Dean turns over, the sheets soft against his skin and his head on a just-right angle to his pillow. Dad’s snoring somewhere to his left, softer than his usual chainsaw timbre. This is heaven. Dean’s finally bit it. Seventeen’s not a bad time to go. At least he left behind a good-looking stiff.
So this must be his eternal reward (minus the hundred virgins): sleeping in on a Sunday morning in a bed he can stretch out in-except he’s kinda hungry, and stretching hurts like a motherfucker and if he has all this room it means…
Sam?He blinks, letting the dark room come into focus. Sam’s not next to him, not scrunched up against his side in the double bed
( ... )
"Dean had never held anything so delicate in his life. He’d felt each of the bird’s bones through the skin, hollow weight cradled in his palm; could even feel its pulse, hammering against his thumb."
and that is why you are a - a - a wonderful writer. Searching for something that won't sound hyperbolic and stoopid, but this. omg.
Dean turns over, the sheets soft against his skin and his head on a just-right angle to his pillow. Dad’s snoring somewhere to his left, softer than his usual chainsaw timbre. This is heaven. Dean’s finally bit it. Seventeen’s not a bad time to go. At least he left behind a good-looking stiff.
So this must be his eternal reward (minus the hundred virgins): sleeping in on a Sunday morning in a bed he can stretch out in-except he’s kinda hungry, and stretching hurts like a motherfucker and if he has all this room it means…
Sam?He blinks, letting the dark room come into focus. Sam’s not next to him, not scrunched up against his side in the double bed ( ... )
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and that is why you are a - a - a wonderful writer. Searching for something that won't sound hyperbolic and stoopid, but this. omg.
eeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
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