Hudson didn't respond, and that was fine. It wasn't a statement that needed a response. It didn't need an explanation. Don Juan knew why Hudson did it; the same reason Don Juan always trusted that he would, why Hudson had been his first and only thought at the opium den earlier when he'd been looking for help. There was something between them that mattered, and that didn't need to be said — its strength did not require its acknowledgement.

He nestled in to the back of Dean's shoulder. "Sometimes I'm a mess, but I'll always come home." Then he sighed, contented, and drifted towards sleep.

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MJ made this <3

Dean worried that it was more than sometimes, but what else could he say about it? He slid his hand down to Dempseys and tangled his fingers through, bringing their joined hands up to press a kiss against the back of Dempsey's gently. He worried that there would be a time when he was away or couldn't get there fast enough and there would be disastrous consequences. How much was too much? Did Dempsey know where the line was? Would he cut back, quit, if Dean asked him to? Was he going to have Dempsey move in? How would he explain that to the staff? He couldn't take Dempsey with him when he traveled for work and that was when it seemed to be the worst. How exactly did he spell out these fears in a way that didn't seem overbearing or needy? He didn't want to be either one of those things, but he couldn't help the cold pit of anxiety that had welled up in his gut.

If he managed to get the courage to bring it up, it wasn't going to be tonight, Dempsey was still too high and Dean was still too discombobulated to form coherent thoughts. He let Dempsey drift off while he stared out the window into the faint moonlight, drowning in the thoughts that were keeping him awake.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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He was barely conscious of Hudson kissing his hand before he drifted away. He slept fitfully as his body continued coming down from the trailing effects of the pills, but he slept long. When he stirred in the morning the bed next to him was already empty and there were faint noises audible from downstairs. He was thirsty— dried out from the drugs — but otherwise in decent shape. He found a robe hanging in the room and threw it on, then crept down the stairs, pausing to listen for the housekeeper before he came down properly.

"Hey," he said at the sight of Hudson, punctuated by a yawn. He moved towards the kitchen, ready to help himself to water. "What's the time?" he didn't even have clothing of his own right now, so he certainly hadn't had a pocket watch.

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MJ made this <3

Dean hadn't been able to coax himself into any semblance of sleep and it wasn't long before Dempsey's breathing evened out that he'd crept back out of bed and taken care of the clothes in the tub to resist the urge to have another drink. It wouldn't help, it would probably only make things worse. It wasn't his first sleepless night, but it had to be clear on his face, even after two cups of coffee and a third steeping. He'd nearly sunk into the bath himself at one point, but thought better of it in case Dempsey woke up and couldn't find him.

It was nearing noon when Dempsey surfaced, wearing his robe and looking a little worse for wear. Well, that made two of them with the same underlying reason to blame. "Just shy of noon." Dean had finished the documents he'd been working on last night, read several chapters of his book, made and eaten breakfast and had started to feel that antsy anxiety again. It felt like a strange disconnect and it had been only twelve hours ago.

"How're you feeling?" He asked as he poured the coffee from the French press into two mugs. He'd made double this time, assuming Dempsey would be making his way down at some point and if not, he would have just drank the remnants. Dean leaned against the counter with his coffee in hand, unsure of what to do with himself.

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Don Juan was feeling tired and thirsty and had the beginnings of muscle ache creeping in to his shoulders and lower back, but he didn't want to say that to Hudson. There was no use complaining about it; nothing to be done for it except wait for it to wear off.

"Feeling gorgeous," he said instead, with a playful smirk. He shot Hudson a grateful look when he picked up the coffee mug, but still filled a glass of water first. "Compared to last night, at least. Any of my clothes make it through to the light of day?"

He drank the full glass of water, took a deep breath, and filled it again from the sink.

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MJ made this <3

Dean nearly rolled his eyes, but contained the urge. He wished that Dempsey was in such disarray because they'd had a good time last night, not because he'd had to rescue him from himself. "Yeah, I washed them." They were hanging to dry in the bathroom still. It had been a good use of his pent up energy to do something with his hands and scrubbing the fabric clean had done the trick.

