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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.