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Entry tags:
SPN: And Now
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: None
Contains: Angst, death
Rating: G
Summary: The world has not ended, and yet...
He knew of the mortality of humans. Of course he did. He'd pulled Dean up from Perdition, breathed new life into his body, and he'd guarded him since. He knew humans were fragile, he knew humans were weak, in their way, but he knew Dean, knew the complicated systems that kept his blood pumping, his lungs filling and emptying. He knew how complicated he was, how quickly he could heal, and that knowing eclipsed the other.
And now --
Sam is a mess. He would be holding Dean's body, if he could, but there's nothing to hold. His eyes are swollen, red, his voice hoarse. He looks almost like a child, his nose snotty, his world destroyed. But it's more than a world of lego bricks and wooden blocks. It's Dean.
Castiel has not moved.
Dean had warned him. Laughing, joking, but serious too. He'd warned him. I'll go down swinging, he'd said, and Castiel had believed him and not believed him, all at once.
There is an ache in his throat, a horrible tightness in his chest. He knows this can't be healed or wished away. If he left his vessel now it would still pierce him, choke him. He wishes he could, he wishes he could rise up in celestial fury and love and gather the broken pieces, fit Dean into a body made new again, but it can't be done. Dean isn't just gone, he's gone, destroyed, irretrievable, irreplaceable. He is a word spoken, reverberating, and then lost.
The world did not end -- not their world, their bright and terrible, hard-won world. But Dean's did.
Main characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: None
Contains: Angst, death
Rating: G
Summary: The world has not ended, and yet...
He knew of the mortality of humans. Of course he did. He'd pulled Dean up from Perdition, breathed new life into his body, and he'd guarded him since. He knew humans were fragile, he knew humans were weak, in their way, but he knew Dean, knew the complicated systems that kept his blood pumping, his lungs filling and emptying. He knew how complicated he was, how quickly he could heal, and that knowing eclipsed the other.
And now --
Sam is a mess. He would be holding Dean's body, if he could, but there's nothing to hold. His eyes are swollen, red, his voice hoarse. He looks almost like a child, his nose snotty, his world destroyed. But it's more than a world of lego bricks and wooden blocks. It's Dean.
Castiel has not moved.
Dean had warned him. Laughing, joking, but serious too. He'd warned him. I'll go down swinging, he'd said, and Castiel had believed him and not believed him, all at once.
There is an ache in his throat, a horrible tightness in his chest. He knows this can't be healed or wished away. If he left his vessel now it would still pierce him, choke him. He wishes he could, he wishes he could rise up in celestial fury and love and gather the broken pieces, fit Dean into a body made new again, but it can't be done. Dean isn't just gone, he's gone, destroyed, irretrievable, irreplaceable. He is a word spoken, reverberating, and then lost.
The world did not end -- not their world, their bright and terrible, hard-won world. But Dean's did.
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You're too good at this, you know.
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That is good to hear!
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