Dean Winchester Imagines

comfort

Y/N rolled over on the mattress, searching for Dean, her source of warmth. But once again she woke up to an empty bed. She sighed, slowly sitting up and stretching. Getting out of bed knowing what she would find in Bobby’s living room was hard. She did it, anyway, and walked down the stairs to the exact picture she had been expecting.

Dean was passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of whiskey forgotten on the floor, hair mussed and dark circles under his eyes. This had become a routine a few weeks ago. Dean would wake up with a hangover, drink some coffee and go for a ride on the Impala, and then he would come back to Bobby’s and start drinking again. It was the only way he had found to cope. At first, making love to Y/N at nights was enough to help him fall asleep. Now, he was in such a dreadful state not even sex would help. He would fall asleep, yes, but then he would be woken by his nightmares.

He was damaged, everyone could see that. Y/N knew he wasn’t the same man when he crawled out of hell —or more like when Cas saved him— but now he was getting worse. Learning he had been the one to break the first seal, finding out about Sam’s blood addiction and his allegiance with Ruby… it just broke him. A few cracks at first, but now he was too hurt, almost beyond repair. Even if he did heal, eventually, he would never be the same. The scars would always remain. Sam had freed Lucifer and started the Apocalypse. But he didn’t blame Sam. It wasn’t his fault, he thought he was doing the right thing. He blamed himself. He should’ve been there, he should’ve prevented it. But he failed. Again.

It seemed that all he did lately was fail. And every time he failed, somebody got hurt. Ellen and Jo died. Bobby was in a wheelchair. And his relationship with his brother was slowly falling apart.

Yes, Dean blamed himself for everything. The weight on his shoulders was too much. Having to save the world was a burden, and he couldn’t carry it on his own. He was just a man. And yet, here he was. Broken. Drinking until he couldn’t feel anything, until his body became numb and his emotions would fade away. Because being dead inside was the only way to keep going.

Y/N shook him a little until he groggily opened his eyes, taking in her worried expression.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“Get up, I’ll make you some coffee,” she offered. “And then we’ll talk.”

He didn’t say anything, instead doing as she said. She was upset about his behavior, he could see that, and he didn’t want to make things worse. She was probably going to dump him. It wasn’t as if he deserved any different, though. He had been neglecting their relationship for a few weeks now, so he had seen this coming.

“Here,” she announced as she placed a cup of coffee on the table for him. He thanked her quietly and proceeded to take a seat there, just like she did.

“So…” Dean started, dreading the conversation that was about to take place. The fact that his head was pounding didn’t make things any better.

“So,” she nodded. “Dean, you can’t expect me to ignore the fact that you’ve been drinking yourself to unconsciousness for the past few weeks. At first I thought it was your way of, you know, coping with what is going on… but I don’t think so anymore. Why do you do it?”

“Because it’s the only way to sleep, for a start,” he answered, taking a large gulp of the scalding coffee, not caring that it would burn his throat. “Because it’s the only way to sleep without dreaming. Because I don’t deserve any better.”

Y/N felt tears forming in her eyes as he said the words, avoiding looking at her directly, almost as if he was ashamed of his answer. “What about me?” she questioned. “Do you think you could… try to do better, for me?”