(no subject)

This paper is going to fucking kill me. I have never in my life felt like a worse writer. Legal writing sucks and it must die a horrible, painful, firey death. I'm talking the hellfire light at the end of the tunnel, here. You know how in 1984 they were removing all of the "extra" words from the English language? Yeah, that's what legal writing reminds me of. So.Frustrating.

So I'm in need of some ego stroking. Here, in all its unbeta-ed glory, is a snippet from my ongoing fic project. I'm not even going to cut it because I'm just that needy.

November, 1996
Lansing, MI

The car rolled to a rumbling stop. A strange loaded silence hummed between its occupants. Outside the world was gray and dim, hardly any of the early morning light able to break through the low-hanging ceiling of clouds. A tension shot through Dean that was different from the usual post-hunt buzz.

He cut a glance over to his dad in the driver’s seat. John was streaked with mud and dead leaves, just like they all were, exhaustion apparent in the minuscule droop in the line of his shoulders and off-kilter cant of his head. His left hand gripped tight to the steering wheel while his right gently turned the key in the ignition. It was too quiet in the car without the drone of the engine for accompaniment.

John glanced in the rearview mirror and his eyes tightened. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the breath he took, almost a sigh, or his split-second hesitation before turning to the back seat.

“You all set?” John asked the girl in the back, less gruffly than Dean expected.

“Yeah.” Was the quiet reply. The back door creaked wearily open a second later, the springs in the seat squeaking with movement.

“I-” Dean could feel the tension in her voice. She cleared her throat with an awkward cough. “Thank you.”

She jumped out of the car and slammed the door resolutely before anyone could reply.

John turned forward, his eyes focused on some point beyond the windshield. The engine turned over with a growl, the power of it settling some jangling chord in the back of Dean’s mind. He glanced in the side mirror and saw her standing there, still as a statue, watching the car with unblinking eyes. As they pulled away from the curb he caught a flash of white as her nightgown-clad little sister slipped up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. He wasn’t entirely sure which was holding the other upright.

Dean watched them shrink in the distance until the road curved and they disappeared from view.

You know what'll be awesome? When this semester is over and I can go back to writing the way I want to write. That'll be the best thing ever.