collegedropout: credit = ??? (pic#7056336)
Sam Winchester ([personal profile] collegedropout) wrote1992-06-13 05:33 pm

more horrible endverse stuff

Sam wakes beside Dean's dead body, gutted of Lucifer, lost and confused and trying to remember how words work -- he cries instead for a while: heavy, miserable tears, because Dean's dead and he can't remember why or how, just knows he should have been there to help him, should've done something to salvage him. He's got a broken neck, Sam can tell when he lifts him and shakes him gently. Crushed throat. Dad's never taught them first aid for this, just how to make a pyre, because they're too far gone now.

He puts a hand on Dean's old cheek, and summons the tattered remains of Lucifer's grace, whatever's left, anyway. It's easy to give Dean life, and the throat mends and lifts, spine repaired. Warmth drains back into Dean's skin and Sam breathes in relief. The hunt didn't kill him. That's good, isn't it? The hunt didn't kill him. He stands up, the knot in his stomach telling him Dean wouldn't want to see him anyway; he's a bad brother, he runs, he always runs.

He walks away.

Cas will find Dean later, the ex-angel scratched up but otherwise alive. Shockingly. He couldn't explain it -- but for some reason, just before the demons moved in to finish them all off... well, they just. Sparked out of existence. As if burned out of the bodies. Risa and Chuck hang back to help the few vessels that survived their possessions, while Cas carefully shakes his friend awake.

"Dean. Dean. It's over."

He may only be partly angel, but he feels it. He knows.

Lucifer himself is no more.


Sam walks.

He knows he did something bad, and he's scared of being in a panic room again. It's hard to remember where the panic room even came from; the memories are all fragmented, like every other part of him. He does remember having a home, in California. Maybe he should go back there, back where he remembers the best. The croats all avoid him, all step away from him when he asks them for directions. Someone panicked shoots at him, hits him twice in the chest and calls him the devil. The pain is temporary.

He apologizes earnestly for scaring them, and asks which way it is to Palo Alto, California.

Terrified, they tell him. He can't blame them for being scared. He's not a good person, he knows that much.

Later, as he huddles in the darkness of an old apartment, he sweats and shivers and the bullets pop out of his chest. Plip, plop. He sings old cassette tap songs as he waits, Seger and Led Zeppelin. The storm comes in heavy this night, and it's only when he can't stand the sound of his own guilty thoughts that he wanders out into it, letting the heavy raindrops clean his limp locks. The jacket of the white suit has been abandoned in a town before this one, with a note: 'To anyone who needs it.'

He doesn't feel cold. The bullet holes are just little fissures in his skin now, blood washing down his clothing and painting it different pinks.

Maybe there's something worth living for in Palo Alto.

He can't remember what exactly, but it's not like he can go back to Dean. He made too many mistakes. Dean would rather he be dead. That's what Dean wants to do, isn't it? Kill him. That's what he can remember. Dean wanted to do it. He remembers that much. Wanted it so bad, could see it in his eyes. From what he could see out of his own eyes, anyway. Screaming and clawing for consciousness, never reaching it. He swallows hard, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye.

Don't look back. In California, he can finally rest. Heaven or Hell, doesn't matter.

But he'll find rest.
kickingand: (pic#10177730)

[personal profile] kickingand 2016-06-14 12:55 am (UTC)(link)
Dean isn't entirely dead behind the eyes when Cas shakes him awake.

Granted, he still feels dead in ways he can't explain, not quite whole yet and aching deep down. Not quite the same way he felt when risen from Hell, not the same kind of trauma no, but not right either. As if he'd been broken in ways that weren't meant to be fixed and now it was just too damn easy to pick up and dust off, feeling lopsided and off kilter. It doesn't help matters - or maybe it does? - to find himself being shaken away by Cas himself, the shock across his features evident as he stares up at the man, the angel he led to slaughter. The guilt is something that streaks hot across his face, the shame of it running in the undercurrent of his gaze, but he looks away fast enough, looks towards the dying garden they're in the middle of and narrows his attention.

Tries to understand why and how and maybe a little bit of how exactly he deserved this, but it doesn't matter just yet. He'll find those answers when he comes to it, and he snags Cas by the palm, helps drag himself up to his feet.

The real question is where has Lucifer gone-- except.

What had Cas said?

"It's over?" Dean flashes Cas a stern look, head cocked sideways just enough to call curiosity into his question. He's not sure he believes it, even the idea of it, the sentiment behind what it could possibly mean. Because it hasn't come close to being over in what feels like centuries now, every day seemingly stretching thinly into the beyond. Years have gone by, and perhaps five is short in the grand scheme of things, but it's nothing compared to the tortures that have abound, five years of cramped pain and agony and suffering. But even the concept is hard to come by, the idea that it might truly be done, as if he's been stretched out and finally offered the real end. The real conclusion, an offering he thought he might never get. It's a fantasy, something that was never meant to be and he can't believe just yet. Not when the end was never meant to be theirs.

Once again he looks away, takes a cautious step away from Cas before he's right back, conspiratorially close as if he has secrets to tell, as if he can't let any of this truly be heard by the beings that have chosen safety of helping their world rise back onto its feet.

