The bed, usually comfortable and cozy was the opposite. No matter how much he tossed and turned, no sleep was to be found. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to get up.
He was tense – so tense that his back and neck hurt as he lay awkwardly across the pillows; his breath came out in tiny huffs as if the hounds of Hell were chasing him. His nose was stuffy, eyes burning in the darkness. His pulse thudded in his chest, and the pounding felt like an echo caused by the mattress behaving like a soundboard.
Swallowing, he tried to slow down; nothing was wrong – for fuck's sake. He was safe in his bed, surrounded by weapons to protect him. He was alone in the room. There was absolutely no reason to lie there and think, over and over, 'I hate my life'.
Tears slipped unbidden from the corner of his eyes. He quickly wiped them away on the pillowcase, burying his face in the cushions when they wouldn't stop.
Hours later, when the sun was shining brightly through windows that he'd forgotten to pull the curtains closed on, he sat up. His toes curled through the faded carpet, barely-there fibers clutched tightly, then loosened while he stared down at them. The call of nature forced his forward movement to the cluttered bathroom.
The stream of piss tinkled in the toilet bowl; as he did his business, he looked around the room. He had let things pile up: used towels thrown in the corner, toilet paper cardboard practically spilling over the full garbage pail, and his first aid kit still spilled on the bathroom vanity… creams, band-aids, and rolls of tape had accidentally fallen in the sink. They were still wet from the night before – he hadn't even bothered to move them to wash his hands after returning from his hunt.
Wiping his dick, he tucked himself back into his lounge pants and shuffled over to the sink to wash his hands yet again. Looking up, he stared at his face in the mirror. He looked old and weary, exhausted and ugly. The brown hairs near his temples had been starting to turn gray. Drying his hands on an old hand towel, he leaned forward to pluck at the gray. As soon as he pulled one out, another made itself known. There was no point to continuing, face falling and drooping in the mirror – he turned away to trudge back to his bed.
He fell back into the cushions, hugging the pillows to his tight chest. He was so tired that he felt it down in his bones. If only sleep would take him. Lying there, he felt time pass by, yet no inclination to do a single thing but listen to the pounding in his veins. He kicked off the sheets, then pulled them back over his body a few minutes later when he got cold, then back off when he overheated.
Hearing the door open, he didn't bother to move; it could only be one of two people. The mattress dipped as the weight of a familiar body pressed behind his. Strong arms wrapped around him, one sliding under his head, while the other pressed a palm to his heart.
When his bed partner finally spoke, it was in soft tones. "It's nearly 4:00 pm. You missed breakfast and lunch."
Breathlessly, he answered, "I'm not hungry today."
The arms tightened around him; gently pulling him until they were positioned properly: chest to back. He felt like the walls were closing in; unable to pull enough oxygen into his lungs – unable to catch his breath. Comparatively, the chest behind him was breathing slow and deeply. It was a silent attempt to both distract him as well as direct him to follow his lead.
They both lie there unmoving; the comfort being offered freely was both smothering and necessary. Instinctually, he wanted to push the arms away. He wanted to be the strong, independent type – a hero. But just this once, he wanted someone to take care of him and tell him that everything was going to be alright.
Like a mind reader, words were whispered against his neck. "You're going to be alright; I promise." It was a vow, finalized with a press of lips against the crown of his head. A kiss.
It wasn't immediate… taking him a while to finally relax. His muscles trembled after being tightly clenched for hours. The strong arms wrapped around him slid away and his back felt cold when the object of his comfort got up. Fingertips trailed gently in his hair, "I'll be right back." Then the touch was gone and he was alone yet again.
He heard the clatter of objects being shifted in the bathroom and knew without a doubt that the mess he'd left in there was being picked up. He pressed his face back into the pillow in shame. He was a fucking adult – he wasn't a child to be coddled. He should have cleaned up after himself without help… how lazy was he?
Tears burned in his eyes but he refused to let them fall – bottling it deep in his chest. What could have been an hour later, but was most likely only a few minutes, he heard footsteps as they padded towards his bedside. He expected the warm body to press back against his and was startled when he felt his wrist being taken ahold of. "It's okay. I just wanted you on your back."
"What?" He shook his head, turning to look at the man beside him for the first time that day. He spotted the shape of a small bottle in the robe. "I'm sorry; I can't – I'm not in the mood tonight… I love you, but I just…"
Gentle fingertips were pressed against his lips interrupting his near-panicked reaction. "I don't want sex. Not if you aren't as enthusiastic as I am. I just – I thought you could use a massage." The bottle was pulled out.
It was massage oil, not lube as he'd assumed. Skin darkening with embarrassment, he wiped at his face tiredly.
"Your muscles felt tight and knotted… would you allow me?" Permission requested – as always. How could he even for a second believe that his consent wouldn't be taken into account during intimacy?
