The Silence Behind Me
Summary: He has a gun tucked against his back.
Spoilers/setting: none, really. I see this as s7 but there's nothing to actually enforce that.
Warnings: thoughts of suicide, suicidal ideation,major character death. Wordcount: 259
Disclaimer: not mine. not at all. only the words. Actually there's one sentiment that plays a major part in this that may have been from a fic somewhere, at any rate, it's been stuck in my head for a very long time in a way that feels like it isn't mine. Or maybe I'm just trying to distance myself from this. At any rate, if you do recognize line #4, I'm so sorry and I hope you forgive me...
Author's note: I'm sorry.
It’s dark. It’s late. Dean can’t sleep.
He has a gun.
It’s tucked in the back of his jeans, warm and comforting and familiar.
There was a time when a gun going off---the bang---was a little like the beat of a heart.
Bang. Bang.
Thump. Thump.
Bang. Bang.
He has a gun against the small of his back, and he’s so used to it he doesn’t even feel it anymore.
It doesn’t remind him of a heart anymore.
He’s not sure he even has a heartbeat.
This gun has kept him alive for so long.
It could end his life, now, if he just pulled it out and pulled the trigger.
His fingers close around the handle, slow and tentative, rough, warm.
Dean has a gun.
And Dean has a brother, sprawled across the bed, snoring, looking for all the world like he’s six years old again.
He often does, in sleep.
Dean has a little brother who needs him.
His fingers slip off the handle, lax, and fall to his side.
He doesn’t know what his hand is. What it’s doing at his side.
Not yet. he thinks, but that doesn’t make any sense.
Not yet what? He doesn’t know.
He did know, a little while ago.
There was something he was doing, and then a reason not to do it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
His heart is a comforting sound.
It reminds him of something else. Something similar, but more...
Active. Alive.
He can’t remember. He was just thinking about it though.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Bang.
Spoilers/setting: none, really. I see this as s7 but there's nothing to actually enforce that.
Warnings: thoughts of suicide, suicidal ideation,major character death. Wordcount: 259
Disclaimer: not mine. not at all. only the words. Actually there's one sentiment that plays a major part in this that may have been from a fic somewhere, at any rate, it's been stuck in my head for a very long time in a way that feels like it isn't mine. Or maybe I'm just trying to distance myself from this. At any rate, if you do recognize line #4, I'm so sorry and I hope you forgive me...
Author's note: I'm sorry.
It’s dark. It’s late. Dean can’t sleep.
He has a gun.
It’s tucked in the back of his jeans, warm and comforting and familiar.
There was a time when a gun going off---the bang---was a little like the beat of a heart.
Bang. Bang.
Thump. Thump.
Bang. Bang.
He has a gun against the small of his back, and he’s so used to it he doesn’t even feel it anymore.
It doesn’t remind him of a heart anymore.
He’s not sure he even has a heartbeat.
This gun has kept him alive for so long.
It could end his life, now, if he just pulled it out and pulled the trigger.
His fingers close around the handle, slow and tentative, rough, warm.
Dean has a gun.
And Dean has a brother, sprawled across the bed, snoring, looking for all the world like he’s six years old again.
He often does, in sleep.
Dean has a little brother who needs him.
His fingers slip off the handle, lax, and fall to his side.
He doesn’t know what his hand is. What it’s doing at his side.
Not yet. he thinks, but that doesn’t make any sense.
Not yet what? He doesn’t know.
He did know, a little while ago.
There was something he was doing, and then a reason not to do it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
His heart is a comforting sound.
It reminds him of something else. Something similar, but more...
Active. Alive.
He can’t remember. He was just thinking about it though.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Bang.