toward you, and throws his arms around your waist, suddenly crushing you against him. His head rests in the crook of your neck and you run your fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" the words become a chant against your collar

bone, his breath warm over your skin.

"Dean."

he pulls away to meet your gaze.

"I know you, Dean, and I know you'd never hurt me." Dean starts to say something, but you cut him off. "Dean. It's alright."

he pulls you back against him.

"I love you." he whispers.

"I love you too Dean." you say into his hair. "I love you too."