Hello, readers!
Here is a new story from us and we are super nervous and excited to show it to you. We'd like to thank our wifey Niles/iamremy for the support, and Ellen/lennelle for the help in picking this plot from the two we had in mind. The prologue is, as it should be, short, but we have the entire story plotted and will work to post it asap.
This fic is unbetaed, so all mistakes are ours. Please read the warnings carefully for potential triggers. The story ends happy but it can get angsty.
Thank you for giving us a try, hope you enjoy this fic! If you have time, please leave us a comment. :)
- Sanjana and Pooja
Warnings: alcoholism, past abuse, mental illness, suicide attempt, minor character death, angst, homophobia
Prologue
The chilly November air fills his lungs as he runs, every breath difficult and burning like the flames that licked his mother's corpse on this very night all those years ago. He's sweating, even though it's not that warm, and it clings; every single droplet onto his skin, covering him and sticking to him.
His mind is buzzing. He had never expected, had never even thought… and yet, how could he not notice? Had he had his head so far up his ass that he couldn't see past his own shit? Was he so self-involved that he'd forgotten about the most person in his life?
With that thought, he stops. He's right there, before the big glass doors of the ER, bent over with his hands on his knees, panting, breaths painful and erratic. He looks up at the hospital, a film of tears causing the image in his eyes to waver, but he blinks it away. He can't be weak now. He can't stop here. He needs to be there, inside that hospital. He needs to be around for his brother, for once. His little brother. Sam.
Sammy.
A hand on his shoulder makes his breaths catch in his throat and he straightens, only to see blue eyes peering into his, loving, caring, and so, so supportive, so understanding…
He lets the tears fall. One after the other, racing down chilly, sweaty skin. Smooth thumbs are on his cheeks, belonging to hands that never got worn out, soothing him, caressing his skin and for a moment he shuts his eyes, letting familiar warmth take away his worries. When he opens them again, his breaths are steadier and his mind is stable. He looks back into the blue eyes, and smiles.
Will they ever be able to pick the pieces back up? Will they ever be normal? He doesn't know. He doesn't know at all, but he really, really wants to hope. However, if he, Dean Winchester, knows anything beyond a doubt right now, it's that he has been a shitty big brother. And that Castiel Novak is the love of his life.