This is 100 words exactly. Please let me know what you think.
Happy Birthday, Deangirl1! Here is your present.
The Day the Music Died
The bathroom was a dirty orange that hurt his eyes. Dean shoved a towel in his mouth to muffle his screams before disinfecting his dripping arm. He was bloody, battered by the glaringly awful hunt where the bad guys won and the damsel died.
Sam and Dean once shared an unspoken chemistry as hunters. A good hunt was like a symphony—delicate, complex, beautiful.
Until the demon blood, the double-cross, and Lucifer's rise.
Hunting with Sam was dangerous. Dean didn't trust Sam; Sam didn't trust himself. So he bled alone in the bathroom, missing the music.
Missing his brother.