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krisomniacIt's raining like a bitch, and I haven't seen the sun in a solid week, but there's two reasons to celebrate.
1) In exactly four weeks, I WILL BE DONE and, more importantly,
2) It's NESSA's BIRTHDAY! (Well, it's bound to be after midnight somewhere in the world.)
In honor of the occasion, here's a quick post-apocalyptic Supernatural ficlet for you, dear. :D
Title: Rewritten
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
krisomniac
Rating, Warning, Pairing: PG, none, gen
Disclaimer: Not mine. Supernatural-verse belongs to Kripke and the CW. But I like what they've done with the place.
Author's note: Happy Birthdaymedicinal_mirth! Hope it was grand.
Summary: The morning after the end of the world nothing much has changed. (600 words)
Rewritten
Dean opens his eyes as the otherworldly wind dies down and the sound of imploding hells fades to a dull hum, more like cicadas in the summer than roaring fire and brimstone.
Huh
Slowly climbing to his feet, he looks around, at the sparrow twittering in the dry branches overhead, at the cracked and faded tombstones in every direction. He thought it would be… messier.
"Hey." Sam walks up quietly behind him.
Dean breathes a sigh of relief and turns around. Sam's voice is Sam's again, rough and tired, and familiar to Dean as his own reflection. His eyes are clear and green in the morning light. It's just Sam--
"You okay?" He nods at Dean's right hand, clamped tight over the gash on his arm.
The blood is still warm and sticky under Dean's fingers, though it's slowed to a small trickle now, running down his forearm and onto his palm.
"No harm done." Dean smiles and wonders why this all feels so normal. The sun is up and it's just another day--even if today wasn't supposed to happen at all. "You?"
Sam shrugs. "I guess so." He runs a still-shaking hand through his hair, and Dean tries to forget the feel of those fingers closing around his throat, to forget the power and anger, the certainty that Sam was going to kill him.
Not Sam, he reminds himself, not the kid brother who's towering over him now, worried and wide-eyed and waiting for him to say something to make it right. Sam looks exhausted, bloody and beat to hell--literally--only just managing to stay on his feet.
And from the careful scrutiny Sam's giving him, Dean figures he probably doesn't look much better. "Come on," he says and shoulder-butts Sam, nearly overbalancing them both. "Let's get out of here."
Sam looks back out across the field. The bodies are gone, those of their enemies and those of their friends.
There's nothing left for them here.
"Yeah, okay. … Hey, Dean, do you think they're--"
"I do."
Sam nods. "Good. But all the same, let's not do that again."
Dean privately agrees, but when he answers, his voice is light. "Hey, for an apocalypse, I'd say it went pretty well."
Sam considers and brightens a little. "I guess it did."
"And that thing with the flaming swords?"
"My idea." Sam blushes. Dean figured it was. The tension begins to melt from Sam's face as they walk away. At this rate, he's in danger of cracking a smile before they get back to the car.
It can't come soon enough for Dean; Sam hasn't smiled in far too long. "What d'you want to do now?" he asks. Even the question feels strange; they've been on this hunt for so long--
Sam exhales, incredulous. "I dunno. Never really let myself believe there'd be a now--I mean, for us."
"Yeah."
"Where do you usually go after saving the world? Disneyland?"
"Had my share of man-sized rats for the year, I think."
Dimples flicker at the corners of Sam's lips. He's walking faster now, brighter and stronger with every step. "Me too."
"You know, I was thinking of somewhere a little more…grownup. We're running low on cash."
"You don't mean--"
"Could make it in less than an hour if we shag ass."
"But, Vegas?" Sam takes a few more steps in silence. "Andy was right. The future's different now. I can't see what's going to happen any more."
Dean smiles. They're almost at the car, parked on the side of the road and shining in the morning sun. "I know," he says with a wink, as he tosses the keys to Sam. "That's what makes it fun."
1) In exactly four weeks, I WILL BE DONE and, more importantly,
2) It's NESSA's BIRTHDAY! (Well, it's bound to be after midnight somewhere in the world.)
In honor of the occasion, here's a quick post-apocalyptic Supernatural ficlet for you, dear. :D
Title: Rewritten
Author:
krisomniacRating, Warning, Pairing: PG, none, gen
Disclaimer: Not mine. Supernatural-verse belongs to Kripke and the CW. But I like what they've done with the place.
Author's note: Happy Birthday
medicinal_mirth! Hope it was grand. Summary: The morning after the end of the world nothing much has changed. (600 words)
Dean opens his eyes as the otherworldly wind dies down and the sound of imploding hells fades to a dull hum, more like cicadas in the summer than roaring fire and brimstone.
Huh
Slowly climbing to his feet, he looks around, at the sparrow twittering in the dry branches overhead, at the cracked and faded tombstones in every direction. He thought it would be… messier.
"Hey." Sam walks up quietly behind him.
Dean breathes a sigh of relief and turns around. Sam's voice is Sam's again, rough and tired, and familiar to Dean as his own reflection. His eyes are clear and green in the morning light. It's just Sam--
"You okay?" He nods at Dean's right hand, clamped tight over the gash on his arm.
The blood is still warm and sticky under Dean's fingers, though it's slowed to a small trickle now, running down his forearm and onto his palm.
"No harm done." Dean smiles and wonders why this all feels so normal. The sun is up and it's just another day--even if today wasn't supposed to happen at all. "You?"
Sam shrugs. "I guess so." He runs a still-shaking hand through his hair, and Dean tries to forget the feel of those fingers closing around his throat, to forget the power and anger, the certainty that Sam was going to kill him.
Not Sam, he reminds himself, not the kid brother who's towering over him now, worried and wide-eyed and waiting for him to say something to make it right. Sam looks exhausted, bloody and beat to hell--literally--only just managing to stay on his feet.
And from the careful scrutiny Sam's giving him, Dean figures he probably doesn't look much better. "Come on," he says and shoulder-butts Sam, nearly overbalancing them both. "Let's get out of here."
Sam looks back out across the field. The bodies are gone, those of their enemies and those of their friends.
There's nothing left for them here.
"Yeah, okay. … Hey, Dean, do you think they're--"
"I do."
Sam nods. "Good. But all the same, let's not do that again."
Dean privately agrees, but when he answers, his voice is light. "Hey, for an apocalypse, I'd say it went pretty well."
Sam considers and brightens a little. "I guess it did."
"And that thing with the flaming swords?"
"My idea." Sam blushes. Dean figured it was. The tension begins to melt from Sam's face as they walk away. At this rate, he's in danger of cracking a smile before they get back to the car.
It can't come soon enough for Dean; Sam hasn't smiled in far too long. "What d'you want to do now?" he asks. Even the question feels strange; they've been on this hunt for so long--
Sam exhales, incredulous. "I dunno. Never really let myself believe there'd be a now--I mean, for us."
"Yeah."
"Where do you usually go after saving the world? Disneyland?"
"Had my share of man-sized rats for the year, I think."
Dimples flicker at the corners of Sam's lips. He's walking faster now, brighter and stronger with every step. "Me too."
"You know, I was thinking of somewhere a little more…grownup. We're running low on cash."
"You don't mean--"
"Could make it in less than an hour if we shag ass."
"But, Vegas?" Sam takes a few more steps in silence. "Andy was right. The future's different now. I can't see what's going to happen any more."
Dean smiles. They're almost at the car, parked on the side of the road and shining in the morning sun. "I know," he says with a wink, as he tosses the keys to Sam. "That's what makes it fun."
