I'm not sure how well this worked...it started out going one way, but then when I was sitting at Baguette De France (OMG, yum), the star idea presented itself. Let me know what you think, then head to my blog for review-reviews! As always, the boys aren't mine.
Dean pulled the door shut after him, leaving behind a sleeping brunette and an evening of drunken mistakes. Just like most evenings, really. The sky above was clear and star-choked, the air crisp and clean with the scent of fall. Dean shrugged his shoulders, ducking deeper into his leather coat to vanquish the cold, and started walking slowly down the center of the narrow street, back toward the hotel where he and his brother were staying.
He looked up at the sky, a hushed sense of wonder swelling in his chest. At least he hoped it was wonder rather than a return appearance of the beers he had consumed earlier. He'd never tell anyone, of course, but in his opinion there was nothing like a night sky in the middle of nowhere, when thousands on thousands of stars shine like shattered diamonds. Sam had told him once, back when they were both gangly teens, that the light from the stars takes thousands of years to get to the earth, and for all we know the star had already died, blown itself up or collapsed in on itself. Dean had rolled his eyes and "chuffed" a snort of derision, but the thought always returned to him when he looked up at night in big-sky country. Big stars and small, bright ones and dim ones, some icy blue and some silver white…all different, all beautiful.
One night in a fit of drunken revelation, Dean had come to the conclusion that the women in his life were like that, like stars. Some were brighter than others, all of them different, some of them more memorable and brighter shining than others. Luckily Sam hadn't been around to hear the theory, because he never would have heard the end of it. Dean caught his toe in a pothole and stumbled, and had to stutter-step to keep from falling. Maybe he was more buzzed than he thought. He slowed his pace and gazed back into the sky.
Dean knew what Sam thought. He knew Sam assumed that Dean loved his life of one-night-stands, evenings with women who have big tits and little brains. And sure, some of them were vapid bimbos, there was no point denying. But there had been some, a chosen few, who left Dean wistful and strangely sad.
Not that he'd ever admit that to his brother. Feelings were meant to be hidden, to be hoarded and secreted away, not spread around like cupcakes in kindergarten. Feelings equal vulnerability, and of all the enemies he'd fought in his life, feelings were the hardest to kill. After all, if God wanted everyone to know your feelings, he would have put a bit neon sign on your forehead. Though come to think of it, Sammy may as well have had one, for as well as Dean could read him.
But despite all that, there were still regrets lurking deep down inside Dean, in that dark place that he tried to ignore.
He wished he had taken Abbey to a college football game.
He wished he would have played truth or dare with Tasha.
He wished he had gone for a jog with May.
He wished he had taken Sophie for iced cream.
He wished he had shared Chinese take-away and a DVD with Allie.
The truth of the matter was that it hurt to spend time with the kind of woman he could imagine sharing the rest of his life with. Because he knew it would never happen. He had committed himself heart and soul to The Life. Sure, he bitched and moaned about it, talked about quitting and living a normal life, but he knew in his heart that he'd die doing the job. So to spend any real quality of time with That Sort of Woman hurt too badly, because he knew that in the end he would have to leave her behind. And when you leave someone behind like that, it takes away a little piece of you, leaves a raw empty space that twinges when you touch it.
As he neared the motel, glowing dimly at the end of the street, Dean rubbed a hand over his jaw, squashing down the feelings that were welling inside. Stop being a pussy, he berated himself. Stars are stars, and women are women. Some are bright, some are dim, some are near, and some are almost out of sight. But all of them are beautiful.