sclerenchyma - SN ficlet - PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: sclerenchyma
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. All quotes from episodes.
Warnings: spoilers for 4.2
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 525
Point of view: second
Notes: the title equals "A supportive tissue of vascular plants, consisting of thick-walled, usually lignified cells. Sclerenchyma cells normally die upon reaching maturity but continue to fulfill their structural purpose in the plant."

 

You gave your word—you remember that much. You begged to be saved, and it didn’t matter who did the saving.

You wanted Sam, but Sam never came, so you promised yourself away to him.

(I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.)

He is cold, unfathomable as the ocean deep. He does not understand you or your words or your actions. He does not understand why you ask questions and demand answers because he’s always known.

(We have work for you.)

You gave your word in the Pit. Lilith already had your soul, but what was left of you went to whoever got you out.

You don’t remember Hell beyond yearning to be free. You don’t remember torment or despair, just a surety of being alone.

You are branded, now. Marked. You gave yourself to him and you always pay your debts.

(Lying’s a sin, you know.)

He is what he says he is. He is an angel. Like Gabriel. Like Michael. Like Lucifer, before he Fell.

There is a Devil and there is a God, and you are a pawn on their ancient, epic chessboard.

Why you? You’re worried you know the answer to that.

Is there a way out? Out of the web, out of the net, out of the bond of your words?

(Somebody. Anybody. Help me.)

You wanted Sammy, you remember that much. And Sammy never came.

But someone else did.

You’ve always been a soldier. The war hasn’t changed, only the battleground. And the stakes are so much higher.

There is a Devil. Lucifer, Satan, Morning Star, Prince of Darkness. Locked away from the world. And you must stop Lilith from setting him free.

You are not special, not gifted at anything but killing.

So why you? Of all the souls he could have saved, of all the people God could have chosen, why you?

(You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old. It’s Sam.)

He looks at you patiently, your savior. He is a warrior, has been for longer than you can imagine. And he waits for you to comprehend; he waits for you to be ready.

(Just tell me who you are!)

Your brother had a demon. You get an angel. Nothing about this is remotely fair.

Sammy has always believed. Even now, with undeniable proof branded into your skin, you don’t.

(We have work for you.)

Why you? There’s billions of people and you don’t know how many angels, just waiting to be picked by God. It’s an honor you’ve never wanted.

But you owe Castiel. He saved you from Hell, returned you to Sammy.

You look Castiel in the eye and say, “Dad told me once that I might have to kill Sam. You should know here and now that I never will. Not even if your God commands it.”

He waits a moment to respond, stepping closer. You stand your ground. “All in its due course, Dean. God will only give you a burden you can bear.”

(We have work for you.)

You couldn’t kill Sammy for Dad. You won’t do it for God.

You gave your word in Hell.

(I lied.)

Comments

[rushlight75.livejournal.com]

Very nice! I like the kind of breathless stream-of-consciousness of this. That last line was awesome -- it gave me a chill. ^_^

[tigriswolf]

Thank you!