a/n: just wish i could take care of him and show him that he deserves love.
dean doesnāt talk about hell. he came back and skirted every conversation about it. but no matter how many times he insists that he doesnāt remember it. you know he does. because he canāt pretend to forget when itās late at night and he wakes up terrified.
for a while, you tried to coax it out of him. but when you pushed too far he got so angry and defensive that he slept on the motel couch instead of in bed with you for an entire week-long hunt. you only made up when it was time to leave for the next town and sam said that he refuses to sit in the car for three days with the two of you mad. you talked for an hour in the motel room and when you cried he kissed away your tears and apologized until he believed you when you said you forgave him. but all that it left you with was a deep feeling of guilt that he was the one who ended up comforting you.
since then youāve realized what he needs. if heās not ready for a heart to heart, itās not gonna happen. you know that in his own way, heās just trying to protect you from whateverās going on in his mind. so until he can talk about it, you can show him that youāll be there.
you can hold him without asking why heās shaking, stroke his hair until he sleeps for at least a couple hours, and take his hand when he goes quiet. you see the walls come down when you do that. just enough for you to know that it's helping. and you watch, carefully, trying not to be overbearing but wanting to help, whenever and however you can. because you love him and you know that he deserves it, and all you want is for him to know it too.
so tonight when you wake up suddenly, confused and disoriented, you realize immediately that dean is speaking next to you, murmuring, pleading with someone you canāt see. just as you're about to gently shake him awake he jolts upwards onto his elbows and you can tell he's clutching his gun under the pillow. you watch as he sits up, breathing heavily, and moves to sit with his back against the headboard.
"dean?" you whisper. he flinches and drops his head into his hands. you give him a second before you prop yourself up on an elbow and tentatively reach towards him, placing a hand on his arm. he inhales deeply but doesn't pull away so you sit up fully and wrap your arms around his shoulders.
"hey" you murmur into his neck. "i'm here dean."
"you shouldn't be" his voice is shaken and wrecked. you frown, loosening your hold on him slightly, not sure if he's asking for space.
"what's that supposed to mean?" you try and fail to keep the defensive tone out of your voice. he just shakes his head. you press a defiant kiss to his cheek, trying to ward off whatever's telling him he doesn't deserve to be comforted.
the two of you sit in silence for a while, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the sound of his breathing slowly evening out, drowned out slightly by samās snores.
you donāt say anything. you know he wonāt talk. so instead you run your fingertips through his hair, and when he starts to cry silently, you press kisses to his temple and jaw.
you know him so you know heās embarrassed but youāre just grateful heās letting you see, not leaving to go for a drive alone or locking himself in the bathroom. heās letting you in, just a little bit.
when he lifts his head you can see the tortured look on his face, even in the dark, and it breaks your heart. "dean" you whisper, not knowing what else to say. you reach out a hand and smooth the crease in his brow gently with your fingertips.
his only reaction is to wrap an arm around your waist. you go back playing with his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as you kiss the cusp of his ear and the side of his neck.
you keep going until his eyelids a drooping and he lets you guide him down towards the bed. he lays halfway on top of you, one arm still around your waist, his face in the crook of your neck.
you lace your fingers with his free hand when he drifts off fully, hoping that if he wakes again he'll at least know that you're here and maybe grab a hold of you instead of his gun. with your other hand you keep playing with his hair, it soothes you as much as it soothes him.
you stay up for a little while longer, soaking in the peace of his quiet sleep. and the next morning when you wake in the same position, you know that no more nightmares interrupted his sleep. and when he blinks his gorgeous eyes open and kisses your forehead, you feel good. because you helped, just a little bit.
a/n: kay so take two, i tried to fix it but im not sure im a fan. i feel like fs dean's initial reaction would be to lash out and be pissed off and like over and over again in the show we see the back and forth between him getting mad and then trying to reason w people when he cares about them and they're being self-destructive (i'm specifically talking like demon blood sam era) but my thing with this situation is i feel like he wouldn't get it. we obviously know how much he struggles in his own life and with his self worth and just the constant betrayal of people he loves leaving him and feeling foresaken by god. but for his sweet little ray of sunshine angel (who he's conviced is too good for him no matter how hard you try to convice him otherwise) to be purposefully hurting herself, and for him to have not noticed? i feel like he honestly would have a very hard time getting to the "its okay we'll figure this out stage" because he just be so wrecked by the idea of it. so my writing here falls flat because i feel like the shift comes too soon and he's too outspokenly soft for it to really feel like dean but idk. please let me know what you think, i wanna be able to write him well so badly. also kinda a side note but im sorry if you disagree with how sam acts, i just can only ever see him like silently understanding because of jared and how he speaks about mental health, he just gets it so well.
you wake up to the smell of coffee and the muffled sound of running water. the room is cold when you sit up, cold in the way that only motel rooms can be, like a bubble of stale air and old linen.
you can feel the soreness and bruises from last night's hunt, a nasty spirit terrorizing a subarban family of four that took until 2AM to get rid of. you showered and changed into sweats and a t-shirt of dean's when you got back last night but your skin stil smells like smoke from the bones you salted and burned.
"got you a macchiato." deans voice is rough and tired but his hands are gentle when he hands you the warm disposable coffee cup. when you look up at him and murmur your thanks, he smiles at your bleary expression. "perk up pretty girl, sammy's already got a new case for us." you groan and he laughs.
"where we goin?" you ask.
