The description at the beginning was very well written, left me with a chill.
Here are my favorite parts:
>>Dean dropped his shoulders, resting his chin on his chest for a minute. Tension sat like a third party on the seat between them. Dean heard Sam swallow, felt the unabashed fear roll off his brother, washing over Dean in waves. Putting his back to the door, Dean faced Sam, staring at him until Sam looked back.
>>They had been in a million bars that looked exactly the same. Wooden floors, wooden furniture, wooden people. Once in awhile, a character would step from the gray background and show up in Technicolor, offering one of them—usually Dean—companionship or a mark for a hustle. But for the most part, patrons of a bar blended like the background noise of jukebox music and multiple conversations.
>>He'd never confess as much to Dean, but he enjoyed watching his brother play—both pool and people. He enjoyed watching Dean perform; it was something he was good at, and it wouldn't get him killed. *laugh* Maybe…if Sal doesn’t take him out back and shoot him for stealing his money.
>>…made him tighten in all the right places.
>>Lashes long enough to portray youth blinked up to reveal green eyes that had left innocence behind. Beautiful.
>>"God, no." Maggie's chuckle was deep, shaking her shoulders slightly. She rested an elbow on the bar, cocking her hips to the side. "Hunters might be as sexy as cowboys, but they'll hurt you twice as bad." Loved that line!!
>>Dean's eyes met Maggie's squarely. "You might be surprised what I can do." I smiled at this.
>>"Hey, boy," Dean said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hesitated a moment, then nodded, addressing the dog, "Okay, well… don't let anyone get past you." He stepped down next to Abe, then turned back. "That includes Sam." Aw, I like their new friend.
>>Dean grinned. "Belladonna…isn't that the name of a porn star?" No Dean, but women used to put it in their eyes to make the pupils larger, nightshade family, not fun, very deadly…okay shutting up now…
>>It had been a long time since anyone had said his name—his full name—with such respect. Dean found that he'd forgotten to continue with the natural act of breathing. Pulling in a lungful of air, he dropped behind the wheel of the Impala, the scents of leather and life and Sam and survival wafted around him. The smell of home.
>>When Dad had disappeared, Dean knew exactly what to do. He went to Sam. He found Sam. He knew he and Sammy could fight anything together. Together. When Sam disappeared… Dean had nothing *Sad*
>>Hell, yes, I'm hurting. You shot me, Sam. You beat the shit out of me. You dug out the darkness, the doubt, everything ugly that I know to be true and you slapped me in the face with it. You said I was worthless. You said I was worthless… *whimper*
As always, your OC's are wonderfully carved out and your playlist has me grinning like an idiot. I don't know what this talk is about having to find your writer's legs. You never were without them. Glad to see you back at solo work, and looking forward to what lies ahead.