It's in my wrists, white-hot and humming. I may or may not have hands.
Within the hour it's up to my elbows, that aching. It turns the muscle into separate fibers but also into something space-age. It's a feeling that glows.
My shoulders--all the way up to my shoulders and huddled in the pit of them.
It's in my ribcage, too. It's not my heart but something lower, gathering at the sternum and the eleventh and twelfth, like someone's taken their white-hot hands and dug under the curve, yanked up. I'm being yanked up--or my bones are. Maybe they will leave my heart behind.
Or maybe my heart is all they want.
Needless to say, I did not sleep very much last night. O______O And I'm going to be so fucking tired today.
And it is so, so worth it. I love you, too, Show.
The Cave, 10x22-inspired dream drabble
Castiel is in a cave. All we know about it is that Sam is in there somewhere, too.
Then Castiel is taken from behind, and there's a knife to his throat.
"You are"--a shallow breath--"haunting me."
You are haunting me, says Castiel.
Surely it has to be Dean, as all are accounted for but him. But pan out--it's Alistair. Alistair is either a demon or a ghost; it's difficult to say. He flickers like a dead thing but his is a life Castiel won't soon forget. Castiel breathes sharper.
Then it's Dean, and he is flickering, too.