Desperately blaming this on the songs I uncovered while listening to my years-old Dean/Cas playlist.
"One day, Sherlock-" His voice finally cracks and he takes a shuddering breath, strives on, tries to drive his point home. "One day-"
But he can't, because it's been too long, and he lets his fisted hand drop, lets himself be pulled in until his forehead rests against damp scratchy wool. Cold, bony fingers card through his short hair and warm dry lips murmur in the shell of his ear. "But not today."
John sighs and closes his eyes. He imagines he can hear the heartbeat under the layers of three-year-old fabric, rests callused fingers over it. "No. Not today."
But he can't, because it's been too long, and he lets his fisted hand drop, lets himself be pulled in until his forehead rests against damp scratchy wool. Cold, bony fingers card through his short hair and warm dry lips murmur in the shell of his ear. "But not today."
John sighs and closes his eyes. He imagines he can hear the heartbeat under the layers of three-year-old fabric, rests callused fingers over it. "No. Not today."