Pls Give Criticism - Tumblr Posts
writing practice:3 (criticism is welcome)
For the first time in months—maybe years— everything feels quiet. The sounds of crickets and the swish of the water from the nearby lake fills the silence. They've just finished a hunt, the adrenaline wearing off as they sip their beers. There's no stress, no tense muscles and no fear. It's quiet, for the first time in a long time.
The brothers relish in it, knees bumping into the others on the hood of the impala. (They'll use the excuse that there isn't much room for the two of them, but they both know it isn't true.)
They don't talk. They listen to the sound of rushing water and Dean listens to his brother breathe, slow and measured. Calm. There is no threat, there is nothing for them to worry about. At least not in the moment.
Dean has never been good at that, forgetting his stresses and being able to relax. But his brother, his Sammy, makes it easier. Just being by his side and knowing he's okay, that he's alive, makes him calmer.
Nights Without You
Lil trigger warning for:
mentioned suicide ideation
wincest
beta'd by me
Even when Dean was with Lisa, a woman he tried to tell himself was the love of his life, he always thought of his Sammy.
Nights where he'd drown in whisky thinking of his baby brother. His baby brother who's dead, his baby brother who's always been there for him, his baby brother who he vowed to protect. He's dead, and every time he'd remember, he'd feel a wave of grief crash over him as if it were the first night all over again.
He tried to tell himself there was no point in living in the past, tried to live in the present with his step son and "wife", but he'd always be thrown into the memories of his Sammy whenever he'd see something he knew he'd like.
He couldn't even look at the impala without nearly breaking down some nights. He knew, somewhere in that car, he'd carved his initials next alongside his brother's. He thought, during that year of Sam being gone, that that was the most he'd ever cried in his entire life.
Sure, there were times Sammy were gone, but now he's gone. Dead. He was sure he'd never see him again. He'd remember, and he'd drink himself half to death to forget.
On more than one occasion, Dean had contemplated killing himself. It wasn't a new thought, but the overwhelming urge to actually go threw with it, grab the gun from his bedside table and paint his brains on the wall behind him, was.
That entire year went by like molasses, and every month, every week, every day, he was surprised he made it through them alive. The day he'd seen his brother, he thought he was hallucinating him again.
He'd never felt relief as strong as he did that day, when he embraced his brother once he'd proved he wasn't a demon. To feel his skin, to smell his scent, to feel him. If Heaven were real, he was sure that was it.