Chapter Text
Dean always hated storms. As a child, thunder would shake the house and wake him at night, as he huddled shaking beneath blankets.
He was still a child when he lost the luxury of fear and learned of worse things lurking in the dark than the whispers of a coming storm. But he still hated them. Storms brought destruction in their wake and couldn’t be stopped with knives or bullets.
Dean always hated storms— that is, until one burst through the door of a barn and took root in his soul, flooded him wholly, and washed the darkest edges clean.
