Fic: Eyes Wide Shut
tahirire
Wordcount: 344
Rating: PG -13
Characters: Sam; character study
Spoilers: None past 4.16
Disclaimer: They own me; it could never work the other way around.
Beta: blacklid
Warnings: Angsty use of canon. *shifty eyes* My generic major character death fic list.
A/N: Triggered by reading Dead Letters, a fic that seriously ... just go read it. And for Winchester's sake, leave COMMENTS. Because it's awesome, and it deserves them.
Eyes Wide Shut
You watch the blade sink into pale dead skin and think, I can’t do this, but you push the thought away. So what if it is Fear Factor on acid -- dosing the T-virus - at least it will be the end of them before it's the end of you.
She croons to you, brushing your hair back out of your eyes, like you're a little kid writhing on an urgent care surgery table. You want to look. It’s the least you could do for murdering this soul; bought and paid for with your brother’s life. But you’re a coward, and you can’t. You close your eyes and step onto the road to Hell.
It tastes like iron and salt. Like protection.
~*~
You’ve already taken every part of her that could do you harm. You’ve already given her your soul. Her body is warm and inviting, even if there is nothing but a void inside. You tip your head, bury your face into her welcoming arms, and fall in. You don’t need to see. It’s dark inside the void, anyway.
~*~
You sink down gratefully, ready to wait as long as it takes. She doesn’t make you wait long - just long enough. You hold the blade now instead of her, because it makes you feel like this is your idea. Somewhere in the back of your mind you hear, it’s not, but that voice sounds like someone you used to know.
The deep red power bubbles up from below and you ask her permission with your eyes, see her echo your anticipation back. It’s not an Anne Rice novel, no matter what anyone thinks. A novel can never capture how it feels, how it changes you from the inside out, makes you less than human but still somehow more than a man.
She raises her arm to your lips and nods. You take her blood the way she took your soul; greedily, shutting your eyes tight in ecstasy.
The stranger calls again, please, don’t close your eyes, but you’re too far gone to listen.
Wordcount: 344
Rating: PG -13
Characters: Sam; character study
Spoilers: None past 4.16
Disclaimer: They own me; it could never work the other way around.
Beta: blacklid
Warnings: Angsty use of canon. *shifty eyes* My generic major character death fic list.
A/N: Triggered by reading Dead Letters, a fic that seriously ... just go read it. And for Winchester's sake, leave COMMENTS. Because it's awesome, and it deserves them.
Eyes Wide Shut
You watch the blade sink into pale dead skin and think, I can’t do this, but you push the thought away. So what if it is Fear Factor on acid -- dosing the T-virus - at least it will be the end of them before it's the end of you.
She croons to you, brushing your hair back out of your eyes, like you're a little kid writhing on an urgent care surgery table. You want to look. It’s the least you could do for murdering this soul; bought and paid for with your brother’s life. But you’re a coward, and you can’t. You close your eyes and step onto the road to Hell.
It tastes like iron and salt. Like protection.
~*~
You’ve already taken every part of her that could do you harm. You’ve already given her your soul. Her body is warm and inviting, even if there is nothing but a void inside. You tip your head, bury your face into her welcoming arms, and fall in. You don’t need to see. It’s dark inside the void, anyway.
~*~
You sink down gratefully, ready to wait as long as it takes. She doesn’t make you wait long - just long enough. You hold the blade now instead of her, because it makes you feel like this is your idea. Somewhere in the back of your mind you hear, it’s not, but that voice sounds like someone you used to know.
The deep red power bubbles up from below and you ask her permission with your eyes, see her echo your anticipation back. It’s not an Anne Rice novel, no matter what anyone thinks. A novel can never capture how it feels, how it changes you from the inside out, makes you less than human but still somehow more than a man.
She raises her arm to your lips and nods. You take her blood the way she took your soul; greedily, shutting your eyes tight in ecstasy.
The stranger calls again, please, don’t close your eyes, but you’re too far gone to listen.