@inwire || send “you okay?” to find my muse sitting alone on a roof at night. || accepting! (bobby!)
metal and glowing dust stretch out far as the key can see. blotted with little sheds and garages or shrubbery that dot a bird's eye view of singer salvage yard. the sun's setting and the colors are so vivid from up there. pinks and purples. oranges and yellows. streaks of white, stringy puffy louds. the night lingers above them, teasing further and further towards the horizon nudging the world towards the dark.
dean sees the same thing when he presses the brunt of his wrists into the hollows of his eyes and rubs them back and forth so hard that dozens of fireworks burst behind the squeezed tight lids. he's tired of crying. all it does is make your chest hurt. your eyes burn and you to feel like a little BITCH! should be enough of that. every time he imagines his brother laying on that bed, though? right back to it. weak. weak. WEAK!
couldn't fucking protect sammy. or take that hit like a man cause your lack of competence got you there! DO whatever it takes to FIX it, screams into the back of his mind. DO something bigger than sitting up here bawling like a baby! same reason why he's up here. right? RIGHT? couldn't stand sitting, staring at what he'd done (or didn't DO!) until his hands were shaking so fucking hard they cramped and his lungs stopped working and bile rose in his throat burning with the heat of a shot of everclear doused with gasoline. nah. ran up here. cold sweat and a million voices in your head screaming what did you do??
a stale cigarette's pulled from the inside of his too big leather coat. the packet's crumpled from age and wear. least it's proof he doesn't smoke too often. orangey sparks fly from his lighter and the smell of tobacco fills the air. a slow couple drags and the ashes are tapped off the ledge. 'are you okay,' bobby's voice is even (dean decides careful is the right word) and quiet. the hunter thinks it's the same tone you'd address a wounded animal before trying to touch it. dashed with a little bit of strength. urging.
"i'm fine.. jus'got little too boxed. thought i'd come watch the sunset. clear my head." bullshitter. poor as hell one at that. the dark circles under dean's eyes don't lie. unlike that craptastic answer just attempted to. he's not gonna survive this.
