[it's easy to cry]
Title: circular whitewash
Fandom: Supernatural, DeVour, Dogma!God
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence. Me probably squicking the hell out of nice, Christian boys n' girls.
Summary: They are her sons. They need her.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Ya'll got lucky. It's almost two in the morning, and I just suddenly got this in my head. It's so damn weird.
[circular whitewash]
They are her sons, even if they both rejected her.
For a creature who rules hell, she loves them more than she ever loved Her.
-
Sam dreams of a woman with short, dark hair and fingers adorned with rings brushing over his face.
He sighs, falls back under.
In the morning, he wakes up to find himself in a sea of blood and Dean's dead body, the machete clutched in his hand.
-
"You hurt them."
"If only to make them stronger."
-
Sometimes, if he dreams hard enough, or meanders away from the questions of the police, the hunters, he can remember how Dean sounded when he screamed and the sound his blood made.
If anything, he wants it to stop.
He trades one hell for another.
-
"And yet, still I give you chances."
"Who said I needed them?"
-
His eyes open.
His throat closes.
"Dean?"
"No," it stares at him plaintively.
He closes his eyes, wishes his memory would quit playing tricks on him.
-
"I still love you."
She turns away, walks away from Her.
Her sons need her.
-
He's still there.
The doctors, officers, they don't see him.
It'd be confirmation that he were a ghost if Sam hadn't tossed salt on him and got a bemused, half-hysterical smirk back.
He crouches in the corner, keeps his eyes on him.
"I'm Jake," his voice is hesitant, not confident.
Sam wonders where he can find silver.
-
He dreams of a woman in a blue dress and Dean stepping away from her, bodies strung up above his head.
He wakes and he's still there, staring patiently.
-
When they try to take him to the interview, he screams himself hoarse, the pain in his head familiar, but hurting much more than it used to. He curls up and screams and screams and screams as Dean-not-Jake stabs her, betrays her with every fiber of his being.
They escort him to unconsciousness and he couldn't be happier.
-
"I believe you,"
Jake-not-Dean smiles, and Sam suddenly thinks of a nice animal suddenly turned rabid.
He's tired and it's easier to accept maybe when you're half-insane.
-
Jake takes his hand and he's warm.
"C'mon," he pulls Sam up, puts his arm over his shoulder.
No one sees them.
-
They are her sons, and eventually, they will work themselves back to her.
Fandom: Supernatural, DeVour, Dogma!God
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence. Me probably squicking the hell out of nice, Christian boys n' girls.
Summary: They are her sons. They need her.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Ya'll got lucky. It's almost two in the morning, and I just suddenly got this in my head. It's so damn weird.
[circular whitewash]
They are her sons, even if they both rejected her.
For a creature who rules hell, she loves them more than she ever loved Her.
-
Sam dreams of a woman with short, dark hair and fingers adorned with rings brushing over his face.
He sighs, falls back under.
In the morning, he wakes up to find himself in a sea of blood and Dean's dead body, the machete clutched in his hand.
-
"You hurt them."
"If only to make them stronger."
-
Sometimes, if he dreams hard enough, or meanders away from the questions of the police, the hunters, he can remember how Dean sounded when he screamed and the sound his blood made.
If anything, he wants it to stop.
He trades one hell for another.
-
"And yet, still I give you chances."
"Who said I needed them?"
-
His eyes open.
His throat closes.
"Dean?"
"No," it stares at him plaintively.
He closes his eyes, wishes his memory would quit playing tricks on him.
-
"I still love you."
She turns away, walks away from Her.
Her sons need her.
-
He's still there.
The doctors, officers, they don't see him.
It'd be confirmation that he were a ghost if Sam hadn't tossed salt on him and got a bemused, half-hysterical smirk back.
He crouches in the corner, keeps his eyes on him.
"I'm Jake," his voice is hesitant, not confident.
Sam wonders where he can find silver.
-
He dreams of a woman in a blue dress and Dean stepping away from her, bodies strung up above his head.
He wakes and he's still there, staring patiently.
-
When they try to take him to the interview, he screams himself hoarse, the pain in his head familiar, but hurting much more than it used to. He curls up and screams and screams and screams as Dean-not-Jake stabs her, betrays her with every fiber of his being.
They escort him to unconsciousness and he couldn't be happier.
-
"I believe you,"
Jake-not-Dean smiles, and Sam suddenly thinks of a nice animal suddenly turned rabid.
He's tired and it's easier to accept maybe when you're half-insane.
-
Jake takes his hand and he's warm.
"C'mon," he pulls Sam up, puts his arm over his shoulder.
No one sees them.
-
They are her sons, and eventually, they will work themselves back to her.