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Summary
Every time he blinks, he’s rocked with aftershocks of the feeling that chased him all day, the bottomless black panic, and then he looks at Sam, here and alive and touching him, and relief isn’t the right word for how it makes him feel. It’s too passive, too gentle. The thing Dean is feeling is something that fills every inch of him: his gut, his throat, his fingers, the space behind his eyes. It fizzes in his muscles, sparks in his blood. Dean wants to swallow Sam whole.