[personal profile] imagines
Today I says, I says to [livejournal.com profile] nomelon, this'll be what gets me writing fic. ...well, I'm pretty damn predictable.

This is the unhappy one. I have to deal before I write the rainbows-and-bunnies one. :|

coda to 3.16: the one where it's not okay (gonna get through this)

A walk in hell's no picnic, thinks Sam, and the screams are all around him. The demons? Oh yeah, they're bowing down to him now, pressing their foreheads to the ground like he's too bright for them to look at. He's too bright for them to look at, a fucking Moses on the mountaintop. He's bringing down the wrath of god (knows what) upon them.

Sam has seen it all: glistening bone beneath shredded muscle, a shivering heart inside a chest, eyes hanging by strings. And yet. And yet. The hooks in his brother's body? Yeah, that tops everything, that tops it all, and he can't scream or he'll fall.

You've gone and done it now, Sammy says Dean, bloody on his meathooks. You let me go to hell. You let me leave you, and this is what you're gonna become. What are you going to do about that? he asks.

Sam says, only Dean can call me Sammy. I'm gonna get you out, gonna help you.

Yeah, I bet you will. Gonna throw me in a devil's trap and exorcise my brain out my ears. Yeah, says Dean. I know how Winchesters operate. Used to be one, you know.

You're still my brother, says Sam, because it's never hopeless til you're dead--and even then, well. There's ways.

Dean says, I've been lashed up here by hooks. I stopped hoping long ago. You left me here for years.

Days, says Sam. Only days. I had to. There was a plan, I had a plan, and I just needed time.

Felt like years, Dean says. You'll never change that, even if you think you've saved me. Hey bitch, you're the psychic freak. You know how it's gonna be. I'll be the monster terrorizing the city in the dead of night. I'll be under the bed, in the basement, just around the corner. I'll run, and you'll never find me, even if you follow the trail of corpses. No--not even corpses. A thumb here. A scrap of scalp there. Bitch, you know how I'm gonna be. Got the balls for it?

Jerk, says Sam. I always will.

So Dean comes down off the hooks, up out of the pit, into the bright light--and it's just how Dean said it'd be, yeah. He's a real night terror, and there's blood on the streets and wanted posters on the lightpoles, and Sam can finally sleep at night.

^This is both my theory and my hope for how S4 will begin, by the way. :D
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January 2015


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