Dia seis
Ugh, so behind on commenting and replying. I will catch up tomorrow!
After they leave Stanford, Dean gets Sam drunk on the hood of the Impala three nights in a row. They chase tequila with whiskey, then finish the night off with cans of beer, drained and stored for target practice later.
Sam has nothing like peace on his face, but after the fourth shot or so his eyes go dreamy and unfocused, and he folds out on the broad black slope to stare up at the stars. Dean doesn’t know if he’s thinking of Jessica or Mom or the colossal tragedy that’s just been made of his life. He only knows that the alcohol and the sky make the wild grief in Sam’s eyes lessen for a few scant hours.
And Dean…Dean barely needs the booze. He’s drunk off Sam, his grown-up face and little boy smile and newly broad shoulders. He can barely stop looking at the lines of Sam’s body, of the effortless way the Impala supports him like Dean know, knows, it was always meant to. Sam’s girlfriend is dead, and Sam’s life is gone, and Dean can barely taste the edge of his own guilt under the endless pulses of joy.
He leans over, and puts his hand flat next to Sam’s head, and Sam closes his eyes.
“What the fuck am I gonna do?” Sam slurs, and he sobs when Dean kisses him.
After they leave Stanford, Dean gets Sam drunk on the hood of the Impala three nights in a row. They chase tequila with whiskey, then finish the night off with cans of beer, drained and stored for target practice later.
Sam has nothing like peace on his face, but after the fourth shot or so his eyes go dreamy and unfocused, and he folds out on the broad black slope to stare up at the stars. Dean doesn’t know if he’s thinking of Jessica or Mom or the colossal tragedy that’s just been made of his life. He only knows that the alcohol and the sky make the wild grief in Sam’s eyes lessen for a few scant hours.
And Dean…Dean barely needs the booze. He’s drunk off Sam, his grown-up face and little boy smile and newly broad shoulders. He can barely stop looking at the lines of Sam’s body, of the effortless way the Impala supports him like Dean know, knows, it was always meant to. Sam’s girlfriend is dead, and Sam’s life is gone, and Dean can barely taste the edge of his own guilt under the endless pulses of joy.
He leans over, and puts his hand flat next to Sam’s head, and Sam closes his eyes.
“What the fuck am I gonna do?” Sam slurs, and he sobs when Dean kisses him.