[bow down in position]
Title: [meet your master]
Rating: PG-16?
Series: Supernatural
Summary: He's all used up.
He's used up.
You all know that.
He was supposed to be the Boy-King, supposed to be the one to lead the Demon's into Heaven's gates and eat up the earth. All he turned out to be was an advanced meat-puppet for Azazel, no matter what you did.
He looks at you with empty eyes, and instinctively you lower them, forget that it's just him and not Azazel. You don't want him to look at you.
You feel him touch your pockmarked cheek and you shudder, scoot away in your cage. There's a choked sob in this throat you know that, if it was before, you'd have soothed, dissipated, but you're not worthy of that anymore.
You're ugly, worthless.
You let him, yourself, Dad, Mom, the entire fucking human race down.
"Dean?"
His broken voice comes to you and you drag yourself from your self-hate, and look at him through a veil of blurred tears you shouldn't be shedding.
"Yessir?"
He looks at you for a long, solid moment.
Then his shaking hand drops and suddenly, he's heaving through the bars, shaking and crying. All you can do is watch through your one working eye as he does it, can't make your stupid body work.
He's mumbling to himself, shaking harder, like he's having a seizure.
"Sam?" You almost said sir, but he backs away from you. His eyes are wild, animal like and dread curdles in your stomach.
You know that look. The word Stanford pops up, but Stanford, it didn't have this look, this too, too wild look.
You see a fragment of the pipe clutched in his fingers and you know. It floats, wobbles in the air above him.
And before you can launch yourself to him, before his name rips from your throat, it's in his neck, through his neck, into the bar.
Days, months, years after that, that's all you dream about, think about, until finally, Lilith summons you and laces her fingers through your hair and says:
"Goodnight, dear pup,"
And then there's nothing.
Rating: PG-16?
Series: Supernatural
Summary: He's all used up.
He's used up.
You all know that.
He was supposed to be the Boy-King, supposed to be the one to lead the Demon's into Heaven's gates and eat up the earth. All he turned out to be was an advanced meat-puppet for Azazel, no matter what you did.
He looks at you with empty eyes, and instinctively you lower them, forget that it's just him and not Azazel. You don't want him to look at you.
You feel him touch your pockmarked cheek and you shudder, scoot away in your cage. There's a choked sob in this throat you know that, if it was before, you'd have soothed, dissipated, but you're not worthy of that anymore.
You're ugly, worthless.
You let him, yourself, Dad, Mom, the entire fucking human race down.
"Dean?"
His broken voice comes to you and you drag yourself from your self-hate, and look at him through a veil of blurred tears you shouldn't be shedding.
"Yessir?"
He looks at you for a long, solid moment.
Then his shaking hand drops and suddenly, he's heaving through the bars, shaking and crying. All you can do is watch through your one working eye as he does it, can't make your stupid body work.
He's mumbling to himself, shaking harder, like he's having a seizure.
"Sam?" You almost said sir, but he backs away from you. His eyes are wild, animal like and dread curdles in your stomach.
You know that look. The word Stanford pops up, but Stanford, it didn't have this look, this too, too wild look.
You see a fragment of the pipe clutched in his fingers and you know. It floats, wobbles in the air above him.
And before you can launch yourself to him, before his name rips from your throat, it's in his neck, through his neck, into the bar.
Days, months, years after that, that's all you dream about, think about, until finally, Lilith summons you and laces her fingers through your hair and says:
"Goodnight, dear pup,"
And then there's nothing.