Laid to rest
Title: Laid to rest
Author: missyjack
Pairings: none
Rating: R
Words: 315
A/N: Missing Scene from Bedtime Stories.
For a moment, Sam thought she looked like Sleeping Beauty, as she lay at his feet, her dark hair fanned out, on her bed of dirt and stones, beneath a chandelier moon. As he knelt beside her, the illusion was shattered by the jagged hole of shattered bone in her forehead and the hint of terror that lingered in her dead, staring eyes.
He wanted to hold her, to sweep her up in his arms, and tell her everything would be all right. She was just a girl, who’d been torn from her life and used as a vessel for evil. Sam told himself that he’d released her from a terrible torment, saved her from unknowable horrors, but that didn’t make her any less dead.
Sam didn’t mourn her for long. Something inside him - demon or human he didn’t know - had made him harder and his remorse had nearly drifted away by the time he had retrieved a shovel and a large bag from the trunk of the car. He’d come prepared, known before he’d arrived what he was prepared to do. It was murder in cold blood, but he didn’t have it in him to regret it.
She was as light as a child as Sam lifted her and walked into the long, dry grass by the side of the road. The soil was soft and moist, and it didn’t take him long to dig a grave. He laid the woman in it, on her side with her faced turned away from the sky she’d never see again, and emptied the contents of the bag over her, covering her in a powdery shroud of quicklime.
Sam filled the hole with quick, efficient shovelfuls of dirt and buried her deep.
Inside him, just as deep, Sam buried the part of him that had heard some truth in the demon’s words.
Author: missyjack
Pairings: none
Rating: R
Words: 315
A/N: Missing Scene from Bedtime Stories.
For a moment, Sam thought she looked like Sleeping Beauty, as she lay at his feet, her dark hair fanned out, on her bed of dirt and stones, beneath a chandelier moon. As he knelt beside her, the illusion was shattered by the jagged hole of shattered bone in her forehead and the hint of terror that lingered in her dead, staring eyes.
He wanted to hold her, to sweep her up in his arms, and tell her everything would be all right. She was just a girl, who’d been torn from her life and used as a vessel for evil. Sam told himself that he’d released her from a terrible torment, saved her from unknowable horrors, but that didn’t make her any less dead.
Sam didn’t mourn her for long. Something inside him - demon or human he didn’t know - had made him harder and his remorse had nearly drifted away by the time he had retrieved a shovel and a large bag from the trunk of the car. He’d come prepared, known before he’d arrived what he was prepared to do. It was murder in cold blood, but he didn’t have it in him to regret it.
She was as light as a child as Sam lifted her and walked into the long, dry grass by the side of the road. The soil was soft and moist, and it didn’t take him long to dig a grave. He laid the woman in it, on her side with her faced turned away from the sky she’d never see again, and emptied the contents of the bag over her, covering her in a powdery shroud of quicklime.
Sam filled the hole with quick, efficient shovelfuls of dirt and buried her deep.
Inside him, just as deep, Sam buried the part of him that had heard some truth in the demon’s words.