Past empty lots and early graves -- those like you who lost their way --

[newredshoes]

Once upon a time, lindensphinx invented the absolute coolest meme ever, and wrote a really amazing Winters & Nixon drabblet for it. (I am still hoping, somewhere, somehow, when her schedule stops eating her alive quite so much, that she writes more BoB fic. I am willing to wait. ♠) I have been trying to think how to adapt it to my plays (inasmuch as I'm more

Comments

This hand, for which thy love did kill thy love

[newredshoes]

When Sam dreams of the angels, it's like that year before Cold Oak was just a warm-up. They come sweeping, flooding, crashing against him, the colors not named yet, the light inescapable. He gets it, what Jimmy said about being chained to a comet. The dreams yank him from wakefulness, forcing him to sleep and to see them for hours at a time. It's lost momentum, with no Dean to shake him awake and keep moving. Sam can't get anything he wants to done.

The angel -- one angel? -- the dreams are terrifying, accusatory, a ceaseless, cacaphony (which just figures, since why should they sing like he's always believed?). One night, though, when his head feels thick and his eyes are bruised and swollen, he grips his pillow and looks the dream in the face.

We're brothers, he says quietly. Men. It's what we do. That's how we are.

When he wakes up the first thing he does is reach for his phone.

Re: This hand, for which thy love did kill thy love

[newredshoes]

*FLAILS ABOUT NEW SHOW TONIGHT \o/*