Nightmares
Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt of "Nightmares"
Fandom : Supernatural/Leverage
Pairing : Dean/Eliot (Fits in the same 'verse as "I Keep Your Picture" and "How It All Began" – kind of a timestamp to the parts I haven't finished writing and posting yet!) . This one is set post Dean's return from Hell.
Rating : PG-13
Word count : about 700 words
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Nightmares
Dean figured it probably wasn't that surprising in either of their lines of work that nightmares over the years had not been uncommon. In the early days it had been hard to even sleep in the same bed, neither of them used to sharing such a close space, leaving themselves vulnerable. Dean would readily admit that for him it had been marginally easier, probably as he'd spent so many years sharing a room with his brother.
Really with hindsight, the surprise was not the unsettled nights, the broken sleep and the edging round one another with embarrassment at their reaction, the real surprise was how quickly it had all faded to nothing and sleeping together had become the time they slept best.
Nightmares were a whole different kettle of fish. Too many sights, too many memories, but at the same time, the nightmares had brought them closer to each other. To be met with understanding by a bed mate was a first. No questions, no need to talk, just warmth and comfort; respite. Trust was built layer on layer. With no questions asked, it became easier to share. It was little pieces at first, elements of the truth without the whole truth, but it was enough.
Things were worse after Dean got back from Hell, but he'd become used to hiding the effects from Sam. He'd forced himself into sleeping, waking with an abrupt jerk but soundless. He'd trained himself how to show as little reaction as possible, eyes snapping open, body rigid, sweat soaking his body. He'd learnt to slide silently from his bed and head for the bathroom to get his head round his dreams there. He'd told Sam he remembered nothing of Hell. It was a lie.
The first night back with Eliot and he thought he'd managed it, until he returned to the bed to find the sheets changed and Eliot waiting silently for him, a hand slipped round him to bring him close, laying his head on Eliot's chest to the feel of gentle fingers on his scalp and he drifted back to sleep without a word, and without a nightmare again that night.
The second night, he thought he'd done better, thought he'd pulled himself from the nightmare's clutches sooner, but as his eyes opened, he saw that Eliot was there waiting, hand skimming softly over his cheek, whispered reassurances of being alright and safety and love. He rolled over, eyes meeting Eliot's for a moment before looking away and laying his head back on Eliot's chest. He'd laid rigid and tense without sleeping until morning while Eliot had tried to ease him back to sleep.
It went on, night after night, there was nothing that seemed to improve it. Dean became more and more reluctant to go to bed, knowing as he did that, without fail, he would lurch from sleep and bring Eliot with him and that no matter what Eliot wouldn't fail to be patient and he wouldn't push or press for just what exactly was in those nightmares.
Exhaustion won out. Dean lurched from sleep once more, a cry of "Eliot!" on his lips, not quite bitten back before it slipped out. "Sorry," muttered quietly when he realized, but this time there was no retreat to the bathroom, no escape to regain control, for Eliot was there already. This time Eliot's hand was already holding him close, ignoring the cold sweat that soaked Dean's t-shirt, this time a gentle kiss to the forehead was enough to break the barriers and let the flood begin.
A single tear tracked its way down his cheek and as Eliot's thumb swiped it away, the rest began to fall and with them, Dean finally began to talk.