And that's the problem, that's what you tell yourself: you're not supposed to measure love in blood and violence, but you have no other reference. You came to Stanford to get away from all that, but here you are, Orientation Week is barely over and you're drunk-dialing your brother because you won't dial him any other way, not even when you want to, especially when you want to.
"I told myself I wouldn't call you," you say. "You make me break my promises."
"I didn't twist your arm to call me, dude. I was perfectly happy asleep."
"You make me break my promises, Dean," and you think thank fuck because you're finally at your dorm, fuck, Stanford is huge. You make your way up the stairs and to your single while Dean calls you a sappy motherfucker, and the first thing you see when stumble inside is that fucking plant you bought on impulse at the supermarket, as if plants were enough to make this box a home. You loathe it. You loathe that plant right now. It's fucking ugly, and you wish you had bought fabric softener instead.
"Okay, it's time for you to can it and pass out," Dean says.
"No," you slur, collapsing on your bed, "it's time for you to--" To what? You don't even know. It's time for you to go back to them. No, never. It's time for Dean to be here, now, because you've spent your life fighting against your family, and now that you have cut that cord, you are set adrift. You don't know who you are without the constant struggle, and you miss the friction that Dean provided, which kept you on the ground and warmed you.
"Dean," you say again, and you are tired, and heartsick, and it's probably the booze, and it's probably that stupid song, and you promise yourself that you won't feel this way tomorrow, tomorrow you will pick yourself up like a grown-ass man and live the life you won for yourself, but tonight: tonight you will give yourself this, because you don't know when you will again.
And Dean understands, in that weird Dean way of his. Of course he does. He's your brother. So he stays on the phone with you, talking nonsense as you talk nonsense back and drift closer to unconsciousness. When you finally sleep, somewhere in the middle of Dean talking about how the Impala needs another tune-up, his voice slips into your dreams, and you dream of bloodstains and open roads, your brother beside you and the endless sky above.
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carisma_sensei
i've been looking at the sky, Sam & Dean, PG13 - 2/2
Date: 2010-03-02 06:47 am (UTC)"I told myself I wouldn't call you," you say. "You make me break my promises."
"I didn't twist your arm to call me, dude. I was perfectly happy asleep."
"You make me break my promises, Dean," and you think thank fuck because you're finally at your dorm, fuck, Stanford is huge. You make your way up the stairs and to your single while Dean calls you a sappy motherfucker, and the first thing you see when stumble inside is that fucking plant you bought on impulse at the supermarket, as if plants were enough to make this box a home. You loathe it. You loathe that plant right now. It's fucking ugly, and you wish you had bought fabric softener instead.
"Okay, it's time for you to can it and pass out," Dean says.
"No," you slur, collapsing on your bed, "it's time for you to--" To what? You don't even know. It's time for you to go back to them. No, never. It's time for Dean to be here, now, because you've spent your life fighting against your family, and now that you have cut that cord, you are set adrift. You don't know who you are without the constant struggle, and you miss the friction that Dean provided, which kept you on the ground and warmed you.
"Dean," you say again, and you are tired, and heartsick, and it's probably the booze, and it's probably that stupid song, and you promise yourself that you won't feel this way tomorrow, tomorrow you will pick yourself up like a grown-ass man and live the life you won for yourself, but tonight: tonight you will give yourself this, because you don't know when you will again.
And Dean understands, in that weird Dean way of his. Of course he does. He's your brother. So he stays on the phone with you, talking nonsense as you talk nonsense back and drift closer to unconsciousness. When you finally sleep, somewhere in the middle of Dean talking about how the Impala needs another tune-up, his voice slips into your dreams, and you dream of bloodstains and open roads, your brother beside you and the endless sky above.