Work Text:
The hunt had gone wrong. It was supposed to be a typical gig—two brothers fighting off a supernatural creature, saving lives. But something had gone sideways, fast. Sam made a decision in the heat of the moment, a choice that had cost two innocent lives: a young man barely in his twenties and a mother holding her child. Their faces wouldn’t stop flashing before his eyes, haunting him in the moments he let his guard down.
And, if he were honest, it wasn’t just this one hunt that haunted him. It was years of similar mistakes, memories stacked up like a crumbling tower of regret. Lives lost, loved ones gone. A cycle that Sam couldn’t shake, one he couldn’t simply walk away from, no matter how desperately he sometimes wanted to. And it wasn’t just guilt—it was a weight, an endless push and pull of anger, self-doubt, and self-hatred that gnawed at him constantly.
Lately, he’d noticed the swings more than ever. He’d had moments of anger, like with Brady all those years ago, where he lost himself, almost on the edge of going too far. Dean had tried to reel him back in, to ground him, but Sam knew that once he got wrapped up in something, he could hardly let go. He couldn’t count the times he’d obsessively pushed to get revenge on Yellow Eyes, to kill Lilith, to finish the Trials. And then, just as suddenly as his motivation came, he’d find himself questioning everything, feeling like he’d missed the mark, wondering if he’d ever really been cut out for this life.
He’d never told anyone, but he suspected it might be something deeper, something he couldn’t just control through willpower alone. Bipolar disorder, he’d considered the possibility, though it was a scary label to carry. But it explained some things, the way his moods swung without warning, his tendency to obsess over things that spiraled beyond his control. It was more than simple sadness or anger; it was a mix of highs and lows, feeling on top of the world one minute and in the depths of despair the next.
Sam’s struggles with detachment were another thing that gnawed at him. He wanted so badly to connect with people, to trust and to love. But he’d been hurt too many times, and the walls were hard to tear down. With Dean, he had his guard down, but even then, it was Dean who connected first, Dean who would trust someone new, consider them family before Sam could bring himself to.
The truth was, Sam loved his brother more than anything, and he knew Dean had sacrificed more than he’d ever admit. Dean had given everything for Sam, always stepping in to save him. Sam had returned the favor when he could, but he’d always felt that he wasn’t quite enough, that he fell short of the loyalty and devotion Dean offered without question. In his lowest moments, it made him wonder if he was as selfless as he thought, if maybe his own desires had gotten in the way of fully being there for his brother.
Sam took a deep breath, feeling the all-too-familiar sting of self-loathing creeping in. He’d lost count of how many times he’d tried to escape this life—how many times he’d told himself that if he could just walk away, he could finally be free. But something always dragged him back, and he knew it wasn’t just obligation or family duty. There was a part of him, a part he struggled to admit to, that felt he could never deserve a normal life. Year after year, he’d fight to prove himself worthy, to scrub away the curse he felt he’d been born with, but he could never quite believe it was enough.
Lately, he’d felt the depression sink in deeper. In his lowest times, he remembered the Cage, Lucifer’s taunting voice telling him he was broken, and it felt all too real. There was a knock on his door, and Castiel’s familiar voice called softly from outside.
“Sam?” Cas’s voice was gentle, a quiet understanding in his tone.
Sam swallowed hard, steadying himself. “Yeah, Cas?”
Cas entered, his expression pensive as he took in Sam’s appearance. “You haven’t been sleeping. I can feel the burden you’re carrying from across the hall.”
Sam tried to brush it off, offering a weak smile. “Just… having a rough week.”
Cas shook his head, looking right through the wall Sam was trying to put up. “It’s more than that, Sam. You’ve been struggling for a long time. I can see it in you.”
Sam sighed, feeling exposed and raw. “What am I supposed to do, Cas? This… this thing inside me, it doesn’t just go away.”
Cas took a step closer, placing a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’ve sacrificed so much, given so much of yourself. But this isn’t a burden you have to carry alone. Talking to someone—maybe a professional—could help you. Even just a little.”
Sam was quiet for a long moment, feeling the weight of Cas’s words sink in. “Therapy?”
Cas nodded. “There’s no shame in it, Sam. Sometimes, true strength is allowing yourself to accept help.”
The thought made Sam uncomfortable, but also… hopeful. It was a terrifying kind of vulnerability, but maybe, it was something he needed. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll try it.”
A few days later, Sam found himself sitting in Dr. Michaels’s office, feeling the strangeness of this new environment, the calm colors and soft lighting so different from the gritty world he lived in. Dr. Michaels sat across from him, her kind eyes steady as she watched him wrestle with what to say.
