there's a cold song on the air - SN ficlet, 6.5 spoilers, PG13
Title: there’s a cold song on the air
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for 6.5; speculation; most likely AU; mentions of Hell
Pairings: implied Alistair/Dean
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 515
Point of view: second
You don’t just stop being a vampire. He’s in you, deep in your marrow, in that little speck of a soul an angel once dragged out of Hell, that he once played in, painting a pretty picture with everything that is you, was you, will be you. Forever.
You can’t hear blood pumping anymore. Can’t sense others. Don’t shy away from light or flinch beneath the sun.
You haven’t spoken to Lisa or Ben. Another family lost. Another family you drove away.
And Sammy… you don’t know what to do about Sammy. If he even is Sammy anymore.
He’s in you, and he says, I know, dear child, I know, and he whispers in your dreams, secrets of the ages, things he once murmured into your gaping chest, things Castiel’s wings sang about, as he pulled you up up up into light and life and all this goddamned pain again.
And he says, while Sam watches the countryside pass by outside the window, while the sun burns down on you, glaring off the asphalt, while Lisa worries about you and Ben wonders what he did wrong, while Samuel has some endgame you can’t fathom yet, while you listen, he says, You know, Dean, you know what you have to do.
And you do know. It’s in your marrow, in your little speck of a gutter soul. Alistair showed you. Taught you. Revealed to you all the broken places, filled you up and made you scream. Made you his, always and forever.
You thought Sam killed him, Sam full of Ruby’s blood. Sam, killer of Alistair and Lilith. Vessel of Lucifer.
And he says, You are mine, boy. I made you mine. Come back to me, sweetheart.
And you wonder, driving down the road, secrets of millennia gone playing on repeat in your head, how any of this can be fixed because you’ve been tired for years and even in death you get no rest.
And he says, your teacher, your master, your king, he says, Come home, Dean. I’ll lay you down and let you sleep.
There’s a stranger sitting shotgun, no end in sight, and an ancient monster calls you darling in your mind, a connection you’d hoped died with him.
But no. He’s still there, all the way down and through you, and you…
Be honest, my dear, he whispers, you know you missed me. Mourned me. I made you mine in my workroom, with my razor and my rack. Come home to me.
And honestly, after everything since Dad vanished and Jessica burned, you’re just so tired that even Alistair is welcome now.
At least he always made sense.
And you can feel him, now, that connection mended and wide open. He’s to the west, straight through the setting sun.
You remember the bite of his razor, of his teeth and his hands, claiming you, shattering you, remaking you. One of the first monsters, Lucifer’s greatest triumph.
Now you understand, he purrs, and Sam isn’t Sam, but you haven’t been you since Hell.
The sun sets, the moon rises, and you drive west.