#while he fantasizes about dying bloody for dean | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

music223 · 6 years

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our story

this is just a random short story i was inspired to write. it is based in a alternate univers where society is dived into two different sides, one side stands for equal rights (cas) and the other side does not (dean). they are also in high school! okay i hope you enjoy

Six weeks and two days. That’s how long it’s been since Dean died. That word still knocks the wind out of me, died: It makes everything so final. I still see it every time I close my eyes. I see him standing on the edge of that bridge, looking so small compared to the giant trees that surrounded him. He looked down at the raging river bellow him. I was frozen with fear; I couldn’t look away, even though my mind screamed at me that I should. I saw him screaming at the sky as he backed away from the edge. The agony tearing him apart as he realized that he just couldn’t do it. I was filled with so much relief watching him back away from the edge, that I didn’t notice he was walking right onto the highway-I didn’t notice that he was walking into the path of the bus I was on. I saw him lying there on the ground, his limbs all twisted in unnatural positions. His already pale skin looking like marble in the moonlight. His blood was splattered on the front window. The emergency doors locked on the bus, leaving me unable to escape, to get to him in time before…I kicked and screamed, pounding at the front window while various arms and voices struggled to pull me away. I had to get out there, I had to. But the doors were locked and we were trapped, and there was nothing I could do to save him. I held Dean’s gaze as he lay there, bloody and broken, trying to tell him that he was not alone. That I was there, but his eyes showed nothing but fear. He was so scared and it felt like everything good and bright in the world was dying with him.

I miss him so much. I miss his voice, I miss his laugh, I miss his smile, but most of all I miss his heart. I miss hearing it beat when he would pull me close to his chest when we would fall asleep in the back of his truck. It’s a funny thing-to miss someone this badly. I could be walking down the street, thinking about what I’m needing to buy at the store, or about the homework I never did, when someone will walk past me who smells like him. He smelled like the hot smoke of cigarettes and the bitter and dry scent of alcohol. Suddenly it will feel like someone punched me in the chest, and my whole world is crumbling around me again. I can do nothing but wait for someone to pick up the pieces.

I never told him this, because I was always too scared to, but the time he drunkenly kissed me on New Years Eve is one of the best moments of my life. It was messy and unpracticed. He smelt like smoke and tasted like rum and coke, which usually would’ve disgusted me, but it was Dean and in that moment I felt like nothing could hurt me. he pulled away first, and we both stood there in silence, our faces near inches apart. As the realization of what we had just done sunk in, I was afraid that he would be able to hear my heart beating harshly against my chest. He was so drunk that the moment was over before it even began; he just smiled and started to talk about a new plot he had to drive his father crazy. I smiled and nodded along; I couldn’t focus on anything except his lips. In the morning he didn’t even remember what had happened. I decided not to tell him, because I knew it would wreak everything. Despite that, it was the first time in my life I had something to believe in.

I never told him how much it meant to me when on my 17 birthday, Dean drove us to the edge of town in his red picked up truck and we listened to that god-awful mixed tape that for some reason we thought was amazing. I ate chocolate chip cookie dough and drank pink lemonade, while Dean smoked cigarettes and drank Corona. While we were sitting there, watching the sunset through the trees, I noticed that he had only one beer, when usually he would have had five. I asked him why he drank so much in the first place, and he looked at me briefly before turning away again. Finally, he breathed a heavy sigh, and said:

“I don’t know. I just sorta…do, I guess. I saw my father doing it, and my ‘friends’ doing it, and…I thought maybe I should do it too. After awhile, I wasn’t doing it because everyone else was. I guess that now I do it because… it lets me forget everything for a while. Everything from my father, to school, to this shitty system that we made up. It just gives me a break from everything, I guess.” He paused in his speech, and seemed to think for a second before he spoke again, “well...everything except for you”

Dean looked at me for a second more before he turned away to finish his beer. I knew that there was nothing more to say, so I just watched how the sun made the scar on his check look like gold. I think that was the moment I realized I loved him. Maybe it was as a friend, or as a brother, or maybe it was something else entirely. I loved him. That is all that mattered

The things that tears me apart more then anything are the things I can’t remember. I can’t remember everything we ever said. I can’t remember everything we ever did. I can’t remember everything we wrote to each other in our own secret language (which most people refer to as Latin). I can’t remember what his favorite color was, or how he used to style his hair, or what he used to wear. I’m terrified for the day that I cant remember what his voice sounded like. I can’t remember the everyday things we used to do, or the small things we would do without thinking, but I do remember the feelings they would inspire. I remember how my stomach would sprout butterflies every time he called me that stupid nickname; I remember how my skin would light on fire and crackle with electricity when he put his arm around me or held my hand in his. I remember feeling nothing but pure, unadulterated, shameless pride when we would walk down the hall, side by side, with everyone else watching us. I knew that anyone who saw us wanted to be us; because they knew that what he had was something that people spend their whole lives looking for. So, sure, we didn’t have that perfect love story that everyone fantasizes about. But the story we did have was our story, and it didn’t need to be perfect.

If I could go back to the start, knowing everything I do now, knowing how it would end, that I would be hurt so badly in the end, knowing that my life was about to change forever, I wouldn’t change a single thing. I would do it all over again because our story was so much more heartbreak, and pain, and tragedy. It was a story about love, passion and adventure. It’s a story about how my life will never be the same as it was before he came along, and how maybe, that that’s not such a bad thing after all. It’s a story about two people who despite the odds , never let society tear them apart, and I think that’s beautiful.

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