After a long silence, Sam spoke. “I don’t really know how to do this. There’s… there’s a lot. A lot of things I can’t explain.”
“That’s alright,” she replied gently. “You don’t have to explain everything at once.”
He hesitated, struggling to put words to the storm inside him. “I feel like… like I’m always fighting myself. Like I’m on this swing that never stops. One minute, I’m driven, like I could take on the world. The next… I feel like I’m trapped in my own skin, like I’m a failure.”
She nodded, listening intently. “That must feel exhausting, carrying that struggle alone.”
Sam let out a heavy breath, his hands clenched. “Yeah. I thought I could handle it. But sometimes… sometimes it’s like there’s a darkness in me, and no matter what I do, I can’t get rid of it.”
Dr. Michaels’s voice was steady, her words piercing through the silence. “Sam, it sounds like you may be dealing with something that goes deeper than simple sadness or anger. Bipolar disorder can present as cycles, highs and lows. What you’re describing fits with that kind of struggle.”
The word hit him hard, but he nodded slowly, taking it in. “Yeah. That… that makes sense. Sometimes it feels like I’m fighting an invisible war inside myself.”
Dr. Michaels offered a soft smile, her gaze full of compassion. “You don’t have to fight it alone.”
Back at the bunker, Sam knew he needed to talk to Dean. He found his brother in the kitchen, nursing a drink, and took a deep breath.
“Dean, I need to talk,” Sam began, struggling to find the words.
Dean looked up, his eyes softening as he noticed the look on Sam’s face. “Alright. I’m listening.”
Sam’s voice was shaky, but he pushed forward. “I’ve been… struggling. Since the Cage, since… everything. I think I might have… something like bipolar disorder. And I thought I could handle it, but… I don’t think I can. Not alone.”
Dean looked at him for a long moment, his face softening. “Sammy, you’ve never had to handle it alone. I’m here, and I always will be.”
Sam felt a lump in his throat, the weight of his brother’s support sinking in. “I know. It’s just… hard to ask for help. It feels like I should be stronger than this.”
Dean shook his head, his voice low but steady. “Sam, you’re the strongest person I know. You don’t have to prove that by keeping all this in.”
As Sam returned to his room that night, he felt lighter. Therapy was just the beginning, and he knew it would be a long road. But with Dean and Cas by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope that, maybe, he could finally start to find peace.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Castiel observed Sam carefully over the next few weeks. There was something different in the way Sam moved through the bunker, a quiet but noticeable change that seemed to have softened the sharp edges he’d once carried. Cas had seen Sam break down before, had seen him nearly shatter under the weight of guilt, grief, and responsibility. But this felt different. Sam’s pain hadn’t disappeared—it was still there, lingering in the background—but it seemed like a burden he was learning to carry rather than something crushing him.
It was that subtle shift that fascinated Cas. Angels didn’t heal in the same way humans did, or at least, that’s what he’d always believed. But Sam’s resilience, his willingness to face his own suffering through therapy, stirred something in Cas he hadn’t expected: a glimmer of hope that maybe, he too could find some measure of peace.
Because he’d been carrying his own burdens for so long. When he’d first come to Earth, he’d been so certain of his purpose, so sure of what was right and what was wrong. But somewhere along the way, his rigid convictions had given way to doubt, to mistakes he couldn’t take back. He’d rebelled, thinking he was doing what was best, only to hurt those closest to him. He’d thought he was protecting humanity, protecting Dean and Sam, but in the end, he’d only caused them more pain.
Cas could never forget the look in Dean’s eyes the first time he’d turned his back on them, the hunter’s eyes full with emotions and lingering hurt that seemed to echo the mistakes Cas could never fully atone for.
One evening, Cas and Sam were sitting in the bunker’s library, reading through some old Men of Letters records while Dean was out buying them dinner. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages. Cas watched Sam out of the corner of his eye, noting the faint ease in Sam’s posture that hadn’t been there before. He looked more relaxed this evening, which was a good sign.
Finally, Sam glanced up and met Cas’s gaze, holding it for a long moment. “You’ve been… different lately,” he said, his tone gentle but curious. “Is something on your mind?”
Cas hesitated, the question unsettling him in a way he hadn’t expected. He didn’t often talk about his own struggles; as an angel, as a soldier, he wasn’t supposed to have any issues. It was considered too human. But Sam’s gaze was open, inviting, and Cas felt a flicker of vulnerability that he couldn’t quite push away.
“I suppose…” the angel began slowly, choosing his words with care. “Watching you start with therapy… it’s made me think. About things I’ve done. About the people I’ve hurt.”
