.0114 - The Path to Heaven Runs Through Miles of Clouded Hell
Sam (& Dean)
351 words
Summary: 9.23 / Sam's POV
Title: Imagine Dragons
Dean closes his eyes, and his body sags, falling, like a stringless puppet into Sam's arms. Life escapes on a breath, one last exhale. But there's blood, silent, and yet screaming, so loud. Speaking and accusing. False like a promise, and real like the pain, the anguish it leaves inside, in a core torn with reproofs and regrets. It's warm, and sticky, comforting, like a poison, the final bead that tastes like redemption.
Minutes pass, hours. The whole universe shifts, collapses on itself. Everything changes, and all stays the same. A child is born, restoring balance. Another fighter, another loser. Another innocent soul marching towards Purgatory.
Dean's body is heavy, fragile, beaten and bruised, just a shell. A breakable shelter for dreams and hopes, for nightmares. And guilt. Sam staggers, once, twice, a million times, losing balance and strength, faith that they'll make it, that far. That he'll take a single more step forward, when falling, giving up, giving it all up sounds so easy. Feels so easy, so simple. So right.
Dean's arm falls, sliding down Sam's back, dead, but so alive, a caress, a push, a shove forward from a dead man.
The blood is everywhere now, soaking through clothes, Dean's, Sam's, slipping over his skin, like his own, his own, hot, and so cold. He walks through it, oceans of it, breathes it in, swallows it like tears, like saliva. Bittersweet.
He trips, reels, falls, to his knees, over Dean. On Dean. The dead body he is now. God, how many times already. And how many more... At least once. Just one more.
He sits up and gathers him into his arms, pulling him close, clutching tight enough to hurt, to break... if only. Warm, still, but not for long. Minutes. Hours. And then what?
Sam closes his eyes, lashes drenched with tears, lips bitten, raw and bloody, heart shattered. Tired of dying, and sick of living. He hangs his head, forehead pressed to his brother's unresponsive shoulder, and lets it all go, just for now. To hell, where it belongs. Where everything belongs. Where it all ends.
351 words
Summary: 9.23 / Sam's POV
Title: Imagine Dragons
Dean closes his eyes, and his body sags, falling, like a stringless puppet into Sam's arms. Life escapes on a breath, one last exhale. But there's blood, silent, and yet screaming, so loud. Speaking and accusing. False like a promise, and real like the pain, the anguish it leaves inside, in a core torn with reproofs and regrets. It's warm, and sticky, comforting, like a poison, the final bead that tastes like redemption.
Minutes pass, hours. The whole universe shifts, collapses on itself. Everything changes, and all stays the same. A child is born, restoring balance. Another fighter, another loser. Another innocent soul marching towards Purgatory.
Dean's body is heavy, fragile, beaten and bruised, just a shell. A breakable shelter for dreams and hopes, for nightmares. And guilt. Sam staggers, once, twice, a million times, losing balance and strength, faith that they'll make it, that far. That he'll take a single more step forward, when falling, giving up, giving it all up sounds so easy. Feels so easy, so simple. So right.
Dean's arm falls, sliding down Sam's back, dead, but so alive, a caress, a push, a shove forward from a dead man.
The blood is everywhere now, soaking through clothes, Dean's, Sam's, slipping over his skin, like his own, his own, hot, and so cold. He walks through it, oceans of it, breathes it in, swallows it like tears, like saliva. Bittersweet.
He trips, reels, falls, to his knees, over Dean. On Dean. The dead body he is now. God, how many times already. And how many more... At least once. Just one more.
He sits up and gathers him into his arms, pulling him close, clutching tight enough to hurt, to break... if only. Warm, still, but not for long. Minutes. Hours. And then what?
Sam closes his eyes, lashes drenched with tears, lips bitten, raw and bloody, heart shattered. Tired of dying, and sick of living. He hangs his head, forehead pressed to his brother's unresponsive shoulder, and lets it all go, just for now. To hell, where it belongs. Where everything belongs. Where it all ends.