Dean stretched out his shoulders uncomfortably, sitting in the silence for a few minutes. Even sitting was exhausting. "Why not?" He wanted to. He didn't mind. He didn't like seeing that look on Don Juan's face. Hiding things was almost as hard as giving them up, so why bother? The wheels were turning now and Dean thought back to the other reason he'd gone tonight and the unsteadiness it had brought to his equilibrium. He wasn't ready to talk about that yet, he didn't think. It was hard enough to wrap his head around things he wasn't sure how to ask about, wasn't sure that he should, that was just another question on the pile.

"It's just a hobby, something to get the energy out. I don't need it." He liked it and it worked, but he could find another way.

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Because Don Juan wasn't worth it, that was why not. He couldn't say that to Hudson, though, who would argue the point, and that was an argument neither of them could win. He couldn't convince Hudson that he was fundamentally too broken to be worth the trouble any more than Hudson could convince him he deserved any of this.

Don Juan sighed and leaned down to kiss Hudson's ankle. "I won't pretend I don't have my own ideas about what to do with your energy," he said, lightly suggestive. "But you're allowed to do things for yourself. Even if you don't need them."

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Normally, Dean wouldn't argue the point. The problem was, that the energy wasn't being used up the same way that it used to, but he couldn't tell Don Juan that. It wasn't a bad thing and he didn't want to drum up any resentment or unnecessary questions. Dean didn't harbor any resentment; he just didn't know what to do with himself in the aftermath. It wasn't even that really, he was completely satisfied with what they were doing, it was just that underlying reason he couldn't seem to let go of. So he chose not to comment on that answer and shrugged, though regretted that too.

"Not if it puts that look on your face." Dean had been in Don Juan's position; a partner with a habit he didn't like, Dean's was just easier to give up. "I'll figure something else out. Running maybe." He chuckled, but he'd done that in the past too and it was a good use of his energy, even if his mind could still wander. It wasn't as fun when he'd been drunk at the time, but now he could try again. "Come on," he held out a hand to signal he was very ready to lean back against the pillows and pass out, or at least pretend to, since his mind was still racing with everything he wasn't brave enough to say.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Don Juan wasn't going to be able to keep a placid expression if he had to continuously see Hudson battered and bloodied, that was true, but there were probably still ways forward here that weren't so extreme. If Hudson only did this occasionally then Don Juan could mark the dates and avoid coming over — or at least be better prepared if he did, with a glass of scotch and an assortment of bruise balms ready for Hudson's return. Don Juan was willing to compromise, but in this as in all things Hudson seemed resolute not to let him.

Hudson said he'd figure something else out, and he didn't even pretend to consider Don Juan's suggestive remark. A niggling worry started at the back of his brain. He knew it hadn't been a very serious suggestion given how slow and gentle their sex life had become — hardly a large energy expenditure — but it seemed conspicuous that Dean had sidestepped it rather than engaging. Don Juan still worried regularly that he was ruining sex and Dean was only pretending that he wasn't in order to placate him — treating him like a skittish animal one could not afford to startle. Now that anxiety loomed larger, magnified by every scrape on Hudson's body.

"It's because of me?" he asked. He'd sat down on the bed but hadn't laid down with Hudson yet. He didn't even know how to lay down with him when he was sore like this; he was wincing too often for Don Juan to feel it was safe to crawl into his arms. "You used to, you said. You started again because of me?"

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Dean sat back up, with more difficulty than he would have liked at the question. "No," was the immediate reaction. "It used to be," he continued, in an effort to be honest. "When we split the first time and I was numbing the pain with booze and brawling." Anything at the time to get the feelings out of his chest and focus on something else.

He sighed and tried to get comfortable so that he could watch Don Juan's expressions. "Now it's a little different," he still wasn't exactly sure how to explain it, but he had to figure something out. "There's just this suppressed energy I need to get out and it's not you." He reiterated because it felt important to make it clear. "It doesn't have anything to do with how things have been lately." Taking things slow had been good for him too; it made him think, made him more intentional and conscious of his actions instead of just relying on old habits.

