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whelvenwings

My Wings

canonverse destiel; Cas being human after the fall. a fic for @casblues, just because. <3

Cas sleeps with the light on.

Not only that, but he leaves his laptop on, too - usually playing some scattered mixture of videos and shows, the voices overlapping and interweaving, completely unintelligible. He leaves the screen open, light and shadows slatting across his face as he sleeps, changing his dreams. 

He always dreams.

His humanity weighs on him like a wet blanket, dampening the sounds, the sights, the senses that used to be filled with a thousand wavelengths of understanding. Cas used to live on a hundred planes of existence; now, he dwells in one. It is too quiet. There’s a silence that hangs from his ceiling in spider’s web drabs, a silence that waits for night time’s cover to reach for him, to ring in his ears, to call out his worst memories. Once it has him, it won’t let him go.

So he sleeps with the light on, and with the sound of twenty voices in his ears, though he no longer has the power to separate and understand each one; no longer has the power to see the shades of individual colour in the yellowy glare of his dusty bedroom bulb. No longer has power, of any kind.

Dean knows he does this. Cas knows that Dean knows he does this. Every now and then, Dean gets a look on his face as though he wants to say something about it - and Cas will change the subject, quickly. He needs the noise. He needs it. Cas hates saying no to Dean, but if Dean asks him to try to sleep without the noise, he’ll have to say no.

After long hunts is often the best time for Cas to sleep; his body aches, and it’s more habit than need that opens up the laptop and starts his usual mix. It’s worse by far when they’ve been idle for a time - no werewolves, no vampires, no witches on which to use the wound-up tension out of his body. These are the nights when he suffers.

And it’s on one of these nights that Dean finally talks to him about it.

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#;u;#deancas#fic rec#spn#q
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