“You’re nothing like Locke.” He wiped his palms on his jeans, and I heard the words he wasn’t saying. You’re nothing like me. “Maybe,” I said softly, “to do what you and I do, we have to have a little bit of the monster in us.” A breath caught in Dean’s throat, and for the longest time, the two of us stood there in silence: breathing in, breathing out, breathing through the truth I’d just uttered.
