Ficlet coda to 11x02
Posted this on my Tumblr a couple of days ago but popping it on here too! It's just too long for a drabble so it's a very short ficlet instead.
Sam puts the bucket away. The sponge is still sitting at the bottom, dry now but crusty with watery blood. He throws it out.
He doesn’t touch the books. He can’t face it. Half of them are ruined, soaked in lighter fluid, and the triage process seems monumental, impossible, right now.
Twelve hours ago, he was dying.
He walks down the hallway, past the patched-up wall where Dean nearly caught him with a hammer to the skull. In his bedroom, he locks the door. He feels exhausted; sick and shaky at his centre. He hasn’t slept in days.
It’s dark in the bedroom, like the cupboard; like the Cage. Improbably, Sam falls asleep. He dreams. The library floorboards are bubbling through with blood and he’s mopping and mopping and it won’t get clean. Dean stands in the doorway, arms crossed, sardonic. “We need to get a maid,” he says.
Sam puts the bucket away. The sponge is still sitting at the bottom, dry now but crusty with watery blood. He throws it out.
He doesn’t touch the books. He can’t face it. Half of them are ruined, soaked in lighter fluid, and the triage process seems monumental, impossible, right now.
Twelve hours ago, he was dying.
He walks down the hallway, past the patched-up wall where Dean nearly caught him with a hammer to the skull. In his bedroom, he locks the door. He feels exhausted; sick and shaky at his centre. He hasn’t slept in days.
It’s dark in the bedroom, like the cupboard; like the Cage. Improbably, Sam falls asleep. He dreams. The library floorboards are bubbling through with blood and he’s mopping and mopping and it won’t get clean. Dean stands in the doorway, arms crossed, sardonic. “We need to get a maid,” he says.