tigriswolf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tigriswolf) wrote2007-12-19 11:45 am
tigriswolf) wrote2007-12-19 11:45 am
inherit the kingdom - SN fic - PG13
Title: inherit the kingdom
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.
Warnings: future!fic
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 470
Point of view: third
Notes: for the sammessiahficathon, to the prompt Sam is the Antichrist, right? It's something you're born with, in the genes. And Dean shares 50% of those genes…
sammessiahficathon, to the prompt Sam is the Antichrist, right? It's something you're born with, in the genes. And Dean shares 50% of those genes… Skin-to-skin, they sleep, limbs tangled, curled possessively around each other. There are no masks between them now, as they breathe in tandem. There is just them, against the world.
There is just them, huddled together with no blanket, beneath the glorious sky.
John failed to mention a major part of the secret, when he whispered what must be in Dean’s ear.
It was easily done, though, since everyone forgot. Mary, too.
Sam shivers, nuzzles into Dean’s chest for warmth. Dean moves with him, pulling him closer. He’d pull Sam all the way in, if he could, the better to protect his most precious possession.
Dean’s eyelids flicker open, arms wrapped around Sam, hand cupping his skull, fingers threaded by Sam’s hair.
They’re coming. Soon. He should wake Sam, get him moving. But Sam sleeps so rarely, now, guilt eating away at him.
Dean has no regret.
Gordon Walker thought he knew something. He did, but not everything. Not enough.
“Sammy,” he whispers, gently kissing Sam’s neck. “Time to get up. We gotta go.”
Sam mumbles, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder.
Dean smiles and rolls them over, straddling Sam. “Get up, little brother,” he says. “We gotta go now. We can sleep more later.”
He stands, hunting for his pants in the dark. Sam stretches, yawns, watches. “Who is it?” he asks, rising to his feet.
“Bobby,” Dean answers.
It’s in the blood, come the end. Azazel was a fool, if he thought to have one without the other.
They go, striding together across the land, hiding in the air and rain, laughing and talking about the good old days, before.
Not that they’d trade anything away.
When Sam turned, it was somewhat anti-climatic. There was no flash of lightning, no rumble of thunder, no trembling of the Earth beneath his feet.
It was a splatter of blood from a woman anointing his face, a woman who had once been his friend.
“Sam,” Dean had yelled, grabbing his arm, pulling him out the door. “Damnit, man, move.”
And that was that.
They leave no trail, no sign of their passing. They only kill what gets in their way, as they skirt civilization.
They do not follow a set path, but go where they will, walking in directions that catch their fancy.
They are hunted for what they are, for what they used to be. They will only kill their hunters if their one-time friends get too close.
There was no question of Dean turning. He simply went with his brother, same as he’d always done.
Sam does not want to end the world; there would be no fun in that. And Dean doesn’t care what happens, so long as he’s with Sammy.
They roam, like they did before. They live. They lie side-by-side, close as they can be, and breathe.
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