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Dean was usually a sound sleeper. That much Benny knew. Once they had officially moved in together, Benny learned a lot of things about his boyfriend that he never knew before. This surprised him, considering he knew quite a lot about the man.
But there was something special about learning the way his face looked at five in the morning, when the light shone through their curtains just right, or the only glow in the room was the device in Dean’s hands as he typed out a new idea or chapter to some old story he’d gotten stuck in.
Benny learned how much Dean hated mornings. He thought he knew from the way Dean would grumble a tad too much when they occasionally met up for breakfast, but he got quite a turnaround when Dean slammed his fist into the alarm clock, or how he threatened to push Benny off the bed if he dared say good morning one more time. Benny took the immediate opportunity to do so.
Dean hadn’t been joking.
Benny also learned other things. Like the way Dean made coffee in the mornings, or how he was very fond of bringing sack lunches to work. Benny had thought it was a necessity, something Dean just did because it was simpler and cheaper than going out for lunch every day. But Dean liked the rhythm of making sandwiches in the mornings or hamburgers at night that he could take to the shop with him. He also seemed fond of all the different combinations one could make with fruit. Vegetables were always a strong no, Benny quickly learned, unless they were so mixed in with the meal you’d hardly realize they were there.
Not that Benny minded. He owned his own cafe. He was a cook, and Dean had never turned down his food in the past. Dean also reassured him it’d never happen in the future. As long as he was careful, anyway, Dean had quickly added with a playful jab in the ribs.
There were thousands of things Benny learned about Dean. But he took them all in easy stride. You couldn’t date one Dean Winchester and expect anything short of a wild, beautiful ride.
But with a wild ride came rough patches.
Those ones usually came at night.
Dean was usually a sound sleeper. Benny lost count of the times he and Dean would be up, talking into the night for hours. But Dean had a habit of dropping off into slumber if Benny took too long getting to his next subject. Sleep was important to Dean, and Benny could respect that. But only as long as Dean understood Benny wasn’t finished talking yet.
He’d simply jab Dean in the arm or kick his leg, then Dean would grumble sleepily, “I’m up, I’m up.” It was enough to sooth Benny, and he’d quickly wrap up his statement and allow his boyfriend to get the sleep he wanted.
But other nights weren’t as easy. There were nightmares. Benny assumed they were a natural part of a writer’s mind, something that came with the job of using an active imagination.
But Dean’s nightmares weren’t the stuff of imagination and fairy tales gone wrong.
They were real, and they sometimes had his lover shaking so badly it was enough to rouse even Benny from his slumber.
Benny was ashamed to admit he didn’t know what to do in those moments. Sometimes, if Dean let him, he’d hug him and cuddle him till the tremors shook out. Other times, he’d have to gather a few extra blankets. Dean said he liked the pressure. It was grounding. But he didn’t like to be touched those nights.
And other nights, like this night, Benny was helpless but to let Dean do whatever it was Dean needed to do.
Benny woke up to the sound of clicking and muttered curses at his side. He rolled over groggily, barely half awake, and wondering why Dean was up at some god-forsaken hour.
It had been a few weeks since the last nightmare, and it wasn’t uncommon for Dean to stay up a few extra hours to get some writing in before bedtime.
But tonight was different, Benny realized as he squinted at Dean’s shaking fingers, and the cell phone light beaming down on his pale face.
“Dean?” Benny asked softly, reaching out and touching Dean’s shoulder.
Dean flinched at the touch, but his gaze softened when he realized what had happened.
“Benny…” Dean said, his tone warning. It was enough to tell Benny all he needed to know. Nightmare. Again.
“Whatcha’ need, sugar?” Benny asked tiredly. He leaned his head back against the pillow, stared as Dean’s eyes flickered uncertainly in the cell phone’s glow.
He knew Dean hated moments like these. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out.
Dean hated to ask others for things. And worse, he hated feeling compromised, emotional. Tonight, that was exactly what he was. Emotional, and very compromised. If his sightless green eyes weren’t proof of that, his tremblings hands and arms did the trick.
“Silence,” Dean finally spoke, soft and yielding.
Benny nodded and sat up.
“Would ya’ like something sweet to go with that? Something warm?”
He got a short nod in response. It was all Benny needed.
He reached out a hand and brushed it through Dean’s hair, smiling when Dean didn’t flinch or recoil. He leaned down and kissed his boyfriend’s forehead before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and got up.
“Be back in a minute, darlin.’”
He heard a noncommittal grunt as he slipped out of the bedroom.
The rest of the apartment was dark and quiet. Benny flicked on the lights as he went, moving steadily until he found himself in the kitchen.
