[QT] 04.08 - Afterwards
And afterwards, you were the one that wanted to cuddle. - Rachel Gibson
Maybe he's changed, but for some reason or another he can't even see past his own fear. He's dying, and it's not even the kind of death you can feel in your bones. It's not making him weaker, or wearing him down. He's not taking naps in the middle of the day because he's not up to facing the rest of it without some rest.
He hasn't really rested since the day he sealed the deal.
Instead he's pushed onward, and pushed people away. Hell Bobby stopped calling him after the fourth 'Fuck you.' he sent his way. Sammy was so far away from him by now, he wasn't even sure what was going on with him. The guilt was there though, back of his mind constantly tapping like the drumming sound of Ruby's nails against the lacquer of the table in the motel room. They'd tap out a rhythm in succession and he could almost tell which fingertip had hit the table first and which one last. She'd vary it up, but still the same tapping sound.
He was one series of taps away from getting up off the bed where he'd been lying, but instead he let it continue. The back of his hand pressed to his forehead, and the faint tinge of gunpowder still hitting his nose each time he inhaled deep. His side ached and he wasn't even sure what the point was anymore. He was just one man now, one man and a demon. Sam was out there... and hell even if they were fighting side by side...
It's never enough.
He's dying and it's never going to be enough.
Twisting around he grabs the pillow from under his head, punching his fist into the end of it trying to force some sort of shape into it as he tries to not watch the red digital lines of the time burn into his mind.
The shift of weight on the opposite side of the bed isn't unwelcome, but it's unexpected. He'd barely noticed that the tapping had stopped. It had been replaced in his mind with the thoughts he'd been fighting against for weeks now. Her hand brushes against the back of his head, against the short hairs nearly sending a shiver down his neck if he hadn't been sort of used to the touch by now. Turning around he winces at the pain in his side, the ribs that had felt the good two hundred pounds of muscle and demon force slam him into the wall a few hours earlier.
His arm reached around her, pulling her closer to him. She didn't really fit beside him, there was no perfect spot that she could curl into and he knew that it wasn't meant to be like that anyway. She was cool to the touch, and in a few moments she'd absorb some of his body temperature and maybe he could believe she'd take away some of the hurt... some of the truth.
Maybe he's changed... but they sure as hell haven't. The demons are out there, and they're waiting for his bill to come due.
"Dammit you're one ugly sonovabitch. Hate to mess up that mug, but oh hell who am I kidding, this might help you."
"It doesn't matter. Kill me now. Kill me later. I'll be seeing you Dean."
"I vote kill you now."
"See you soon Dean Winchester."
Maybe he's changed, but for some reason or another he can't even see past his own fear. He's dying, and it's not even the kind of death you can feel in your bones. It's not making him weaker, or wearing him down. He's not taking naps in the middle of the day because he's not up to facing the rest of it without some rest.
He hasn't really rested since the day he sealed the deal.
Instead he's pushed onward, and pushed people away. Hell Bobby stopped calling him after the fourth 'Fuck you.' he sent his way. Sammy was so far away from him by now, he wasn't even sure what was going on with him. The guilt was there though, back of his mind constantly tapping like the drumming sound of Ruby's nails against the lacquer of the table in the motel room. They'd tap out a rhythm in succession and he could almost tell which fingertip had hit the table first and which one last. She'd vary it up, but still the same tapping sound.
He was one series of taps away from getting up off the bed where he'd been lying, but instead he let it continue. The back of his hand pressed to his forehead, and the faint tinge of gunpowder still hitting his nose each time he inhaled deep. His side ached and he wasn't even sure what the point was anymore. He was just one man now, one man and a demon. Sam was out there... and hell even if they were fighting side by side...
It's never enough.
He's dying and it's never going to be enough.
Twisting around he grabs the pillow from under his head, punching his fist into the end of it trying to force some sort of shape into it as he tries to not watch the red digital lines of the time burn into his mind.
The shift of weight on the opposite side of the bed isn't unwelcome, but it's unexpected. He'd barely noticed that the tapping had stopped. It had been replaced in his mind with the thoughts he'd been fighting against for weeks now. Her hand brushes against the back of his head, against the short hairs nearly sending a shiver down his neck if he hadn't been sort of used to the touch by now. Turning around he winces at the pain in his side, the ribs that had felt the good two hundred pounds of muscle and demon force slam him into the wall a few hours earlier.
His arm reached around her, pulling her closer to him. She didn't really fit beside him, there was no perfect spot that she could curl into and he knew that it wasn't meant to be like that anyway. She was cool to the touch, and in a few moments she'd absorb some of his body temperature and maybe he could believe she'd take away some of the hurt... some of the truth.
Maybe he's changed... but they sure as hell haven't. The demons are out there, and they're waiting for his bill to come due.
"Dammit you're one ugly sonovabitch. Hate to mess up that mug, but oh hell who am I kidding, this might help you."
"It doesn't matter. Kill me now. Kill me later. I'll be seeing you Dean."
"I vote kill you now."
"See you soon Dean Winchester."