Day 9: "Alone At Last (But Not For Long)" [SPN, Bela Talbot/Sarah Blake, PG-13].
Title: Alone At Last (But Not For Long).
Author: amor_remanet
Prompt #: 10, "the Hermit."
Prompt table: Q - tarot cards.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: PG-13.
Character/Pairing: Bela Talbot/Sarah Blake.
Word count: ~230.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, the characters and situations, and other related things belong to Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, which is to say: not me.
Summary: Sarah finds her own way to get Bela out of Hell.
Sarah locks the door behind her, slips out of her heels and little black dress.
Everything in her apartment's gone cold and she hasn't even started yet. Any potential interruptions could ruin the whole endeavor, make a waste out of the ingredients she's gathered, the sigils she's drawn, in chalk, on the overpriced, ebony-wood surface of her coffee table.
Shuddering, Sarah ghosts her fingers down the spine of her grimoire. She throws it open, to where her bookmark sits.
She doesn't trip over the Latin as she lights the candles, but pronounces it flawlessly, only stopping to drag her best Wüsthof knife down her palm-the pain's sharp, worthy of a flinch, but it's over quickly. The incision left behind is shallow, surgically precise-and with a sigh, Sarah finishes her incantation.
Two final words fall off her lips-a whispered name: Bela Talbot-and everything goes black.
Sarah wakes up on her back, her injured hand bleeding onto the floor and her hair. She feels full, and alien-herself but not herself; changed somehow, not in control, not entirely (if at all)-and then a familiar voice, with the same drawl and posh accent that it had in life, pipes up in the back of her head: I appreciate the gesture, Sweetheart, Bela says, but this was an idiotic move, right out of the Winchesters' playbook.
For all she agrees, Sarah's not entirely sure she cares.
Author: amor_remanet
Prompt #: 10, "the Hermit."
Prompt table: Q - tarot cards.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: PG-13.
Character/Pairing: Bela Talbot/Sarah Blake.
Word count: ~230.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, the characters and situations, and other related things belong to Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, which is to say: not me.
Summary: Sarah finds her own way to get Bela out of Hell.
Sarah locks the door behind her, slips out of her heels and little black dress.
Everything in her apartment's gone cold and she hasn't even started yet. Any potential interruptions could ruin the whole endeavor, make a waste out of the ingredients she's gathered, the sigils she's drawn, in chalk, on the overpriced, ebony-wood surface of her coffee table.
Shuddering, Sarah ghosts her fingers down the spine of her grimoire. She throws it open, to where her bookmark sits.
She doesn't trip over the Latin as she lights the candles, but pronounces it flawlessly, only stopping to drag her best Wüsthof knife down her palm-the pain's sharp, worthy of a flinch, but it's over quickly. The incision left behind is shallow, surgically precise-and with a sigh, Sarah finishes her incantation.
Two final words fall off her lips-a whispered name: Bela Talbot-and everything goes black.
Sarah wakes up on her back, her injured hand bleeding onto the floor and her hair. She feels full, and alien-herself but not herself; changed somehow, not in control, not entirely (if at all)-and then a familiar voice, with the same drawl and posh accent that it had in life, pipes up in the back of her head: I appreciate the gesture, Sweetheart, Bela says, but this was an idiotic move, right out of the Winchesters' playbook.
For all she agrees, Sarah's not entirely sure she cares.