did you just refer to the poem do not go gentile into that good night? because I love that poem

very good.

My heart just breaks for Dean here. Nicely done.

I was going through my bookmarks to clean them out and came across this story that I had tagged, but apparently never read. I really loved this, because it could have gone this way so easily. And sometimes the words, "I'm sorry" just aren't enough.

this is thebestestfriendsforever just moved to a different account.

great story is it done if so you should put up a complete ont it.

great chapter.

AWESOME FIC! Holy crap! O_O LOVED IT!

yeah great chapter can’t wait for more so please update again as soon as you can do so.

yeah great chapter.

Oh, ouch! Poor, poor Dean. I'm glad that he was still able to say he loved Sam at the end. It takes a lot of heart to rise above one's self and give some one the love and absolution they need.

AW

i absoloutley loved this episode and this fic really did it justice!

awesomely written!

i LOVED what you did with it

:)

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I... crying. Seriously. Oh, Dean! *cuddles him*

AMAZING!

What a story! I cant tell you how hooked up I was.

Pretty dark at some points but nevertheless totally awesome!

This story has been in my favorites for a while now, and I had no idea that I hadn't reviewed it yet! Here are some of my favorite parts (but not all!)

God, how the voice grates. The condescension in that know-it-all voice could make ears bleed.

“Sam . . . ” A mere whisper from his brother’s lips; incomplete and broken.

Sam looks down, sees that Dean is turning on his side. Trying to curl up, to ease the pain.

Or trying for another assault. Sam knows all too well that Dean can be a crafty little fucker.

He thinks that his brother looks very pretty in red and white.

He smiles and leans down. One hand grabs hold of Dean’s hair and pulls back harshly. Against the curve of his brother’s neck he whispers. “That’s not my name.”

Sam watches as Dean swallows convulsively. “I didn’t mean . . . ”

“Say my name. Say it right, Dean or I’ll rip out your fucking tongue and stuff it down your throat.”

His eyes, now open very wide, are staring at the ceiling. In them he reads his fear and sadness. It is the only time in his life that he has truly known what his brother was thinking.

Your description and details in the story are fantastic. It flows perfectly. Amazing job. Keep up the great work!

Wow - just found this story - absolutely stunning!