the looks, the lure, the sweet, the pure of you
Sam/Dean, PG
The tape player hums out AC/DC in the background, blends in with the buzz of the cicadas. The still earth absorbs every noise, reflects it back as blue sky and white clouds and black asphalt with yellow lines and so much solitude.
(
Dean doesn't smoke much. He rarely feels the urge-two or three times a day?-and he usually only acts on about half of them. )