"It's not the what, it's the why." His expression darkened a little, just thinking about it. "I can't beat the shit out of whoever hurt you, so I take it out on strangers instead." And that wasn't even getting into the rumor from today.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Don Juan felt heat across the back of his neck at the admission, but he couldn't say much about it. He'd been just as destructive in the aftermath of their first breakup, just in different ways. He would never tell Hudson that for a while he had been the reason Don Juan got high — neither of them needed that guilt.

It was because of him. His baggage, anyway. Don Juan chewed his lower lip again while he worked out what to say in response to that. It was endearing that Dean wanted to protect him, but things weren't so simple. If he knew the whole story he could have easily picked out a figure to blame, but hurting Samuel Griffith wouldn't solve anything. It probably wouldn't even make Hudson feel any better. Don Juan knew that from experience.

"You could," he said softly. "You wouldn't even have to leave home." If Dean was looking for the person who had done the most damage to Don Juan's life, the person who had left him broken this way, he didn't need to look any further than the edge of the bed. "There's no one to blame for the choices I made except me."

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   Dean Hudson

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Dean knew it too, that actually getting his hands on whoever it was wouldn't solve the problem. It would be a temporary fix and then he would spiral down from there because then what would he do? This was why he'd picked up the fighting again. It filled the need when he couldn't even figure out what to do.

Exhaling slowly, Dean determined they were never going to agree on this. He could try and explain away every reason why he thought differently until he was blue in the face; Don Juan was always going to place the blame on himself. Leaning in closer, Dean reached out one hand, laying it gently against Don Juan's cheek to ensure he was looking at him. "Let me make this perfectly clear; being under the influence of an addiction does not give anyone the right to take away your agency or to utilize an unfair power dynamic, whatever it was, and you will never change my mind on that." They'd had plenty of go arounds about Dean's strict views on consent and nothing was going to shake that moral in his foundation.

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The rigidity of this assertion left Don Juan feeling unsettled. He leaned back slightly, just enough to pull his head back from Hudson's hand. Hudson acted as though there was an ocean between what Don Juan had done while high and what others had done to him or with him, but that simply wasn't reality as Don Juan saw it. Sentiments like this just left Don Juan more anxious that someday when he realized that, when the version of Don Juan he had propped up in his mind collapsed, the only thing remaining to fill the gap would be these caricatures Dean demonized... and then on determining that was who Don Juan was, Dean would leave him again.

"If you think I'm not responsible for what I did while high then he isn't, either," Don Juan pointed out. Maybe this was news to Hudson. Maybe he'd been picturing someone sober on the other half of these scenes when he imagined what had happened to Don Juan, but Griffith was as much of an addict as he was. At the beginning of December he'd told Don Juan he'd kicked the habit, but if that were true none of what followed would have happened.

Don Juan shifted on the bed, sitting with legs loosely crossed and then pulling his knees up towards his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "You think it's different because you love me," he said. (Did Griffith have someone in this position, too? Someone trying to chase away his demons and holding his head in their hands and reassuring him that nothing was his fault?) "I made bad choices. I did bad things. Sometimes I was a bad person," he admitted, hugging his legs closer to his chest. "This is what I get for it. I get nights where I can't sleep and I get hands that shake and I get flashbacks. And I'm getting off easy, because I'm still alive," he continued. Dean still didn't know how close Don Juan had come to that not being the case, and if he was having so much trouble with what he did already know Don Juan couldn't imagine ever telling him.

"And I've got you," he added, softer. "I've got more than I deserve."

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MJ made this <3

Dean huffed out a breath and leaned back, standing painfully after realizing his lip was bleeding again. He pressed a finger against it and it came back red. Not surprising, considering he'd barely gotten it to stop earlier and he hadn't anticipated talking this much tonight. He pressed the back of his bandaged hand against the cut, using the pain of the pressure to keep him focused as he looked for something else to use.

They'd had this conversation before too and still didn't agree. Bad decisions did not automatically make someone a bad person. He listened, shaking this head as Don Juan curled into himself. The feeling was back, stabbing at him just beneath the surface. He knew there was going to be no way for either one of them to make the other understand where they were coming from. Dean just hoped it didn't become a larger problem down the road.

