Loving A Blessing
Loving a Winchester is hard. You subject yourself to pig headed stuborness that you have to deal with on a daily basis. You have to deal with the death wish that they all seem to have. You have to deal with the enemies that try to take him from you. You have to deal with the tears they cry when the pain becomes too much and the vodka runs out. You have to deal with the arguments they put up when you try to tell them they're heroes. You have to deal with the words they shout when they realize giving up just may be better than moving on. You have to deal with the voiceless words of love and the silent appraisals. You have to deal with the hidden emotions and the whispered apologies. You have to deal with the self-depreciation that comes with the quiet appreciation.
Loving Dean Winchester is even harder. You have to look away as he breaks your favorite Evlis record in half because he's sick of listening to Can't Help Falling In Love. You have to step back and watch as he tears himself down brick by brick. You have to listen to the ring of shattering glass and the crash of breaking plaster. You have to feel the hands, rough from time, as they clutch yours in desperate apology, speaking more with that single touch than he'd spoken all week. You have to listen to the roar of the engine as he drives away in rushed anguish. You have to wait for him to stumble in the door, catch him as he falls, too drunk from the pain to stand on his own. You have to tuck him into bed and promise him everything's going to be alright even though it's not a promise you can keep. You have to hum 'Hey Jude' because that's what his mama used to do otherwise he can't sleep...not with the nightmares you both want so badly to disappear.
Loving Dean Winchester is the hardest thing you've ever done. He stays out until one, drowning himself in his own fear of abandonment. You have to stay outside the bathroom door as he throws up everything he'd managed to drink that night. He leaves you pacing at the front door as you anxiously watch the clock, begging to hear his fumbling attemtps to unlock the door. You have to deal with his constant movements that mimic one of a wild animal. You have to listen to the blasted music that cuts you out when your trying to get in. You have to deal with the doors that slam in your face when you try to help in the only way you know is okay. You have to bite your tongue while he's fuming, alone, in his pool of guilt. You have to walk away when you know he's breaking himself down, locking himself away in his mind where he knows he can't be hurt. You have to hold him in your arms as he sobs, asking why can't I be good enough, why does everyone leave me, why can't someone love me. You have to close your eyes and rock him in time with your heartbeat, stopping yourself from telling him he is good enough, that you won't leave him, that you love him.
Loving Dean Winchester is a blessing. He deals with your pig-headed stubborness when you make him fall silent with the truth in your words on a daily basis. He lets you talk away the death wish all Winchesters seem to have. He lets you fight off the enemies that try to take him from you. He dries his tears on your shirt when the pain becomes too much and the vodka runs out. He doesn't argue when you whisper in his ear, telling him he's a hero. You're able to talk him out of giving up, making him realize moving on just may be better than giving up. His eyes speak the voiceless words of love and silent appraisals he never could. He let's you find his emotions and hear the whispered apologies. He let's you take away the self-depreciation and voices the quiet appreciation.
Loving Dean Winchester is the best thing you've ever done. He buys you a new Elvis record and sings Can't Help Falling In Love with you until you run the record thin. He lets you re-build him, brick by brick, until he's whole again. He helps you clean up the shattered glass and broken plaster. He clutches your hands, rough with time, as you hold his own, accepting the desperate apology, speaking more than he spoke all week. You listen to the roar of the engine as you both drive off, anguish staying back at home. You catch him as he stumbles in the door, too drunk to stand, grinning because it's funny to him that he can't stand on his own. You tuck him into bed and promise him everything's alright, because that's a promise you know you can keep. You hum 'Hey Jude' to help him sleep at night, and sometimes he hum's with you because that's what his mama did for him, make the nightmares disappear.
Loing Dean Winchester is more than a blessing, it's a gift. You stay out until one together, laughing until your stomachs hurt, letting him know that he's not as alone as he thinks. He let's you rub his back as he throws up everything he'd managed to drink that night. He let's you unlock the door, smiling as you open it, when his fumbling finges can't unlock it for him. He moves with you, both of your movements mimicking wild animals as you dance around the kitchen. You both sing loudly to the blasted music that let's you know he's not cutting you out. He opens the door he just slammed in your face, letting you know you can help in the only way you know is okay. You pull him out of his pool of guilt before he can drown. You run towards him when he's breaking himself down, unlocking the door he locked himself behind because you won't let him be hurt. You hold him in your arms as he sobs and tell him you are good enough, I won't ever leave you, I love you.