Chapter One:
"In modern war, you will die like a dog for no good reason."
- Ernest Hemingway
The exhaustion settled over him at once; limbs grew tired and heavy as the air filled with the foul stench of the smoke. With a shaky sigh, his head rolled back and he allowed himself to sink into the couch, not even noting the press of springs against his back. Smoke swirled and danced around the room, pushing away the clearness to make way for the thick screen of fog. There was no use trying to mask the stench, but even still he made no move to open a window to bring in some circulation. No one bothered the worn down soldier who locked himself in the run-down motel room, not that there was anyone to bother him. Glazed, emerald orbs blinked slowly, the life in them fading little by little.
It was only on that couch, late in the evening when no one could intrude upon the silence, that the young man allowed himself to relax and sink into the self-dug hole of remorse and sorrow. No one was able to pull him from that hole, no one was able to push into his 'bubble' - he liked it that way. He reveled in the solitude, in the silence of the night. It was only when he was alone that he felt safe, secure even. But on the road, with no family or friends to turn back to, life isn't safe, or secure. Eventually demons catch up and the norm is thrown off the straight and narrow. Eventually you have to face your fears, your insecurities, you have to pull yourself back from the abyss and pray like hell the darkness didn't break you too bad.
Staring at the joint held limp in his fingers, the young man had to wonder if perhaps the darkness finally broke him. He wondered if perhaps the Light was merely too weak, to careless, and finally gave way to the unrelenting pressure of the Darkness. He shivered and took a last drag, allowing the smoke to swirl within him for a moment before breathing out. With the joint spent and the heavy weight of exhaustion resting on his form, he drug himself from the couch and to the bed, clothes dropping with each step. Staggering a step to the right, he collapsed on the prickly sheets, an arm draped over the side of the bed, wrist bent awkwardly backwards against the slate carpet. He heaved a final sigh and allowed his eyes to drift shut, drifting into a restless sleep within mere seconds, unbeknownst to the pale orbs watching over him from the shadows. He didn't register the radiating warmth that washed over him, nor the shadows receding into the depths of his mind to replace nightmares with memories of love and friendship.
From the corner stepped a lithe man, pale orbs softening as the war harden man's face evened out and the crinkles vanished. "Oh Dean," the man whispered, reaching a tan hand out to brush the slumbering man's cheek, "What have you done to yourself, Miles Formose." The slumbering Dean did not respond, breathing slowing from the erratic puffs it had just previously been. Dean didn't notice when the man left, suddenly there then gone a moment later . He didn't know how long the man watched him, he didn't know how long he slept. But, for the first time in a long time, he slept peacefully through the night. And, when the sun rose in the morning and his phone could no longer be ignored, when he swung his legs over the bed and let his sock-clad feet brush against the itchy carpet - Dean felt an ease about the day to come, he let himself relax for the first time as he made himself a coffee and reheated a day-old pie. For the first time in a long time, Dean felt he had a purpose again.
Alright, so hey guys. I posted this before on my other account, Kelik, but I'm switching over to this account I think so here y'a go. I'll likely update this tomorrow, or heck maybe even tonight if I can't get any sleep. Either way, yeah. This will be DeanCentric, maybe some Slash if I so decide. As it is, all I can guarantee is that it's not gonna be Sam friendly. Hope you enjoyed this little bit though! Please Review and tell me what ya think!