A friend once said to me, on a bus. "If you're having a shit life, and everything makes you mad...you go home and you shut yourself off. Or if you like to live, you listen to Limp Biscuit, Break stuff and be normal about it." Ever since...I've realized, that song and breaking things can just about solve anything, even if breaking things are peoples faces.
Summary: Short. To the point. There's a thing between brothers, only brother's know it.
Warning: I'm very angry...atm ;) Yay angry songs! Warnings for a tiny part only people who've seen 5x13 will understand. "The Song Remains The Same" Brill Zeppelin song btw.
Disclaimer: If my day keeps going like this I just might...steal kripke's rights tonight! To Supernatural :) mmm...
Harsh, freezing, numb fingers that ahh- moving them hurt. Breathing hurts, and sitting there, warm blood dripping and cooling the only thing keeping your eyes open and -
Bang. Yeah, that's the damn door again, it's trying to get in, break in and you can't, you won't let it.
Because the dark haired brother curled up practically in your lap isn't breathing, not as well as you'd like and it's so cold, you have to keep him warm, keep him alive.
Your lips, numb, freezing, you slur your speech and -
Bang. It's loosening the bolts and the flimsy wood won't hold for much longer, but there's just one bullet, just the one.
The body in your lap shivers, shakes and you rest your hands over his chest, under his chin and feel just how cold he is.
"Mmm..." He hisses. "...hurts..." He's hoarse and straining to simply talk, probably from all the screaming. The dark patches are slippery black, he's bleeding again.
"Shhh." You slur and straighen, pulling him closer with hushed words and comforts.
Smooth and familiar hands know their song, know their dance as his lips part numbly.
"H-hey Jude..." He chokes. "Don't make it bad...take a sad song and make it better...remember-"
"let...h-her into your heart..." It's quiet, but your brother hears you and he sobs as he finishes the line.
"S'alright Sammy." Dean whispers, tears in his eyes as he looks to the deadbolt, holding the door on.
Bang. There it is again, and again and again...
Dean cocks the gun, and aims...centre of the door as it cracks and shakes.
He shudders a breath. "We'll make it better." He breathes.
The crack of the colt echoes into the night as the door thuds to the ground and the body.
Eyes close to the cold.