Charming

Almost a month since his world had flipped upside down and Dean still wasn’t sure he’d managed to right himself enough. It wasn’t inherently bad, in fact in more ways than one, it was great. Don Juan was sober and staying that way, they had been able to establish and maintain a good rhythm between them, despite some outside Dean was struggling with on his own. Things with Hanna were patched up, everything was out in the open and Dean was slowly figuring out a good routine in which he could spend time with each of them.

That was all going well. That aspect of his life was going absolutely splendidly.

And yet he still had this weird, pent up energy he couldn’t quite rid himself of. He knew what was causing it, but he didn’t know how to put a name to the feeling it was other than just some level of rage. Dean wasn’t a violent person at the core, he knew that about himself. He was very much a lover and not a fighter, but he found himself in the ring again anyway, getting his ass handed to him by Buchanan.

That part of London wasn’t exactly known for its clean streets and safety and that was exactly what had drawn Dean back in. He hadn’t been in years, not since ‘88 when he’d spent most of the year in the bottle, trying to numb whatever feelings he had and then spent some of the time alleviating his frustrations on someone else’s face. He had some feelings to numb and some pent up aggression to get out that he had no other outlet for. He had two people in his life who needed him to be at his most gentle right now and while he was perfectly happy to do that, he wanted to, but he still felt the current under his skin and needed a way to let it go. The problem was that the underlying shift in the nature of his relationship with Don Juan was because of something so far beyond Dean’s control that he hadn’t even been able to really comprehend what to blame until just recently.

He also couldn’t pull together coherent thoughts about the rumors of Don Juan’s daughter that Dean hadn’t known existed until he’d heard something in the ministry break room this morning. Between that and the fact that he couldn’t realign the jaw of whoever had traumatized Don Juan, the only solution he could come up with was to take it all out in a fight instead. Everything was a little easier when he had to stop thinking and just rely on instincts to get by.

The rounds hadn’t gone all that well, but he’d landed enough punches to feel better, so the fight had done the trick. Unfortunately, Sage was tied up with an actual emergency and he was shit out of luck until the morning when she ended her shift. He looked a veritable mess with a split lip, a forming black eye and of course the open cuts on his knuckles. Dean also suspected he’d tweaked something in his wrist which would probably be the most annoying part of trying to sleep this off.

He’d made it home and mercifully nobody was around, so he stripped off his jacket and bloodstained shirt and went to wash up. There wasn’t much to be done but clean everything out and wrap up his hands for the night so he didn’t bleed all over the sheets. That was of course until he stepped out of the bathroom to find Don Juan coming up the stairs.

Ah fuck. There was no getting around it this time. Without Sage's magic touch to make everything invisible, he probably looked as bad as he felt and he could tell by the concern on Don Juan's face that was probably the case. Dean didn't think he looked that bad, but he hadn't turned on too many lights and could only see a shadow of the bruises that were coming.

"I'm okay, I promise." He held up his hands, as if in surrender, but was glad that Don Juan didn't come crashing into him. Then he remembered they were bandaged up, loosely, just to keep him from bleeding on anything and realize that probably made it worse. Merlin, he really didn't want to explain this.

It was late and he would have assumed that if Don Juan was going to be here, he would have come earlier, so maybe he could push the attention from him, even if it was highly unlikely. "Are you alright?" He asked, trying to pivot anyway.

He'd had to give it a shot. "It looks worse than it is, my own fault for not being quicker." Getting knocked around was almost as good as landing a few punches to rid himself of the displaced energy. It was gone now, exhaustion and a dull ache across his body left in the wake, which was far preferable to Dean. He might get some sleep now, once he talked Don Juan off the ledge.

"I got in the ring tonight instead of just watching. Totally voluntary." This had been brought up before and last time there hadn't been visible evidence so he hadn't admitted to it yet then. Dean hadn't planned on confessing at all. Don Juan didn't need this added to his plate, not when it was something Dean was on his own, to himself, to battle with his own demons.

"Don't have any," he might still have some of the salve for the bruises, but whatever it was he got patched up with did the trick, so he hadn't bothered to invest in anything else. "I'm fine, really." The concern was endearing, but it brought up the guilt all over again. He almost admitted that he usually got fixed before coming home, but he wasn't exactly sure he wanted Don Juan to know this wasn't the first time.

"Let's just go to bed." He urged, hoping that might be the end of it. "I'm exhausted." Which had been the goal in the end.

He stepped forward, gently taking Don Juan by the shoulders, ignoring the protest in his hands. "I'm getting patched up in the morning by a mediwitch, it's alright, just need to sleep it off for a little while." He tried to put as much assurance as possible into his voice. "It's been way worse and I'm still here." As much as he'd like to keep this to himself, if he was going to put Don Juan at ease, he was going to have to fess up a little bit. He hoped he could keep it to the bare minimum.

"I used to," years ago. It was the only reason he knew what sort of relief it would give him. Dean dropped his hands and slid one down Don Juan's arm to tug him gently toward the bedroom. He was sloppier back then, typically drunk and the only thing he had cared about was numbing the the pain with a different kind.

"I'm better at it now, believe it or not." It probably didn't look like it, because he was still up against people who could best him with one hand tied behind their backs, but he held his own most of the time. Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and bent slowly to untie his shoes, toeing them off in relief.

Dean relented and let Don Juan take over. "Stop fretting, I'm fine." The irony of how the roles were currently reversed was not lost on Dean, but he was trying to downplay everything for a reason. He hated being in Don Juan's position. "I can stop if this bothers you." He'd figure out something else. He hadn't intended for it to be a problem, hadn't intended for anything to come to light, but he'd messed up and now he would have to try and find something that would soothe the build up of energy he kept feeling.

The rebuttal was far too quick and Dean sighed heavily. Crossing that off his list was going to be worse in the long run, but he wouldn't chance a repeat of this. "No," he laughed. Probably the only thing that didn't. The laugh hurt though and he winced, which in retrospect was the worst thing he could have done.

It was still better than how he'd felt earlier. Dean could handle the physical pain, that ebbed eventually, but this slow torture in his head was going to drive him insane eventually.

He leaned down trying to catch Don Juan's eye. "Last time, promise."