Sweep up your tears-- 3.16 coda
Title: Sweep up your tears
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: 3.16
Word count: 258
Genre: more hurt than comfort. Drabble-y?
Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I don't.
Beta: None
Summary: Dean was dead.
A/N: First SPN fic for me. I haven't written fanfiction in a year or so, but decided to start now that season 5 for SPN is over. I haven't seen the last 3 episodes, so please don't spoil anything. Wrote this after listening to End of All Time by Stars of Track and Field.
Dean was dead. The hellhounds didn’t drag Dean to hell. They merely killed him. They ripped him into pieces, carving up his flesh with their burning razor claws and made sure he was dead before they leapt away to find their master so they could report their great success.
Dean was still there for a while, floating above his mutilated body, still chained to the world as he waited in defeated compliance to be picked up by whatever was coming. He saw Sam though. Saw Sam struggling to wake. Saw Sam struggling to his feet. Saw Sam struggling to stumble over to Dean and pray to a nonexistent God to bring him back to life. There wasn’t much he could do. There wasn’t much either of them could do. Sam gripped onto Dean’s body as if Dean were still in there. Blood smeared all over Sam’s face, clothes, arms when Sam tried to patch him back together. It wouldn’t work. Dean knew it wouldn’t. The hellhounds made sure he couldn’t be saved.
Sam’s face was contorted with pain. No, wait. It wasn’t pain. Pain is what Dean was feeling. It was grief on Sam’s face. Dean thought to himself that he would shoulder Hell’s pain if Sam could just not cry anymore. He could never get used to Sam crying. So Dean reached out, hands translucent in the muddy light, sweeping up the tears running down his brother’s face. They past through his fingers like he wasn’t even there. He wasn’t. Because Dean was already dead.
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: 3.16
Word count: 258
Genre: more hurt than comfort. Drabble-y?
Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I don't.
Beta: None
Summary: Dean was dead.
A/N: First SPN fic for me. I haven't written fanfiction in a year or so, but decided to start now that season 5 for SPN is over. I haven't seen the last 3 episodes, so please don't spoil anything. Wrote this after listening to End of All Time by Stars of Track and Field.
Dean was dead. The hellhounds didn’t drag Dean to hell. They merely killed him. They ripped him into pieces, carving up his flesh with their burning razor claws and made sure he was dead before they leapt away to find their master so they could report their great success.
Dean was still there for a while, floating above his mutilated body, still chained to the world as he waited in defeated compliance to be picked up by whatever was coming. He saw Sam though. Saw Sam struggling to wake. Saw Sam struggling to his feet. Saw Sam struggling to stumble over to Dean and pray to a nonexistent God to bring him back to life. There wasn’t much he could do. There wasn’t much either of them could do. Sam gripped onto Dean’s body as if Dean were still in there. Blood smeared all over Sam’s face, clothes, arms when Sam tried to patch him back together. It wouldn’t work. Dean knew it wouldn’t. The hellhounds made sure he couldn’t be saved.
Sam’s face was contorted with pain. No, wait. It wasn’t pain. Pain is what Dean was feeling. It was grief on Sam’s face. Dean thought to himself that he would shoulder Hell’s pain if Sam could just not cry anymore. He could never get used to Sam crying. So Dean reached out, hands translucent in the muddy light, sweeping up the tears running down his brother’s face. They past through his fingers like he wasn’t even there. He wasn’t. Because Dean was already dead.