Nodding, he allowed to be shifted onto his back then closed his eyes in an attempt to relax. The thicker blanket was pulled off the bed, preventing the oil from damaging the southwestern patterned fleece. The sheet that he'd been kicking on and off slid over his torso. An unexpected laugh slipped freely past his lips.
"What's so funny?" It was asked in amusement.
"Uh… I feel like one of those romantic comedies; where the sheets cover the sexy bits to keep it PG-13. You've seen it all – why bother?" He pried open an eyelid to catch the fond shake of the head.
A thumb and forefinger trailed down his cheek until it rested against the pulse point in his neck. "I bother because I want you to feel comfortable enough to relax. We're not going to have sex today… and I don't want you to think that this is my way of seducing you to change your mind."
He huffed, closing his eye once again and settling against the mattress. "What if I do change my mind?" Playfully, he raised his eyebrows suggestively with a tired smirk. He didn't remember the last time he'd given a massage that didn't result in a sexy time. Hell, it was practically his signature move – it got underwear to drop faster than bouquets of roses. It had been a long time since he'd even attempted it… certainly not in his current relationship. They didn't need seduction: a lick of the lips, a tilt of the head, or gentle touch would be enough to arouse.
"We'll talk about it." It wasn't said to be dismissive, but a genuine desire to connect as a couple. Warm hands slid around his neck. The touch was firm, moving from his trachea to his shoulders down the muscles with a slight squeeze. The pressure was consistent, only shifting when a knot was discovered, then pressed a bit harder to work it out. "Let me know if you want me to lighten my touch."
"Mmm." He hummed. When the fingertips ran through his hair and behind his ears, he felt his body melt. It was quite immediate like he'd been wrapped in a cloud. Finally, he was able to take a deep breath without feeling like he was suffocating. Occasionally, the hands left him to reapply more oil, but when they were gone for longer than a couple of seconds – he pried open his eyes to see his lover wipe his hands and then fiddle with the stereo system. He just watched – not commenting when something that sounded like wind chimes and flutes came out of the speakers. The volume was lowered, unlike when it was on its usual classic rock station.
"I found this station a while back. They played it in the yoga studio that we infiltrated. I thought it sounded relaxing." His left hand was clasped with two oily hands shifting up his forearm and down his wrists. Hand positioned towards the ceiling, a thumb pressed in the center of his palm, then circled along his knuckles. It was surprising; the hand massage relieved the pain he didn't even realize that he was in by clenching his fists as he attempted to sleep. The gentle strokes continued on his right arm then back up to his shoulders. Returning towards his neck, fingers slipped under the sheet and pressed against his pecks, purposefully avoiding his nipples. He moaned softly. Dammit, he couldn't help but hope for an 'accidental' slip. He felt so good.
Before he could gain enough energy to ask for more, the warm hands left his chest and pulled up the sheet to his neck, covering his arms. Before he could wonder if the massage was over, the sheet uncovered his left leg, and the massage was restarted. Joints were manipulated, legs lifted, knees bent and ankles rolled. It was only when his toes were stroked that he giggled. Immediately, the touch became firmer to avoid the ticklish reflex.
"If you roll over, I'll do your back…" The kind offer could not be refused, tiredly turning on his side and lifting himself up with arms that used to be strong enough to move boulders yet now struggling to do the first thing that an infant learned. Once he got on his belly, he pulled his pillow under his face and turned his head to the right. It wasn't exactly the best therapeutic position, he knew -but would work.
His other half carded his fingertips through his hair, then leaned over to kiss his cheek softly before continuing down his shoulders to his upper back. Cloud-nine. That's the only way he could explain it. He was floating – all of the stresses, fears, and sadness disappearing in this state of utter relaxation. The soft music switched to something more ambient; a fireplace crackling and insects playing their songs as if camping.
Camping trips didn't fill him with happy memories; muscles tightened when he remembered childhood training, purgatory, on top of hunts when they went bad. Always in the woods.
As soon as he became tense, the massage paused and he heard footsteps quickly turn towards the stereo; the station was changed. Brian Addams crooned 'everything I do, I do it for you' in that husky voice of his – the chorus line of the ballad.
The 'sorry' was evident in action; the massage resuming from the beginning with a kiss pressed to his cheek. This time, he was able to maintain the peace achieved, dozing.
He didn't know when he fell asleep, but only reemerged once it was dark outside. Rolling to his side, he made his way down the hall and towards the kitchen, scratching absentmindedly at his five-o-clock shadow. It was in that awkward 2-day growth period. Mentally creating a task, he would need to shave come morning.
In the kitchen, the two people that he loved the most were cooking dinner. From the scent of whatever was in the oven, it was something Italian. There was a basket of garlic bread already plated on the table and he wasn't able to wait – grabbing a piece and practically stuffing it into his mouth. It was still hot, making him wince, but so good. He'd been starving.
A glass of water was handed to him, making him arch an eyebrow. "What? No beer?"
"You've been asleep all day, you need the hydration." It was explained. The look he was given at the attempt to pass it back made him feel guilty so he downed the water and handed the empty glass back.
