A teeny ficlet, a little musing.... 'Eucharist' Sam - gen
I was rewatching Show, and decided I had to rewatch Swan Song. Our boys, riding off into glory, into death. As they do. So often.
And while I was trying not to sob uncontrollably into my pineapple juice, I had an idea for a little ficlet (only 200+ words), so...I went for it. :)
I rewatch here and there, season 1, season 7, soon season 9 and at every turn, every episode, I see some tiny thing. Some moment, some word, some promise or declaration or memory. This show - these boys - has never once stopped making me smile, frown, laugh, cry - *feel*. Never once.
Can't wait for summer to be over.
The blood was faintly warm from riding in the trunk - secondhand heat from the exhaust pipe. But not blood-warm, not anymore. The edge of the gallon jug was crusted with clotted blood, nearly black, sticking gummily to the threads for the cap. The iron-rot scent was overwhelming and Sam felt his gorge rise. Stood there with the jug half way to his mouth, his hand shaking, his stomach knotting. Breathing in sharp little pants as he swallowed again and again, mouth slick with spit.
He would do this. He had to do this. "Blood of the covenant," Sam thought. "Oh, God, forgive me my sins."
He shut his eyes tight and sucked in a wobbling breath and lifted the jug to his mouth. So, so glad that Dean wasn't there. He tipped it up and gulped, not giving himself time to think, or taste, or breathe. Slick down his throat, thick and nauseating and then it hit him. Heat rolling out from his belly, a living, curling wave. The power, the corruption; the maggot-sick-wrong of it, the sheer perfection. He was lit up from the inside, his brain sparking like heat lightning, coruscating down every nerve.
The second jug was easy - the third was nothing - the fourth was like whiskey and honey-wine. Sam tossed it away from him, clattering slide into the junk of the alley and wiped his mouth. Sucked his fingers clean.
He was ready.
I also finally got it together enough to turn in some prompts to the Summergen challenge. And my older brother is getting handfasted this weekend, and I'll be calling one of the quarters. While dressed (to the best of my wardrobe and budget) like a pirate. :)
Originally entered at http://tabaqui.dreamwidth.org/177582.html - comment where you please!
And while I was trying not to sob uncontrollably into my pineapple juice, I had an idea for a little ficlet (only 200+ words), so...I went for it. :)
I rewatch here and there, season 1, season 7, soon season 9 and at every turn, every episode, I see some tiny thing. Some moment, some word, some promise or declaration or memory. This show - these boys - has never once stopped making me smile, frown, laugh, cry - *feel*. Never once.
Can't wait for summer to be over.
The blood was faintly warm from riding in the trunk - secondhand heat from the exhaust pipe. But not blood-warm, not anymore. The edge of the gallon jug was crusted with clotted blood, nearly black, sticking gummily to the threads for the cap. The iron-rot scent was overwhelming and Sam felt his gorge rise. Stood there with the jug half way to his mouth, his hand shaking, his stomach knotting. Breathing in sharp little pants as he swallowed again and again, mouth slick with spit.
He would do this. He had to do this. "Blood of the covenant," Sam thought. "Oh, God, forgive me my sins."
He shut his eyes tight and sucked in a wobbling breath and lifted the jug to his mouth. So, so glad that Dean wasn't there. He tipped it up and gulped, not giving himself time to think, or taste, or breathe. Slick down his throat, thick and nauseating and then it hit him. Heat rolling out from his belly, a living, curling wave. The power, the corruption; the maggot-sick-wrong of it, the sheer perfection. He was lit up from the inside, his brain sparking like heat lightning, coruscating down every nerve.
The second jug was easy - the third was nothing - the fourth was like whiskey and honey-wine. Sam tossed it away from him, clattering slide into the junk of the alley and wiped his mouth. Sucked his fingers clean.
He was ready.
I also finally got it together enough to turn in some prompts to the Summergen challenge. And my older brother is getting handfasted this weekend, and I'll be calling one of the quarters. While dressed (to the best of my wardrobe and budget) like a pirate. :)
Originally entered at http://tabaqui.dreamwidth.org/177582.html - comment where you please!