fic; we were made to never fall away (spn, gen, pg)
we were made to never fall away
gen, 390 words, pg, post-5.02
Here they are, standing at the edge of the world.
disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. None of the events or characters in this story are real, this was written for entertainment purposes only.
notes: hugs and thank yous, as always, go to the lovely dazzlebug who's the awesomest beta like ever. ♥ Lyrics and title are from Civil Twilight's Letters from the Sky.
- - -
The mountains are crumbling, stars are collapsing, sun's burning out. The sky's falling to pieces, and here they are standing at the edge of the world.
Scared, worn-out, alone.
The soft glow of the streetlights and open, never-ending roads are familiar, but he feels strange somehow. Hollow. Bare.
And he misses Sam, misses him when he's not there. Drinks and fights and gets thrown out of bars. There is a weight that presses on his lungs, heavy on his heart, and in the deepest, most darkest depths of the night, his fingers trace familiar numbers on his phone that he holds onto like a lifeline, waiting for the quiet click on the other side, just so he can breathe.
Sam drives fast and listens to classic rock and tells the motel manager, two queens. He wakes up each morning for the moment where Dean will call, falls asleep at night to the sound of soft breathing and imagines a warm hand over his heart. He is a wreck; sloppy and careless, eyes tired yet bright with adrenaline and fire and the fierce burn of I'm going to fix things, gonna make this right.
But there is a rift, a divide that stands between them now, built on a foundation of hidden truths and lies. Irreversible. Fixed.
They are sorry, so so sorry, and the skies are painted black with the colour of contrite and regret. Because it's not just the apocalypse, not just the end of the world. It's you hurt me, Sammy, you let me down and how can I take this back, Dean? I'd do anything, anything.
The scars on their hearts map their faults.
And yet there are still some things, that even through battle and blood and strife, unfailingly stay the same; routine patterns carved into stone.
They always come back. Come back to each other over and over again, pulled together like gravity, like it's branded this way into the oldest, most ancient rules of the earth: when the lights go out, Dean finds Sam in the dark.
Harsh betrays and bitter words mean nothing. Nor do borders or state lines or miles of rolling highway stretched out between them.
Shake the earth, tear up the ground, and here are the roots (love runs deep).
Two hearts will remain entwined.
Always.
gen, 390 words, pg, post-5.02
Here they are, standing at the edge of the world.
disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. None of the events or characters in this story are real, this was written for entertainment purposes only.
notes: hugs and thank yous, as always, go to the lovely dazzlebug who's the awesomest beta like ever. ♥ Lyrics and title are from Civil Twilight's Letters from the Sky.
- - -
The mountains are crumbling, stars are collapsing, sun's burning out. The sky's falling to pieces, and here they are standing at the edge of the world.
Scared, worn-out, alone.
The soft glow of the streetlights and open, never-ending roads are familiar, but he feels strange somehow. Hollow. Bare.
And he misses Sam, misses him when he's not there. Drinks and fights and gets thrown out of bars. There is a weight that presses on his lungs, heavy on his heart, and in the deepest, most darkest depths of the night, his fingers trace familiar numbers on his phone that he holds onto like a lifeline, waiting for the quiet click on the other side, just so he can breathe.
Sam drives fast and listens to classic rock and tells the motel manager, two queens. He wakes up each morning for the moment where Dean will call, falls asleep at night to the sound of soft breathing and imagines a warm hand over his heart. He is a wreck; sloppy and careless, eyes tired yet bright with adrenaline and fire and the fierce burn of I'm going to fix things, gonna make this right.
But there is a rift, a divide that stands between them now, built on a foundation of hidden truths and lies. Irreversible. Fixed.
They are sorry, so so sorry, and the skies are painted black with the colour of contrite and regret. Because it's not just the apocalypse, not just the end of the world. It's you hurt me, Sammy, you let me down and how can I take this back, Dean? I'd do anything, anything.
The scars on their hearts map their faults.
And yet there are still some things, that even through battle and blood and strife, unfailingly stay the same; routine patterns carved into stone.
They always come back. Come back to each other over and over again, pulled together like gravity, like it's branded this way into the oldest, most ancient rules of the earth: when the lights go out, Dean finds Sam in the dark.
Harsh betrays and bitter words mean nothing. Nor do borders or state lines or miles of rolling highway stretched out between them.
Shake the earth, tear up the ground, and here are the roots (love runs deep).
Two hearts will remain entwined.
Always.