SN drabbles - gen, PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: a quiet field where honor lies

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from “Brother, My Brother”

Warnings: future!fic

Pairings: none

Wordcount: 200

Rating: PG

Point of view: third

 

 

            Dean dies in the summer, and it’s a beautiful day, with a clear sky far as the eye can see. It’s a quick death, too, much easier and gentler than any Winchester had dreamed of since that November night of fire.

            Dean dies in the summer, alone in the middle of a field far from any civilization, mountains in the north and a desert to the south, but he’s in a place as close to Paradise as the world’s come since the Garden.

            Dean dies in the summer, and it’s an easy death, if lonely, as his heart gives out, finally too tired to beat any more.

            Dean dies in the summer, glad to be going at last, so weary of what the world has become. He’s relieved, staring up at the endless sky.

            Dean dies in the summer, and Sam’s off being king of the shadows, ruling his empire and commanding his army, and he doesn’t feel that Dean’s gone till it’s too late to do a thing. His rage is towering inferno, another city crumbling to dust at his feet.

            Dean dies in the summer, and it’s the last of those seasons that the world will ever see.     

           

 

 

Title: huts of history’s shame

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Maya Angelou.

Warnings: spoilers for “Sin City”

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 300

Point of view: third
Dedication: tru_faith_lostfor reading over this.

 

            As the days and weeks pass, Dean comes to understand exactly why that demon said she—it—was ready to follow Sam.

 

            There’s blood staining Dean’s hands, his heart and his soul, his nightmares. Rivers of blood flow in his dreamscape, the cloying stench rising to the sky. The sun never attains high noon, always lurking on the far side, near the ground.

            He’s alone with the shades of people he’s killed, Dad numbering among them, though Dean knows Dad moved on, to Heaven.

            He hopes. He hopes so hard.

 

            Demons have faith. Some of them. That little chat in the basement has skewed his perspective. He actually told Sam to wait before pulling the trigger on Casey—no, NotCasey. He began to feel for a rapist, and shudders at the thought.

 

            He didn’t hesitate with that guy in the alley, or that guy in the house, or that woman cowering in the corner, begging for her life. 

            And now Sam—Sammy, bouncing baby brother, little boy he remembers with love and adoration—has a body count, too. And it’s getting higher all the time.

 

            A demon told him about Hell’s god, Lucifer, the most beautiful angel who plunged from Heaven instead of taking second place.

            A demon told him that it would have followed Sam with pleasure, with glee, with loyalty, that he was being groomed to lead Hell’s army.

            Demons lie.

            But… they also tell the truth.

 

            Blood rushes across his palm, bathing his fingers; it drips, one teardrop by one teardrop, warm and thick.

            It’s not his blood, and he wakes gasping, Sam in the other bed with a soft, “’y’alright?”

            “Fine,” he says, lying through his teeth, because a demon would have willingly—gladly—followed his brother’s word as law.

           

            Demons lie—except when they don’t.

 

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[tigriswolf]

*cowers from ravening plotwolves*