Drabbletag 7 (Supernatural, Anna/Jo - Salvation)
Title: Holy
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Anna/Jo
Rating: PG-13/light R
Prompt: Drabbletag5, Supernatural: Anna/Jo - salvation
Word count: 250
Summary: A fallen angel and a hunter run away together.
There was a time when Anna believed in salvation, like she believed in everything else she was born to: light through stained glass windows, strange radio playing in her head. She hadn't known herself then, or her place in the world, but she'd been sure that everyone had one.
Anna remembers everything now, but she doesn't know what she believes in. Maybe nothing but the Host and the war, the rush of wings and the burning sword, the call to obedience. Maybe something newer, and dangerous - mercy, not duty; justice, not faith. Maybe only clean white sheets, soap-scented, and the lean limbs of the hunter who sprawls beside her with ponytail half-undone, eyes heavy-lidded. Jo's hand maps her ribs, tracing a lazy line between freckles, and radio static fades to nothing but the sound of the ceiling fan and their quiet breathing.
Anna shivers as Jo touches her back, where the shadow of wings might unfurl. In this fragile shell of a body, she feels like a lantern, paper-thin skin and fire beneath. Jo hasn't seen her true face, and never will - too much light there not to burn her blind. But Anna can still kiss her mouth and her breasts, tangle too-human fingers in her hair and borrow time until Heaven's army finds them.
Jo believes in saving yourself, and saving everyone else while you're at it. Once, Anna would have called that impossible, except by a higher hand. Now -
She's already fallen. Might as well strive to fly.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Anna/Jo
Rating: PG-13/light R
Prompt: Drabbletag5, Supernatural: Anna/Jo - salvation
Word count: 250
Summary: A fallen angel and a hunter run away together.
There was a time when Anna believed in salvation, like she believed in everything else she was born to: light through stained glass windows, strange radio playing in her head. She hadn't known herself then, or her place in the world, but she'd been sure that everyone had one.
Anna remembers everything now, but she doesn't know what she believes in. Maybe nothing but the Host and the war, the rush of wings and the burning sword, the call to obedience. Maybe something newer, and dangerous - mercy, not duty; justice, not faith. Maybe only clean white sheets, soap-scented, and the lean limbs of the hunter who sprawls beside her with ponytail half-undone, eyes heavy-lidded. Jo's hand maps her ribs, tracing a lazy line between freckles, and radio static fades to nothing but the sound of the ceiling fan and their quiet breathing.
Anna shivers as Jo touches her back, where the shadow of wings might unfurl. In this fragile shell of a body, she feels like a lantern, paper-thin skin and fire beneath. Jo hasn't seen her true face, and never will - too much light there not to burn her blind. But Anna can still kiss her mouth and her breasts, tangle too-human fingers in her hair and borrow time until Heaven's army finds them.
Jo believes in saving yourself, and saving everyone else while you're at it. Once, Anna would have called that impossible, except by a higher hand. Now -
She's already fallen. Might as well strive to fly.