Puddles of Blood
Title: Puddles of Blood
Rating: PG-13
Length: Drabble (419 words)
Pairings: Nick/Sarah
Era: Not explicitly stated (pre-5.01, of course)
Warnings: Gore
Summary: "He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could barely process what was going on around him."
Note: Written for the "Epitaph" challenge on spnland; prompt - 'write something horror themed' Received THIRD PLACE!
“Sir, you need to come with us.”
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could barely process what was going on around him.
The blood had grown hard, sticky, on his hands. His shirt, his jacket - everything - was covered in the thick, bodily fluid. It went up his arms and was stained on his skin. He’d removed his jacket - when? He couldn’t remember, but he knew that he had.
Obviously.
“Sir.”
He jumped at the weight of the hand that fell on his shoulder, his head jerking around to look into the hard eyes of a uniformed police officer.
“Uh …” He didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say? What did the cop want? He didn’t know - did he?
“Um … What?”
He heard the sigh - he felt the sigh - come from the officer. “We need you to come with us. We have a few more questions about what happened here … with your wife tonight?”
Blood. So much blood.
He tried to shake the images away, but he couldn’t. They were imprinted in his head, stuck there forever - just like all of the
blood.
He looked up to see the officer still staring. Was he supposed to answer him? (Was there a question that needed an answer?)
He nodded anyway, and the officer left.
Unfortunately, the memory didn’t.
“I’ll see you tonight, okay, honey?” he called from the kitchen as he tugged his jacket on while walking towards the door. He knew he was already running late but, well, he just couldn’t find it in him to really care.
It had been a good morning so far.
“Just don’t forget to pick up those things at the store before you come home, Nick.” He turned back to face his wife coming down the stairs, a half-way dressed kid smiling as he hung onto her. “I can’t and we need them for Marcus here,” she said, grinning down at their son.
He laughed. “‘Course not,” he answered, running over to Sarah and giving both her and Marcus a quick kiss. “Tonight. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise.”
“And then I have you all to myself, right?”
“Exactly.”
He did manage to make it home soon - earlier than almost every other night that week.
He made it home to a busted door, a beaten and bloody wife, and the dead body of his son.
And puddles of blood to stain his hands.
~*~
Finite!
~Megan
Rating: PG-13
Length: Drabble (419 words)
Pairings: Nick/Sarah
Era: Not explicitly stated (pre-5.01, of course)
Warnings: Gore
Summary: "He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could barely process what was going on around him."
Note: Written for the "Epitaph" challenge on spnland; prompt - 'write something horror themed' Received THIRD PLACE!
“Sir, you need to come with us.”
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could barely process what was going on around him.
The blood had grown hard, sticky, on his hands. His shirt, his jacket - everything - was covered in the thick, bodily fluid. It went up his arms and was stained on his skin. He’d removed his jacket - when? He couldn’t remember, but he knew that he had.
Obviously.
“Sir.”
He jumped at the weight of the hand that fell on his shoulder, his head jerking around to look into the hard eyes of a uniformed police officer.
“Uh …” He didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say? What did the cop want? He didn’t know - did he?
“Um … What?”
He heard the sigh - he felt the sigh - come from the officer. “We need you to come with us. We have a few more questions about what happened here … with your wife tonight?”
Blood. So much blood.
He tried to shake the images away, but he couldn’t. They were imprinted in his head, stuck there forever - just like all of the
blood.
He looked up to see the officer still staring. Was he supposed to answer him? (Was there a question that needed an answer?)
He nodded anyway, and the officer left.
Unfortunately, the memory didn’t.
“I’ll see you tonight, okay, honey?” he called from the kitchen as he tugged his jacket on while walking towards the door. He knew he was already running late but, well, he just couldn’t find it in him to really care.
It had been a good morning so far.
“Just don’t forget to pick up those things at the store before you come home, Nick.” He turned back to face his wife coming down the stairs, a half-way dressed kid smiling as he hung onto her. “I can’t and we need them for Marcus here,” she said, grinning down at their son.
He laughed. “‘Course not,” he answered, running over to Sarah and giving both her and Marcus a quick kiss. “Tonight. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise.”
“And then I have you all to myself, right?”
“Exactly.”
He did manage to make it home soon - earlier than almost every other night that week.
He made it home to a busted door, a beaten and bloody wife, and the dead body of his son.
And puddles of blood to stain his hands.
~*~
Finite!
~Megan