This fic? It's all about the yearning boys. I wrote this instead of working on chemistry homework (as one does) and it was inspired by listening to Oh Wonder's songs and King and the Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men on repeat and reading one absolutely incredible Good Omens fic called Slow Show. All of that left me with a feeling of longing, of yearning for something or someone and trying to understand the feeling of what is your home and coming back to it.

It's short but sometimes it be like that. Also, shout out to Grammarly for apparently having a mood detector when reading your stuff and just saying it sounds sad? Like we love that.

It's like a hole that rests in the centre of his chest. It grows and grows, feeding on his insides and nothing Dean pushes into it seems to fill it. Instead, it's tendrils weave it's way through his ribs, around his lungs and heart, even spreading down towards his intestines. Dean feels the aching it leaves in its wake, always present like a phantom touch that can't be shaken. As the longing and aching grows, Dean feels it's tendrils wrapping around his shoulder, climbing up his neck. But, it's not suffocating, no it's never been. Never has this ache been cruel, been twisting and choking, stealing away the breath from his lungs and stopping his ever-beating heart.

As it wraps around his shoulders, Dean swears it's no different than a warm embrace. It encircles him, wrapping around his body, whispering in his ear, come home, my dear. Come home to me.

The whispers bring comfort that runs through his bones, cradling the aches and bruises left on his heart, his mind, in his chest. It makes the dark pit in his chest, the beast that resides in his rib cage weep and sighs in relief. It sighs in relief and with it, Dean does too. For so long, he hasn't heard it's crying, and when it's finally been calmed, the feeling that washes over Dean is otherworldly. He can't form the proper words to describe it, hell, Dean isn't even certain there are words in any language that describes how he feels like right now.

It's like coming home after a long day to your soft, inviting bed. It's like drinking a warm drink after escaping the bitter cold of winter. It's like listening to your favourite song for the first time, not knowing the lyrics and yet, your heart still sings along to the tune. It's the feeling of falling into a hug when you're barely holding it together, arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you while tears fall down your cheeks. It's laughter and old jokes and smiles that make your cheeks sore and belly hurt.

It fills him from the inside out, staring at his chest and spreading out. It jumps along the paths left by the tendrils, it runs through his veins and pools at his fingers and toes and ears.

Every bit of Dean is left feeling this thrum of relief and comfort, and he doesn't want it to ever go away.

Come home, my sweet. Come back.

Gone is the tension from his shoulders, the weariness from his limbs, the pain from his neck. His body feels young and new, not worn and warped from responsibilities like the salt and wind warp wood. With the waves up around his shoulders, wrapped around his neck like a thick woolen scarf, Dean feels what is akin to peace. The waves turn his shackles that had encircled his wrists to sand, crumbling away with the tide, and Dean doesn't find the urge to try and renew them. They fall away and he lets them. He lets them fall away with a smile, tilting his head upwards to the dark sky.

Lit only by pinpricks of thousands of stars, Dean doesn't feel small.

In the pricks of light, the moon grins down at him with a smile like the Chesire cat, but where he had originally seen it as laced with mockery and taunting, this grin is softened. No sharp edges to snag your heart on, no corners to cut and leave you feeling raw. It's a smile of a mother, warm and welcoming and genuine. The moon looks down upon him with her thousands of eyes and says, you've come home. You got a little lost but you've found your way home again and Dean smiles back as if it says, yes. I have.

Dean's small boat brushes against his shoulder, and he lowers his head to look at it. With a bit of difficulty, he hauled himself back onto his boat, droplets of water running down his bare arms and legs. It doesn't bother him though, as Dean still finds himself thinking about his earlier realization. It wasn't shocking, like dipping hesitant toes into ice-cold water. Instead, it washed over him like the ocean's waves, the truth already having been known within his heart for ages now. Dean's been aware of his disjointedness, this ache he's been carrying, this pulling that's never ceased, had grown familiar with this longing, and to now acknowledge it, to be aware, it's freeing.

He laughs out loud, not caring if anyone can hear him.

You've come home, the ocean whispers to him and Dean nods.

"I've come home. Finally."

And, without glancing back at the land behind him where all Dean's ever known exists, where his town and family and responsibilities lie, Dean opens the ship's sail and leans back against the man, sitting on the ship's deck. He's finally come home.

Will I add more to this idea with Dean and the ocean? Who knows, maybe not because I feel like there are too many ways it could go and so what happens next, you can decide. Let me know in the comments if you loved it and if not, let me know why!

-Twist