lovefromthehero:

          [ he didn’t hear her come outside, didn’t see her sit down. it’s just a testament to how far inside his own head he is. he doesn’t make a move when she speaks, doesn’t give a notion that he even heard her. ]

          [ dean knows she knows he did. he rocks back gently, thick fingers gripping either side of the rocking chair. he wonders how many years it has left before it breaks under him. ]

          [ there’s a long silence, but it’s not uncomfortable nor tense. there’s no longer any blame between them about her father, nor any guilt from dean’s end. it’s easier for him to listen, now. she makes it easier to listen. ]

                    My dad used to take me out the back of whatever run-down motel we were stayin’ the week in, and he’d tell me that it don’t matter that we don’t have roots anymore. That the roads might change, but the stars never do. An’ I could watch ‘em forever, if I wanted to.

                    I miss—

          [ if she looks closely, straight through the dark obscuring dean’s weathered face, she’ll see his eyes glossed over, locked stubbornly on the dancing twinkles in the sky. ]

                    I miss having a home.

          [ his voice gets low and raspy at the last moments, and he stops rocking. ]

there’s the grind of the rocker on
concrete, and then the absence
of it, and remembers her father
sitting exactly where he sits now.
the similarities end about there,
but the memory clips in her chest.

she doesn’t expect him to say a
word— let alone something so
personal. so raw. he’s not the
same man he was inside, just
hours ago. not in the slightest.

she turns her gaze onto his
profile in the dark, as he
speaks, and for a moment
after, before turning back
to the open air.

❝— you do have roots, you know.
or you could, if you wanted. this
place doesn’t ever change, and
you can always come back.❞

it’s meant with all of her heart,
but it feels cheap in her mouth.
and she feels guilty. she knows
what he means. knows it isn’t
anything close to this.