the color of a rose when it bleeds - SN fic - R
Title: the color of a rose when it bleeds
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: the nameless king and his brother aren’t mine; written because I’m sick and twisted and disturbed. Title from Anne Sexton.
Warnings: future!fic, character death; creepy; AU
Pairings: none
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1000
Point of view: third
Notes: experimental
It’s autumn, trees red and gold, leaves falling to carpet the dirt. There’s a chill breeze, blue sky arching overhead, cloudless and clear. The streets are empty, buildings abandoned.
It’s a beautiful day, but no one’s around to see it.
Those who survived(few and far between) say it began in the northwest, somewhere in Montana. (What used to be the United States, America. Now hush, child. Let the story flow.) They’re not sure why(anyone who knew, well… they were prob’ly close to the beginning, so no way they made it out.)
It doesn’t matter why. It just happened, the Earth dying beneath their feet, the air turning to poison. Everything crumbling to a ruin before their frightened, disbelieving eyes.
Except some survived, for whatever reason. A handful of plants, enough to make new air. Some mammals, most water animals, a few reptiles. Insects, arachnids. And birds; those humans that made it, when they looked up at the sky and saw birds? Knew there was hope.
And hope, cruel as it was, made them keep going.
There is no government, just small societies. It’s easiest to live in the mountains, so that’s where most folks head.
Soon enough, the poison tapers off and nature flourishes, bouncing back with a fervor unmatched since the Age of Mammals began.
It didn’t take long before civilization crumbled, after the beginning. First America, then Canada and Mexico on the same day, then Central and South, and it spread outwards so quickly that by a month no country truly remained.
Survivors fled inward, away from the seas and oceans, because things were moving in the water, strange things unseen in millennia.
When the earth died, dragons came from their sleep, ready to greet their king.
It’s autumn, his castle shining in the sun. He created it from nothing, air and will, moonlight and thought. His court, a dozen dragons every color of the rainbow, are spread out in the sunlight, basking like cats.
He knows there are humans high in the mountains; he’ll send a few dragons that way in a bit. For now, he just watches them lounge and laugh, glad to be back on the surface.
Once the world is clean, he’ll take Hell(no one knows why he does what he does, baby-we just hope he never looks our way).
The largest dragon, a black-scaled behemoth with a name he can’t begin to pronounce, raises his head to speak. “Liege,” he says in a voice deeper than any the world’s heard before. “We hunger.”
He nods. “The world is ours,” he replies. “Take what you will. I know there are people in the mountains to the west.”
The dragon bears his gleaming fangs in a grin. “Thank you, liege.”
He crouches back down, growls something at the others, and they all take wing. The king watches them go, tracing their forms with his eyes. His dragons are gorgeous, and his brother would have loved it.
Soon. (We don’t know why it started, or how.) Soon he’ll lead his forces into Hell, and he’ll reclaim his brother. (We don’t know how it will end, but it won’t be good… not for us.)
The darkness in him twines deeper, caressing him. “We’ll get him back,” it says. “Be patient. Our army grows strong, and soon Hell won’t be able to stand.”
“I know,” he answers. “I just…”
“Miss him,” the darkness murmurs. “As do I.”
It’s autumn. The trees shed their leaves, carpeting the dirt. Nature is healed; it’s been years since the beginning.
Nature is healed, but humanity gone, and he has an army of ghosts at his beck and call. He is ready.
The black, whom he calls Memnoch, is his personal guard, his closest friend in this new world. He climbs onto Memnoch, settling on the long neck.
He stares at the sky for an endless moment, remembering how the world used to be, before he poisoned it to end humanity. He can’t recall why he made that decision.
“Come back,” the darkness hisses. “It’s time.”
“Yes,” he says. “Time.”
Memnoch preens beneath him as he murmurs the words to open Hell’s front gate. The rest of the dragons roar when it opens, ripping a tear in reality. The ghosts shriek, streaming around him at his command.
“Let’s go,” he yells, voice echoing across his empire. Memnoch springs forward, his dragons following.
It began in America. But it spread quickly, and soon all the world had died. From the barren dirt sprang up an empire of ash and blood, an empire ruled by a man with no name.
If he had a name, he told none of his followers, creatures of flame and fury, of tooth and claw, of wing.
He took Heaven before killing Earth, so all that remained for his conquering was Hell. And he went there, the shades of all his victims as his army, with the dragons.
“Give him to me,” the nameless king demands of Satan, ruler of Hell and the demons.
Inside him, the darkness purrs.
“And I get in return?” Satan asks, standing proud and tall, black wings rustling as he looks past the king to the dragons and ghosts.
“Your life.”
He returns from Hell empty-handed and cold. He leaves the ghosts there, as he destroys the entire realm with a thought.
“I failed,” he whispers, looking out over his flourishing kingdom, at the creatures and plants and sky. “I was too late.”
His brother’s been gone for over fifteen years and he didn’t know. He should’ve felt it, should have known.
“Liege,” Memnoch rumbles.
He looks up at his closest friend, at the being his brother would have been delighted to know. Looks past him to the horizon, at the sun that dares to gleam.
“He’s gone,” the king says, voice barren of all emotion.
“What are you doing?” the darkness asks inside him.
“The sun shouldn’t shine,” the king decides, glaring up at it. “Not if he can’t see it.”
It stops.
continued in " How heroes fought and nations fell"