FILLED: Nun hat er nichts mehr lieb, PGhoneylocusttreeOctober 15 2011, 01:17:46 UTC
Nun hat er nichts mehr lieb
The trees are tired and leaves litter the ground around the cabin. Sam kicks his way through curves of desiccated brown, fragile and hollow as pieces of skulls. There are long feathers in the litter. Pinions. He half-stoops, reaching out automatically, and the world tilts and his skin threatens to slide off his face. He straightens sharply, groping for the wall of the cabin behind him. His knees shiver.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. The other won’t be right again for a long while. Not with the damage he’s managed to do to it, again and again and again. The stitches have been redone twice already-once at the hospital and again about a week ago, by a pale Bobby who wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes as he carefully worked the needle through the ragged edges of flesh. He tries flexing it, watches the play of skin and thread over muscles and the hint of bone. Something moves in the trees, at the edge of his vision, something long and thin flashing through the shadows. He jerks his head in that
( ... )
FILLED: Nun hat er nichts mehr lieb, PG 2/?honeylocusttreeOctober 15 2011, 01:18:38 UTC
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Sam’s seen a lot of weird shit in his life. He’d be the first to admit that the face he sees in the mirror every day is probably one of the weirdest. He’s seen ghosts dragging their own entrails along behind them, he’s seen blood run red and hot from an animated corpse. He’s seen (theinsideof the cage Lucifer’s home redand redand fat yellow and glistening purples) his own peeling skin on the palm of his hand, and he knows there’s a joke there somewhere, held together with stitches and razor wire and bone, but for the life of him can’t remember what it is. Dean would know. He would know.
But he sure as hell wouldn’t know what to do about this.
Sam knows he’s staring. Down. A long way down, but in his defense he’s also being stared at, and it’s not something he’s really equipped to handle right now. Big liquid eyes bore into his own and he can’t remember the last time he blinked. He remembers the sound of claws and this isn’t what he saw under the trees and then he flinches at the tiny, hopeless whuff from the little body at his feet
( ... )
FILLED: Nun hat er nichts mehr lieb, PG 3/3honeylocusttreeOctober 15 2011, 01:19:45 UTC
The stitches come out for good, and neither Bobby nor Dean give him any warnings about what to do with the injury now that it’s healed. The scar is pink and bright and Sam turns it and turns it, watching the light flicker and shine on its surface.
He goes to see (SarahJessicaRachel) the stupid dog and hunkers down beside it, running his good hand over her tiny head, scratching behind the floppy ears. Her tongue lolls out. Her skull is so small, so fragile. She’ll never survive in this world on her own.
She whines and bounces and he reaches down with his other hand, the scarred one, and it plops onto her back, above the knob of spine, and it must not have been as healed as he and Bobby thought. A tiny pain fizzes just under the skin, licks at the bones and tendons, and the dog flickers, just for an instant, and Sam can see the leaves and feathers and dead grass in the space where she was. Then the pain’s gone, and she looks up at him, eyes liquid and wanting, but Sam’s already on his feet, back to the door, and he can hear his heart and
( ... )
The trees are tired and leaves litter the ground around the cabin. Sam kicks his way through curves of desiccated brown, fragile and hollow as pieces of skulls. There are long feathers in the litter. Pinions. He half-stoops, reaching out automatically, and the world tilts and his skin threatens to slide off his face. He straightens sharply, groping for the wall of the cabin behind him. His knees shiver.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. The other won’t be right again for a long while. Not with the damage he’s managed to do to it, again and again and again. The stitches have been redone twice already-once at the hospital and again about a week ago, by a pale Bobby who wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes as he carefully worked the needle through the ragged edges of flesh.
He tries flexing it, watches the play of skin and thread over muscles and the hint of bone. Something moves in the trees, at the edge of his vision, something long and thin flashing through the shadows. He jerks his head in that ( ... )
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Sam’s seen a lot of weird shit in his life. He’d be the first to admit that the face he sees in the mirror every day is probably one of the weirdest. He’s seen ghosts dragging their own entrails along behind them, he’s seen blood run red and hot from an animated corpse. He’s seen (theinsideof the cage Lucifer’s home redand redand fat yellow and glistening purples) his own peeling skin on the palm of his hand, and he knows there’s a joke there somewhere, held together with stitches and razor wire and bone, but for the life of him can’t remember what it is. Dean would know. He would know.
But he sure as hell wouldn’t know what to do about this.
Sam knows he’s staring. Down. A long way down, but in his defense he’s also being stared at, and it’s not something he’s really equipped to handle right now. Big liquid eyes bore into his own and he can’t remember the last time he blinked. He remembers the sound of claws and this isn’t what he saw under the trees and then he flinches at the tiny, hopeless whuff from the little body at his feet ( ... )
Reply
He goes to see (SarahJessicaRachel) the stupid dog and hunkers down beside it, running his good hand over her tiny head, scratching behind the floppy ears. Her tongue lolls out. Her skull is so small, so fragile. She’ll never survive in this world on her own.
She whines and bounces and he reaches down with his other hand, the scarred one, and it plops onto her back, above the knob of spine, and it must not have been as healed as he and Bobby thought. A tiny pain fizzes just under the skin, licks at the bones and tendons, and the dog flickers, just for an instant, and Sam can see the leaves and feathers and dead grass in the space where she was.
Then the pain’s gone, and she looks up at him, eyes liquid and wanting, but Sam’s already on his feet, back to the door, and he can hear his heart and ( ... )
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Glad you enjoyed! I expect anyone else who reads this may want to lynch me, so...heh.
<3!
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No, it was LOVELY. And I love me some crazy Sammy. Thank you so much <3 <3
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