He finally found an old handkerchief and used that in his lip instead, moving back to the bed to sit on the side, giving some space between them. "It's different because I know you," he managed, pulling the cloth away, throat a little tight as he slowly pieced together more of the situation. He hadn't assumed this other man was also high at the time, but apparently that was the case. It didn't change his conviction though. "You didn't intentionally hurt people when you were high and leave them traumatized." Dean was sure about that; bad choices and whatever other decisions that lead to now were still not cause enough in his mind.

"You do have me, and I have a higher opinion of you than you do yourself. So I'm going to sit up with you when you can't sleep, and hold your hands until they stop shaking and eventually, hopefully, it won't be so visceral. All I have is this you and what you deserve now is someone who will be here, flaws, bad decisions and all." Of that, he was also thoroughly convinced.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Show

Content WarningReferences to sexual assault

Dean said he'd never intentionally hurt someone. The back of Don Juan's neck went hot, but he wasn't going to argue with that. It would mean telling Hudson about one of the worst nights of his life, and clearly knowing more about what Don Juan had been through in December was the last thing Hudson needed. Even if he did tell Hudson everything, he would find a way to explain it away, to make Don Juan either a blameless victim in the equation or at least a sympathetic antihero. Hudson would say he wouldn't have done any of it if he hadn't been high already when Griffith assaulted him, and that was true. Hudson would say that anything was excusable after Griffith had tried to violate him in that way, and maybe that was true too. Neither changed what he'd done: intentionally degrading himself, adding to his expanding collection of trauma and baggage, for the express purpose of trying to hurt the other man.

He wasn't going to tell Hudson more about December. Hudson was right: he needed someone to stay, and maybe if Hudson knew the whole truth about him he wouldn't be so inclined to be here.

Don Juan edged one toe over towards Hudson's thigh, craving contact but still hesitant to initiate any touch in the shape that he was in.

"Let me go get something for that," he said, with a loose nod towards Hudson's bloody handkerchief. He offered Hudson a stained smile. "If I can't sleep I might as well be useful."

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MJ made this <3

If neither one of them was going to budge, at least they could come to the silent agreement. Dean considered his next move carefully. Don Juan wanted to feel useful, but Dean was too tired and frankly nothing was going to get it to stop except something from a healer's bag. He shook his head after a moment. "It'll stop soon and I don't want you to go anywhere." He decided, putting the handkerchief between his lips to reach both arms out and haul Don Juan toward the pillows with him. He was far less fragile than he looked and really only his wrist protested the movement. His body was just sore, but not as bad as last time, mostly from being used in a way that he hadn't in a long time. The muscle memory wasn't there yet and he had to work harder at it.

Only once he was settled with Don Juan pulled close against him, did Dean add, "Just watch this wrist, I think it's broken." But it was the one on the other side and it was wrapped. He'd be right as rain in the morning and everything would be on the way to fine. "And now you're stuck here." He added on for good measure. He didn't have the energy or the thought process to bring up what else was on his mind. Maybe that could wait until he had more focus and he'd had a solid cup of coffee.

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Don Juan would have argued the point further, except that Dean had him trapped. Given his reticence to do anything that could even possibly make Hudson hurt more he was hardly in a position to struggle out of the bed. He cuddled in bedsides Hudson, following his lead. His eyes were already closing; the matter was settled in his mind. Don Juan wasn't going to be able to sleep, but he could tell Hudson was tired, so he'd end up stuck here watching the shadows move across the ceiling and listening to Hudson's heavy breathing.

There were worse places to be stuck for a night.

He huffed to express that he was annoyed — that he wasn't being allowed to do anything productive or that Hudson had broken his wrist tonight or both — but then let the room lapse into silence.

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His body was exhausted, but his mind was whirling around far too much to actually sleep. He probably dozed a bit here and there, his wrist aching and protesting every small movement. The knock on the window came as no surprise, Sage likely had a lull in her shift and was giving him a heads up. Knowing she wouldn't come upstairs and that nobody wanted for them to be found here, he painfully peeled himself off the mattress and made the trek downstairs. He couldn't quite tell if Don Juan was asleep or not, and he didn't want to disturb him if he was, so he tried to move as slowly and quietly as possible.

