Threnody: Entry Page
Author: rei_c
Title: Threnody
Pairing: Sam-centric. Gen. Mentions of previous Sam/Jess and Dean/OMC.
Rating: PG-13, for violence and language
Word Count: 18,300
Summary: In the aftermath of a good friend’s death, will Sam recover enough to keep hunting, or will he lose himself in grief and fear?
Warnings: S1 spoilers, all the way through, as well as spoilers for 2x01. Run-on sentences. Vaguely out-of-context reference to the Heliopolis Ennead. Any and all errors relative to established SPN-canon, the Rock Springs area, One Thousand and One Nights, Islamic, Persian, and Hebrew mysticism, and/or anything else spoken of herein are mine and mine alone.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the vague elements of spotty-plot, four hundred and ten books, and one very demented and incredibly paranoid cat.
Author’s Notes: More thanks than I know how to express to everyone who has kept up with this ‘verse and read my ramblings, encouraging me to keep going. Threnody takes place post-series and belongs in the FI-verse. It directly follows the events of Equivalence and draws heavily on Synchoresis for plot.
It takes three nightmares in four hours, three panicked gasps as Sam’s eyelids open and he reassures himself that he’s safe, that he’s here, in Wyoming, thunderstorm outside, before Sam swings his feet out of bed and faces Dean. “Please don’t make me talk,” Dean says, groggy, his eyes still closed and not moving. “I’ve run out of stories.” Sam nods, though Dean’s not looking, and gets up, carries a blanket with him, sits down two seconds later on the edge of Dean’s bed and thinks that if the situation was any different, he’d be laughing at how ridiculous Dean looks, eyelashes caked together, lips dry and cracked, a line from the pillow down one cheek.
“I won’t make you,” he says, then takes Dean’s hand in his, holds it, and waits for Dean’s muscles to relax, to lose that stiff feeling Dean gets every time Sam’s near him. “I’m sorry, I just,” he says, but doesn’t let go, and Dean exhales, scoots over in silent invitation. Sam lays down, wraps himself in the blanket, and falls asleep, feeling like he’s seven again. It’s the first solid six hours of sleep they get since this whole mess began.
Linked to my journal
Title: Threnody
Pairing: Sam-centric. Gen. Mentions of previous Sam/Jess and Dean/OMC.
Rating: PG-13, for violence and language
Word Count: 18,300
Summary: In the aftermath of a good friend’s death, will Sam recover enough to keep hunting, or will he lose himself in grief and fear?
Warnings: S1 spoilers, all the way through, as well as spoilers for 2x01. Run-on sentences. Vaguely out-of-context reference to the Heliopolis Ennead. Any and all errors relative to established SPN-canon, the Rock Springs area, One Thousand and One Nights, Islamic, Persian, and Hebrew mysticism, and/or anything else spoken of herein are mine and mine alone.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the vague elements of spotty-plot, four hundred and ten books, and one very demented and incredibly paranoid cat.
Author’s Notes: More thanks than I know how to express to everyone who has kept up with this ‘verse and read my ramblings, encouraging me to keep going. Threnody takes place post-series and belongs in the FI-verse. It directly follows the events of Equivalence and draws heavily on Synchoresis for plot.
It takes three nightmares in four hours, three panicked gasps as Sam’s eyelids open and he reassures himself that he’s safe, that he’s here, in Wyoming, thunderstorm outside, before Sam swings his feet out of bed and faces Dean. “Please don’t make me talk,” Dean says, groggy, his eyes still closed and not moving. “I’ve run out of stories.” Sam nods, though Dean’s not looking, and gets up, carries a blanket with him, sits down two seconds later on the edge of Dean’s bed and thinks that if the situation was any different, he’d be laughing at how ridiculous Dean looks, eyelashes caked together, lips dry and cracked, a line from the pillow down one cheek.
“I won’t make you,” he says, then takes Dean’s hand in his, holds it, and waits for Dean’s muscles to relax, to lose that stiff feeling Dean gets every time Sam’s near him. “I’m sorry, I just,” he says, but doesn’t let go, and Dean exhales, scoots over in silent invitation. Sam lays down, wraps himself in the blanket, and falls asleep, feeling like he’s seven again. It’s the first solid six hours of sleep they get since this whole mess began.
Linked to my journal