Sam tilted his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Cas, you’ve done a lot for us, for humanity. I know you’re always trying to make up for the past, but… maybe it’s time you found a way to let some of that go, too.”
The words lingered in the air between them, and for a moment, Castiel felt something shift inside him. He’d spent so long believing that forgiveness was something he had to earn, that his mistakes were too heavy, too unforgivable. But Sam’s quiet acceptance, his gentle reminder, made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was another way for him too.
Before he knew it, he found himself asking a question that felt strange and unfamiliar. “Sam, could you… could you make an appointment for me?”
His friend blinked, surprised, but his expression softened almost immediately. “Are you sure? It’s… I mean, it’s not exactly easy.”
Cas hesitated, feeling a flicker of vulnerability. “I know. But I think… I think I need it.”
The following week, Cas found himself sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Michaels’s office, feeling more out of place than he ever had. He’d been in many uncomfortable situations before, but sitting here, surrounded by magazines and soft music, he felt exposed, fragile in a way that unnerved him.
Dr. Michaels greeted him with a gentle smile when she walked in. “Hello, Castiel. Thank you for being here.”
Cas nodded stiffly, unsure of how to respond. He’d faced down creatures from the depths of Hell, had confronted his own brothers in rebellion, but sitting here, across from a human therapist, he felt more vulnerable than he ever had, which was kind of a strange sensation.
“What brings you here today?” she asked, her voice soft and inviting, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Cas swallowed, struggling to find the words. How could he even begin to explain the eons worth of his guilt, the mistakes he’d made, the people he’d hurt along the way? He wasn’t even sure he understood it himself.
“I… I’ve made mistakes,” he finally said, his voice as gravelly as usual but mixed with a hint of vulnerability. “I’ve hurt people. People I cared about.”
Dr. Michaels nodded, her eyes never leaving the angel‘s, trying to follow him with his thoughts. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying a lot of regret.”
He had to think about this for a moment. Regret wasn’t something angels were supposed to feel; they were meant to act with purpose, with certainty. But over the years, as he’d grown closer to Sam and Dean, he’d begun to understand the weight of his actions in a way he hadn’t before. Regret had become a constant companion, a dull ache he couldn’t seem to shake, he realized.
“Yes,” he admitted and unconsciously wetted his dry lips. “I thought I my intentions were of a righteous nature but… I only ended up hurting those I cared about most.”
Dr. Michaels leaned forward, her gaze gentle but probing. “You’ve tried to make amends?”
Cas nodded. “Yes. I thought… that making amends meant actions. That if I did enough, it would make up for the pain I caused.” He paused, struggling to put his feelings into words. “But the regret doesn’t go away. It only… lingers.”
“Castiel, forgiveness is a journey,” she said quietly. “Making amends doesn’t just mean what you do for others. It’s also about what you allow yourself to let go of. Sometimes, what’s hardest to forgive isn’t our actions, but ourselves.”
Cas’s throat tightened, and he looked away, his gaze falling to his hands. Forgiving himself—it was a concept that felt alien to him. He’d always believed that forgiveness was something earned, something he had to work for, and even then, he wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“I don’t know if I can forgive myself.“
Dr. Michaels watched him, her expression softening. “Healing is a process, Castiel. And it’s okay to go slow.”
For a long moment, he sat there in silence, feeling the weight of her words sink in. The idea that healing could be a journey, that forgiveness didn’t have to be earned but could be something he granted himself—it was a strange, almost frightening thought. But as the session ended, he felt a small flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a fragile, tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find peace.
The next evening, Cas found Dean in the kitchen, nursing a bottle of whiskey. They’d spent countless nights like this, shoulder-to-shoulder in silence, but tonight felt different. Cas watched Dean, seeing in his friend’s tired eyes a depth of suffering he recognized all too well.
Dean caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “Something you wanna say, Cas?”
Cas hesitated, but the memory of his conversation with Dr. Michaels lingered, giving him courage. “I… wanted to apologize,” he started slowly. “For the times I’ve hurt you. For leaving, for making decisions without you, and for… for turning my back on you when you needed me.”
Dean’s gaze softened immediately, the defensive look fading from his face. “Cas, we’ve all messed up. God knows I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. You don’t have to—”
“No,” Cas interrupted with a firm tone in his voice. “I do. I thought I knew what was best, but I never stopped to think about how it would affect you. I just wanted to protect humanity, Sam but most important—I wanted to protect you but in doing so… I hurt you.”
The kitchen was silent, only the hum of the old fridge filling the void. Dean looked down at the table, hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look up when he spoke, but his words were low and raw.
