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Mar. 1st, 2011 08:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weary_headHe should be at the Catscratch.
A few hours into his shift by now, he thinks, even if it's hard to keep track of time, every moment of today somehow the same one, the moment Dean had rolled over and discovered she was gone.
She should be here now, asleep already, the sheets warm and soft when he crawled in next to her, but her side of the bed is cold, the ring still on the pillow where he found it.
He curls his pinkie into it, smells her there on the sheets and pretends. Her pinkie curled around his, quick breath of a sigh against his ear as she laments the hour, warmth all along his front when he folds himself around her.
He can't remember where anyone is. Who he's told. What he told them. Cori isn't here, but. Somewhere. Safe, or he'd be elsewhere, not here still in this bed.
He knows it's nighttime, at least. Too dark now to go out and look, and for the first time, Dean accepts that there will be no one to find without searching every inch of the island first.
It's supposed to be like this. He doesn't want to feel it, but he does, right down to his bones. His bed is supposed to be a twin, set alongside another in a shitty motel somewhere, never wide and warm, never safe, just an old mattress and a knife beneath his pillow, someone, maybe Sammy, snoring just outside of arm's reach.
Outside the door, Dog is whining.
Dean turns and faces the other way.
A few hours into his shift by now, he thinks, even if it's hard to keep track of time, every moment of today somehow the same one, the moment Dean had rolled over and discovered she was gone.
She should be here now, asleep already, the sheets warm and soft when he crawled in next to her, but her side of the bed is cold, the ring still on the pillow where he found it.
He curls his pinkie into it, smells her there on the sheets and pretends. Her pinkie curled around his, quick breath of a sigh against his ear as she laments the hour, warmth all along his front when he folds himself around her.
He can't remember where anyone is. Who he's told. What he told them. Cori isn't here, but. Somewhere. Safe, or he'd be elsewhere, not here still in this bed.
He knows it's nighttime, at least. Too dark now to go out and look, and for the first time, Dean accepts that there will be no one to find without searching every inch of the island first.
It's supposed to be like this. He doesn't want to feel it, but he does, right down to his bones. His bed is supposed to be a twin, set alongside another in a shitty motel somewhere, never wide and warm, never safe, just an old mattress and a knife beneath his pillow, someone, maybe Sammy, snoring just outside of arm's reach.
Outside the door, Dog is whining.
Dean turns and faces the other way.
