Drabble for a Friday
It's been a little while since I posted. Getting ready for the wedding next week has been nuts! But somehow last week, this came out of nowhere. It's not my usual - a bit angsty. Hope it's enjoyable, if not exactly fun.
'Snick
Title: Reunion
Genre: Drabble, Angst
Length: 431
Disclaimer: Not mine, just fun to play with. If I put them back when I'm done, you don't sue. Okay?
Thanks to realscape for the timely beta!
_________________
Reunion
_________________
“Get him down.” Is all Sam can say when he sees.
It’s been six days, and they’ve finally led him here.
Dean doesn’t have a body now, but he bleeds just the same; held by chains that aren’t there for anyone but him. Sam sees them only by the way they rend the flesh his brother no longer has. By the way Dean twists against them, howling under unseen tortures, calling for help, for an end, for anything. Calling for Sam.
“Get him down.” He says, and they do. As they have done everything he asks. Only what he asks. Answers to direct questions. Giving only what is taken from them.
They’ve known how to find Dean the entire time, Sam knows. He got tired of arguing, pleading, and punishing it out of them days ago. But none of it matters. He understands now - he’s here to command, not to trust.
None of it matters. Nothing can, as they bring Dean to him, cursing and struggling. If God is truly in his heaven and this - THIS, smeared in soot and blood and gore, and limping on broken bones he still believes in - can come to pass, then Sam can sit on his black dais in brutal indifference too.
“Bring clean water.” Sam orders, but he only hears a hiss in return. One of his own scuttles off to do as he commands, though, while the Other One continues on his way.
Somewhere, the Other Ones are massing. The ones who fear Sam but won’t follow him.
Somewhere they are pouring out of the demolished gates Sam left in his wake, as he killed and destroyed and sinned his way in. Pouring out, into the world he spent his life defending. But none of it matters, now.
None of it matters, not when he has Dean.
Dean. Not alive, but as good as. Solid under his hands, and shoving him away, and not letting him go.
Dean. Saying Sam’s name over and over like he’s the only thing that’s real.
“Sam…Sam. Sammy. God, Sam.”
Like he can make the rest of this just go away.
Which, Sam supposes, he can. Most of it.
Dean. Who, after six days, is still Dean enough to finally draw himself up, slap Sam on the arm, and ask,
“So, Sam. Now that you got us here, how the fuck do we get back?”
Dean. Who looks at him with expectant eyes, now diligently schooled from molten black to familiar, vivid green.
Sam wishes he could think of a reason to do the same.
'Snick
Title: Reunion
Genre: Drabble, Angst
Length: 431
Disclaimer: Not mine, just fun to play with. If I put them back when I'm done, you don't sue. Okay?
Thanks to realscape for the timely beta!
_________________
Reunion
_________________
“Get him down.” Is all Sam can say when he sees.
It’s been six days, and they’ve finally led him here.
Dean doesn’t have a body now, but he bleeds just the same; held by chains that aren’t there for anyone but him. Sam sees them only by the way they rend the flesh his brother no longer has. By the way Dean twists against them, howling under unseen tortures, calling for help, for an end, for anything. Calling for Sam.
“Get him down.” He says, and they do. As they have done everything he asks. Only what he asks. Answers to direct questions. Giving only what is taken from them.
They’ve known how to find Dean the entire time, Sam knows. He got tired of arguing, pleading, and punishing it out of them days ago. But none of it matters. He understands now - he’s here to command, not to trust.
None of it matters. Nothing can, as they bring Dean to him, cursing and struggling. If God is truly in his heaven and this - THIS, smeared in soot and blood and gore, and limping on broken bones he still believes in - can come to pass, then Sam can sit on his black dais in brutal indifference too.
“Bring clean water.” Sam orders, but he only hears a hiss in return. One of his own scuttles off to do as he commands, though, while the Other One continues on his way.
Somewhere, the Other Ones are massing. The ones who fear Sam but won’t follow him.
Somewhere they are pouring out of the demolished gates Sam left in his wake, as he killed and destroyed and sinned his way in. Pouring out, into the world he spent his life defending. But none of it matters, now.
None of it matters, not when he has Dean.
Dean. Not alive, but as good as. Solid under his hands, and shoving him away, and not letting him go.
Dean. Saying Sam’s name over and over like he’s the only thing that’s real.
“Sam…Sam. Sammy. God, Sam.”
Like he can make the rest of this just go away.
Which, Sam supposes, he can. Most of it.
Dean. Who, after six days, is still Dean enough to finally draw himself up, slap Sam on the arm, and ask,
“So, Sam. Now that you got us here, how the fuck do we get back?”
Dean. Who looks at him with expectant eyes, now diligently schooled from molten black to familiar, vivid green.
Sam wishes he could think of a reason to do the same.