FIC: Supernatural: Recrudesence: Interlude
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It was dark.
It was always dark.
It was cold.
It was always cold.
It was raw and churning and twisting through him and it was much too much too much too much…
It was always too much.
Too much cold, too much heat, too much power and pain and hatred and fear and rage and betrayal and time and life and death and too much too much too much toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch…
It was always too much.
Until it stopped. And it left… the toomuch, it left… and he was alone, blessedly, horribly, utterly alone.
And there was nothing.
There was always nothing.
And it still hurt.
It always hurts.
And it was still cold.
It was always cold.
And he was…empty.
He was always empty.
And it hurt again, but it hurt like heat, hurt like sunshine and air and kindness and things that didn’t exist.
And there was a touch, a voice. And he knew it was real, and he knew it was so far beyond him that it couldn’t be here, and he couldn’t be there.
He was never there.
But hands touched and were so hot they scorched him, and he wanted more, wanted that heat so bad some part of him was bleeding with it.
They never touched.
And the bleeding hurt, and that was normal. He wasn’t there. It was just like before. He wasn’t really there.
He was never there.
But it was enough. Enough to hold on to… enough to remember a time before it was too much, before he was toomuch.
He was always toomuch.
And he slept. For the first time in his knowing, in the existence of toomuch, he slept.
He always slept.
And eventually, he woke.
And toomuch slept on.
*
Part 7 Part 6 (back)
It was dark.
It was always dark.
It was cold.
It was always cold.
It was raw and churning and twisting through him and it was much too much too much too much…
It was always too much.
Too much cold, too much heat, too much power and pain and hatred and fear and rage and betrayal and time and life and death and too much too much too much toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch…
It was always too much.
Until it stopped. And it left… the toomuch, it left… and he was alone, blessedly, horribly, utterly alone.
And there was nothing.
There was always nothing.
And it still hurt.
It always hurts.
And it was still cold.
It was always cold.
And he was…empty.
He was always empty.
And it hurt again, but it hurt like heat, hurt like sunshine and air and kindness and things that didn’t exist.
And there was a touch, a voice. And he knew it was real, and he knew it was so far beyond him that it couldn’t be here, and he couldn’t be there.
He was never there.
But hands touched and were so hot they scorched him, and he wanted more, wanted that heat so bad some part of him was bleeding with it.
They never touched.
And the bleeding hurt, and that was normal. He wasn’t there. It was just like before. He wasn’t really there.
He was never there.
But it was enough. Enough to hold on to… enough to remember a time before it was too much, before he was toomuch.
He was always toomuch.
And he slept. For the first time in his knowing, in the existence of toomuch, he slept.
He always slept.
And eventually, he woke.
And toomuch slept on.
*
Part 7 Part 6 (back)