(no subject)
Title: Take my life and let it be.
Author: mijmeraar
Characters: Dean, gen.
Rating: 15+
Summary: Dean’s not just here for vengeance. He’s here to kill.
A/N: 573 words. Dark fic. Comments and Criticism Loved.
what happened to mommy?
you know. she was killed by a monster.
what happened to the monster?
nothing, yet. but one day.
Dean has his first kill while his brother’s watching Fireman Sam inside their motel room. It was a werewolf and it was hungry and it had picked the wrong kids to play with. Dean heaves it out of view, doesn’t look, won’t look, can’t be sure if all death looks the same, if he’ll see more than he should in cold, black eyes, if he’ll feel anything else but satisfied. He mutters to himself as he scrubs his hands by the tap, he mutters, it was evil, it was your job, Dad will be proud. Dean doesn’t eat for a while, can’t keep anything down, can’t stop the pit of acid burning at his insides, burning, burning, reminding him why he’s here.
Dean kills again a month later, when Dad’s off on a lead and a strange man is hollering, crowing about his mighty saviour who might be God or Satan, Dean’s not so sure. His eyes aren’t right and his skin fits wrong and Dad has always told Dean, trust your gut, so Dean trust his gut and aims and shoots and there’s blood and Sammy’s screaming and Dean’s not sure if its dead but its gone and they’re alive. If they’re alive then it’s okay, because alive they can fight, alive they can move on, forward, closer to their goal. Dean tells Sam a few lies so he will sleep, that it isn’t blood and it isn’t bad and there’s nothing to be scared of. He showers until the water runs cold, until the blood on his skin is his own, is from tireless scrubbing, scrubbing, trying to be clean.
Dean buries a shape shifter and this time Sam knows truth from lies, says, you killed it didn’t you, it’s dead isn’t it. Dean doesn’t shake or vomit or let scalding water shower down his back. He doesn’t answer Sam, either, but helps him into bed and leaves a light on, says sleep tight, real quiet, like it’s a prayer. Dean will always be his brother’s guardian, will always feel responsible for his brother; but there’s no point keeping Sam from the life he is destined for. Dean cleans his weapons and studies them too; like their real, like living, breathing entities that he must not only own, that he must know. Sam has his books and his facts and his straight A’s in history. Dean has his .45, his machete and his rifle. He’s a hunter. He’s a killer.
Dean just keeps killing and killing and doing what he’s supposed to, killing things that never killed his mother but would have if given the chance. He’s honing his skill and perfecting his form: defensive stance and shooting accuracy and what to kill and how to kill it. This isn’t just vengeance. This isn’t just about that any more. Dean’s a hunter now, he has a job, and he has to be good at his job. They’re going to slay the demon, their time will come, but right now they’re doing their civic duties, finding their niche, saving the world. Dean’s not fighting because he wants his life back; because he wants an end to this [there is no end to this]. He’s fighting because there’s no way back from here. There’s no being clean.
what happens when we kill it?
we get drunk.
i mean to us, what happens to us?
nothing. nothing happens.
Author: mijmeraar
Characters: Dean, gen.
Rating: 15+
Summary: Dean’s not just here for vengeance. He’s here to kill.
A/N: 573 words. Dark fic. Comments and Criticism Loved.
what happened to mommy?
you know. she was killed by a monster.
what happened to the monster?
nothing, yet. but one day.
Dean has his first kill while his brother’s watching Fireman Sam inside their motel room. It was a werewolf and it was hungry and it had picked the wrong kids to play with. Dean heaves it out of view, doesn’t look, won’t look, can’t be sure if all death looks the same, if he’ll see more than he should in cold, black eyes, if he’ll feel anything else but satisfied. He mutters to himself as he scrubs his hands by the tap, he mutters, it was evil, it was your job, Dad will be proud. Dean doesn’t eat for a while, can’t keep anything down, can’t stop the pit of acid burning at his insides, burning, burning, reminding him why he’s here.
Dean kills again a month later, when Dad’s off on a lead and a strange man is hollering, crowing about his mighty saviour who might be God or Satan, Dean’s not so sure. His eyes aren’t right and his skin fits wrong and Dad has always told Dean, trust your gut, so Dean trust his gut and aims and shoots and there’s blood and Sammy’s screaming and Dean’s not sure if its dead but its gone and they’re alive. If they’re alive then it’s okay, because alive they can fight, alive they can move on, forward, closer to their goal. Dean tells Sam a few lies so he will sleep, that it isn’t blood and it isn’t bad and there’s nothing to be scared of. He showers until the water runs cold, until the blood on his skin is his own, is from tireless scrubbing, scrubbing, trying to be clean.
Dean buries a shape shifter and this time Sam knows truth from lies, says, you killed it didn’t you, it’s dead isn’t it. Dean doesn’t shake or vomit or let scalding water shower down his back. He doesn’t answer Sam, either, but helps him into bed and leaves a light on, says sleep tight, real quiet, like it’s a prayer. Dean will always be his brother’s guardian, will always feel responsible for his brother; but there’s no point keeping Sam from the life he is destined for. Dean cleans his weapons and studies them too; like their real, like living, breathing entities that he must not only own, that he must know. Sam has his books and his facts and his straight A’s in history. Dean has his .45, his machete and his rifle. He’s a hunter. He’s a killer.
Dean just keeps killing and killing and doing what he’s supposed to, killing things that never killed his mother but would have if given the chance. He’s honing his skill and perfecting his form: defensive stance and shooting accuracy and what to kill and how to kill it. This isn’t just vengeance. This isn’t just about that any more. Dean’s a hunter now, he has a job, and he has to be good at his job. They’re going to slay the demon, their time will come, but right now they’re doing their civic duties, finding their niche, saving the world. Dean’s not fighting because he wants his life back; because he wants an end to this [there is no end to this]. He’s fighting because there’s no way back from here. There’s no being clean.
what happens when we kill it?
we get drunk.
i mean to us, what happens to us?
nothing. nothing happens.