#insominac

Summary: Once Sam goes to Hell, Dean shows up on your doorstep with a duffel and an awkward smile. You invite him and his burdens into your home. He lives the apple pie life for 3 months. His nights are filled with nightmares and cigarettes. When will he confess what bothers him?

Word Count: 1.1k l: I thought I'd do a cute "apple pie life" Dean fic today. Short and sweet. No Smut. Some curse words. Mentions of smoking.

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Dean Winchester showed up at your doorstep with an awkward smile and duffel bag. You, of course, invited him in. Why wouldn’t you? You could never turn away a stray, especially not Dean. Sure, you two had hooked up in the past, but you cared about him. And maybe now he cared about you, too. 

Now it had been three months since Dean moved in with you. He was getting more comfortable with the “apple pie life”. He didn’t mope around when you left for work anymore. He even picked up his own gig at the local mechanics shop. 

One night you two were curled up in bed together. It was near midnight and you were peacefully sleeping. Dean, however, couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He’d been having nightmares about Hell. He hadn’t been to Hell in years, but just knowing Sam was there tortured Dean. Every night was the same: waking up in a cold sweat, sneaking out for a drink or cigarette, then climbing back into bed like nothing happened. 

Tonight was no different. 

Dean slowly extracted himself from the comfort of your warm bed. You hummed in sleep and curled closer to his side, immediately missing his warmth. He smiled sadly. He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead, “I’ll be right back, baby.”

Dean stalked out of the bedroom and down the hall. He slid his worn boots on. He tiptoed past your bedroom on his way to the back yard. He carefully slid open the sliding door. The warm summer air hit his face like a slap. He closed the door and yanked a small white box out of his pocket. He extracted a cigarette and pushed it between his lips. He flicked his lighter to life and lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, help the smoke in his lungs, then exhaled. He relaxed almost immediately as the nicotine flooded his senses. 

Dean sat on your outside couch. The cushions made him sink further into the cozy chair. He took another drag of the cigarette. His eyes trailed across your backyard for the hundredth time this week. 

The playset you have for your nieces/nephews who you adore, the inground pool with floaties still in the cool water, the small garden you never have the time to weed, the fairy lights across the porch, and the abundance of outdoor seating and tables. You loved hosting BBQ’s, family get-togethers, or birthday parties. You were a sweet little hostess at heart, and Dean loved you for that.

But parties made it hard to smoke. 

And your parents definitely didn’t approve of Dean. They knew of his kind: drifters who hooked with up anything in a skirt. But ever since Dean settled down with you he’d been different. However, your parents didn’t see that.

Dean heard the sliding door open and he cussed. He quickly tried to stub out his cigarette. He never liked smoking around you. 

“Dean?” You said softly. Your nose wrinkled at the smell of cigarette smoke. You sighed and slid the door closed behind you. Dean looked guilty, like a kid who’d just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I thought you stopped.” You said softly, slowly sinking next to him on the couch. Your hand rested on his bicep, grounding and safe. Dean leaned into the touch.

“I… I tried, I really did.” He lied. 

You raised a brow. Dean chuckled, “okay… But I seriously did for a couple hours.” He laid his head on your shoulder. You bit back a smile and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “couldn’t sleep?” 

Dean shook his head. “Nah… more… more nightmares. Y’know?” 

“Dean, you’ve gotta tell me about those. Wake me up, something.” You rubbed his cheek, feeling the prickly stubble on it. 

Dean scoffed and sat up, shoving your arm off him. “Wake you up? You sleep like a princess.” He was getting defensive now, shutting down, putting up walls. “Plus, you wouldn’t understand. It’s about… Fuck, nevermind. Just go back to bed.” He stood up and slammed the door open. He stormed inside and went back to bed without another word. 

You decided to stay calm. You took a few deep breaths, then followed him inside. You climbed into bed behind Dean. His back was facing you and his breathing was quick with anger. “Babe. Hey… I’m not here to judge you, okay? I just wanna make sure you’re okay. Look at me… Look at me, baby.” You cooed, stroking his hair, knowing that was his weakness. 

Dean grumbled something under his breath. You gave him time, knowing he was stubborn. You just kept stroking his soft, brown hair. 

Finally, Dean turned. His eyes were downcast, like he was ashamed of himself for turning mushy. “I… I dunno, baby… I just… I can’t fucking sleep.” A tear falls down his cheek, but he’d never admit it. “I never told you this before but…” He chewed on his bottom lip. His eyes finally met yours. “I went to Hell for four months. But… down there? Four months is 40 years. Those 40 years were horrible. For the first thirty I was torture. Every day a man, dark as sin, evil smirk, he would come in and rip my skin off. Piece by piece, until I was nothing but bone. Then the next day it was like I’d grow back. He’d do it again. Every day before he left that son of a bitch gave me a way out. He said if I took the role as the torture, if I tortured poor, innocent souls, I wouldn’t be tortured. I said no for thirty years.” More tears fell. “Until I just couldn’t take it anymore. The last 10 years of my time in Hell I picked up that knife and I carved, and carved, and carved.” You scooped him into your arms and held him tight. You felt your shirt dampen as he cried,  not sobbed, just cried into you. He clutched onto your shoulders like if he let go he’d go back. His face nuzzled into the softness of your chest. “I-I can’t stop thinking about it…” 

“Shh… shh… You’re safe here, my love.” You peppered kisses all over his cheeks. “You took the torture for 30 years. That is way more than any one else ever could, sweet boy. I know I would’ve crumbled the first  day.” You gently stroked his cheek. 

Dean felt his eyes grow heavy with sleep. He was warm from your body heat, loved from your affection. He nuzzled into you like an overgrown cat. You kept peppering him in kisses. Your voice never stopped as he drifted into sleep. 

“You’re my brave boy… I adore you… You are so strong… You’re safe, loved, and so, so brave, my boy… my sweet darling, Dean… Thank you so much for sharing that with me…”

also how to get rid of crazy ao3 obsession sighs