thicker than - SN ficlet - PG
Title: thicker than
Fandom: “Supernatural”
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.
Warnings: spoilers for everything aired; future!AU
Pairings: none stated. Bring your own inferences
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 915
Point of view: third
Notes: semi-inspired by julorean here
the MorningStar is dead; long live the MorningStar
Sam was born in Spring, early in the morning, just as the sun rose and spread light on the world. His was a quick and easy birth, and he charmed the nurses with his bright eyes.
Dean had been born in Winter, during a midnight snowstorm. He had been silent and so still the doctor thought him dead. His mother nearly died bringing him into the world.
Azazel always took the firstborn; in their blood lay the power, the skill, the potential he would hone. That night in the nursery, he had no idea Sam was second.
Two children with such strength… Azazel could not fathom it, and then it was too late.
Sam was a happy baby and an inquisitive boy; he grew into a sure and strong man.
Dean was solemn and stubborn, and always followed the orders he agreed with. He gave his love and loyalty to three people in the world, and one was dead. Then two were dead, and then Dean was the last Winchester standing.
Sam was frantic, that final year, searching, cajoling, demanding, sure he could find a way out for his brother.
Dean was resigned and didn’t get desperate ‘til the very end.
Sam was a leader, someone with a plan, someone with clear-cut goals and a way to get them.
Dean was a soldier, obedient and steady. He wanted someone to follow. He was a vassal in need of a king.
Sam died in Dean’s arms. Dean died before Sam’s eyes.
Dean traded himself to bring Sam back. Sam embraced the darkness inside him-and failed.
the MorningStar is dead; long live the MorningStar
Sam was born in Spring, the time of rebirth and hope. He entered life as the sun warmed the world.
Dean was born in Winter, the dark, frozen time.
Azazel scoured humanity for a king, and Sam had always been his favorite. Sam the leader, Sam the powerful, Sam the endgame and catalyst in one sack of flesh-but before he was anything else, he was a son. Before he was anything else, Sam had always been a brother. He spent his whole life following Dean. Dean went deeper than demon-blood dripped in his mouth. Dean went deeper than training and abilities and destiny.
Dean went into Death and ripped Sam out, threw him back to Life.
Lilith tried to break them. Ruby tried to separate them. Azazel tried to kill one and claim the other.
Castiel said, If you don’t stop him, we will.
Sam toddled after Dean, ran after Dean, wanted Dean to chase him to California and say he could make it work.
Dean spent his life curled around Sam, protecting him, feeding him, watching over and loving him. Dean’s whole world was Sam.
Angels and demons and magic and destiny and blood. It always came back to blood, in the end-blood and love and pain. And death. So much death before the final curtain falls.
Azazel, were he not one of the first casualties, might find it amusing; he’d always been a master on the killing-field.
the MorningStar is dead; long live the MorningStar
Is it a lie, Castiel wonders, if you say the falsehood on orders from a just and righteous God? He cannot reach a conclusion. He cannot find a way to explain that would keep Dean’s trust.
Lucifer will walk free when the last Seal breaks. That is what he told Dean, the most fascinating of all God’s creations. It was his first lie.
They hunt together, bleed on each other, share silence and laughter. They have a past of gunpowder and iron, a future of blood and dust. They are brothers in flesh and brothers in spirit, and cannot be untwined from each other.
And they will damn all comers who dare to try.
Sam was a born leader, so magnetic he could lead men to a cliff and tell them to jump. He charmed and people loved.
Dean could charm for moments, and then people turned away.
Azazel plotted and planned and planted seeds in hundreds of children over a dozen generations. But his greatest triumph came when he found a little blonde spitfire and tracked her down to bleed in her son.
Sammy, he said over twenty years later. Sammy, my boy, you’re the champion.
They are beaten and bruised and bloodied, but they refuse to bow. They fight and kill, and they’ve both died. One’s been buried and burned in Hell; one can’t remember the other side.
They are dangerous and defiant and both sides fear them for what sings in their blood, forged by fire.
He will be king, Alistair thinks, eyeing the Winchester brothers. King of Hell, destroyer of Earth, pillager of Heaven. It was a mistake to give him such power.
Oh, yes, Alistair laughs, burning in holy light. You made a mistake, my brother, when you favored Sam and left my boy in the cold.
Sam died. Dean lived.
Dean died. Sam lived.
the MorningStar is dead
Castiel kneels. Ruby inclines her head before being shoved to her knees. Ananchel destroys Uriel and settles at her lord’s back.
Far away on Earth, Missouri Moseley laughs herself hoarse and spreads word of the end.
They are blood, spirits connected, two halves of one whole. They are two men bound deeper than death, brothers through fire and lead and consecrated iron.
They both are King.
long live the MorningStar