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layne67The Last Day by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hansbekhart
Written simply, with quiet elegance in the lines that gets to you nevertheless. It tells of Dean letting go, and of Sam not letting go. There is no drama in this, no final climactic battle with the devil. It's just Dean doing ordinary, everyday things - waxing the Impala, tending to the gardens, making burgers.
Counting the hours.
This part just about killed me.
He has no night classes and no afternoon job and no cases, nothing but Dean, who makes a surprisingly good omelet and has finally admitted that he likes cream and sugar in his coffee. He’s probably out in the garden, digging up weeds. Dozens of little yellow flowers appeared last week and Dean’s hope was almost a physical thing, but none of the flowers have turned into tomatoes yet.
“I was at least hoping to make fried green tomatoes with ‘em,” he told Sam last night. “All that fucking work and I’m not gonna get to enjoy any of it.”
That was when Sam hit him. Didn’t say anything after it, Dean staring up at Sam from the ground with that stupid, stunned look on his face, he just walked away. He’d been trying for three hundred and sixty three days to tell Dean that he was going to save him, and he was sick of saying it.
hansbekhartWritten simply, with quiet elegance in the lines that gets to you nevertheless. It tells of Dean letting go, and of Sam not letting go. There is no drama in this, no final climactic battle with the devil. It's just Dean doing ordinary, everyday things - waxing the Impala, tending to the gardens, making burgers.
Counting the hours.
This part just about killed me.
He has no night classes and no afternoon job and no cases, nothing but Dean, who makes a surprisingly good omelet and has finally admitted that he likes cream and sugar in his coffee. He’s probably out in the garden, digging up weeds. Dozens of little yellow flowers appeared last week and Dean’s hope was almost a physical thing, but none of the flowers have turned into tomatoes yet.
“I was at least hoping to make fried green tomatoes with ‘em,” he told Sam last night. “All that fucking work and I’m not gonna get to enjoy any of it.”
That was when Sam hit him. Didn’t say anything after it, Dean staring up at Sam from the ground with that stupid, stunned look on his face, he just walked away. He’d been trying for three hundred and sixty three days to tell Dean that he was going to save him, and he was sick of saying it.
