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you'll always have this (a soft place to fall) by Purple_Starflower
Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005)
11 Apr 2025
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Summary
He has little to do this morning — he has little to do most mornings, these days — and so the indulgences. The eggs, and the peaches, and the newspapers he doesn't read. He presses his palm flat against his stomach. Too many indulgences, if he is to be honest. Still, he does not quite have the mind to stop. The world has taken its fair share from him, and then some. He does not have the strength to fight the want in him anymore, what little of it there is left.
From somewhere beyond the kitchen, a song. It is soft, and jazzy, and unlike the music that Dean used to think of as his. He thinks of this music as his, now. Things are different from how they used to be. It is all so very sad. Or so very good, depending.
Or;
Dean has a home. Dean has been waiting. And grief comes knocking.
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Bookmark Notes:
"home is where there is light and food on the table and everything is so warm"......oh, the love. oh, the grief. oh, the wonderful, warm ache.
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Bookmark Notes:
He clears his throat. Says, "I miss you, is the thing. All the time."
Hurt festers, and Dean knows this better than most. But this isn't like that. It feels fresh, like someone's punched him in the sternum in the last minute. Like he'd bruise his insides by just breathing.
"I think I was waiting for you, and I think I will keep waiting forever if I have to. Don't you fucking think I won't be here when you come home. But — I don't know. It was just so beautiful yesterday. I thought you would have liked it. I thought you would have liked to sit on the back porch and watch the sun set. Stupid, yeah?"
He wipes at the tears gathered in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks. Laughs at the way he feels stripped down, young. It's silly. It's just — silly. He's nearing fifty now, nearing the age his father was when he went missing all those years ago. And god. God.
"I'm tired, sweetheart." And it's strange how it's not very strange to call him that. To think of him like that. Has he, before? Dean doesn't know. He rubs the fingers on his left hand, like he's missing a wedding band he never had. Like he's remembering a marraige that never was. "I'm achy, and old, and tired. I wish you'd stop taking your sweet-ass time with this. I wish you'd come back now."
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