A/N: So, I had a dream last night (my dreams are mostly weird shit... and I mean really weird shit...) and it was of Sam, after he had gotten his soul back. Sam was kneeing on the ground, and Dean was standing next to him, with his hands reaching for Sam, but not actually touching him, and he looked like he was thinking hard about something.

So, this is what Dean was thinking...

Story Details: The hell if I know...

Warnings: M, cause it's WINCEST, whether or not you can tell... Oh, keep in mind that the author was stoned or something...

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the inability of clarifying my thoughts and conveying them on paper in a way that makes sense...


The rain falls heavily; blanketing everything. Like a veil that spreads before your eyes, to protect you from watching what you do not bear to see. To prevent you from seeing him crying, hurting, bleeding ...

And then you raise your head, and the sun emerges shyly among the angry, gray clouds. Like a sign. Like a voice that whispers in your ear to continue to believe, and hope, because, whatever it is that might have brought him down, you'll always have the ability to help him stand up again. It might simply wants to remind you to not always be on attacking mode. For you cannot forever manage to hit before getting hit.

It's true that all strikes are not the same. But, it's also true that time heals all wounds; even those we think they can't be healed.

When people suffer, we achieve clarity and, thus, we see things more clearly. Then, our hope grows; we hope that, with the new day that comes with dawn, things will look different, maybe a little more optimistic. Because, as they say, sunlight makes the nightmares of the night seem distant and fake.

Life doesn't look back; people do. Because, hearts have the nasty habit of remembering the things that have hurt them. And, even so, as long as they keep beating, they'll never give up. Hearts mainly are stubborn like that.

And so, life will go on... And eventually, after an immeasurable period of time, he'll stop feeling this vindictive pain that has invaded his senses, and has wreathed his heart with darkness; so tightly it was uncertain of how the organ was able to still beat. His body will feel lighter; his soul no longer so empty.

As soon as that happens, get him to scream. Scream, with all the air he can get his lungs to gather. Scream, until his throat hurts like he's swallowed sand. Scream, until he understands how depreciated, the fact that when one has the strength to yell, and someone is there waiting to hear them, it really is.

And then, help him through this. As you've promised, you'd always do.


Α/Ν: Have I mentioned I speak gibberish fluently? No? Well, now you know! *stares at the floor*

Just, be gentle 'kay? I get easily hurt *makes puppy eyes*