#(awuh!)

@qapsiel || send 'i don't want to be alone tonight.' for dean's reaction! || accepting!

"I don't want to be alone tonight." (From endverse Cas!)

sleep? what's sleep?

dean rubs at the hollow of his eye with the brunt of his wrist. hours tick by like small eternities contained in one nanosecond. feels like forever's come and gone since the sun set. every night has the same feeling wrapped in a ribbon waiting for him. an empty void that digs into his stomach. twists and turns it upside down. makes his brain itch. and his heart? feels like it's about to claw it's way out of his ribcage and through his chest because a vital part of it's missing and it wants, desperately, to find it.

problem is..

that part of his heart.. he can't bring himself to face. not yet. not tonight.

a knock on his door brings his hand to his lap, mentally exhausted eyes shift their vacant stare (blink, blink.. one. two. three. seconds go by.) into nothing over to the source of the noise instead. shoving himself up.. bare feet start padding his way over. his thumb hooks in the threadbare waistband of a pair of salvaged flannel pajama bottoms tugs them up. straightens out his cotton t-shirt. there. he's, somewhat, presentable before he tugs the door open and comes face to face with.. "cas.."

'i don't want to be alone tonight..'

the look on his face? how it seems so lost and sad. dean's expression twists up. feels like his soul can sense the desperation in the former angel's voice. "you don't gotta be..," his voice is raw from lack of use. but instantly--the words come out. "c'mon.." swinging a hand out, he curls it around cas's wrist and pulls him in as he steps back from the door leaving cas to be the one to close it. a brief, sad smile greets him. as if having him near slams a reminder square into dean's chest (dean's attempt to not put a label on the desolation creeping into despair fails miserably)--a deep loneliness seeps into every fiber of his being and it hurts. hesitation. a brief pause that lasts as long as a passing doubt. (would cas want this?) one that flares up and dies out as quickly as it came. (he won't mind.) dean's forehead connects with cas's shoulder. the hunter tucks away into the darkness between their bodies. stares down at their feet facing one another. his voice is a murmur. quiet and gentle. far more gentle than anyone else is allowed to hear or see.

The glare from the ginger’s face left no room for arguing.

Briefly nodding, he followed her gesture towards the table and walked over to take a seat.  Legs dangled from the bottom as he squinted towards his lap.  “Right,” his gaze lifted up and met hers as a smile chased after her laugh, “What did I interrupt you from?  Studying?”

touch my muse by..

They’ve been stuck out of Hilltop for days now.  A run gone longer than expected wound up with both of them reunited for the night in a dingy tent in the middle of nowhere.  Doesn’t matter so long as they’re dry and safe and sound.  Not in Daryl’s book anyway.  

They got creative.  Two sleeping bags zipped around one another rather than each one done up the proper way.  One blanket from each of their bags covered them up, too.  Hell.  This was more comfortable than the bed back home, if you asked Daryl.  Around them the night time was comfortingly silent of footsteps or the groans of the dead (though with Kal on watch for the rest of the night, they could rest easy) and alive with the noise of crickets, a random rustle of leaves.  Out here?  Daryl could breathe easier than he could behind rusted walls and closed doors.

He can hear Paul as he sucks in a deep breath.  Daryl lifts his head when arms circle him from behind.  He melts back into the hold feeling Paul’s chin come in contact with the top of his head.  Oh look!  Someone was scooted high enough to be the ‘taller’ one.  There’s nothing more comforting and hilariously adorable at the same time.  One hand rests on top of Paul’s arm, the other reaches back to brush through the cooled off texture of Paul’s hair.