He still hadn't moved from his position against the counter, hating that his first response was to gather Dempsey close and make sure that he really was okay. "Remember much of last night?" Dean rather thought it was emblazoned into his brain and it would be impossible to forget. Still, he knew he had to tread carefully. If the insomnia had done anything for him, it had given him time to think through what he wanted to say, but he wanted to know what Dempsey had to say about the night too.

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Don Juan glanced at Hudson, but decided to drink his second glass of water before he answered. He hated this question. He almost never remembered an entire night, no matter what he'd had; even sober he was often forgetful. But this question, often posed and only sometimes answered, always made him anxious that he'd forgotten something important and that he would spend the rest of the conversation on the backfoot, trying to catch up and making vague apologies for something he could articulate.

He drank his second glass of water more slowly. He set it in the sink and then picked his coffee up, wrapping his hands around the mug and leaning his back against the counter.

"I remember you were an angel," he said, cautious.

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MJ made this <3

Dean pursed his lips. He did what he would always do. Over the course of the early morning hours, he'd come to terms with the why and the what he wanted out of it. The only thing he could do was lay it all out on the table and hope Dempsey was receptive. He took a sip of his coffee and pondered that. At least Dempsey realized what he'd done, hopefully appreciated it.

Sighing softly, Dean tried to look Dempsey in the eye, thinking he might be going crazy with this, but he'd thought it all through, had practiced what he'd wanted to say. "It scared me," at the root of it, that was what he'd realized after all was said and done. It was jarring and almost too much for him to handle. He had, and would handle it, but he wished he really didn't have to. He fixed Dempsey with a meaningful look. "Don Juan," he started, trying the first name out on his tongue, knowing he'd only used the given name a handful of times, introducing him as a friend at a social event or something along those lines. "I don't know if I can do that again, I hate seeing you like that." He'd said as much last night, but it had fallen into the stupor if the drugs and then into the abyss because he hadn't thought it the time. Now was the time, in the light of day when they were both more cognizant of the importance of the conversation.

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Hudson said he was scared, and Don Juan's first thought was that this was probably hyperbolic, melodramatic. Whatever had happened the night before couldn't have been frightening; it was the same sort of thing he did all the time. But he didn't say anything, and he let Hudson catch his eyes before continuing.

Don Juan, was it, then? Having Hudson address him by his first name in such an earnest way was oddly thrilling. He brushed his shoulders back, ignoring the soreness spreading between them. He felt almost cocky, bolstered by this the way he was when he came back to the club and it was obvious to everyone he was still disheveled from a romp in the hay. A sort of unspecified victory.

He sipped his coffee to hide his smile while Hudson continued. Hate seeing you like that, and Don Juan knew better than to ask like what? He frowned thoughtfully at Hudson, but not like he was disappointed; rather, the way someone frowned when an unfamiliar and difficult riddle lay before them. He didn't know the right answer yet, but was confident there was one, and that figuring it out wouldn't take too long.

"I'm fine," he pointed out, deflecting. "It looks worse than it is, honestly. There's nothing to be scared of."

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MJ made this <3

"I mean it," he said plaintively. "What if I hadn't gotten there in time? Where is the line? What if something happened to you. I—" He trailed off. He couldn't finish the statement. Dean had rumbled through these thoughts what felt like a thousand times over the course of the night. He looked at Don Juan helplessly. Surely he couldn't be so cavalier about this? Not when Dean was practically bearing his soul in a way he had never, ever before?

Dean set his coffee aside, hands curling around the edge of the counter instead, white-knuckled to prevent the unsteadiness from showing. He'd tried to be clear and concise, without rambling. Dean wanted this conversation to be productive, to at least outline his worries. He mumbled to himself in French, trying to talk himself back into some semblance of coherency. He looked at Don Juan again, worry creasing his brow, unsure of what else he could say.

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Don Juan was inclined to shrug this off as well... or would have been, except that Dean's body language made it clear he had gotten himself very worked up about it. This was like the time Don Juan had gotten himself nearly senseless while he smoked on the street corner outside; he'd left Hudson alone with his thoughts for too long. Maybe he could resolve this in a similar fashion... although in that case the resolution had been as simple as Hudson merely saying Don Juan was wrong about it, and he doubted that would work here.

