Run, You Can Run - PG-13 - Dean/Sam
Title: Run, You Can Run
Author: mgbutterfly
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Disclaimer: These boys both belong to me... in my dreams.
Summary: A deal comes due
Beta!Bitch:sardonicsmiley. She is awesome and betas for me even if she's drunk. And if I could, I'd wrap her in linen and silk and bring her flowers and chocolate and wine.
Author's Notes: So there's This Meme going on and I commented on one of sardonicsmiley's sentences. This is the result. The first line here is hers. And she is my muse. I suppose you could call this a Quadradrabble. It's exactly 400 words. And it's not really a death!fic. Technically? No one dies.
It seems like there should be a bright flash of light, or a sudden boom of sound, the smell of fire and brimstone filling the air. But there's nothing. When Dean is taken, there's nothing but silence.
Sam's left alone, sitting in the middle of the crossroads, surrounded by darkness, dirt, and the phantom warmth from where his brother's body had been. Now, there's nothing.
Sam digs his fingers into the dirt, picks up a handful and lets it run through his fingers. The Impala is parked just off to Sam's left, keys in the ignition, ready to get back on the road. Sam stands up, walks over to the trunk that Dean had popped open before returning the keys to the ignition, and digs around. He finds a mason jar, clean and ready for use.
Sam walks back to the center of the crossroads and scoops up a handful of dirt, placing it in the mason jar. He does it again and again until the jar is full. Full of the place where Dean was taken from him.
Full of the dirt from the last place his brother's feet had tread.
Dean's body is gone. It's gone. And Sam doesn't know what that means.
What Sam does know, though, is that he'll get Dean back. He will walk into Hell and lay the place to waste and get his brother back.
So for now, Sam collects the dirt. He stands in the middle of the crossroads, in the dark and the silence, and collects the dirt that he'll need.
There are no stars. There is no light. There is only the black of the night and the black of the Impala and the echo of Dean's words to him.
"Take care of her, Sammy. She'll take care of you. And god damn it, Sam, don't come after me. I mean it."
Sam shakes his head, tries to clear the words. He hadn't promised Dean. Sam hadn't said, "I won't," or "I promise, Dean." He had taken his brother's face in his hands and pulled Dean close. Sam had breathed in Dean's breath, tasted Dean's lips, smoothed Dean's skin and held Dean's eyes with his own as Dean faded away.
Sam knew what Dean saw in his eyes in that last moment.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow Hell would find out what it meant to separate The Winchesters.
Tomorrow, Hell would fall.
Author: mgbutterfly
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Dean/Sam
Disclaimer: These boys both belong to me... in my dreams.
Summary: A deal comes due
Beta!Bitch:sardonicsmiley. She is awesome and betas for me even if she's drunk. And if I could, I'd wrap her in linen and silk and bring her flowers and chocolate and wine.
Author's Notes: So there's This Meme going on and I commented on one of sardonicsmiley's sentences. This is the result. The first line here is hers. And she is my muse. I suppose you could call this a Quadradrabble. It's exactly 400 words. And it's not really a death!fic. Technically? No one dies.
It seems like there should be a bright flash of light, or a sudden boom of sound, the smell of fire and brimstone filling the air. But there's nothing. When Dean is taken, there's nothing but silence.
Sam's left alone, sitting in the middle of the crossroads, surrounded by darkness, dirt, and the phantom warmth from where his brother's body had been. Now, there's nothing.
Sam digs his fingers into the dirt, picks up a handful and lets it run through his fingers. The Impala is parked just off to Sam's left, keys in the ignition, ready to get back on the road. Sam stands up, walks over to the trunk that Dean had popped open before returning the keys to the ignition, and digs around. He finds a mason jar, clean and ready for use.
Sam walks back to the center of the crossroads and scoops up a handful of dirt, placing it in the mason jar. He does it again and again until the jar is full. Full of the place where Dean was taken from him.
Full of the dirt from the last place his brother's feet had tread.
Dean's body is gone. It's gone. And Sam doesn't know what that means.
What Sam does know, though, is that he'll get Dean back. He will walk into Hell and lay the place to waste and get his brother back.
So for now, Sam collects the dirt. He stands in the middle of the crossroads, in the dark and the silence, and collects the dirt that he'll need.
There are no stars. There is no light. There is only the black of the night and the black of the Impala and the echo of Dean's words to him.
"Take care of her, Sammy. She'll take care of you. And god damn it, Sam, don't come after me. I mean it."
Sam shakes his head, tries to clear the words. He hadn't promised Dean. Sam hadn't said, "I won't," or "I promise, Dean." He had taken his brother's face in his hands and pulled Dean close. Sam had breathed in Dean's breath, tasted Dean's lips, smoothed Dean's skin and held Dean's eyes with his own as Dean faded away.
Sam knew what Dean saw in his eyes in that last moment.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow Hell would find out what it meant to separate The Winchesters.
Tomorrow, Hell would fall.