I own nothing and I'm sorry for all the mistakes. And boy this is my 3rd story in as many days... I think I should stop drinking coffee... or stop watching the show so much! LOL
Dean says: "'m fine."
He says: "Dude, 'm fine."
He says: "I'm fine, man."
He says: "Let's go."
He grips the neck of the bottle with the same strength he'd use if he'd ever have to pull Sam off of a cliff.
He grips the neck of the bottle like he's holding onto the world.
But he feels his fingers slipping... one by one.
He holds the gun in his hand like he was taught, like he knows how to, the way he could do it in his sleep.
His fingers don't slip.
He taps his fingers on the roof of the car, but it's just not the same... that's not his baby under his fingertips… doesn't feel the same, not the same sound, not the same texture, not the same.
Just not the same and there's no home for him here.
He lies... he's good at it. It's what he does. He lies left and right, up and down and he's really, really good at it. But then sometimes, he tells the truth too. And the deal with liars is that, when they tell the truth, no one believes them.
Well, no one but the ones who really, really, really know a liar, because only a liar can spot a liar.
... Sam says: "Bull..."
... and Dean whispers: "... shit."