Art and Fic: Close Enough to Burn (SPN, gen, PG-13)
I decided to have a go at spn_thur_nights Strike Haitus Contest and from my prompts of Sarah Blake, YED/Azazel (whatever) and Dean's (formerly John's) leather jacket I made this banner/art and wrote a fic. All comments welcome. :)
Preview:
Click for full-size image!
Title: Close Enough to Burn
Author: starrylizard
Rating/spoilers: Gen, PG-13, spoilers for "Provenance" and non-specific spoilers for early S2
Prompts: Sarah Blake, YED/Azazel (whatever), Dean's (formerly John's) leather jacket
Summary: A coda to Provenance, set sometime early in S2.
Words: 455
Notes: For the spn_thur_nights and the Strike Haitus Contest. Beta by the lovely rinkle and mistojen, but any remaining mistakes are my own. All comments welcome, including constructive criticism.
“Look it’s hard to explain. It’s just that when people are around me… I don’t know, they get hurt.”
Sam looks at Sarah. At her hair, the way her thick braids move as she laughs, her eyes bright and happy… but those bright eyes are suddenly full of terror and despair as the bright day sun turns to white ceiling, water-stained and cracked. He’s lying down, Sarah above him, pinned there like an insect on display and she’s bleeding, stomach slit, reaching out toward him in wordless horror… and that voice.
“That’s right, Sammy. You can’t protect her. You can’t protect any of them. They all die because of you.” It taunts, sneers at him, rough and cruel.
Sam cries out. His hands reaching toward the ceiling, reaching for Sarah and Jess and Dad, and everyone he couldn’t save. And all the while the yellow-eyed man watches, laughing a cold counterpoint to the hot fire that burns away all that Sam loves, leaving smoke and ash and the taste of bile in the back of his throat. “No!”
He snaps awake to find Dean hovering above him as if about to touch, but he quickly pulls away as Sam sits up and blinks rapidly.
“Sam?” Dean sits back on his own bed, concerned eyes passively taking in the rumpled and sweat-soaked form of his brother.
“Lollypops and candyca…” The usual response dies on his lips.
“It wasn’t a vision, then?”
“No, I don’t...” He pauses, closes his eyes. “God I hope not.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath.
“Sam?”
“It was Sarah, Dean. You don’t think she’s…? It couldn’t. I haven’t even seen her since...” Sam’s voice trails off.
“Call her, Sam.” Dean sounds weary now, resigned. He scratches a hand through his hair as he watches Sam.
Sam nods, picks up his phone and trudges toward the door, but Dean stops his progress out into the cold long enough to hand him a jacket. Dean’s jacket. As Sam shrugs into it, it’s like coming home. It’s the smell of Dad and Dean and what they do. Grounding him in reality and reminding him of their purpose. He shrugs down into the leather, even if it is too small for his height, and dials, waits pensively for an answer.
“Hey… Sarah. Sorry to wake you. It’s Sam.” Sam listens for a moment. “No nothing’s wrong, I just… needed to hear you’re okay.” As Sarah talks, a smile creeps onto his face and it’s evident in his voice when he speaks again. “Yeah? So, no more possessed paintings?” Sam laughs gently. “Good to know.”
Dean listens at the door for a moment longer, before smiling sadly and heading back to bed.
Preview:
Click for full-size image!
Title: Close Enough to Burn
Author: starrylizard
Rating/spoilers: Gen, PG-13, spoilers for "Provenance" and non-specific spoilers for early S2
Prompts: Sarah Blake, YED/Azazel (whatever), Dean's (formerly John's) leather jacket
Summary: A coda to Provenance, set sometime early in S2.
Words: 455
Notes: For the spn_thur_nights and the Strike Haitus Contest. Beta by the lovely rinkle and mistojen, but any remaining mistakes are my own. All comments welcome, including constructive criticism.
“Look it’s hard to explain. It’s just that when people are around me… I don’t know, they get hurt.”
Sam looks at Sarah. At her hair, the way her thick braids move as she laughs, her eyes bright and happy… but those bright eyes are suddenly full of terror and despair as the bright day sun turns to white ceiling, water-stained and cracked. He’s lying down, Sarah above him, pinned there like an insect on display and she’s bleeding, stomach slit, reaching out toward him in wordless horror… and that voice.
“That’s right, Sammy. You can’t protect her. You can’t protect any of them. They all die because of you.” It taunts, sneers at him, rough and cruel.
Sam cries out. His hands reaching toward the ceiling, reaching for Sarah and Jess and Dad, and everyone he couldn’t save. And all the while the yellow-eyed man watches, laughing a cold counterpoint to the hot fire that burns away all that Sam loves, leaving smoke and ash and the taste of bile in the back of his throat. “No!”
He snaps awake to find Dean hovering above him as if about to touch, but he quickly pulls away as Sam sits up and blinks rapidly.
“Sam?” Dean sits back on his own bed, concerned eyes passively taking in the rumpled and sweat-soaked form of his brother.
“Lollypops and candyca…” The usual response dies on his lips.
“It wasn’t a vision, then?”
“No, I don’t...” He pauses, closes his eyes. “God I hope not.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath.
“Sam?”
“It was Sarah, Dean. You don’t think she’s…? It couldn’t. I haven’t even seen her since...” Sam’s voice trails off.
“Call her, Sam.” Dean sounds weary now, resigned. He scratches a hand through his hair as he watches Sam.
Sam nods, picks up his phone and trudges toward the door, but Dean stops his progress out into the cold long enough to hand him a jacket. Dean’s jacket. As Sam shrugs into it, it’s like coming home. It’s the smell of Dad and Dean and what they do. Grounding him in reality and reminding him of their purpose. He shrugs down into the leather, even if it is too small for his height, and dials, waits pensively for an answer.
“Hey… Sarah. Sorry to wake you. It’s Sam.” Sam listens for a moment. “No nothing’s wrong, I just… needed to hear you’re okay.” As Sarah talks, a smile creeps onto his face and it’s evident in his voice when he speaks again. “Yeah? So, no more possessed paintings?” Sam laughs gently. “Good to know.”
Dean listens at the door for a moment longer, before smiling sadly and heading back to bed.