Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Sunrise (1/1) (PG-13)

Title: Sunrise
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13 (language, violence)
Word count: 720
Comment!fic from fleshflutter 's Sam and Dean are reunited meme.  Prompt: Dean's protection tattoo is somehow damaged/erased/inactivated and he ends up being possessed. Sam shows up to exorcise the demon.

A/N: OMG, I actually wrote comment!fic and fit it all in a single comment!  This is a momentous day.
  Posting just under the wire before the real Season 6 starts.

He knows what’s happened, knows it as soon as the light goes dim in the middle of the day and something presses down on him like the weight of the earth he once dug himself out of. Dean has only a second to curse at not getting his tattoo repaired after the near miss with the nail gun last week, and then everything goes dark.

Hellishly dark.

He’s granted a glimpse of the surface now and then—driving a rusty black pick-up he’s never seen before, charming a city clerk into giving him an address, whetting a knife. It’s never long enough to do more than start to marshal his strength before he’s shoved back down, like a hand holding him underwater. His fingernails are bloody, right down to the cuticles, and then they’re clean again (mostly), and Dean knows if this keeps up much longer, he’s not coming back.

None of it hurts, not exactly, which is why the searing pain that slices through his head one day is almost welcome for the novelty. He dimly hears Latin, and it reminds him of Sam’s voice, the strong, confident cadence battering away at the thing inside him, and Dean lets himself fall away as it uses his vocal chords to scream and his limbs to thrash around, and he’s unconscious before the black smoke comes vomiting out.

He comes to on a concrete floor, water soaking through his denim jacket, head pounding like a motherfucker and the copper-bright taste of blood in his mouth. There’s a voice chanting over him, and for a moment, Dean thinks it’s another exorcism, until he makes out his own name. Then he recognizes the voice, and his eyes fly open.

It’s a face he thought he’d never see again, and there’s almost enough joy at the sight to overcome the shattering realization at what’s happened.

"No," Dean snaps, horrified, struggling to get away from the hands on him, trying to crab-walk backward even though he knows there's no point. "Get the fuck away!"

"Hey, Dean, it's okay," and it's Sam's voice, but it can't be him, not anymore, and the thought that Lucifer himself has come to greet him on his return to the Pit has Dean shuddering and striking out, trying to get in one last blow before he's strapped down again.

"I won't do it!" he shouts, his eyes squeezed shut so he doesn't have to see that beloved face being worn by the devil. "I don't care what you do, I'm not picking up the knife again." It's the same bravado that had him cruising into the Stull Cemetery like a brain-dead moron, but just like then, it's all he's got to hold on to.

"Dean!" It's sharper this time, and the hands that grab his shoulders and shake him are cold where they brush the sides of his neck, and that's strange. Nothing should be cold down here, only unending, fiery heat, and it gets him to open his eyes.

Sam is huddled over him, frayed Carhart jacket and blue plaid shirt wrinkled and smudged, hair in his eyes and expression frantic. "Dean," he says again. "It's me. Just me. He's gone, I swear."

"Can't be," Dean mutters, but he looks up at Sam, really looks, and then he goes still. The graceful aura of angelic power is missing, that awful calmness that marked him as wrong. Dean inhales gun oil and peppermints, Ivory soap and woodsmoke, and Lucifer couldn't get Sam's smell right, could he?

"I was tracking these omens and as I got closer, people started giving me descriptions that sounded like you, and I…" Sam runs his hand through his hair, and it's such a familiar gesture, it could have been pulled out of his head, but Dean needs to believe so fucking badly right now. "Dean, what happened?"

"Where are we?" he asks hoarsely.

Sam gives a broken half-laugh. "Sunrise, Florida. It's, uh, it's in Broward County."

And that's what does it: the rueful twist to Sam's mouth at the same time his eyes are shadowed with grief and loss and the echo of fear past and present. It's too much human emotion, too much Sam, and Dean launches himself upward to hold tight to his brother like he's never going to let him go again.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 24th, 2010 05:47 pm (UTC)
LOVED this! Once I got past my kneejerk reaction: whenever I hear about nail gun accidents, now, I can't help but remember this!.
Sep. 26th, 2010 11:54 am (UTC)

Ergh. Even Nathan Fillion couldn't make that enjoyable. But I can see how it might get stuck in your head.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )