SN drabbles - PG, R

[tigriswolf]

 

 

Title: They brought me bitter news and bitter tears to shed
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: only the woman is mine.  Just for fun.  Title from Cory.
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 240
Point of view: third

 

            Sam lights a candle on Dean’s thirtieth birthday. The people huddled in the church for sanctuary have no idea who he is.

            A woman—petite, dark eyes, pale skin, in a raggedy sundress and a stained coat—asks, “Who do you mourn?” as he turns from the alcove.

            He glances at her before looking past, at the old men and grieving women, at the young families trying to survive.

            He did this, with his rage and his grief. He did this, with his hate and his pain.

            “My brother,” he answers, bringing his haunted eyes back to her. “He died almost a year ago.”
            “I’m sorry,” she says, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “I lost my husband in the first wave, too.” Her smile is sad, wavering. But the comfort she offers is real. 

            He wishes he could take it. But the demons will grow restless if they aren’t fed soon. They’ll rampage over Earth again. And Dean, wherever Lucifer stashed his soul, would never forgive himself if Sam let the demons loose once more.

            “I’m sorry,” he tells her and brushes past, slipping through the crowd. No one ever goes outside at night, no one but those who want to die, so no one will follow him.

            Only a little longer, he tells himself. Only a little longer, and then Lucifer will give him back to me.

            If I can trust the Lord of Lies…

           

 

 

 

Title: history of the ruins

Fandom: “Supernatural”

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for pilot

Pairings: mentions of John/Mary

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 180

Point of view: third

Prompt: conflagration

 

            He doesn’t remember much. Sometimes, he thinks that’s a mercy. But sometimes he wishes he had more memories, to pass the stories on to Sam, what happened those four years before fire.

            Dad has the words; he just can’t bear to speak them. Dean asked once, after that night. Just once. The look on Dad’s face kept him from asking ever again.

            He remembers the way sunlight struck her hair. He remembers how her hands felt, guiding his to hold Sammy. He remembers her voice, laughing as Daddy spun her around the kitchen. He remembers her scent, dirt and sweat and flowers from the garden. He remembers nothing else.

            Daddy lives only in his scant memories, the gentle man who told him adventures and tickled him until he begged for mercy. Daddy burned with Mama.

            He doesn’t remember much. Sometimes, he wishes he remembered more, so he had something to tell Sam, some history of their family before flames.

            And sometimes he wishes he remembered less, so that what was taken didn’t hurt so damned much.

           

 

 

 

 

Title: ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world

Fandom: “Supernatural”

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

Warnings: AU

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 200

Point of view: third

 

            He walks into the sunset, hand-in-hand with Death. It is warm, so warm, chasing away the coldness. His limbs don’t ache and his heart doesn’t hurt; he doesn’t gasp for breath. 

            Death is gentle and kind, offering him a smile. The grass is green and the sky dark, and the warm breeze feels perfect on his skin.

            “Stay with me,” Death says. “Don’t be afraid.”

            Behind him, far away, he hears a scream. He can’t make out the words.

            “Ignore it,” Death says, reaching up to touch his jaw. “It’s nothing.”

            And it’s nothing at all, nothing worth turning around, away from Death’s soft skin and deep red eyes. “Come,” Death says. “You’ll like where we’re going.”

            There’s another scream, agonizing, and he pauses; it’s familiar, so familiar, but far away… Death says, “We’re almost there.”

            Almost there. Almost home. Away from pain forever, always warm. The sun fully sets and the stars are beautiful… he could look at them forever.

            “Are there stars where we’re going?” he asks and Death smiles.

            “More than you could ever count.”

            It’s getting very warm, chasing away the chill in his bones for good. And Death says again, “We’re almost there.”

            So warm.

 

 

          
Title: They say
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.
Warnings: future!fic; fairly dark
Pairings: none
Rating: R
Wordcount: 400
Point of view: third
Notes: written for sammessiah, to the prompt They build Sam's throne in Golgotha, among the bones.

          They call it the Palace of Skulls. They say the darkest being ever born sits on a throne of bones from those who challenged him. They say that after the first battle, none ever dared to challenge him again.

            He has a court, they say, scared whispers in the endless night. A court of demons and monsters, legends made real simply from his power. He has an army always at the ready, prepared to slip between worlds and conquer new lands.

            He killed God, they say, those who survived. He tore down the gates of Heaven and marched alone against Heaven’s chorus. And he won. He slaughtered the angels and beat God to the golden street, taking reign over Heaven and Earth, over every place there ever was.
             Bow before me, he demanded of the Creator.

           And God murmured gently, No.

            So he killed God with a laugh.

            They say.

            He mastered Lucifer after, offering the devil the same choice. Lucifer left Heaven because he hated bowing, but he knelt before God’s killer with barely a shudder.

            None of them, the survivors, knew where he came from, what he wants. The world is a barren wasteland, and he lives off fear. His court feed on humans, mangled corpses and screaming children, and all he ever does is laugh.

            His Palace of Skulls was raised over Golgotha, where God’s favorite died, thousands of years before. They say Lucifer cackled, but no one really knows.

            They say there is hope, in tiny, fleeting whispers, mother to son to granddaughter. They say there is one soul—just one—who can destroy God’s killer. No one knows his name or how he could do it, who he could be to have such power.

            But he will come again, they say. He was alive once—he knew the darkest being ever born before he was dark.

            They were lovers, some say. Others say friends. But he died, somehow—killed by accident or design, no one is sure. But his death led to what the world became.

            They say.

            But he’ll come again. Reborn by chance or will. Maybe resurrected by God’s killer.

            But he’ll come back. And he’ll kill the monster who sits on the throne of bones in the Palace of Skulls.

            No, a few mutter. He will join the dark. And there will never again be hope.

            They say. But no one knows.

 

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