I was bored at work... and can't get "Shadows" out of my head...
A work in progress.
There just weren't any words; there were things to say, but just no words. What could either brother say that would fix this? That would mean anything at all? So they drove and in the silence Dean swore he could hear the drip of their blood. He could feel his, Sammy's, Dad's... could feel it drying over his hands. The scent of it filled the car.
He knew they couldn't drive forever. He knew they couldn't be silent forever-- but god, what words could he possibly use? What could he possibly say?
He'd told Dad to go.
For one goddamned brief moment he'd had his family back, together.
But he'd told Dad to go; because going would keep Dad alive, because going would make him stronger, because he loved his father so fuckin much that would let go of his own desires.
And as the dark highway stretched before he knew he would do it again. He would do it for Sammy.
You're gonna hafta let me go my own way...
He said, the little shit; and goddammit... Dean will. He will, for the same reasons he did tonight with his father... because he loves Sammy, because letting him go will ensure that Sammy live a longer, happier life... and what more could Dean want for the little brother he'd helped raise?
The little brother who was silently bleeding next to him.
"We need to pull over." He said, almost wincing at the sound of his own voice.
Sam nodded, but didn't say anything.
Dean shifted, feeling the warm blood the was dripping from the gashes on his chest.
Fuck, he thougth suddenly, and perhaps a bit deliriously, to add insult to the injury that was this night-- he'd lost the bartenders phone number.
There just weren't any words; there were things to say, but just no words. What could either brother say that would fix this? That would mean anything at all? So they drove and in the silence Dean swore he could hear the drip of their blood. He could feel his, Sammy's, Dad's... could feel it drying over his hands. The scent of it filled the car.
He knew they couldn't drive forever. He knew they couldn't be silent forever-- but god, what words could he possibly use? What could he possibly say?
He'd told Dad to go.
For one goddamned brief moment he'd had his family back, together.
But he'd told Dad to go; because going would keep Dad alive, because going would make him stronger, because he loved his father so fuckin much that would let go of his own desires.
And as the dark highway stretched before he knew he would do it again. He would do it for Sammy.
You're gonna hafta let me go my own way...
He said, the little shit; and goddammit... Dean will. He will, for the same reasons he did tonight with his father... because he loves Sammy, because letting him go will ensure that Sammy live a longer, happier life... and what more could Dean want for the little brother he'd helped raise?
The little brother who was silently bleeding next to him.
"We need to pull over." He said, almost wincing at the sound of his own voice.
Sam nodded, but didn't say anything.
Dean shifted, feeling the warm blood the was dripping from the gashes on his chest.
Fuck, he thougth suddenly, and perhaps a bit deliriously, to add insult to the injury that was this night-- he'd lost the bartenders phone number.