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*****
They were about 45 minutes into a 4 hour drive to the next town for Smackdown. Dean was driving as usual. He preferred being behind the wheel, liked the comfort of cruising down an empty road, listening to some Jenny Lewis and paying special attention to Renee's voice as she sang along. When they were alone on the road like this, nothing mattered anymore. He could almost forget that he'd been attacked by Seth earlier in the night, could almost forget that bastard's face as he slammed Dean's shoulder into the barricade, over and over again.
Almost.
He's rudely reminded when a speed-bump jars his shoulder, forcing a hiss from his lips as pain tingles across his arm. Renee startles up immediately, her hand reaching for his leg, and her eyes searching his face to figure out what's wrong.
"I'm ok." He reassures, smirking. "You should see the other guy."
It takes him by surprise when he feels her lips against his shoulder a few seconds later.
His cheeks flush pink as he chuckles: "You kissin' my booboos now?"
It gets him a giggle and a gentle swat to the thigh.
10 minutes later, they stop at a gas station. When they get back to the car, Renee silently takes the driver's seat, fixing him with a look that says 'don't argue'. Before they drive off, she throws an ice pack on his lap, that look still firmly in place.
"I'm ok 'nee. Really. You don't gotta do this."
"I want to do this. Let me take care of you."
*****
He was ok. He had to be.
He'd been through worse before. He knew that the pain would fade away in a couple of days. It wasn't even that bad, really. Yet, something about almost fucking dying on the "grandest stage of them all" made the pain relentless. It nagged away at him, the throbbing on the back of his head carrying with it a chant of "You failed. You fucked up. You can't do this on your own." He didn't know anymore if the migraine that he was getting was from the powerbomb or from the words.
His first Wrestlemania on his own and he'd failed. He wasn't even able to keep his promise of stopping Rollins from cashing in. He left his only remaining brother helpless and alone as that rat stole his championship. What was supposed to be his night to shine as a solo act ended with nothing but a loss hanging over his smashed head.
He wanted to hit his head against the hotel room wall until he reopened his wound, maybe then he'd pass out and forget that this shit day even happened.
When Renee walks into the room with some pain relievers, he looks away. He's not ready to face her again, not ready to see the pity that he knows is etched on her face. He mumbles an "I'm ok" when she asks, for the hundredth time that day, how he's doing and a "thanks" when she hands them the medication. He still doesn't look at her as she sits on the edge of the bed next to him.
He doesn't expect her lips on his, hands feather-light against the back of his neck. He doesn't expect the look of adoration that she gives him afterwords. And he definitely doesn't expect her next words:
"I'm so proud of you, Dean."
He snorts and it sounds more like a sniffle.
"Think you've got the wrong Dean there."
She silences him with another kiss, all lips, and he closes his eyes, body tensing slightly against the undeserved softness. She trails more kisses on his jaw, down his neck, over every bruise that litters his chest. After each kiss, she whispers more praise.
"I'm proud of you. Your strength. Your bravery. Your loving heart," her lips lingering right over where his heart was beating out of his chest, now slowing down with every word.
"You are so perfect for me. I love you. I'm proud of you." She repeats.
The words begin to build up a chant of their own, putting up a hell of a fight against the chant in the back of his head.
Eventually, Renee's words gain the upperhand.
Dean's body begins to relax. The throbbing in his head dissolves into a fading ache. His fists uncurl as she lands a final kiss to each of his palms.
His body feels like jelly by the time she lies down next to him and cradles his head to her chest, careful not to touch any of the staples.
"How're you doing?" She murmurs against his hair.
"I'll be ok." He assures her, and this time he actually believes it. "Thank you."