It was a short, fifteen-minute berating, in which she hissed every manner of abuse at him, including popping his wrist back into alignment before the pain potion had really set in. It earned her a louder-than-he-meant-to, "For fuck's sake Sage!" In which her only response was a maniacal grin and a look that clearly said he ought to know better. She cleaned him up, wrapped his wrist and left him with everything he would need to get him by next time she couldn't get to him quickly. He paid her a generous sum and this time she didn't fight him on it, departing for her next disaster.

Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the downstairs mirror and he looked no worse for the wear, no more bleeding or bruising, just dark circles under his eyes and an admirable length to his stubble. Unsure of what to do with himself at this hour and no sleep on the horizon, he poured himself a drink, leaning heavily on the sidebar with his good hand as he stretched out the stiffness in his limbs, testing the muscles slowly. After a moment, he grabbed his glass and another, and the bottle of whiskey, and made his way back upstairs. He could sit and drink and think if nothing else.

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Don Juan hadn't fallen properly asleep by the time Dean crept out of bed but he was dazed and drowsy enough that he'd lost his sense of time. He assumed it was morning and Dean was getting up for the day, until he heard him swear at someone downstairs. That was enough to properly wake him up — Dean surely wouldn't let someone find Don Juan in his bed, but that didn't mean Don Juan needed to make it harder for him. He snuck to the top of the stairs and strained to listen, to determine who it was and what sort of escape route he might need, if any.

The mediwitch. Dean had mentioned she was coming in the morning, but he'd forgotten while half-asleep. She was going through what she was leaving behind and how to use it. Don Juan went back to the bedroom. Hudson had said tonight was the last time. He'd promised, even though Don Juan had told him not to make promises like that. Now he was stocking up for next time. Don Juan had really never intended to force him to stop if he wanted to do it, but it bothered him that apparently Dean's solution was to lie about it.

Dean didn't think he could handle the truth of the situation. Why would he think that? Don Juan had shown himself fragile in every other way.

He wanted to pretend to be asleep when Hudson came back up, but now he was far too restless and didn't think he could manage it. He didn't want to leave, either, because he didn't want to fight — that, and he was dressed for bed, not for the day. That was fine if he was going to floo home but not if he needed to apparate to the Broomsticks. He didn't like to apparate such long distances in one go. So ultimately when Dean opened the door again Don Juan was just sitting on the bed, indecisive.

"Hi," he offered. It was probably too early for good morning, and he was very aware that neither of them had really slept.

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"Hi," he returned the greeting with a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry if I woke you, she was a little ruthless, which I deserved." He'd seen that same look in her eyes that had been on Don Juan's face when he'd first seen the damage and it had him feeling even more sheepish and guilty. It wasn't as bad, because she had gotten her revenge, but Dean could piece together enough of everyone's reactions to know he'd have to quit and mean it.

He poured two glasses of whiskey after downing his first and settled back on the bed, this time without any wincing. "I told her I was all done, but she left some things anyway. So I have a small apothecary downstairs now." He joked lightly. He'd said he quit, Don Juan said he didn't have to, and at the time he thought maybe, in the event that it got too much, but he had the sneaking suspicion it would cause more problems than it was worth.

"Still can't sleep?" Dean had thought maybe Don Juan had drifted off, but maybe not. Or maybe he'd been woken up and Dean would feel worse about that. Good thing he didn't have to go to work today.

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He didn't believe Dean, but he tried not to show it. He didn't know whether Dean expected him to believe that or not, but there was a reason he'd said it; clearly neither of them wanted to talk about it. There wasn't anything to say. Don Juan wished he was the sort of person Dean felt he could be honest with, but clearly he hadn't earned that yet.

"I just woke up," he said, which was at best a half truth, but he suspected Dean would take it in the same vein; something that didn't bear talking about. He took the whiskey glass. "Heard you downstairs, maybe."

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