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Nothing... But BlackI am the tide of the night
I rise with the moon and flood your vision
I am in every tear you have cried
Wasted on the smallest of problems
Yet, abandoned during the largest of crises
I lurk around every time you’ve lied
Shrouded by the mistaken trust you’ve worked so hard to build
I am the song of your loved ones who have died
I sing the melody of life, of their tale, the story they had to tell
I accompany you in the loneliest of hours
As I nudge you deeper…
Deeper and deeper… into the abyss of depression
I am a taint that shall devour
The passion that once flared in the hearts of two lovers
Leaving it in nothing but ashes
I am found only in the most majestic of flowers
As the boldness of my darks only enhance its delicacy
I stalk behind all
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
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