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The bedsheets were warm around Dean’s waist. He was too tired to roll over and see what time it was, but something had woken him up and it wasn’t the alarm clock. The darkness of the room was proof enough of that.
Vaguely, he could feel the breeze of the open window. Normally he would never leave a window open. But Abby liked the draft, and the fact that they were on the second floor of their home did a little to put Dean’s mind at ease.
It was then that he felt a finger tracing along his chest. Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he looked down, vision blurring and then sharpening into focus. Red and beautifully manicured nails were tracing designs along his shirt, feather light and gentle in their ministrations. Dean hummed, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the pillows.
“H’llo,” Dean mumbled, reaching out a hand and drawing his wife closer to his body.
“I woke you,” Abby hummed back, not stopping her touches, but instead spreading her palm out over his heart.
“Yeah,” Dean replied, soft in the darkness. “What woke you?”
Abby was silent for several moments. It was only when her hand started to move and trace designs against his chest again that she finally spoke.
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
Dean nodded and hummed, smiling and snuggling in closer to Abby’s body. “I am,” he replied. “What about it?”
“...I like it on you.”
“Is that all?” Dean asked, opening his eyes and smiling. He hesitated when he saw his wife’s serious face looking back at him. Rather, her eyes were looking down at his chest, where the picture of the cartoon devil stared back at them both.
“Yes,” Abby replied. “Go back to sleep.”
Dean squinted in the darkness, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, he desperately wanted to return to sleep. They both had work in the morning--Dean had his motor shop to run, and Abby had her business to get back to. Sleep was calling, but on the other hand, the look in Abby’s eyes were haunting him. Something deep inside her called out to him, and he could feel it. There was no other way to explain it, and he’d tried before. Abby didn’t like it when he knew her so well, at times.
This would have to be one of those times.
“Something’s bothering you,” Dean whispered. “Talk to me.”
Abby went silent again. Her fingers continued tracing the picture of the devil, until finally, “Do you think I’m... wicked?”
“What?” Dean’s eyes widened, more alert now that she’d spoken. “In what context are we talking about? Cause you’re pretty damn wicked when you make me put on your high heels.”
A hint of a smile traced the corners of Abby’s lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.
“No,” she replied. “Do you think I’m... bad. I’m not cruel, am I?”
“No,” Dean assured, kissing her cheek. “Of course not.”
“How do you know?” Abby whispered, her voice urgent and without a trace of sleep in it. Dean wondered how long she’d been awake, tracing pictures and torturing herself with these questions.
Dean took a moment to collect himself. He wasn’t nearly awake enough for this. His body was sore from the sex they’d had earlier, and half his mind was already working on the problems he’d have to face tomorrow, but now was important, and he rallied himself to the task.
Once he’d gathered himself as best as he was able, he replied, “Because I know you. You can be hard, but you always have the best intentions for everything you do. You care about people and you want to make sure that the best is done for everyone. You know how to lead, and you don’t let anything stop you. I don’t think those are bad things.”
Abby was quiet. Her fingers hadn’t stopped tracing the devil during his speech, and he had a sinking feeling his words hadn’t been enough.
“That’s just it,” she said after a moment. “I’m hard. I crush people to get what I want.”
“Why would you think that?” Dean asked.
“Naomi.”
“Oh.”
Naomi Burbank. The queen of Abby’s personal hell at work. The woman was a fierce rival of Abby’s, and the woman was unafraid of cutting any corner to beat Abby at her own game. They had competing businesses after all. But, sometimes the fights got too personal, and Dean wished with everything he had that he could send Naomi into oblivion.
“She said the reason I lose business is because my employees are overworked and pushed too hard. She said I was driving them into the dirt.”
“She’s one to talk,” Dean huffed, rubbing his wife’s side with his hand. “All she does is scream at her employees and fire any one of them that looks at her the wrong way.”
“But isn’t she right? I’ve been pushing too hard, focusing too much on beating her than taking care of my own people.”
“So?” Dean sighed. “Do something about it. If you’re scared you’re hurting your employees, then you can change that. You’re the boss. Do something nice for them.”
“Do you think that will be enough?” Abby whispered.
Dean smiled and raised a hand, cupping his wife’s cheek and forcing her to look at him directly. Her hand stilled against his chest, her eyes wary and hurt. Dean wanted to make that look go away for the rest of their lives.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But I trust you. You can figure this out. You’ll do the right thing, cause you always do.”
Abby smiled and curled her arms around Dean’s waist, finally joining their bodies flush together.
“You say the stupidest things, Dean.”
“Maybe I’m smitten for a girl with a weird name.”
“You love me and my name.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Say it.”
“Abaddon.”