#spn fanpoem

[their-we-go]

life at the lakeridge motel in january in 1992

hospital corners on motel sheets and orange juice from the vending machine.

soft pads of fingers pricked by the needle with the red thread.

just like sleeping beauty, Brother says when he sees

the small bead of blood

a second before you lick it away.

it’s been his favourite movie for a month and will be for three more weeks.

shut up, you say. toss him his clothes. 

watch him run his little fingers over the ridges of your stitches.

look away.

walk away.

watch the phone on the nightstand refusing to ring.

wash the same two bowls for the third time that day.

pray.

run out of games for your brother to play while you wait.

make up some more.

take him to the library and look at books you can’t borrow and wonder how long.

grow up.

grow tired.

keep wondering.

[alecmcdowel]

i have never crawled out of a grave like this p. 2 (after all these years i’m told that angels exist)

part 1

[honeyonthealtar]

sometimes i really am thinking about dean’s anger and how it can be my anger too and how we move in similar spaces sometimes

[alecmcdowel]

i have crawled out of graves p. 1 (hell would’ve done the job for him)

when i was fifteen i read a headcanon that j*hn taught them to crawl out of their graves. idk how i feel about that anymore but it certainly hasn’t left my head since then. click for clearer text, image id in the notes

[honeyonthealtar]