February 27th, 2020


snippet: Aftermath

The thing about angel-healing is that sometimes the mind and body remember that the injury should be there. Dean’s never seemed quite as affected by that as Sam, but this time it appears to be sticking to him - and to be fair, Sam’s also still a little stuck on the image of Dean drained paper-white, surrounded by the rust and crimson of his own blood. He’d thought Dean already dead, for a long, world-destroying moment. And if Cas hadn’t immediately shouldered past him and marched over to Dean, perhaps Sam’s world really would’ve ended in that cinder-block basement. (Again.)

But Dean’s lying on the bed next to him, one foot knocking against Sam’s ankle, laughing at Cary Grant while picking away at the bag of licorice Sam had picked up when they stopped for gas on the way back home. If Sam wasn’t paying slightly paranoid attention, he probably wouldn’t have noticed how much Dean was listing towards him, or the subdued quality of his laughter.

Found this in with a bunch of loose papers--no idea where it was going, but I like what there is of it.