"It's done. You're telling me-- Sam?"

Because if Lucifer is gone, that's the next problem, isn't it.

kickingand: (Default)

[personal profile] kickingand 2016-06-14 01:44 am (UTC)(link)
The last thing Dean wants right now is to be assessed, peeled open and explored by Cas with a gaze that he knows a little too well. The way Cas is looking at him just implies too much, is far too knowing (when is it not?), and Dean wants to squirm under the weight of it but he goes incrementally more still instead, staring back firmly as he listens.

He's not entirely sure he understands what it is that's gone on - if anything, he's not sure Cas does either - but he takes it in nonetheless, tries to come to terms with it, tries to stop dwelling so hard on the fact that it can't be real. Because even with Lucifer gone, with Sam potentially walking free, the Croat's are still out there, right?

Roaming the streets as they always do, waiting.

Dean doesn't know and he's not entirely sure he wants to find out either, but they can't just stand here, wondering. He can't keep the adrenaline from coursing through his veins, the inclination to break out from this garden and find themselves in the air of what this world has now become. There's only so many ways they can go about this, and all of them start with moving, going, taking this on the same way they always do.

"But the Croats- that can't have changed."

Already moving his way on out, Dean simply expects Cas to follow along, the same way he always does. Because it's time to move it or lose it, and while Dean halfway expects to find Sam waiting, he knows he won't. He's either gone for good or- he's gone where? Where would he go? And is Dean even sure he wants to know, because that storming rage in his chest belies his curious interest and speaks of anger he still can't contain towards his little brother for saying yes in the first place.

But despite all that, he still wants answers.

"We need to move, get back to camp. Go-- somewhere."
kickingand: (pic#10218567)

[personal profile] kickingand 2016-06-20 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
Dean doesn't know where he's going - doesn't know where he's meant to go. It's a problem, truly, when the past few years have been defined by movement and action and following his own personal orders that he constructed simply to make the hours go by. It's been by far easier to believe in himself than it has been to believe he might be wrong and so to now suddenly feel so lost, so struck down by his own demise... it's a terrifying thing. Something he can't wrap his mind around because the answers he thought he once had are now gone. Lost. Somewhere else. And Cas just keeps following him as if he's leading the way to somewhere better when all Dean knows is they have to go somewhere at all.

But he listens despite himself, as if Cas is feeding him information he might not have known otherwise. The Croat's had left Sam alone, back in Detroit. He hadn't been on their chomping block and yet maybe now that's different too. He doesn't know, he doesn't know anything, and he's halfway inclined to go shoving at Cas, to make him stop relying on him for anything at all. He's useless, he's failed them, Cas worst of all. And if there's someone here who shouldn't be following his lead it's Castiel, the one he let down, fed to the dogs. He's not even sure he can bear to see his face but he keeps going, shoulders hitching tighter across as he tries to contain his anxieties.

"You don't have to come with me."

It's the first thing he can think of to say, the only thing as he tries to walk, pushing out of the brush of Lucifer's garden and heading back towards what is maybe the city at large, where they'd initially arrived to send out troops to take out the demons. To have the demons take out them. Dean can hardly look anywhere but straight ahead and his nerves are spouting off triumphantly, crackling loud and angry in his ears, hating himself for all he's done.

But right now they need to find Sam. Right now they need to solve this new problem, before it gets any worse.

"We just need to find Sam."

And yet it's still we. Because it's been we for five years and Dean doesn't know how to do without it.
kickingand: (pic#10436960)


[personal profile] kickingand 2016-07-13 10:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Of course Cas was coming. As much as Dean always wanted him near, wanted Cas somewhere he could see him, it didn't change the fact that right now his guilt was eating him alive. It was churning somewhere deep in the back of his mind and making it near impossible to think upon much else. Considering his plan had failed something fierce, considering something had gone on that he seemingly couldn't comprehend - it was all a mess and having Cas walking beside him only reminded him of who he hadn't been able to save. What he hadn't been able to do. Even sacrificing the one person who had kept him sane these past five years wasn't enough.

What more did he have to give?

Tuning back in to what Cas was saying, he lifted his gaze to the skies for a moment before shrugging off the prospects of poor weather. "We're worried about rain now?" It was a mild comment, something he shot off just as a means of speaking, knowing that pure silence coming from him would only come off as that much more cruel, a thing he didn't need to be right now. Instead, he carried along, truly thinking for a moment before giving his head a shake.

"We send out a search party, we can't control what happens. Someone gets a smart idea and he's dead all over again."

No, they had to find Sam first. Which meant moving fast, not that there was even any kind of a path to follow. But Dean picked up his feet and took to following nothing in particular, skirting past buildings and staring down alleys only fast enough to catch a glimpse before he was moving again, nodding another way to Cas. The question remained as to whether or not he'd gone off into the wilderness and finally Dean paused for a moment, feeling as if he was standing at a crossroads, no longer able to read his brother's mind in a way that he used to and wondering if it would even help him now. If it would matter.