He Dreams Of Fire
Title: He Dreams of Fire
Genre: Angst
Pairing: General. No pairings.
Rating: Pg-13?
Warning: N/A, just angst Dean.
Disclaimer: Thoughts mine, characters have been stolen to fulfill my own needs.
Summary: Some nights he can feel it burn the flesh off of his bones; some nights he can smell that encompassing stench as it invades his throat, chocking him and other nights it’s as if he’s a spirit, a mere visitor, in his own dreams, exempt from the screams of horror that feel his mind as other’s suffer.
Head falls on a pillow thin enough to let him feel the knife resting under there, reassuring him that he can sleep; that he’s safe and he can instantly protect Sam if need be. Reassuring until his eyes close and he sees the fire behind his eyelids, reaching out and licking at his flesh. Some nights he can feel it burn the flesh off of his bones; some nights he can smell that encompassing stench as it invades his throat, chocking him and other nights it’s as if he’s a spirit, a mere visitor, in his own dreams, exempt from the screams of horror that feel his mind as other’s suffer.
He dreams of Jess’s face, plastered on the ceiling as her innocence fades away and then slowly replaced by the blurred memory of his mother’s face in her place, the image of pure love dying away in a world that is an empty shell of hate. And then slowly, ever so slowly and painfully, it’s the women from the day’s work; the ones he hit on, the ones he saved… even just ones who he passed by, not thinking twice about them until his eyes slip closed and he is thrust into a hell of his mind’s own making.
He does not believe in God nor heaven or hell. He has seen nothing good come from this world; darkness circles everything and slips into every beings mind only for it to seep from their pores and infect those they pass. He does not believe in hell for every night he visits it. He refuses to believe in something that he visits every night. Everything that had once been light in his life, a pure light not born of orange, has been snuffed out, murdered and stolen.
Denial. Best survival plan he ever had.
When he flicks his lighter into action he is entranced by the dance it does for him; gives him some control over the thing that he knows he will be doomed to suffer. Good soul or not, good deeds or non, the things he fights will one day drag him away after them, showing him what he’s sending them to. It dances in his fingers, barely controlled by the flimsy metal that contains it and he’ll smile slightly at that. Anyone who looks hard enough to see the small twitch in his lips would mark it off as him acknowledging a good days work but sometimes he wished that he could control the fire more, hold it in his hands and listen to it’s silent song of a death that never ends and take it away from those who have been loved and suffered. Take the flames away from innocence and love and let them float free and maybe save the only people he has in his life.
Sam has Jess. John has Mary. He has Sam and John and no one else could do… because they’d only end up like the other woman. Because he’d end up like his dad and brother, searching for something to quench the loss deep inside of their hearts and to feed the fire that has grown in their eyes with something other than revenge.
He watches corpses turn to ash as the flames lick at the dried out flesh, watches it eat it away until nothing is left but the cinders that’ll flutter away in the wind covering everything in it’s path, leaving the world full of nothing but the echo’s of people who once were here and there but never were.
And he dreams of fire, forcing every thought from his mind fighting to keep it intact while he falls apart. He feels the fire at his feet, taunting him as he sleeps and he hears those he cares dearly about calling beyond the flames, trying to call him to them, to bring him back from the empty pit of nothing he’s fallen into and yet… he stays, unable to move, unable to cry tears that might subdue the fire that engulfs his body.
He dreams of Sam and Dad standing outside of the flames, safe from harm, safe from this demon that he is becoming, reaching out for him in vain and he knows that as long as he stays here he can protect them. As long as he allows the darkness to swallow his mind and thoughts they will be safe because if there’s no light for him then his mind can be completely focused on them, keeping them safe.
So, he dreams of fire.
A/N : Very confusing piece… done in a semi-style of stream of thought (As I can’t remember the correct name of the term). Blame this whole idea on me staring at my lighter.
Kay
-766
Genre: Angst
Pairing: General. No pairings.
Rating: Pg-13?
Warning: N/A, just angst Dean.
Disclaimer: Thoughts mine, characters have been stolen to fulfill my own needs.
Summary: Some nights he can feel it burn the flesh off of his bones; some nights he can smell that encompassing stench as it invades his throat, chocking him and other nights it’s as if he’s a spirit, a mere visitor, in his own dreams, exempt from the screams of horror that feel his mind as other’s suffer.
Head falls on a pillow thin enough to let him feel the knife resting under there, reassuring him that he can sleep; that he’s safe and he can instantly protect Sam if need be. Reassuring until his eyes close and he sees the fire behind his eyelids, reaching out and licking at his flesh. Some nights he can feel it burn the flesh off of his bones; some nights he can smell that encompassing stench as it invades his throat, chocking him and other nights it’s as if he’s a spirit, a mere visitor, in his own dreams, exempt from the screams of horror that feel his mind as other’s suffer.
He dreams of Jess’s face, plastered on the ceiling as her innocence fades away and then slowly replaced by the blurred memory of his mother’s face in her place, the image of pure love dying away in a world that is an empty shell of hate. And then slowly, ever so slowly and painfully, it’s the women from the day’s work; the ones he hit on, the ones he saved… even just ones who he passed by, not thinking twice about them until his eyes slip closed and he is thrust into a hell of his mind’s own making.
He does not believe in God nor heaven or hell. He has seen nothing good come from this world; darkness circles everything and slips into every beings mind only for it to seep from their pores and infect those they pass. He does not believe in hell for every night he visits it. He refuses to believe in something that he visits every night. Everything that had once been light in his life, a pure light not born of orange, has been snuffed out, murdered and stolen.
Denial. Best survival plan he ever had.
When he flicks his lighter into action he is entranced by the dance it does for him; gives him some control over the thing that he knows he will be doomed to suffer. Good soul or not, good deeds or non, the things he fights will one day drag him away after them, showing him what he’s sending them to. It dances in his fingers, barely controlled by the flimsy metal that contains it and he’ll smile slightly at that. Anyone who looks hard enough to see the small twitch in his lips would mark it off as him acknowledging a good days work but sometimes he wished that he could control the fire more, hold it in his hands and listen to it’s silent song of a death that never ends and take it away from those who have been loved and suffered. Take the flames away from innocence and love and let them float free and maybe save the only people he has in his life.
Sam has Jess. John has Mary. He has Sam and John and no one else could do… because they’d only end up like the other woman. Because he’d end up like his dad and brother, searching for something to quench the loss deep inside of their hearts and to feed the fire that has grown in their eyes with something other than revenge.
He watches corpses turn to ash as the flames lick at the dried out flesh, watches it eat it away until nothing is left but the cinders that’ll flutter away in the wind covering everything in it’s path, leaving the world full of nothing but the echo’s of people who once were here and there but never were.
And he dreams of fire, forcing every thought from his mind fighting to keep it intact while he falls apart. He feels the fire at his feet, taunting him as he sleeps and he hears those he cares dearly about calling beyond the flames, trying to call him to them, to bring him back from the empty pit of nothing he’s fallen into and yet… he stays, unable to move, unable to cry tears that might subdue the fire that engulfs his body.
He dreams of Sam and Dad standing outside of the flames, safe from harm, safe from this demon that he is becoming, reaching out for him in vain and he knows that as long as he stays here he can protect them. As long as he allows the darkness to swallow his mind and thoughts they will be safe because if there’s no light for him then his mind can be completely focused on them, keeping them safe.
So, he dreams of fire.
A/N : Very confusing piece… done in a semi-style of stream of thought (As I can’t remember the correct name of the term). Blame this whole idea on me staring at my lighter.
Kay
-766