comment fic meme!
Following the results of the poll we took last month (don't make it easy on us or anything, guys, haha!), we've decided to hold a comment fic meme once every three months. This gives everyone time to write and prompt to their heart's content, and allows us mods to keep up with y'all. And we're starting right now!
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Dean’s worried about how thin he’s getting. He tries to find something that’ll agree with Sam’s stomach-tries everything from soup and salt crackers to protein shakes and glucose water. It’s not me, Sam tries to tell him. It’s the world. Everything’s wrong. Moves too fast or too slow.
(the only thing that makes sense any more is pain. it was the only thing he was willing to face for two hundred years.)
After a while, he stops trying to make Dean understand, and lets the world lurch and shift all around him. He just needs his amulet.
-
(in the cage, it’s different. there is no beginning here, nor is there an end: it just is. sam has no idea how long he spent there: maybe no more than a few seconds; maybe more than a hundred lifetimes. he doesn’t know. he doesn’t care, because there would be pain, clean and pure and simple, and it drives out the need to be able to perceive the passage of time. it’s a drug.
when the pain disappears and he lies mending, he sees the true horror of what he’s done. he sees what he rules over-because that is what he is, because there’s no difference now, they’re both the same person-and he despairs. he thinks of dean and his dad and jessica and what he could’ve become, and the despair deepens until it’s resentment, and the resentment billows until it’s anger, and the anger burns until it’s hollowed him out, and the passage of every second feels like how eternity is supposed to feel.
twenty years for every breath, the stench of every damned soul left to rot here settling in his lungs until they’re a part of him. fifty years for every tear that slides down his face, drips from his chin and splatters against his neck. a hundred for every blink, as every part of his cage of rotting flesh and endless horror is burned indelibly into the back of his eyes.
two hundred before he just wants the pain again.)
-
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There’s a day when Dean stumbles into the motel room, reeking of alcohol and state cigarette smoke. Sam only watches as his brother half-tumbles into bed, kicks off his boots, and mumbles incoherently as he tries to get comfortable.
Something falls out of one the boots, glittering even in the dull electric light. It’s one of Dean’s knives, Sam knows. The one he keeps stashed away in his boot for emergencies, although Sam can’t really remember a time he ever used it.
He’s not even aware of moving; in the space between closing and opening his eyes, he’s picked up the little knife and set it to his elbow. The world slows down and his heart rises to his throat as the blade breaks skin and blood wells to the surface. Blackness is already eating at the edges of his vision and he’s beginning to feel dizzier than ever, but-those things don’t really matter-
Dean’s hand closes over his, stops the knife from going any deeper, but doesn’t remove it. “Sam,” he says, settling down behind him, pulling him to his chest. “Sam, listen to me,” Dean says against his ear, smelling of cheap whiskey and the only kind of grief Sam’s ever known from him in his life. “Just... listen.”
And so Sam listens. He listens to the steady thud-thud of Dean’s heart, not the stuttering rhythm in his own ears; he listens to the rush of Dean’s breath against his ear, feels it tickling the sensitive skin.
(and there was no time. a second and an eternity-they didn’t matter.)
“Breathe with me,” Dean says. “Try and sleep.”
Dean keeps the steady pressure on the knife, and Sam falls to the lull of Dean’s life in his ears and the pain.
Thud-thud, thud-thud.
Finis
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...and Sam feels its absence like Dean just ripped something vital out of his body (and Sam thinks, he’s not even using rhetoric, here; he knows exactly how it feels, and the thought makes him want to laugh).
Broke me. BROKE. ME. (In a good way.)
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Thanks again for the prompt and the comment!
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Just this. So good.
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"Dean keeps the steady pressure on the knife and Sam falls to the lull of Dean's life in his ears and the pain."
You can tell it kills Dean to hurt his brother, but he gives in because it seems to help at least a bit. Always love that borderline-psychotic codependency that defines these two. Really wonderful.
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Doesn't it, though? The fic wasn't going to end in any other way, at least in my head.
I'm glad you enjoyed this; thanks for reading!
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SO glad you liked this. Thanks so much! ♥
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an excellent fill. This reads like poetry!
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