"nebraska" he says, "locked room, locked house, violent death. sounded like our kinda gig." you nod and take a sip of the hot drink, letting the warmth fill your chest.
he pats your legs through the covers and you move them out of the way so he can sit. he puts a hand on your knee, rubbing it gently with his thumb as if it grounds him.
"hey so... i thought you said last night you didn't get hurt" he says randomly, almost too casual. you pause and place the coffee cup down on the bedside table.
"uh yeah i didnt" you say, looking at him curiously. "i mean a few bumps and bruises but I'm fine."
he nods but his face hardens. "so no cuts, scrapes, none of that?" his voice still casual but theres .
"dean no- what are you saying?" you ask, but your heart is sinking. you know what this is. he knows. the only thing you can think bout since you started. the cuts on your arm, the bloody tissues in the trash.
he stays silent, still nodding.
"baby your wrist is all cut up." he says gently. "and it looks recent." he bows his head. "there something you wanna tell me?" you can feel how hard he's trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
"oh i must've gotten hurt last night and didn't notice." the truth is that two nights ago you couldn't sleep. and things went a little far, for five terrifying minutes the bleeding wouldn't stop. and what scared you the most was the idea of having to wake dean to help you. to see that look in his eyes. the look he's giving you now. he shakes his head.
"dont lie" he says, taking his hand off your knee.
"i'm not" you insist but it comes out as a weak whisper and tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill over.
"are you hurting yourself?" he asks, like it's physically hard to say the words.
"no" you flip your left hand, so your wrist is upside down on the soft bed. the scabs itch.
"look me in the eye and tell me the truth." dean's tone makes the tears start to fall.
"i am telling the truth-"
"no. look at me." he says. you can't, you know you can't lie to his eyes. he breathes in slowly, trying to keep himself under control. the tears spill faster.
"what am i supposed to do here, huh? i protect you from shit. i would goddamn kill for you. but what am i supposed to do when you're hurting yourself? i mean why the hell would you do that?" he gets louder.
"dean, please, hold on" you're full-on crying now "i'm not-"
"no." his voice is low and harsh, he's never spoken to you like that before. "no dont bullshit me! not now! not about this!"
before you can respond the bathroom door opens and sam steps out, toweling off his wet hair. "everything okay out here?" you sob and deans shoulders drop at the sound. "dean?" sam pushes gently but dean ignores him.
"just tell me what's going on, yeah? just tell me" his voice strains and he takes a deep breath, putting his hand back on your knee. "tell me and i can help. i'm not mad. i just wanna help."
sam's eyes flick between the two of you, obviously confused and concerned.
"dean nothing is going-" he cuts you off with a scoff, frustration flooding back through his features, and before you can react, he grabs your hand, flipping your arm over to reveal your cut-up wrist. you try to snatch it back but he tightens his grip.
"if nothing is going on then what the hell is this huh?" you shut your eyes, blocking him out, holding back your tears.
"dean stop" you try to pull away again.
"what am i supposed to pretend this is okay?" you know he's only shouting because he's terrified, but his tone is making your heart shatter. "i mean fuck i just don't understand!" it's getting hard to breathe, but the tears are separating you from what's happening acting like a walll that you can hide behind, shrinking into yourself.
its sam who stops him. "dean." he says firmly. you're too busy sobbing to see what silent exchange that passes between them.
his voice softens and he lets your hand go. "okay, okay, i'm sorry, alright? listen, please, let's just talk about this. tell me what's going on with you."
tears slip out from under your eyelids and he gently reaches out to brush them away with his thumb. you hear sam slowly walk over and take a seat on the other bed.
"we're gonna be fine baby. we'll figure it out. we always do." he keeps his calloused hand on your face. a silence fills the air. it sits sad and heavy, insulating the small room until it feels like you might suffocate from the weight of it all.
it takes a long time for your sobs to subside enough for you to speak "we watch people die." you say eventually, your voice is hoarse and speaking makes your throat hurt. "every day, people die, and they're hurt, and they're tortured. and if it weren't for us, no one would save them." you take a breath, willing your tears to stop. "i could never walk away from this. i know how important this is and i-" your voice breaks "i know it wouldn't take anything i feel away to stop helping people." dean brushes back your hair gently. "but sometimes it's too much... and i don't know how else to let it out." you reopen your eyes and find dean staring at you. the look on his face makes your heart break. this is why you didn't want him to know.
the hand that rests on your knee slides down to your ankle before reaching out and taking your hand. gentle and slow this time. the sweetness makes you sob. dean shhs you softly, carefully holding your hand in his and bringing it to his lips. he kisses your knuckles, then your palm, then down your wrist. when he's done he laces his fingers through yours and moves up the bed on your right side, settling next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
"my girl." he kisses your temple. "my sweet, sweet girl." you sob harder. "i know, i know. im sorry. i wish i could take it away," he speaks into your ear. "but you can't hurt yourself, baby. we're gonna find a better way, okay? can't let you hurt my perfect girl." you lean into him, and he tightens his grip, pulling you closer.
sam speaks tentatively, as if he's not sure he's allowed to be here. "we get it you know. better than anyone else can. but we can't help you unless you talk to us.ā
you just nod, not sure what to say to that. you can feel their worry, it radiates off of them like heat. the guilt is pressing hard on your chest, whispering poison into your ears. but you let dean hold you. you relax when he peppers kisses on your cheek and temple. you let it fade. just for a moment.
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