Fic: restless wind inside a letter box
Title: restless wind inside a letter box.
Fandom: Supernatural/One Tree Hill Crossover.
Pairing/Characters: Dean. Brooke. Sam.
Rating: PG
Words: 462.
Summary: You left with him that night, the night your town in collapsed in flames and a yellow-eyed man came to know your name.
The seat never quite fits right, you realize, days passing like weeks in a car that never stops moving. You have curves where the cushion is made for long lines, the leather broken in by angles and hard muscle; and your legs just aren’t long enough. No matter how much you stretch and twist, there is just not enough of you to fill the space left behind by a ghost.
He drives gripping the wheel tight, a white-knuckled hold so firm you’re surprised he hasn’t snapped it clean off yet. He’s avoiding it, trying hard to break the family addiction laced tight in his veins, but you both know where it all ends only to begin again. Crossroads aren’t hard to find, there’s one in every state, every life.
You don’t know how long it’s been since he really looked at you, how long it’s been since you looked at him; too scared, those green eyes will catch you and drown in their sorrow, and then where will you be? His sideways glances make you feel self conscious in ways you never thought possible. You hide you hands under your thighs, too tiny, too delicate, no good for guns or knives, useless; like a china doll.
You left with him that night, the night your town in collapsed in flames and a yellow-eyed man came to know your name, and you, you who always plays the fool, thought you could stitch him back together, and in return would fill the vacant hole inside you with salt and fortify it with iron. But pretty girls are no replacement for little brothers, especially ones with dimpled smiles and hazel eyes that inflame his wound.
He doesn’t say goodbye when he goes, you don’t expect him to, and you don’t shed a tear and silently agree to what he would never ever ask of you. And when you wake to the dead man that gave his life for yours, you hand him the keys to his inheritance, and hang the amulet around his neck with a dry kiss to his cheek.
The seat will never fit right, but it feels less ill-fitting with him behind the wheel in his own seat that will never truly be his. He drives different, less aimless and more reconciled, but altogether the same. You know where this will end, you saw it before you opened your eyes to his next to you, before his brother walked out the door for the last time; Winchesters will go round and round until the end of days.
You should leave, but you won’t, can‘t. You found yourself a place in this endless cycle of destruction, sacrifice, death, life, and love; and you will remember them for what they were, when they’ve gone.
Fandom: Supernatural/One Tree Hill Crossover.
Pairing/Characters: Dean. Brooke. Sam.
Rating: PG
Words: 462.
Summary: You left with him that night, the night your town in collapsed in flames and a yellow-eyed man came to know your name.
The seat never quite fits right, you realize, days passing like weeks in a car that never stops moving. You have curves where the cushion is made for long lines, the leather broken in by angles and hard muscle; and your legs just aren’t long enough. No matter how much you stretch and twist, there is just not enough of you to fill the space left behind by a ghost.
He drives gripping the wheel tight, a white-knuckled hold so firm you’re surprised he hasn’t snapped it clean off yet. He’s avoiding it, trying hard to break the family addiction laced tight in his veins, but you both know where it all ends only to begin again. Crossroads aren’t hard to find, there’s one in every state, every life.
You don’t know how long it’s been since he really looked at you, how long it’s been since you looked at him; too scared, those green eyes will catch you and drown in their sorrow, and then where will you be? His sideways glances make you feel self conscious in ways you never thought possible. You hide you hands under your thighs, too tiny, too delicate, no good for guns or knives, useless; like a china doll.
You left with him that night, the night your town in collapsed in flames and a yellow-eyed man came to know your name, and you, you who always plays the fool, thought you could stitch him back together, and in return would fill the vacant hole inside you with salt and fortify it with iron. But pretty girls are no replacement for little brothers, especially ones with dimpled smiles and hazel eyes that inflame his wound.
He doesn’t say goodbye when he goes, you don’t expect him to, and you don’t shed a tear and silently agree to what he would never ever ask of you. And when you wake to the dead man that gave his life for yours, you hand him the keys to his inheritance, and hang the amulet around his neck with a dry kiss to his cheek.
The seat will never fit right, but it feels less ill-fitting with him behind the wheel in his own seat that will never truly be his. He drives different, less aimless and more reconciled, but altogether the same. You know where this will end, you saw it before you opened your eyes to his next to you, before his brother walked out the door for the last time; Winchesters will go round and round until the end of days.
You should leave, but you won’t, can‘t. You found yourself a place in this endless cycle of destruction, sacrifice, death, life, and love; and you will remember them for what they were, when they’ve gone.