things you said

by ValentineRose28

Somehow they've managed to prove that the words left unspoken are the loudest and quietest things in the world. But they're both blind or stubborn or both and they are two paths that might, one day, be able to meet, if the planets are lined up just right and you wish on as many shooting stars as you can and maybe some airplanes too, because if you squint they look the same. Drabble

1. things you said at one am

A/N Based off an ask meme that made its rounds on tumblr months ago and imported from my ao3 profile. Pretty much just drabble, and I have no idea how many chapter I'll end up doing. Also might end up switching fandoms and doing some of the prompts for MR too, since they're so good. Enjoy!

things you said at one a.m.

It's late or it's early, depending on who you ask. The inside of Dean's mouth tastes like whiskey and gunpowder, his tongue feels like sand. The words rolling between his teeth are gritty and harsh, and his jaws aches to grind them down to nothing so they can't hurt anyone, especially himself. I need you. I want you. I'll break you. I can't have you. The air in the bunker is too thick, too close, and Dean needs to scream but it's locked in his throat. He slumps lower in the armchair and rubs a thumb over his brow.

You're drooling two feet away from him, slumped across one of the tables, trench coat wrinkled and stained in places and the sight of rust-dried blood is enough to turn Dean's stomach. Acid burns his bones and his fingers twitch, starting to reach for you before he clenches his jaw and wraps both hands tighter around the neck of a beer bottle. Your wings are broken and the feathers are singed and you never used to sleep but here we are, halfway between human and man and it makes Dean fucking pissed to know it was his fault you fell fast and hard from grace and it makes him more fucking pissed to feel heat prick behind his eyes at the thought.

You shift and groan in your sleep, and Dean sighs, pushing himself to his feet and setting the beer down by your elbow.

"Cas, hey," Dean says, voice gruff. He swallows glass and grabs your shoulder, flesh not quite warm or cold beneath his fingers. "Come on, time for bed." He pretends the words, simple and harmless, don't burn his mouth. You pretend that they don't make your heart, close to beating, feel warm.

You look up at him, blue burning into green, and blink at the shine in his eyes. Dean clears his throat and doesn't let go of your shoulder. You don't say what you're both thinking: you're an angel, you don't need to sleep. Because that's not exactly true anymore, is it?

You're not an angel, but you're not really anything else either. You're running on stolen juice and exhaust fumes, fighting a restless fight for a broken man and to be honest, you're tired. So you nod and let him pull you to your feet and you don't say anything as he leads you down the hall to his own bedroom by your elbow, stripping the trench coat on the way, and you don't say anything as he pulls you out of the suit you've made your own for years now and you don't say anything as he tucks you into his bed and molds himself to your back and tucks his nose under your ear and you definitely don't say anything when you feel something hot and wet drip onto your neck as his body trembles because sometimes there isn't anything you can say at one a.m. except this: you are so tired.