caranfindel (caranfindel) wrote,
caranfindel
caranfindel

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Fic: How it Ends

How It Ends
Gen, pg-13 for language
Words: About 850
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Warnings: major character death
Synopsis: Does what it says on the tin

It doesn't end in a hospital, your brother enveloped in scratchy sheets and plastic tubes and cold sterile light, you sitting beside his bed, your heart as grey and blank as his face, watching him fade and wondering how you're going to survive this, and realizing as the beeps grow further and further apart that the question isn't how, it's if, and the answer is no.

It doesn't end with a demon, you pinned against a wall, your heart squeezed until all the blood is wrung out like a dishcloth, your brother screaming your name as if the sound of his voice can somehow hold you there, tether your fleeing soul to this mangled body.

It doesn't end with a policeman's bullet, either from a hail of gunfire or a solitary sniper's rifle, which is a blessing, because, while you're certainly not opposed to a quick death, at some point (in this life or beyond it) that shooter's going to find out what he did, who he stopped, what you were protecting him from, and you wouldn't wish that guilt on anybody.

It doesn't end with an angel, hand pressed to your forehead, power pulsing through you, consuming you from the inside, your brother crumpled in the corner, the last of the Winchester line no longer needed or wanted.

It doesn't end in the Impala, hurtling over the side of a mountain road or crumpled into a concrete embankment with the speedometer needle embedded in the red, because you couldn't face one more day being its sole occupant.

It doesn't end at the hands of other hunters, hunters who are scared and confused and angry and stupid, so goddamn stupid, and you screaming at them to shut up and put the fucking gun down and just let you fucking explain, just give you five fucking minutes and let you fucking explain.

No, it simply ends with a monster. With a hunt gone wrong. With you separated, looking for him, fear and dread rising in your throat, and then you hear a shot ring out. You run toward it, relieved, not afraid to call his name now that his cover has obviously been blown and the creature is hopefully toast, and then, then, there's a shriek that stops you in your tracks, because it sounds like he's being ripped apart, and you run faster, your heart pounding, your stomach churning, and there are more shots, and that's good, right? That means he's alive, right? But you're still fighting the urge to puke and yelling his name and trying to run in your damn clunky boots that were not made for running in this fucking snow and then you stumble into a little clearing and yes, there's a dead monster and where is - oh God. He's sprawled in the snow and there's blood, so much blood, so much screaming red against that white snow, and you fall to your knees and try to find a pressure point but you don't even know where to start, his chest has been shredded, and you don't know how you're going to get him out of here, and you look up and scream "fuck" at the sky because you don't know what else to do. Then something is tapping at your hands, and you realize it's him, he's trying to bat your hands away, and you finally look at his face (oh God) and it's contorted in pain and a thin stream of blood bubbles out of his mouth as he whispers, weakly, "Go. You have to go. They hunt in pairs."

And you know he's right, but he's also so, so wrong, and suddenly your decision is clear, and it fees like the only good decision you've ever made. "Fuck that shit," you say. "I'm not leaving you." And now you can both hear the dead creature's other half approaching, and he looks at you with panic and he can't speak, but he mouths go again, and you shake your head and say "No. We're going out together." He starts to protest but stops, nods, and actually smiles. He's bleeding out and his eyes are glazed with pain, but his expression is somehow peaceful and relieved, and you can't remember the last time you saw peace on his face. You are flooded with a sense of relief, so strong you can almost drown in it, and you know you've made the right decision. There's time for one quick prayer to the only being left who cares, not to ask for help but to say goodbye and thank you. You look at your brother again, his pain fading as his life drains into the snow, and then you realize you're going to watch him die, watch the light go out in his eyes, and you can't do that again. Or he's going to live long enough to see you ripped to shreds, and neither of you deserves either of those options for your last sight. "Close your eyes," you tell him, and he does. You take his hand, kneeling beside him in the bloody snow, and as the creature bursts into the clearing, you close your own eyes, squeeze his hand, and say "See you on the other side."
Tags: fic: dean winchester, fic: sam winchester, my fic, supernatural
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  • 18 comments

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