#vans writes

[vildflower]

it’s nothing special- just a good ol’ cliche slideshow, one that dean knew was coming. just a couple of bad photos in poor lighting. it started with a sneak peak that sam managed to steal of them holding hands in the marketplace; another one of them kissing on the steps of their newly built patio. there’s the one in which they jumped out of a closet in a haunted house for shits and giggles, from a few years ago. dean smiles, but it immediately fades when he sees a picture of benny carrying dean bridal style that time he sprained his ankle- dean’s scowl and crossed arms (and benny’s soft chuckle) captured in full glory. sam is so dead. he hears laughs in the background, but he doesn’t dare to look at benny, not when the next slide is of them being best men at charlie and jo’s wedding, holding rings that weren’t theirs. there isn’t much after that- the photos blur away till all dean can see is the light in their eyes- like fading stars that the universe finally brought together to burn bright for the rest of their lives.

dean realizes he’s crying, and he doesn’t know why; but then he looks at the ring on his finger- indentical to the one benny’s wearing- and he realizes he does.

•

“we’re real benny. this is real.”

“we made it, dean. i can’t believe it.”

[vildflower]

dean looked at benny, the way his the blue in his eyes faded to grey, like an ocean kissing the clouds. the way he was always so open, so ready to be so human despite thinking of himself as nothing more than a monster. he traced the laugh lines along his eyes and the sadness lining his smile, and thought, how brave this man must be, to be so shamelessly kind.

benny looked over at dean, taking in the guarded way he held himself, his hands calloused as if they had held raw pain, his fingers broken from where they had tried to hold on, the blood of his loved ones weighing him down till his shoulder blades seemed to cave in on himself. the forest he would get lost in every time he looked into his eyes, a forest in which dean himself hid, oh so often. benny wanted to tell him, i want to reach you. make a trail through the trees that guard your heart and show you how beautiful you look with the sunlight framing your face.

words weren’t made for them, but they try to say them anyway: in every “i hope you’re doing okay” ; “you should take care of yourself” ; “i’ll stay as long as you like” ; “lemme take care of that” ; “would you like some dinner?”

and they would look at each other like that, like everything they said really meant something deeper. like every time benny would run his hands through dean’s hair and dean would touch benny in small subtle ways. little reminders that they both were here. that what they have was theirs. and it was real.