A sad little one-shot that came to me while listening to Stay With Me by Sam Smith. It could be taken as Dean/OC, but the point of it was to be Destiel. I'm not completely caught up on the show (really, I'm a season or two behind) but I'm just using what I've learned from various bits of Googling, YouTube videos, and just hanging around on Tumblr. So, for that reason, there's not really a ton of plot to it. Anyway, you'll get it when you read the story. Enjoy!

"Who is it you're in love with?" Her question seems to come out of nowhere. Everything was still and fine until the words came out from her lips and smacked him in the face.

"What?" That same thing that everyone always says, but only because it always fits perfectly.

"When you first commented on my eyes, there was this look in yours; like they reminded you of someone." She didn't repeat the question; she knew she didn't have to.

"Maybe I just liked your eyes."

"Why did you like my eyes?"

He was starting to get mad. And he didn't know why. "Does there have to be a reason, Sarrah? Maybe I just thought you had nice eyes; did you ever consider that?"

Her eyes were nice, a beautiful jewel-blue dotted with flecks of emerald that could rival his own. But they weren't the prettiest he'd ever seen. To him, they were second-rate.

"No," her voice was barely past a whisper, "I didn't. I knew there was no way. You have...you have this look to you. You radiate sad, Dean. And I can feel how fast you're running from the reason you're sad. Hell, I know why. You don't need to explain to me. But do they? Do these people you love-whoever they are-know why you ran?"

"No, they don't." He didn't want the words to be falling out like they were, but something else had taken command, something that couldn't lie to his newfound friend (and one-time lover, the voice in his head mocked) . "And I don't want them to know. I want them to go on thinking…thinking I'm gone. Better that than this thing I am. Even with all the shit we've been through...there's nothing anyone can do about this. So it's better that I stay away and let them think what they want, because as bad as it was for them with me being dead, it's gonna be a thousand times worse with me not dead and…" He choked, like he did when he tried to say her name; like there was something wrong with the word, like it wasn't allowed to pass his lips.

She ran a hand up and down his arm, poking at the raised hand print on his shoulder that she somehow managed to feel through three layers of clothing. "Does this have anything to do with it?"

He didn't answer. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood and kept biting.

"Who are you in love with?" His shoulders started shaking and his head started going back and forth in that signature motion of denial. "It's not a bad thing, you know. It's the strongest when you don't let it leave that dark corner of your mind; when you let it sit and grow and become so strong that you want it so bad but everything says you can't have it but you want it so bad and…" Her voice caught, too.

His eyes raised to meet hers, the emerald green begging her to keep talking, to not give him room to respond.

"And it's old, but it's strong even though it's been hiding. It's old and strong and it will do anything to get out, and even if you won't let it say that it's really love because you're scared of just what the word means." Tears had started to pour down her face, and his vision was starting to blur, and when he realized why, the water released, part joy over something he thought he'd never be able to do again.

"So it's actions. It's the actions that are something you would do everyday, for anyone that deserved the good, but at the same time there's just this weight behind it that only you can feel that's what makes it special." He finished, watching her nod and crumple to her knees, hit with her worst fears.

"I still love him," she said, sobs shaking her whole body, making her sound like she was gasping for air. "Even after everything he did. Even after I wanted him to pay, even after I was glad he was dead. I still love him. I can't stop and I hated it when it started."

He went down on his knees next to her and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. He stroked her hair and hummed an old song, the one from the days far, far, far before. He pressed a kiss to her temple, reveling in the sheer humanity of everything he was doing for this girl that he had decided he liked the moment she took a shot of whiskey like it was nothing and then proceeded to hold a knife to his throat.

"I know, Sarrah, I know. I do too."