Fics like it takes a lifetime to die (and no time at all)

Dean is fragile—like the silence that has made home in his throat. Sometimes, in the dead of the night, when it’s just him and his cold, dark and empty room, Dean would reach up and feel his own face—a baseless need to make sure he hasn’t turned into mist or whatever. It’s not that Dean’s lost his voice or anything—he can feel it down in his throat, though it’s rattling in his chest, stuck and unmoving. Every time he tries to speak, the weight of each word presses down on his chest until he feels his ribs ache, like he’s having compressions done on him and his bones are starting to cave under the pressure. There’s something vaguely familiar about this feeling—an urge to make himself as small as he can until he sinks into the walls. Everything around him feels out of place, and a size bigger—the bunker, his room, his own skin—with too many empty spaces like an ill-fitting suit. He could pull a few words out of his throat if he pushes hard enough, but Dean’s so goddamn exhausted. But, even when he feels like a shadow of who he used to be, Cas is still the one thing that makes him feel more alive than his own burdened beating heart. *** After Michael, Dean stops talking.

Fics like it takes a lifetime to die (and no time at all)

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