“i don’t believe in lying to children, but when she asks me what’s wrong i still tell her the storybook version; i tell her that once, a bad man broke into my home. i wish i’d also told her that bad men look like respectable young men–trigger. that bad men will compliment your nana on her lemon squares. bad men write love poems- trigger. bad men smile so wide they will swallow you and you, you will convince yourself you asked him to.”
“i came home on thursday and found all of the chairs in the house stacked in a pile in the center of my kitchen; i don’t know how long they have been like that, but it must have been me that did it. it is the kind of thing a ghost might do, to prove to the living he is still there. i am haunting my own apartment.”
“i know about your rough edges and i have seen your perfect curves, and i will fit into any spaces you let me. if loving you means getting dirty, bring on the grime, i will leave this porcelain home behind.”
“i wish i was more interesting but that might be one of those things where everyone else thinks i’m interesting, but i don’t because i’m me and i know i spend most of my days wearing pajamas in my room, which isn’t that interesting.”
“like the night you thought you were invincible,
ran out into the lightning storm with a million keys tied to a million kites, and
a clench in your jaw that said, “take me with you, goddammit, i dare you.” and the week you finally reached out to feel your father’s cheeks
and just found paper cuts.”
A/N: This is for Karolina’s Playlist 1k Celebration Challenge ( @loveitsallineed ) and my song was Sing Me To Sleep by Alan Walker. I hope you like it girl, and I hope you all like it too. Let me know what you think. I’m trash for demon!dean and this scene always plays in my mind.
PS - Sorry I haven’t been writing much. The holidays and work are kicking my ass but, once it slows down, I’ll be able to continue my series and write more. I love you all!
Word Count: 2,067
Other Characters: Sam
Warnings: - none. angsty-ish. - language, maybe?
Tags: (at the bottom)
*gif is not mine.
Dean wasn’t very much of a singer. Bless him, he really tried, but he wasn’t very good. It didn’t matter to you though. Everything he did was perfect; even his out of pitch notes that he belted all the way to the ceilings of the Impala.
Some of your favorite moments were when your head rested against the smooth leather of the backseat on your long road trips, his eyes glancing back at you when your favorite song would come on, his voice the last thing you heard as you drifted comfortably back to sleep. Even Sam’s grunts of disapproval and sometimes even laughter, didn’t deter Dean from singing as loud as he could to his favorite songs. It was who you were, who you’d become. It was home, every part of it, and now it was all gone.
Dean hadn’t sang to you in weeks. He hadn’t sang at all for that matter. The Dean you once knew didn’t exist anymore. At least, not on the outside.