nothing’s ever yours to keep (lullaby)
(you should probably listen to this)
He’s getting cold.
Dean can’t help the laughter as it bubbles out with the blood. He can almost hear the bullets rattling in his chest, right here next to his pounding heart. Could be worse, he mutters, turning stiffly to smile at his brother. His brother, next to him, quiet. Getting cold. Sammy? Dean’s eyes are white and red, scared and black. His fingers twist in Sam’s shirt — soaked dark with blood, dark, red and cold — as he pulls his brother into his arms. Don’t, he thinks, laughs, slaps a hand to Sam’s face as if he’s slept through the alarm again. It’s okay, he hears a shaky voice say, his own voice, over and over into the darkness in front of them.
It’s okay, Sammy.
His body catches up with the voice and now every part of him is shaking, trying so hard to brush the hair from Sam’s eyes. I got you. Sammy, I gotcha. Nothing to worry about, b-baby brother, I’m here. He’s so cold, bullets rattling. D-don’t, he says, thinks, tries to remember the smile still on Sam’s face. It’s there, but only when he looks hard enough. It’s okay.
The sky is clear tonight as two brothers lay wrapped in each others’ arms, cold and red, dying and dead.
1 month ago · 110 notes