Destiel One-Shots

The Big 'L' Word

"I love you. I love all of you."

   Dean groans as he rolls over yet again. He's been tossing and turning all night, just like he did the night before, and the one before that. Every night since that night in the barn where Cas almost died. That was over a week ago. The lack of sleep is starting to drive him mad. Scratch that. He hit mad two days ago and kept going. Sam is worried about him. Mary is worried about him. Hell, even Cas is worried about him. He's starting to not even believe himself when he says, "I'm fine."

"I love you. I love all of you."

   Rolling onto his back, he heaves a sigh, resigning himself to the fact that he won't be sleeping tonight. His eyes feel scratchy as he blinks unseeingly up at the ceiling. His best friend's words from that night have been in a loop through his head since they first came out of the dying angel's mouth. The look on his face as he made direct eye contact with him is burned so clearly into Dean's eyelids that every time he so much as blinks, he sees it. It's enough to keep anyone up at night.

"I love you. I love all of you."

   Rolling back onto his stomach, Dean lets out a muffled scream into his pillow. This isn't fair. Maybe he is going crazy, as his brain so helpfully supplied earlier. There's a reason that they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture.

   He tries, unsuccessfully, to pound his pillow into submission with a closed fist. Honestly, he's not too surprised then the phantom lumps he's been feeling all night are still there. With one last groan, he throws his blankets aside and sits up. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He scrubs at his face, pausing to push the heels of his hands into his closed eyes just hard enough to see stars.

"I love you. I love all of you."

   Cas was dying. Surely he didn't mean it like that. Although, the jolt in Dean's chest at the thought makes him suspect that maybe he wanted him too. This wouldn't be the first time he's had these kinds of thoughts, but it's the first time that they've kept him awake this long. Before, he would take them and stash them away in the 'Do Not Open' box in his brain. In less than a minute, Castiel not only opened that box, but picked it up, dumped it out, then proceeded to burn the box down to nothing. Now Dean was left clutching at ash and trying in vain to find a new place to stash all these forbidden thoughts to stop them from really taking root in his mind. Only it was too late.

   A knock at the door pulls Dean from his thoughts. Sitting up, he runs a hand through his hair and calls out, "Yeah." The doorknob twists, the door opening to reveal his brother, large mug of coffee in hand and a ridiculously concerned look on his face.

   "Hey. Not sleep so good again?" Sam asks, slowly making his way inside Dean's room. Looking up, Dean offers Sam an exhausted, but still utterly sarcastic, smile.

   "Oh, I slept great, Sammy. I just look this awful naturally all the time." Sam scowls briefly at his older brother's words, before handing Dean the mug of coffee. He gets a genuinely thankful smile in return.

   "You know, Dean, this isn't healthy. I mean, we usually only get five hours sleep on a good day, and you're getting even less. Could get you killed." Dean merely huffs tiredly into his coffee at his brother's words.

   "You don't need to tell me that, Sam. You think I don't know that I'm putting us in danger every time we've stepped foot outside the bunker? It's killing me, Sammy, but what am I supposed to do, huh? I can't just willpower myself to sleep." Dean takes a long sip of coffee, frown firmly in place. Sam shifts beside him before clearing his throat. Dean looks at him wearily.