“I know you’re trying to make amends,” Dean whispered, voice rough. “But I just… I just want you to know, you don’t have to do it alone. You’re family, Cas.”
Cas’s heart twisted, and in that moment, he felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean gave a slight nod, his expression softening. “Just… don’t ever feel like you have to do anything on your own. You got me and Sam, alright?”
Cas nodded, the weight of years lifting slightly. He leaned closer to Dean, letting his head fall onto the hunter’s shoulder, snuggling closer. He could hear Dean above him chuckle lowly and the found a hand his own, beginning to lightly stroke soothing patterns into the skin.
As they sat together in silence, Cas felt a quiet but profound shift—a tentative belief that maybe, after everything, he could find forgiveness, not just from others, but from himself.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Dean Winchester didn’t do therapy. Not because he thought there was anything wrong with it—if it worked for Sam and Cas, he was glad for them. But for him, therapy felt like weakness. He was the one who took care of things, the one who shouldered the burden so others didn’t have to. That was the way it had always been, and he wasn’t about to start unraveling that now.
Except that, lately, he’d started to feel that weight pressing down on him more heavily than ever. He wasn’t sleeping much either and when he did, he dreamed of faces he couldn’t save—his mom, his dad, Bobby, Charlie, Ellen, Jo… too many to count. It was a silent, gnawing weight that had grown into something he couldn’t ignore. And watching Sam and Cas change over the last few weeks, seeing them with a kind of quiet strength he didn’t recognize, was unsettling.
They were slowly healing. He was still breaking.
So, one evening, Dean caught Sam watching him with that familiar worried expression, and before Dean could brush it off, Sam spoke up. “Dean, maybe you should think about talking to someone,” Sam said, his tone careful but firm.
Dean scoffed. “I don’t need some stranger poking around in my head, Sam. I’m fine.”
But Sam’s gaze didn’t waver. “Dean, I’ve watched you carry this stuff alone for years. You’re not okay. And it’s okay to admit that.”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “I’m not you, Sam. I don’t need to go spilling my guts just to feel better. I’m handling it.”
His baby brother looked away, and there was a sadness in his expression that made Dean’s chest tighten. “I know you think you’re handling it. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to keep carrying this by yourself.”
Dean’s instinct was to snap back, to put up the walls that had always protected him, but something in Sam’s voice, in his quiet conviction, made him hesitate. He knew Sam was right. Knew it with a bone-deep certainty he’d been trying to ignore. But the thought of sitting in some therapist’s office, baring his soul—it felt like walking into a trap. Vulnerability wasn’t something he allowed himself to feel.
But that night, as he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his loneliness pressed down on him. He thought of Sam, of Cas, of all the times they’d asked him to let them in, and how he’d pushed them away, convinced he had to carry it all alone. And maybe, just maybe, he was tired of pretending he could.
Dean walked into the therapist’s office the next week, feeling more out of place than he ever had in his life. The room was quiet, with soft lighting and a faint scent of lavender. He could almost hear Cas’s and Sam’s voices in his head, telling him this was the right thing to do, that he didn’t have to keep fighting alone.
Dr. Michaels greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes kind but not invasive. “Dean, thank you for being here. I know this might not feel comfortable, but you’re in control of what you want to share.”
He nodded, feeling his pulse quicken. He wanted to bolt. His fight-or-flight instincts were practically screaming at him to get the hell out. But instead, he forced himself to sit down, jaw tight, eyes averted.
“What brings you here?” the doctor asked gently.
Dean chuckled dryly, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Honestly? My brother and my angel practically dragged me here. They think I’m carrying too much, that I need to ‘talk it out.’ But… I don’t know if that’s for me.”
Dr. Michaels nodded, her smile never faltering. “It’s okay to feel that way. Therapy isn’t a quick fix—it’s a process. Sometimes, just being here is a step forward.”
Dean looked down, picking at the edge of his jacket. “I don’t… I’m not good at this stuff. Talking about things. I’m supposed to be the strong one, y’know? The one who keeps everything together.”
“Why do you think you have to be the strong one?” she asked, her tone genuinely curious.
Dean hesitated, memories flashing through his mind—his dad leaving him in charge, telling him to take care of Sam, the years of hunting, losing loved ones, facing down monsters and not flinching because he couldn’t afford to. “Because if I don’t, everything falls apart.”
Dr. Michaels’s gaze softened, and she let the silence stretch between them. “That sounds like a lot of pressure to carry on your own.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just… it’s the way it’s always been. I don’t get to fall apart. If I do, who’s gonna hold everything together?”
She nodded slowly, letting his words settle. “It sounds like you’ve been holding onto a lot for a long time. But maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let others hold some of that with you.”