There was one thing he knew for sure he could make for his boyfriend. It was something his ma’ used to make for him as a boy. It helped that he’d always had a knack for spices growing up, and he was fortunate to find a guy who liked it as much as he.
He pulled out some milk, a pan, nutmeg, honey, and some spices and got to work. It was a simple concoction. Spiced Milk with Honey, sure to sooth any stomach twitching with nerves or anxiety. It was just smooth enough that it would fall warm and good all the way down, but with just enough spice to give Dean the kick he needed back into reality.
He got stuck in dreamland sometimes. Benny wouldn’t allow him to stay that way.
It took about ten minutes to complete. Benny took an extra five after checking in on Dean to see how he was doing.
He still typed away on his phone. His eyes were a little less distressed, and his face more slack. But even from the hallway Benny could see the leftover tension in his muscles.
He returned to the kitchen for the glasses of spiced milk and brought them back to the bedroom, hitting the lights with his elbows on the way back.
“Gotcha’ somethin,’” Benny announced. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat, set one of the glasses down on the nightstand while Dean propped himself up against the headboard. “Get some writin’ done?”
Dean shivered and set the phone down on the stand on his side of the bed. “I… Yeah, I guess,” he replied. “What did you make?”
“Spiced Milk ‘n honey. Thought ya’ might like it.”
Dean opened his hand and Benny placed the glass in his palm. Dean’s fingers brushed against his as a silent thank you before he tossed it back in one stroke.
Benny watched his throat move with the swallow.
“Good?” He asked.
Dean nodded, wiped his lip and smiled weakly. “Yeah. Good.”
Benny grabbed his own glass and settled back against the headboard.
They drank in companionable silence for several minutes. Benny tried not to glance at the phone, but he caught himself looking multiple times.
Dean was a writer. Benny knew that. But it wasn’t very often that Dean was in a writing mood after a nightmare. Benny didn’t want to think about what could have inspired him after a shake up like this one.
Dean was the one to speak first. He set his glass down, clinking it against the wooden stand, and confessed, “Had a nightmare.” His voice was rough, gravelly. He cleared his throat and continued, “It was… bad. But I guess it helped me get through a scene I was dealing with. Finally punched it through. Needed to get it out before I lost it in the morning.”
Benny remained silent. He chose not to mention that Dean’s nightmares never left him. He could see how they stuck with him in the hours that followed. The haunted look he’d sometimes get in his eye, or the way he jumped a little easier at an unexpected noise or touch.
Those things weren’t the Dean Benny knew. They were symptoms of something dark, something from Dean’s past that he didn’t want to talk about.
Benny knew he had a rough childhood. He’d lost count of the times they’d talked about John Winchester, and how he’d move the boys everywhere across the country in search of jobs that never panned out, living in places far too dangerous for two little boys to be walking to and from school to.
They hadn’t talked too many specifics though. Benny gave him the respect and privacy to discuss them when he was ready.
But it was in moments like these, where Dean’s lips were sealed so tight that Benny fought an awful temptation to ask.
“What scene?” Benny asked instead, hoping to distract Dean through his writing.
Dean sighed and leaned his head back against the headboard. “Um, the one where the brothers got trapped in the mine,” he explained. “They were, uh… trying to escape through a network of tunnels left by the miners before them.”
Benny took a measured breath. “And what got ya’ through the writer’s block?”
Dean was silent for a few moments. “I dreamed…” He started, then shook his head. “I wrote that they got separated. One of them hit their head and hallucinated that their brother had died.”
There was a shudder in the breath that followed. Benny didn’t think twice as he reached out his hand, took Dean’s in his own. Dean squeezed back in silent gratitude.
“I wrote a reunion scene. It… helped.”
The dream, or the scene? Benny wanted to ask. He didn’t. Instead he squeezed Dean’s hand tighter and pulled his boyfriend in close to his side. Dean didn’t fight back, and snuggled deep into Benny’s embrace as they fell back against the pillows.
“You know I love ya, right?” Benny asked softly.
Dean hummed back as Benny’s fingers carded through his hair. “Yeah. I know.”
“Good,” Benny said. “And ya’ know that I’m here whenever ya’ need me?”
Dean reached up a hand, placed it over Benny’s free one and moved it up over his heart. All was silent for a moment, and Dean finished, “Yeah. I know.”
Benny kissed Dean’s forehead once more and smiled.
“That’s all I wanted ta’ know,” he sighed. “Anything you need from me, darlin?’”
Dean hummed and pressed his face into Benny’s shoulder. “Just you.”
“That I can do,” Benny replied.
They fell asleep, carded together under the sheets. And in the morning, when they both got up and dressed for work, Benny was happy to notice Dean smiling more. He didn’t jump much either.
Benny decided to himself, maybe he did know a thing or two about his boyfriend after all.