caffeinechesters: (Default)
My first attempt at fic in the Supernatural fandom.


It wasn't a monster that got to them first. No, that’d be too climatic, too their-version-of-normal. Instead, he was attacked inside an open-all-night gas station by an robber who was a bit too twitchy with his gun and didn’t take too kindly to him moving (or the cashier pressing the panic button). It was fucking joke; a well-trained hunter dying by the hands of a mere person who needed the money to fund his meth habit, but instead there was no punch line. The other hunter rushed to his side (after shooting the son of a bitch) babbling about it’s not that bad, it’ll patch up fine, they’ll be on the road soon. “No,no,no! Don’t you die on me,” he screamed, pleading. The other looked up, smiled, and stated “I think it’s a bit too late for me, Dean.” Horror, is what Dean felt, when checking for a pulse and finding none. Too far from a crossroads, the police sirens too close, he grabbed the robber’s gun and…

It was July 4, 1996, hot and dark, but instead of awaking to a thirteen year old, Dean awoke to Sam that just died in his arms.

“This is heaven”
“Yes, Dean, it is.”

The paramedics called Sam Winchester’s death at 2:44 am and his brother Dean Winchester’s death at 2:45 am. One by murder, the other by a self-inflicted gunshot wound.


Sep. 8th, 2010 10:52 pm
caffeinechesters: (Default)
Walking Dead

Of heavy limbs,
Numb mind,
A shell of human progeny,
Many so full of wrath, lust, greed,
All deadly sins accounted for,
No one is perfect, no one is better,
Walking dead.


Your black hair and eyes,
Like India ink,
Eyes so full of caring,
I think I have fallen for you.

Smiles and yearning,
A dance where we never touched,
A song in which the chords never sync,
Watching, waiting, wanting,
Never to be,
You're leaving to go down south.

While down there,
I heard your stories, of adventure and fun,
Yet, still begging me to cook for you,
It makes my heart weep to hear from you (separation).

It was spring according to the calendar,
However, something terrible was happening,
I felt it,
Only to hear, where you are, under the control of madman with guns,
The odd snow fluttering to the scene,
With police in full swat, brandishing weapons, attempting to control the anarchy,
Frames this day (never to leave my mind).

Beneath the restraints of time,
I see you vividly in my dreams,
Never to be,
Never to be (even though I wish it could be),
I am in love with a dead man.

Three Years Later

Three years,
156 weeks,
1,095 days,
26,280 hours,
1,576,800 minutes,
94,608,000 seconds,
it all feels like yesterday,
when we laughed,
carelessly flirted,
hearing you speak Spanish to me (even though I never understood),
and begging me to cook more for you.

We promised each other so much,
Teaching you how to cook,
and that you'd teach Spanish (even if it killed you, as you said with a smile),
But that will never happen now.

Your smell, I remember all too well (like a summer morning at the beach),
Your smile, wide and bright, with your pointy canines (that fascinate me),
Your hands, that were always warm (even when you feel my fevered forehead),
Most of all, your personality, which made everyone in the room smile (and I fell for it too, when we first met).


caffeinechesters: (Default)

November 2012

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