Well - Sam thought and pushed the blade of the knife up the length of his arm - I could do it, why not. The house was new and above their pay grade and the furniture was wicker lawn stuff, cheap but still with that fresh bought smell. That was one thing you couldn’t fake, how things smelled. You could polish something old until it was like new.
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I originally had more in mind for the knife, but it sort of petered down into something to hook and anchor the relatively narrativeless story. I'm not convinced that the Sam I wrote is the Sam on the show, but I think it might be, which is as close as I'm ever going to get, most likely. Thank you for reading!
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Dean’s hand was gentle but his voice wasn’t when he said, “I won’t let you go. You little shit. I’ll never let you go.”
All in all: very painful to read, and very well done.
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I'm not sure that Dean exactly wins, per se. He doesn't let go, but at the same time, Sam doesn't let himself be weighted down.
Thank you for reading!
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Still love the fic and look forward to reading more in the future. *smiles*
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You have him to an utter tee here, his desperation and loneliness and all that hurt and angst.
He's such a tortured kid.
Wonderful job.
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*glompes you and Sammy both*
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