(no subject)

[weary_head]

Dean missed his fucking car.

So goddamn beautiful, that sleek black exterior, holding Dean's weight night after night when he'd drink on her hood, big bench seat cradling him when he slept it off after. Even at rest, Dean thought she might be the best thing that ever happened to him, and he missed her as much as he missed any who'd come and gone on the island.

But she was gone, and now Dean had an emptying neighborhood and a rooftop covered in snow, a hut beneath him threatening to get emptier at any second. He had a parka that wasn't quite doing the trick and a fistful of whiskey bottle, an eyefull of the nighttime sky up above, and it wasn't like the real thing, it wasn't even close, but at the moment...at the moment.

It was what Dean had.

Comments

[one--song.livejournal.com]

Roger wasn't sure if Dean was just typically on the roof or of they'd developed a sixth roommate-sense, but the second Roger exited the hut looking for Dean, he looked up and there he was, drinking in a ridiculous parka, staring somewhat drunkenly at the night sky. It was the kid of existential thing only real douchebags and Dean could get away with, and Roger was half-tempted to just let it go on for a while, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he zipped up his jacket before climbing atop the roof.

"Did you figure out the universe?" Roger asked, and somewhere within him, it was confirmed that if Roger believed anyone could do it, it was Dean.