217: Heart
Q&A Check the intro post if you have any questions.
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Spoiler Policy If you KNOW your fic contains a spoiler, please title your fic "Title - SPOILERS", so that I can warn everybody. :)
Remember: If your fic is more than one part, please post the second part as a comment to the ( Read more... )
Sam knows there's more than one way to break in Hell.
He'd been braced for everything he could think of, and still others he knew he couldn't possibly imagine. Even as he stood at the edge of the Pit with the devil coiled around his heart like a piece of rope pulling tighter and tighter - do you see my people sam they will eat you alive you and your brother and the world for eternity - he knew, and he was afraid.
But there lay a broken Dean in a broken world, and he jumped.
There was a period of darkness, he remembers. A period of free-fall where the wind rushing in his ears was the sound of hellhounds slavering for his flesh; where the cold was like a thousand needle-points being driven into his skin; where every touch was one of a million hands reaching out to rip him to pieces.
There was one last moment of intense pain - sharp and intimate like he was being split into two (maybe he was) and then he opened his eyes to light and Dean ( ... )
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It's been five decades of listening to Dean being systematically tortured, and finally, there's a break, the silence so loud it's ringing in his ears like it's never going to stop. Dean lies limp on the ground, blood pooling beneath him like some sort of macabre halo.
Sam wonders if he's dead, keeps wondering until the echoes in his head die.
Then he crawls over, stumbling and shaking like he hasn't moved in years (he hasn't moved in years) and reaches for Dean's neck. His fingers slip and slide through all the blood but he can feel it - the steady beat of life under the skin, and when he turns Dean's head just so, he can even see it: hot, fresh blood, spurting out of the slashed carotid.
Dean's eyes open. "Sammy," he says, his voice wasted, barely above a whisper, "Sammy."
Sam's hands tremble. "I don't understand," he says. "It's supposed to be me. You weren't - you -" Sam shakes his head, tries to regain control. This is what he wants. This is-- no. Can't give in. Can't.He tries again. "You're not real ( ... )
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"Not real," Sam whispers.
He knows what's real.
-
The second time Dean's given a break - it might be weeks or decades later, Sam has no clue - he has a plan.
He crawls over and spots Dean's knife right next to his brother's body. It shines in the dim light, untouched by time or flesh. Sam thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's seen in a long, long time.
"Sam?" Dean whispers. His throat is slashed open, and Sam has no idea how he's talking - no. That doesn't matter. Won't matter(not real ( ... )
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*hugs Sam*
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I'm glad you liked. :) Thank you very much!
Sam needs several hugs, yeah. *nods sagely*
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Thank you!
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(The comment has been removed)
I get what you mean by overdosing on hell-fics; I'm not nearly as prolific a writer as you are and even I had to get away from writing/thinking/reading about the subject.
I hope you got into the zone you wanted!
Thanks again! <3
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Well done description! Ack!
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