For theatrical_muse
#234- Utopia
It was ten in the morning when Dean stirred, peeking open one green eye to take in the a-typical teenager's room around him: posters of various gorgeous women on the walls, clothes haphazardly thrown here and everywhere, a computer left on too long and a couple of tattered looking sneakers.
"Dean!" His mother's voice, loud and clear as a bell, coming from downstairs. "Get up! You're going to miss practice."
Dean grumbled, only for a glass full of water to be emptied over his head by a lanky cackling younger brother. "Yeah, Dean. Time to get up."
Dean spluttered then glared at Sam. "Oh, you're so dead."
"Only if you catch me!" Sam threw back childishly before he was bolting for the door, with Dean in quick pursuit.
Dean hurtled down the stairs after Sam who ran quickly due to his ridiculously long legs and was throwing out all these kinds of threats about what he was going to do to Sam when he finally got his hands on him, too caught up to notice how the house behind him slowly disintegrated and rotted away.
It was only when the front door swung open that the sixteen year old Dean Winchester came to a startling stop, eyes widening as the twelve year old figure of his brother turned to him, eyes as black as night. "You're pathetic, Dean."
"Sammy?" Dean asked, stepping forward only to jump back as the garden all but caved away under him and he was falling, catching his weight on his fingertips.
Sam approached him and his lips curled in the corners. "No, Dean." He shook his head and pressed a foot over Dean's already struggling Dean's knuckles. "It's Sam, not Sammy."
Dean cried out as in the next instant Sam's foot came down hard and his grip was sufficiently jarred enough for Dean to fall.
The next abrupt moment was when Dean jerked awake and found himself staring into the swirling blue of the demon whose hand was in his hair. "Did you like your taste of Utopia, Dean? Pity it'll never actually happen. Mommy's dead and Sam? You've already lost him."
"Fuck you," Dean spat out between his teeth.
The demon chuckled. "No, Dean. Let's play this game a little more. Let's see what other pathetic scenarios you have in your head." And then he dragged Dean back under, suffocating his sounds of complaint with the overwhelming false realities he was torturing him with.
He could play this game for hours and never get bored. Hopefully the oldest Winchester could last.
Muse : Dean Winchester
Fandom : Supernatural (Misc TV)
Word Count : 427
It was ten in the morning when Dean stirred, peeking open one green eye to take in the a-typical teenager's room around him: posters of various gorgeous women on the walls, clothes haphazardly thrown here and everywhere, a computer left on too long and a couple of tattered looking sneakers.
"Dean!" His mother's voice, loud and clear as a bell, coming from downstairs. "Get up! You're going to miss practice."
Dean grumbled, only for a glass full of water to be emptied over his head by a lanky cackling younger brother. "Yeah, Dean. Time to get up."
Dean spluttered then glared at Sam. "Oh, you're so dead."
"Only if you catch me!" Sam threw back childishly before he was bolting for the door, with Dean in quick pursuit.
Dean hurtled down the stairs after Sam who ran quickly due to his ridiculously long legs and was throwing out all these kinds of threats about what he was going to do to Sam when he finally got his hands on him, too caught up to notice how the house behind him slowly disintegrated and rotted away.
It was only when the front door swung open that the sixteen year old Dean Winchester came to a startling stop, eyes widening as the twelve year old figure of his brother turned to him, eyes as black as night. "You're pathetic, Dean."
"Sammy?" Dean asked, stepping forward only to jump back as the garden all but caved away under him and he was falling, catching his weight on his fingertips.
Sam approached him and his lips curled in the corners. "No, Dean." He shook his head and pressed a foot over Dean's already struggling Dean's knuckles. "It's Sam, not Sammy."
Dean cried out as in the next instant Sam's foot came down hard and his grip was sufficiently jarred enough for Dean to fall.
The next abrupt moment was when Dean jerked awake and found himself staring into the swirling blue of the demon whose hand was in his hair. "Did you like your taste of Utopia, Dean? Pity it'll never actually happen. Mommy's dead and Sam? You've already lost him."
"Fuck you," Dean spat out between his teeth.
The demon chuckled. "No, Dean. Let's play this game a little more. Let's see what other pathetic scenarios you have in your head." And then he dragged Dean back under, suffocating his sounds of complaint with the overwhelming false realities he was torturing him with.
He could play this game for hours and never get bored. Hopefully the oldest Winchester could last.
Muse : Dean Winchester
Fandom : Supernatural (Misc TV)
Word Count : 427