i like this body... it's all grown up & pretty
Supernatural; spoilers.
one.
When Sam's head blurs & the distortion sets in, it's almost a relief. He can't stand Sam's new face any more than Sam can stand his; foreign & unwelcome emotions are present on both. Sam's is a network of cracks & fault lines, worry & anxiety & frustration & frailty. Dean looks down when Sam's face stops twisting.
two.
Dean comes the closest to losing it in the car, closest to giving in. With Sammy grinning next to him & the night air flashing by, he grips the leather steering wheel & stops singing, afraid he'll choke. Bites his lip until it bleeds, keeps his eyes wide open, digs his nails into his palm & leaves red crescents in his skin. He doesn't cry.
three.
Sam's staring into the woman's eyes, now, knife poised above her daughter's head, blade still sticky & red. She's whispering to him, hoarse and wild-eyed, driven half-mad by fear. Do it. Do it. Sam's staring at the girl's blonde hair, now, trying to imagine what it will look like matted with blood. Do it. Then Dean's there, & he doesn't have to kill a child, & he's staring at Dean, now, & thinking I can't do this alone. Dean's thinking back to him: do it.
four.
The grandfather clock chimes midnight & it's just like a fairytale in his fucked-up mind. Sam is crying, the pansy. Dean's body makes the decision when his mind can't, & his mouth curls up in a tight smile. It's the same smile he's worn since he was four, the one he uses to make Sammy feel better, but there's something wrong with it now. It doesn't fit right somehow so he lets it drop. Everything else drops too, & there's nothing left in him except a vague sense of loss. He doesn't know what he's grieving, but it hurts & he lets it.
one.
When Sam's head blurs & the distortion sets in, it's almost a relief. He can't stand Sam's new face any more than Sam can stand his; foreign & unwelcome emotions are present on both. Sam's is a network of cracks & fault lines, worry & anxiety & frustration & frailty. Dean looks down when Sam's face stops twisting.
two.
Dean comes the closest to losing it in the car, closest to giving in. With Sammy grinning next to him & the night air flashing by, he grips the leather steering wheel & stops singing, afraid he'll choke. Bites his lip until it bleeds, keeps his eyes wide open, digs his nails into his palm & leaves red crescents in his skin. He doesn't cry.
three.
Sam's staring into the woman's eyes, now, knife poised above her daughter's head, blade still sticky & red. She's whispering to him, hoarse and wild-eyed, driven half-mad by fear. Do it. Do it. Sam's staring at the girl's blonde hair, now, trying to imagine what it will look like matted with blood. Do it. Then Dean's there, & he doesn't have to kill a child, & he's staring at Dean, now, & thinking I can't do this alone. Dean's thinking back to him: do it.
four.
The grandfather clock chimes midnight & it's just like a fairytale in his fucked-up mind. Sam is crying, the pansy. Dean's body makes the decision when his mind can't, & his mouth curls up in a tight smile. It's the same smile he's worn since he was four, the one he uses to make Sammy feel better, but there's something wrong with it now. It doesn't fit right somehow so he lets it drop. Everything else drops too, & there's nothing left in him except a vague sense of loss. He doesn't know what he's grieving, but it hurts & he lets it.