“sam’s 60 today. his fingers more and more like twigs, frail, but with memory of strength once blooming. he still doesn’t know to give up, even if his mind is a bit slower, even if his knees can’t handle constant wear and tear, even if his backbone is all but in pieces. he’s the earth, and he transforms. where he was a mountain, he’s becoming a desert - more quiet, slow to move but quick in shifting dunes. (the wrinkles on his skin run as dean caresses his hand.) sam’s 60 today and still holds onto dean with all his being. sam’s 60 today and won’t age a day more. ~ as he uses his last breath to blow out sam’s birthday candle, dean feels the cancer of the extra four years devouring him, now that there’s no one left to keep him young. he leaves with a smile, walking towards a pair of rocking chairs, a field of sunflowers, and sammy, young again, mountain to his river again.”
—
ines k, rebirthday
samdeanpoetrychallenge prompt: sam is 60 and dean is 64 partner: @samsbangs
