Fic :: Supernatural :: Just Break and Melt
Just Break and Melt
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sam finds a way into Hell and hunts down some old friends.
A/N: Earlier version of Every Angel is Terrifying.
Posting date: May 2008
Title from Snow Patrol's Make This Go On Forever.
*
When Sam makes a doorway through, it’s a non-event. His eyes aren’t black, and there’s last night’s pasta sauce still staining his shirt, and if the road is paved with good intentions then good intentions look one helluva lot like the gravel he’d been walking on a split-second before.
It’s immediately, obviously elsewhere, all the same. Darker, heavier, something metallic in the air. Silent. This gravel hisses underfoot; he can smell the slow burn of the bottoms of his feet, and the grass that lines the edges is dry and old and sharp as knives. The road winds down into darkness, then a pinprick-point of red.
It’s a long way to Hell, and it takes a lot to get there. Sam’s pretty sure he’s done enough now.
It’s a long way, but he’s got all the time in the world.
He finds her off the track. Ten miles from the edge, or maybe one hundred, she’s a huddled mass of waxy limbs. This is where they turn them away, he knows now; a decade or two to rot until they’re fun again. She doesn’t want to talk to him.
It’s the entry into the real world that rips your form away, turns you into ash and dust, and down here she still looks like that sweet twenty-something with a childish face and wide, bright eyes. There’s blood on her teeth.
“You have no idea, no idea, no idea,” she whispers through her fingers. Sam can see every knob of her bent-over spine, the delicate jut of her birdcage ribs.
“If you help me,” he murmurs: soft face, soft smile, soft eyes; Caring and Sharing 101. “If you help me, Ava, I can get you out of here.”
When he touches a hand to her shoulder, she bites down on her knuckles until the skin splits.
Meg’s easier to find than he had expected, or maybe he’s been searching longer than he remembers. She turns to meet him, outside the city walls, and the damned gnaw at each other’s limbs around her, like sheep. Her skin is grey with age, but her smile is the same paper-cut creep it had been when she got her kicks from inhabiting pretty, young things.
“Well, Sammy,” she says. “This is turning into a real reunion, here. You’re getting me all nostalgic.”
“Tell me,” he replies. “Everything.”
She tips her head back, still smiling. “Now why would I wanna do that?”
“Because-” He can feel Ava shivering behind him, and he smiles back. “-I can set you free.”
He knows now: It’s not a light switch. It’s the key in the ignition.
He’s not a leader; he’s a catalyst.
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sam finds a way into Hell and hunts down some old friends.
A/N: Earlier version of Every Angel is Terrifying.
Posting date: May 2008
Title from Snow Patrol's Make This Go On Forever.
*
When Sam makes a doorway through, it’s a non-event. His eyes aren’t black, and there’s last night’s pasta sauce still staining his shirt, and if the road is paved with good intentions then good intentions look one helluva lot like the gravel he’d been walking on a split-second before.
It’s immediately, obviously elsewhere, all the same. Darker, heavier, something metallic in the air. Silent. This gravel hisses underfoot; he can smell the slow burn of the bottoms of his feet, and the grass that lines the edges is dry and old and sharp as knives. The road winds down into darkness, then a pinprick-point of red.
It’s a long way to Hell, and it takes a lot to get there. Sam’s pretty sure he’s done enough now.
It’s a long way, but he’s got all the time in the world.
He finds her off the track. Ten miles from the edge, or maybe one hundred, she’s a huddled mass of waxy limbs. This is where they turn them away, he knows now; a decade or two to rot until they’re fun again. She doesn’t want to talk to him.
It’s the entry into the real world that rips your form away, turns you into ash and dust, and down here she still looks like that sweet twenty-something with a childish face and wide, bright eyes. There’s blood on her teeth.
“You have no idea, no idea, no idea,” she whispers through her fingers. Sam can see every knob of her bent-over spine, the delicate jut of her birdcage ribs.
“If you help me,” he murmurs: soft face, soft smile, soft eyes; Caring and Sharing 101. “If you help me, Ava, I can get you out of here.”
When he touches a hand to her shoulder, she bites down on her knuckles until the skin splits.
Meg’s easier to find than he had expected, or maybe he’s been searching longer than he remembers. She turns to meet him, outside the city walls, and the damned gnaw at each other’s limbs around her, like sheep. Her skin is grey with age, but her smile is the same paper-cut creep it had been when she got her kicks from inhabiting pretty, young things.
“Well, Sammy,” she says. “This is turning into a real reunion, here. You’re getting me all nostalgic.”
“Tell me,” he replies. “Everything.”
She tips her head back, still smiling. “Now why would I wanna do that?”
“Because-” He can feel Ava shivering behind him, and he smiles back. “-I can set you free.”
He knows now: It’s not a light switch. It’s the key in the ignition.
He’s not a leader; he’s a catalyst.
*