FILLED: Timberlandcrowroad3November 5 2017, 08:36:10 UTC
Tracking a human ain't like tracking a demon ain't like tracking a monster but that ain't nothing new--
prick-violences like flares go up through Dean's brain: what am I gonna do when I find you brother what are we gonna do
*
Dean doesn't want to be cured and he doesn't care if he freezes. Might as well be a meatsuit for all he cares, though it's still his body. That's what Sam thinks when he drags, drags his foot behind him in the leaf-dirt. Impossible not to leave sign but try to stay from the softer places, don't break branches. Little good. His scent. He's marking every inch of this trail every bit of Michigan between them and Kansas and Dean's escape and the hunters they crossed salt and silver with, hunters on the trail of some pure-bloods gone wild.
Demon brother. Wolf. Hunters. Disaster. Might have been. But the wolf is dead and the hunters are gone and Sam's foot is torn nearly off, feels like.
Not quite that bad.
Suck air. Taste blood and pine and lake. Vomit.
Black pools like your brother's eyes.
*
Sam wakes up in leaf-litter and something barks in the trees. Knife, gun, silver,salt. Laughable holy water. Cuffs. Reasoning-with overwritten. Pain.
Dean''ll enjoy that, when he comes, when he finds his brother shaken under a pine, pinned neat at the junction of two trails, in the fork, deer tracks and the ghosts of catamounts. Eaten hearts. Layout blinds somewhere, and corn fields; ruined bodies, people and birds.
Hunter's turf. Sam sits up, spits up again.
Why do we do this.
Sam hauls himself up,up, back against the bark in the cold sundown.
Get back to car, somehow. Call for help.
*
Sam slips on guts, recent. Maybe a doe.
Sam stumbles, breaks, hops a few.
There are stars.
Dean's boots crunch and his eyes go and his hands land on Sam's arms, bear them both down to earth, Dean's breath on Sam's cheeks, Dean's cold coat to Sam's hammering heart.
"Don't--"
"Little red Sammy, " Dean says, chuckles, "did ya think--"
Sam kicks and chokes and something whirs off into the dark.
Dean howls.
*
Sam wakes up in the bunker, in bed. One foot up and throbbing. IV.
"Dean?"
"He's locked up again. Go back to sleep."
Cas.
"Sam," Cas says.
"Did Dean--"
"I found him standing over you on the 45th parallel," Cas says. "I brought you both back here."
"Was he--"
"He didn't seem to know what he wanted to do with his..."
"Prey," Sam says.
"We'll get him back," Cas says, taps a waypoint on Sam's forehead, "rest for now."
Tracking a human ain't like tracking a demon ain't like tracking a monster but that ain't nothing new--
prick-violences like flares go up through Dean's brain: what am I gonna do when I find you brother what are we gonna do
*
Dean doesn't want to be cured and he doesn't care if he freezes. Might as well be a meatsuit for all he cares, though it's still his body. That's what Sam thinks when he drags, drags his foot behind him in the leaf-dirt. Impossible not to leave sign but try to stay from the softer places, don't break branches. Little good. His scent. He's marking every inch of this trail every bit of Michigan between them and Kansas and Dean's escape and the hunters they crossed salt and silver with, hunters on the trail of some pure-bloods gone wild.
Demon brother. Wolf. Hunters. Disaster. Might have been. But the wolf is dead and the hunters are gone and Sam's foot is torn nearly off, feels like.
Not quite that bad.
Suck air. Taste blood and pine and lake. Vomit.
Black pools like your brother's eyes.
*
Sam wakes up in leaf-litter and something barks in the trees. Knife, gun, silver,salt. Laughable holy water. Cuffs. Reasoning-with overwritten. Pain.
Dean''ll enjoy that, when he comes, when he finds his brother shaken under a pine, pinned neat at the junction of two trails, in the fork, deer tracks and the ghosts of catamounts. Eaten hearts. Layout blinds somewhere, and corn fields; ruined bodies, people and birds.
Hunter's turf. Sam sits up, spits up again.
Why do we do this.
Sam hauls himself up,up, back against the bark in the cold sundown.
Get back to car, somehow. Call for help.
*
Sam slips on guts, recent. Maybe a doe.
Sam stumbles, breaks, hops a few.
There are stars.
Dean's boots crunch and his eyes go and his hands land on Sam's arms, bear them both down to earth, Dean's breath on Sam's cheeks, Dean's cold coat to Sam's hammering heart.
"Don't--"
"Little red Sammy, " Dean says, chuckles, "did ya think--"
Sam kicks and chokes and something whirs off into the dark.
Dean howls.
*
Sam wakes up in the bunker, in bed. One foot up and throbbing. IV.
"Dean?"
"He's locked up again. Go back to sleep."
Cas.
"Sam," Cas says.
"Did Dean--"
"I found him standing over you on the 45th parallel," Cas says. "I brought you both back here."
"Was he--"
"He didn't seem to know what he wanted to do with his..."
"Prey," Sam says.
"We'll get him back," Cas says, taps a waypoint on Sam's forehead, "rest for now."
Sam goes down, down.
*
The bunker is dark as woods.
human, animal, demon, monster
ain't no difference at all, little brother.
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LOVE. <33333
Thank you!!!
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