"Hudson," he said seriously, interrupting the muttered French to try and get his attention. He left his coffee cup on the counter and moved towards Hudson, voice turning playful for a moment. "Dean. Angel. Lover." He'd made his way to Hudson now and reached out to take his face in both hands, staring into his eyes with unguarded fondness. "It is deeply touching that you worry so much about me, but nothing is going to happen." He smiled at him again and let one of his hands drift down Dean's arm, trying to use his trailing fingertips to tease the tension out of his clenched hand. "If you hadn't been here last night I would've caught the Knight Bus eventually, and gone home and gotten a lecture from my mother. I would be waking up under far less pleasant circumstances, but I would still be fine."

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MJ made this <3

Dean's hand drifted to Don Juan's hips more naturally and more gently than he'd been gripping the countertop. None of these statements were making him any less anxious. He needed Don Juan to see just how badly it fucked him up, having to pull him from that house and not knowing what it was he'd taken or how much or what it was going to do to him in the long run.

Not even the use of his first name had really gotten through to him. Dean's face crumpled a little. "You couldn't even stand up straight. What if somebody took advantage of that?" Dean didn't want to go to Azkaban for murder, because that's what would happen. Nobody touched what was his without consequences. Dean felt exposed and vulnerable, nerves frayed and near snapping. "It's too much," his tone was pathetically pleading, grip tightening at the thoughts running rampant in his head. There were too many what ifs and unknowns for him to ever feel comfortable with this.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Hudson hadn't relaxed even slightly, and Don Juan thought he had been particularly charming. This tactic clearly wasn't going to work; he could tell before Hudson even spoke. For all his bluster about being touched, Don Juan really didn't like to see Hudson in this state. He liked even less that it was entirely his fault.

The remark about taking advantage didn't land as hard as it should have — it had never happened before, so in the eyes of youthful folly it could not possibly happen. The next sentence, though: too much, Hudson said, and he sounded so desperate about it. He had a sudden frantic thought, which he pushed down before he could even properly finish it: he could leave me.

That wasn't going to happen. This was fine. He was fine. He could get this back under control.

"Okay," he said, tone and posture shifting. "Let's make it not too much." He still had one hand on Dean's arm and moved the other to his cheek, caressing softly. "What do you need?"

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MJ made this <3

What did he need? Dean didn't know how to verbalize it. The relief that Don Juan seemed to understand his panic was enough to placate him for a moment; it gave him a moment to breathe and push the unease down. "Cut back," he wasn't sure Don Juan could quit; it didn't take an idiot to know those kinds of things were addictive; but Dean was addicted to the man before him and he knew he couldn't stand it if something was to happen. "Do it here, so I can keep an eye on you, I don't care, but I can't worry about you every time you're not here, it hurts." His tone was still a little frantic, but he was steadier than he had been a moment ago. "Please."" He'd pulled Dempsey against him, arms wrapped tight, as if he was going to disappear right now because of it.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Hudson offered to let him get high here, and Don Juan was absurdly touched. He'd always had the impression that his various vices were something Dean found odious, even if it wasn't something he would admit to out loud. He'd thought Dean tolerated him when he was high, but that was all (and that only under certain circumstances). So it meant a lot that Hudson was willing to make space for that, if needed. Don Juan had no interest in taking him up on it — he mainly got high these days because he couldn't be with Hudson — but still.

"I'll cut back," he agreed. He leaned in to kiss Hudson, willing some of the tension to go out of him. "You won't have to worry about me while I'm gone."

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MJ made this <3

Pouring the rest of that pent up anxiety into the kiss, Dean felt more of that particular tension drain from his limbs. His fingers were curled tight into the fabric of the robe, pulling at it impatiently. He wasn't sure if Dempsey could follow through, but at least he'd heard him, was agreeing to try and that was going to have to be enough for now. Nothing much could stop him from worrying, but Dean would at least feel better about it.

He could feel everything welling up again and he already felt foolish for pleading like he had, so he captured Dempsey's lips again, the kiss more tender and than anticipated but no less intense than the thoughts that still plagued him. This whole thing had him off balance in ways he didn't know how to handle. But he did know what to do when Dempsey was warm against him. He swung around, changing their positions so he had Don Juan pressed against the counter, his whole body tight against the other man's as if he couldn't get enough, indulging in his own drug and the taste of Don Juan's tongue on his.

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