Before he could duck away, his arm was snatched to hold him in place. "How are you feeling now?"
Surreptitiously, he squeezed his beloved's hand – not liking public displays of affection, but sneaking it in while his brother's back was turned. "I feel better. Thank you."
Their eyes locked, silently communicating. A look of concern followed by love and reassurance that he was well.
The timer pinged startling them both. "I didn't know we had that! When did we get a kitchen timer?"
His brother rolled his eyes, "it's been in front of you all of this time. What did you think the dial was?" The casserole dish was pulled from the oven. The scent of piping hot tomato sauce filled up the small room.
"I don't know, whatever." He went over to the kitchen table, tiredly collapsing into the chair. Perhaps he hadn't bounced back as quickly as he'd assumed that he had. The ache was still resonating in his bones. He felt old.
Another glass of water was placed in front of him, followed by a plate of hot lasagna and garlic bread. There was a bowl of salad in the middle of the table; it was easily ignored for the baked goods.
Manners be damned, he grabbed a fork and started stuffing his face hungrily. He was joined at the table, there were clattering and chewing sounds in lieu of conversation. He could tell his brother wanted to begin interrogating him, and his lover shook his head 'no' to keep the peace.
Once he'd had his fill, he got up and excused himself. "Heading back to bed, guys. I'll catch you in the morning. Thanks for dinner. It was awesome." He waved his 'goodnight' by the kitchen door, begging off cleaning duty.
An arm around his waist slowed his pace, walking together towards his bedroom holding hands. Looked like his brother would have to clean up on his own. Going into the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and washed his hands using the clean towel that had been lain out for him. It was sparkling.
His throat tightened with emotion: gratefulness. When he looked up into the mirror, he caught his reflection yet again. His skin was shiny with oil, but the lines of tension were gone, making him look younger than earlier. "You look beautiful, you know. Not just your physical being, but your soul."
Turning, his personal space was invaded. He didn't mind it this time, leaning in for the kiss that he'd wanted from the second that he'd woken up. It was gentle, not rushed. Comfort and love put into action.
"I love you," he whispered. "Thank you for today."
"You don't need to thank me. What kind of partner would I be to ignore you when you're having a tough day and do nothing to help? I love you. I'd do anything for you – don't you know that?" Their foreheads pressed against each other; breathing calmly in unison.
"I do. Same. You know that right? I'd do the same for you." A kiss was the only reply before leading them out of the bathroom and towards the bed. He was still in the same pajamas that he'd woken up in – uncaring of that fact. His partner took a minute to undress and slip into a soft blue t-shirt and plaid pajama pants.
Each of them settled on their respective sides of the bed, the fleece blanket spread over the top of their bottom half. Curling into each other, he couldn't help but lay his head on his lover's shoulders. "It was a horrible day… I couldn't face anything. Things usually just roll off me, you know? But today – I needed – I don't know."
Lips pressed against his temple and fingers threaded to his. "You needed a break. Time to be human. You get that, you know."
"It was selfish. I mean – what if some family got hurt because I was being a lazy ass-." He got cut off with a kiss on his lips.
"You are anything but selfish. You also cannot control everything. Somewhere on this planet, we call Earth is a family who was hurt by a monster. You will be too far away to stop it. You aren't Superman – able to fly to the other side of the world in a moment, nor an angel for that matter." It was said gently. "You fought with every fiber of your being to prevent that transformation – as I recall."
"Yeah – just – never really felt like this before." He murmured.
"Like what?"
Swallowing hard, he thought of how to put his thoughts together so that they would make sense. "I was empty – I didn't care anymore. I just – I just wanted to sleep but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't calm down. It doesn't make sense. How could I not feel anything but feel something? It's a contradiction."
"Do you still feel that way?" He was asked cautiously.
"I'm tired right now. I feel – numb." It was the truth; exhaustion was flooding over him, keeping him from feeling that overwhelmed panic from earlier. He closed his eyes, cuddling into the man cradling his shoulders.
"You should sleep then. I'll be here to watch over you and keep you safe." It was quietly whispered, fingertips stroking through his hair – gentling him to sleep.
He rolled a bit more and threw his leg over his lover. With one last kiss, he fell into a peaceful sleep.
Notes:
I wrote this story as my first m/m third-person fanfic. Obviously, I was thinking Destiel. But, I wrote it vague enough that it would work for any m/m couple outside the one 'purgatory' mention.
I hope that you all enjoy it - truth be told, I'm a bit nervous about entering Destiel as an author instead of simply a fan of other writers.
It's basically a fantasy for me during one of my 'tough' nights of insomnia... maybe someday I'll meet a guy like that. (Feel free to pass him along if you already know him... he's been hard to find.)
No joke - it makes you an emotional wreck to not sleep for days at a time. I don't quite know how Dean does it with only 4 hours. I'd be crazy... though, perhaps his anger stems from that. LOL.