Destiel One Shots

All Too Well AU

A/N requested songfic from @DumpTruck2000. I just loved the song so much and got carried away as always.

Castiel

In my life, music has always been my go-to form of therapy. It helps me to get through the good days and...the not so good ones, and reassures me that I'm not alone.

My favourite songs are ones that tell real stories about life because they are the most relatable and convey genuine emotion. I have heard that humans are especially attracted to sad songs. Maybe because they cause people to feel deeply since sadness is such a complex emotion.

And then you slowly recover knowing that it's okay to be upset. That others have felt that same intangible pain.

It's beautifully sad and tragic songs that pay special attention to the specific details of a meaningful relationship that make me cry.

Those lyrics make you stop and think about how drastically things can change was love goes away.

The thump in your chest of your heart thumping to an incredible beat. The swimming of your mind, empathising with the swirling emotion portrayed in each word sung with such passion. The pause of uncertainties before the chorus hitting you in the chest. And it sometimes becomes too much.

The scars that cut too deep bleed once again.

The wounds time couldn't heal start throbbing.

The broken bones not fully recovered take another blast.

The bruises that didn't fade get hit once more.

And you find yourself wondering if you miss it more than you allow yourself. Or is it just me?

Dean, his name was. If you were wondering. Dean, my love. Dean, my best friend. Dean, my sun, my guiding light, my home, my safety net, my 'good morning', Dean, my 'goodnight'. Dean, my everything.

It's been years and, yes, I still refer to him, even internally, as my everything. In every step I take its like the wind is his breath, and the songs keep playing around in my head are like he's still singing them to me. The soundtrack to our relationship.

I'd been friends with him. That's how they all start though. But it was his brother, Sam, who I was first aquatinted to, who I spent many years arguing with about which bone came from what animal, or the sigils from different religions, or the language from which ancient ruin.

Sam became a brother, Dean became my lover.

"Dean, we're home!" Sam said, scraping his shoes on the door mat and taking off his gloves. I was rushed quickly in behind him, ushered by Sam's cold dog.

Dean came down the wooden spiral stairway one hesitant step at a time, before revealing his flushed cheeks behind his hands wiping his face, his freckles, his tired eyes and pink lips.

The air of the house was warm and smelt rather like one of those Yankee candles had been burning the whole day.

It immediately stuck out to me as a homely place, and, as we sat up around a fire with whiskey on our lips and a relaxed stance, I felt like it was more of a home to me than anywhere could ever me. The blankets Dean offered to cover me had Dean's natural scent on them, the books piled up around the room, the spectacles on the end of Dean's hand, hanging toward the floor were a trusting sign, the way Sam threw scrunched up paper against the wall and it landed in the trash was like knowing the house structure enough to be considered another being. The home to Sam was like Dean's car to him, like the two brothers were to me - family.