I don't own anything. This is merely my outlet for the emotional overkill I can't help but think up.
I miss you, Sammy. I miss you so much it hurts. Every time I open my eyes, all I want is see you in the next full over, sprawled out and snoring. But every damn time I open my eyes, all I see is a shell cleaning guns or researching the hunt. He never stops, he never sleeps. And it makes me miss you all the more.
I hate feelings. Ever since he came into my life, I have been rolling in nothing but worry and caution and watch-your-back vibes. It absolutely sucks to know that what you see isn't real. I see you, but it's only him.
He is so cold and calculated. Every move has a purpose, even if that move is just in attempt to fool me. He could never do you justice because he is too mechanical. When it comes to saving someone, you never thought twice. You dove in and fought with all your might, but also with all your heart.
With hunting, sometimes you just lose yourself. It's easy to do with all the deep dark pits we manage to dig ourselves into. The people, that's why we do it. As if saving lives justifies all the crap we pull and the more lives we save, the more we saved our otherwise eternally damned souls. It's a dark life that we live and it's weird to think that some light can come from it. Or maybe we are not lightening our lives, but saving people from falling into our darkness. Like I said, it is easy to lose yourself.
But never with you around. Sammy, if I ever start to fall, you hold me up. Used to whenever I looked into your eyes, I never saw a monster. I only saw a bright and innocent boy full of hope. Dad and I shattered that by teaching you everything we knew. There were shadows in your eyes.
His eyes are dull and lifeless. They haunt me day in and and day out because there's just no scrap of humanity there. Maybe he has no reverence for life because he doesn't know what life is. I suppose that's possible. But ya know what? That's no fucking excuse.
"Please Sam. I am begging you…Come back to me. Don't leave me alone here. Please, Sam… Sam?"
A broken man fell to his knees in an old trucker's junkyard of cars. An angel in a trench coat, shrouded from all, looked on.
"Dean, I am sorry", he whispered into night.