The words felt foreign, almost laughable. Dean had spent his life being the one everyone relied on. Letting someone else carry his pain felt wrong, like a betrayal of everything he stood for. But at the same time, there was a small part of him—tired and worn down—that wanted to believe it might be possible.
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I can let go.”
Dr. Michaels didn’t push, simply nodded, letting him sit with the words he’d spoken. And as he left that day, Dean felt something inside him crack—a small, tentative fissure that felt like both freedom and terror.
The next few sessions were difficult, to say the least. Dean showed up, but he mostly sat in silence, evading Dr. Michaels’s questions with short, clipped answers, deflecting with humor or sarcasm. He’d laugh things off, change the subject, or redirect the conversation back to his “weird job” as a “risk management specialist.”
But slowly, gradually, he began to open up. Each session, he let a little more slip—how he felt responsible for Sam’s safety, the guilt he carried for everyone he’d lost, the fear that one day, he wouldn’t be enough. The words came out haltingly, like he was prying them out of himself, but once they were spoken, he couldn’t take them back.
One day, Dr. Michaels asked him about his worst fear.
Dean paused, his jaw tightening. “My worst fear?” He laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. Losing people, I guess. Especially my brother or my friend. Failing them. Not being enough.”
She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“It’s like… no matter what I do, it’s never enough. People keep dying. People I care about.” He looked away, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Sometimes, I wonder if it’s my fault. If… maybe, if I’d just done things differently, they’d still be here.”
Dr. Michaels’s gaze softened, and she leaned forward. “That’s a heavy burden to carry, Dean. But guilt doesn’t mean you’re to blame. Sometimes, things happen that are out of our control, and holding onto that guilt only keeps us stuck.”
He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of her words. “I know that. I tell myself that. But it doesn’t… it doesn’t change the way it feels.”
“You’re human, Dean. It’s okay to feel this way. You don’t have to carry the weight of everyone’s survival. Sometimes, the hardest thing we can do is allow ourselves to grieve without feeling responsible.”
The words cut deep, reaching parts of him he’d buried a long time ago. He didn’t respond, couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the pain that was slowly coming to the surface. But he didn’t leave, either. He stayed, letting the silence fill the room, feeling the cracks in his armor grow a little wider.
As the weeks passed, Dean found himself growing slightly more comfortable in Dr. Michaels’s office. He still struggled to open up fully, but each session, he let go of a little more, allowing himself to feel things he’d been avoiding for years. And as he began to confront his pain, he started to realize how much he’d pushed away the people he cared about.
One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Dean returned to the bunker and found Sam in the kitchen, flipping through an old book. Dean hesitated in the doorway, feeling the weight of his unspoken apologies hanging heavy between them.
“Sammy,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “I… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For… everything.”
Sam looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”
Dean swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. “For all the times I put everything on you. For making you feel like you had to be strong, like you couldn’t… couldn’t ask for help because I was too busy trying to be the strong one. I thought… I thought that if I carried it all, you wouldn’t have to. But I was wrong. You’ve been carrying it too, haven’t you?”
Sam’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah, Dean. But we’ve always been in this together. I’ve never blamed you.”
Dean’s throat tightened, and he looked away, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. “I know. I just… I just didn’t want you to see how hard it was. I didn’t want you to know that I’m not… that I’m not as strong as you think I am.”
Sam reached across the table, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, you’re stronger than anyone I know. But you don’t have to do this alone. You’ve got me and Cas. We’re here for you.”
For the first time, Dean let himself believe it. The weight he’d been carrying didn’t disappear, but it felt a little lighter, knowing he didn’t have to bear it alone.
Later that night, Dean found Cas in the library, flipping through a book with a thoughtful expression. Dean sat down beside him, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the quiet stretching between them like a comforting presence.
“Cas,” the hunter said then quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks. For… for sticking around. For believing in me, even when I didn’t.”
His angel looked at him, his gaze steady and unwavering, and closed his book. “You’re family, Dean. I would never abandon you.” He made a full body turn to look Dean deep into the eyes—green meeting blue— and then Cas scooted closer, knees nudging against each other and he pulled Dean into a warm, secure embrace.
Dean just nodded and let himself sink into the hug, feeling a warmth spread through him. For so long, he’d been running from his pain, from his guilt, convinced he had to carry it alone. But with Sam and Cas by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope, a fragile belief that maybe he didn’t have to keep running.
And as they sat together in silence, Dean realized that, for the first time in a long time, he felt a little less alone. He wasn’t healed, wasn’t “fixed,” but he was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be.