Memory - SN fic - PG13 - wincest
Nov. 21st, 2006 09:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfFandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.
Warnings: supposing the "Supernatural" vampires were more like "Buffy" vampires, this is AU. Of course, it's AU anyway. And I suppose I've implied wincest here. And I suppose I've implied a smidge of character death. Only a little.
Pairings: if there's any, it's Sam and Dean. But not really.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: about 460
Point of view: second
Notes: This is what I do at midnight when I should be trying to sleep. I write.
There are certain things you remember long after you’ve forgotten everything else.
The feel of sunlight on your skin is one. The heat you rarely noticed, the warmth that seeped into your bones, the joy that is only the hint of a memory now.
The taste of chocolate is another. All things taste like ash now, bitter and dry on your tongue. All but blood. You dream of chocolate sometimes, of M&M’s, of Devil’s Food, of cake. You wake starving and always hunt with great self-loathing.
The scent of home. Something you never noticed until it was faded. Something you didn’t know you needed until the choice of reclaiming it was stolen, never to be had again. Sweat, gunpowder, fire, lilac, and leather—a combination you’ve tried to recreate but never managed.
The sound of his breathing. It echoes in your ears sometimes. You close your eyes and listen, think back, call to mind the little you still remember.
And the sight of him, gloriously alive, laughing and glaring and smiling and smirking, eyes full of exuberance and pain and joy and rage and hope and love, standing tall and strong—you had been so sure he could never falter, never fumble, never fail, never fall…
But he did. He fell to his knees and you gently wrapped your arms around him, you softly pressed your lips to his neck, and he moaned a little when your fangs broke his skin.
He smelled like home. He tasted of life. And you were so young, so new, you could not control yourself.
You once believed him to be forever.
He died in your arms because you were weak. And now you wake every night to kill everything like you. You feed only enough to survive and you hunt your kind.
Sometimes, when you scope the territory out before making yourself known, you hear of the Hunter, of Winchester. He is called the best to have ever lived. It is said that none he marks survive. You smirk and sip your water.
It tastes like ash but you can almost recall its taste before.
They argue, your prey, about which Winchester it is. They say the father would be too old now, the elder son too brash, and the youngest too inexperienced to have lasted this long.
The same points over and over, in every territory across the US. They never can agree.
They never believe the Hunter has arrived until your gun spits fire and roars, until your blade slashes and tears, until they are dust in the still night air and you stand alone.
By dusk the next night you are gone and Dean’s charm ensures you are never remembered.
No matter how many you kill, it will never be enough. And, on your tongue, you can still taste his blood.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-22 06:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-22 02:55 pm (UTC)