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Mar. 8th, 2012 01:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weary_headDean thinks he's doing pretty good. He's drinking more, sure, but he's taking breaks, he's getting shit done. Looking after Cori and the rest, after the clinic, after his studies, he's got it under control. Not eating as much as he could be, if the grousing in his ear is to be believed, but he feels as fine as he's going to, stuck yet again on an island with no way to get to his brother.
Faye's cleaned the half-full plates from beneath his bed, and Dean sits alongside it, ass on the hard bamboo floor with his guitar in his hands. He doesn't really feel like playing, but he doesn't feel like thinking either, so he strums and hums along, old tunes he'd subjected Sam to a hundred times on the roads at home.
Whatever stretch of road Sam is on now, they're probably doing just this, Dean behind the wheel and Sam's long body stretched out beside him, Sam mouthing words to songs he pretends to hate. Playing on his own is nothing like having Sam with him, but for now, it's as close as Dean's going to get.
Faye's cleaned the half-full plates from beneath his bed, and Dean sits alongside it, ass on the hard bamboo floor with his guitar in his hands. He doesn't really feel like playing, but he doesn't feel like thinking either, so he strums and hums along, old tunes he'd subjected Sam to a hundred times on the roads at home.
Whatever stretch of road Sam is on now, they're probably doing just this, Dean behind the wheel and Sam's long body stretched out beside him, Sam mouthing words to songs he pretends to hate. Playing on his own is nothing like having Sam with him, but for now, it's as close as Dean's going to get.
