SPN Fic: Fuel for a Nightmare
Jan. 1st, 2010 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonshaydeThis short fic came out of nowhere.
Title: Fuel for a Nightmare
Season: Five
Category: Drama, Gen, Ficlet
Spoilers: Anything in S5
Summary: The past and the future converge on Sam and Dean.
Word Count: 623
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.
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Sam flew down the stairs, his feet hammering each step. It seemed like the world was crumbling behind him, but he didn't dare look back. A sense of urgency kept nagging at him, propelling him forward, toward the door ahead. There, it loomed, half lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows, and half shrouded in the shadows cast by the streetlamps outside.
He grabbed the doorknob and threw open the door.
Sam didn't pause to think as he darted into the street. He had to keep moving. He had to go now.
Just ahead. Just past the intersection. That is where he needed to be. That was where he'd find him.
Dean.
Without hesitation, Sam bolted past the intersection, zeroing in on the lone figure standing in the middle of the road. Dean had run ahead of him. Dean had gotten out.
He felt a bubble inside his throat, the beginning of unformed words, as he went to shout Dean's name.
The sounds never escaped his mouth.
Sam stopped, struck, as if he had been gutted.
Dean was standing there, his back to him, part of his body hidden under the shadow of an office building. The part that was exposed was eerily still, like a wax figure with its pale face shining under the light.
Not wax. Not still. Something far worse.
Sam felt his breath hitch as Dean turned around.
The movement was slow, purposeful, and filled with the thrum of barely controlled power. Dean said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. Brimming with a smoldering fire, they cut through Sam in a way that left him feeling as if he'd just been burned. Sam felt himself tense. Beyond the fire was something cold and resentful, but also full of a sense of obligation.
A face he'd known all his life suddenly became foreign to him.
Lightning crackled the air; the silhouette of wings danced under the light.
The sounds finally came.
"Dean!"
Sam shot up in bed, breathless, and brought a hand to his forehead. The splitting pain had returned.
He couldn't dwell on the unwelcome ache that accompanied the premonitions he thought had long been dead. Instead, he threw back the sheets and jumped out of bed, rushing to Dean's side.
He lay quiet and still, tucked from head to toe in tightly wrapped sheets. He looked peaceful, as if in a deep sleep.
Sam grabbed him by the arm and shook him hard.
"Get up. We have to go."
Dean jerked, and with a grumble, snatched his arm back. He eyed Sam closely, making his displeasure known. "Dude, what the--?"
"Now."
The grumpiness melted from Dean's face and was filled with a haunted tremble. The displeasure morphed into a cutting glare, laced with a fear Sam had hoped was behind them.
"We have to go now," Sam repeated.
"Why?"
"Dean, don't. We have to go."
"Sam--"
"Michael."
Dean's eyes widened. Leaving the protests behind, he tossed aside his own covers and slid out of bed. It only took them a matter of minutes to pack everything they needed and slip out to the Impala parked in front. All the while, Dean kept stealing glances at Sam, ones that Sam had seen on many occasions before. Dean may never have said what was on his mind, but Sam knew. Dean understood what had just happened and he wasn't happy.
Neither was Sam.
On the drive out of town, Dean didn't say a word, and neither did Sam. With demons at their heels and angels at their backs, there wasn't much to be said. They would just keep running, but they both knew one day, and one day soon, even they wouldn't be able to run anymore.
Title: Fuel for a Nightmare
Season: Five
Category: Drama, Gen, Ficlet
Spoilers: Anything in S5
Summary: The past and the future converge on Sam and Dean.
Word Count: 623
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.
Sam flew down the stairs, his feet hammering each step. It seemed like the world was crumbling behind him, but he didn't dare look back. A sense of urgency kept nagging at him, propelling him forward, toward the door ahead. There, it loomed, half lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows, and half shrouded in the shadows cast by the streetlamps outside.
He grabbed the doorknob and threw open the door.
Sam didn't pause to think as he darted into the street. He had to keep moving. He had to go now.
Just ahead. Just past the intersection. That is where he needed to be. That was where he'd find him.
Dean.
Without hesitation, Sam bolted past the intersection, zeroing in on the lone figure standing in the middle of the road. Dean had run ahead of him. Dean had gotten out.
He felt a bubble inside his throat, the beginning of unformed words, as he went to shout Dean's name.
The sounds never escaped his mouth.
Sam stopped, struck, as if he had been gutted.
Dean was standing there, his back to him, part of his body hidden under the shadow of an office building. The part that was exposed was eerily still, like a wax figure with its pale face shining under the light.
Not wax. Not still. Something far worse.
Sam felt his breath hitch as Dean turned around.
The movement was slow, purposeful, and filled with the thrum of barely controlled power. Dean said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. Brimming with a smoldering fire, they cut through Sam in a way that left him feeling as if he'd just been burned. Sam felt himself tense. Beyond the fire was something cold and resentful, but also full of a sense of obligation.
A face he'd known all his life suddenly became foreign to him.
Lightning crackled the air; the silhouette of wings danced under the light.
The sounds finally came.
"Dean!"
Sam shot up in bed, breathless, and brought a hand to his forehead. The splitting pain had returned.
He couldn't dwell on the unwelcome ache that accompanied the premonitions he thought had long been dead. Instead, he threw back the sheets and jumped out of bed, rushing to Dean's side.
He lay quiet and still, tucked from head to toe in tightly wrapped sheets. He looked peaceful, as if in a deep sleep.
Sam grabbed him by the arm and shook him hard.
"Get up. We have to go."
Dean jerked, and with a grumble, snatched his arm back. He eyed Sam closely, making his displeasure known. "Dude, what the--?"
"Now."
The grumpiness melted from Dean's face and was filled with a haunted tremble. The displeasure morphed into a cutting glare, laced with a fear Sam had hoped was behind them.
"We have to go now," Sam repeated.
"Why?"
"Dean, don't. We have to go."
"Sam--"
"Michael."
Dean's eyes widened. Leaving the protests behind, he tossed aside his own covers and slid out of bed. It only took them a matter of minutes to pack everything they needed and slip out to the Impala parked in front. All the while, Dean kept stealing glances at Sam, ones that Sam had seen on many occasions before. Dean may never have said what was on his mind, but Sam knew. Dean understood what had just happened and he wasn't happy.
Neither was Sam.
On the drive out of town, Dean didn't say a word, and neither did Sam. With demons at their heels and angels at their backs, there wasn't much to be said. They would just keep running, but they both knew one day, and one day soon, even they wouldn't be able to run anymore.
