Ne Cede Malis - Prologue - "Dust in the Wind"
Series: Supernatural
Word Count: 445
Rating: PG-13
Note: This is my first time stealing Saint Kripke's headkids. Please bear with me while I feel this out."You're worthless."
"You couldn't save your dad."
"You know you can't save your brother."
"They'd have been better off without you.
Those words kept repeating in his head when he was awake. When he was asleep, they pounded into him mercilessly. (Mercy? Now, that was a funny thought. When had Meg ever been known for being merciful?) It was like they were trying to drill themselves into the fleshy part of his brain.
He knew it hadn't been Sam who'd said all that. He knew it was the same demon that had possessed Meg before, that he'd exorcised. It was just like he knew it hadn't been his dad the last time. ("They don't need you, not like you need them.") He knew it hadn't been them, at least in his head, but his head didn't seem to be on speaking terms with... whatever part of him was responsible for dreams. No, not even dreams. Nightmares, that was the word he wanted.
"You're not going to save me," that damned near-perfect copy of Sam's voice taunted. "You've already failed to save Dad. You failed then, Dean, and you're going to fail now." He shook his head in mute denial, but the voice continued -- and damned if he couldn't hear the smirk in its words. "You might as well just give up."
He started awake, the sheets around him soaked in sweat and a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle any sounds. Not that there were likely to be many: Dad had trained the need for silence into them, and now, for him at least, it was second nature. Sam still made plenty of noise when he was having a nightmare, enough to alert him. And speaking of Sammy...
No, good, he was still asleep, sprawled across the other motel bed like he was taking it over, feet dangling over the edge. No matter how big they made the bed, Sam's feet usually ended up hanging over. They'd done that since he'd hit that last growth spurt, not too long before...
He shook his head to clear it. There was no use bringing up Stanford and just pissing himself off. A shower, that would help exorcise this malingering (and there was a word it might break his brother's brain to know he knew) feeling of dread. It wasn't like he was going to go back to sleep; he knew that from a week's worth of experience. The nightmares only got worse the next time around. So yeah, another three a.m. shower, another four a.m. wound redressing, and if Sleeping Beauty Sasquatch over there was really lucky, maybe he'd let him sleep till six.
Maybe.
Word Count: 445
Rating: PG-13
Note: This is my first time stealing Saint Kripke's headkids. Please bear with me while I feel this out."You're worthless."
"You couldn't save your dad."
"You know you can't save your brother."
"They'd have been better off without you.
Those words kept repeating in his head when he was awake. When he was asleep, they pounded into him mercilessly. (Mercy? Now, that was a funny thought. When had Meg ever been known for being merciful?) It was like they were trying to drill themselves into the fleshy part of his brain.
He knew it hadn't been Sam who'd said all that. He knew it was the same demon that had possessed Meg before, that he'd exorcised. It was just like he knew it hadn't been his dad the last time. ("They don't need you, not like you need them.") He knew it hadn't been them, at least in his head, but his head didn't seem to be on speaking terms with... whatever part of him was responsible for dreams. No, not even dreams. Nightmares, that was the word he wanted.
"You're not going to save me," that damned near-perfect copy of Sam's voice taunted. "You've already failed to save Dad. You failed then, Dean, and you're going to fail now." He shook his head in mute denial, but the voice continued -- and damned if he couldn't hear the smirk in its words. "You might as well just give up."
He started awake, the sheets around him soaked in sweat and a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle any sounds. Not that there were likely to be many: Dad had trained the need for silence into them, and now, for him at least, it was second nature. Sam still made plenty of noise when he was having a nightmare, enough to alert him. And speaking of Sammy...
No, good, he was still asleep, sprawled across the other motel bed like he was taking it over, feet dangling over the edge. No matter how big they made the bed, Sam's feet usually ended up hanging over. They'd done that since he'd hit that last growth spurt, not too long before...
He shook his head to clear it. There was no use bringing up Stanford and just pissing himself off. A shower, that would help exorcise this malingering (and there was a word it might break his brother's brain to know he knew) feeling of dread. It wasn't like he was going to go back to sleep; he knew that from a week's worth of experience. The nightmares only got worse the next time around. So yeah, another three a.m. shower, another four a.m. wound redressing, and if Sleeping Beauty Sasquatch over there was really lucky, maybe he'd let him sleep till six.
Maybe.