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Holes
Word count: 200
Warnings: Season 9. Episode 17 reaction but no specific spoilers really.
Summary: Now we’ve got holes in our hearts, but we carry on. A pair of drabbles.
Sam sat down heavily. He stared at the folders, dull against the gleaming polished mahogany table. Everything hurt. Every bone, every muscle; his head, his heart.
His goddam soul ached.
He could hear Dean breathing, shuffling papers around. The logical, rational part of Sam knew if he was to turn his head, he’d see Dean there, head down, reading, but part of Sam was unconvinced. That part knew if he turned his head there would be nothing there.
It was all so wrong but Sam didn’t know how to make it right.
He was so fucking tired he could cry.
0x0x0x0
You’re afraid…
There was a buzzing under his skin, a prickling discomfort, and the Mark burned. Constant and throbbing and insistent as a hard on, and just as difficult to ignore. Dean ignored it anyway, just like he ignored Crowley’s whispering voice inside his head, Sam’s pained expression, the half empty bottle of Jack he’d hidden under the table when Sam had come back, as if Sam wouldn’t smell the alcohol on his skin, seeping out of every pore.
Nothing helped, but Dean didn’t know what else to do.
Everything was too messed up for him to make it right.
0x0x0x0
A/N While I was writing it I had Passenger's Holes running through my head - it seemed appropriate.
Word count: 200
Warnings: Season 9. Episode 17 reaction but no specific spoilers really.
Summary: Now we’ve got holes in our hearts, but we carry on. A pair of drabbles.
Sam sat down heavily. He stared at the folders, dull against the gleaming polished mahogany table. Everything hurt. Every bone, every muscle; his head, his heart.
His goddam soul ached.
He could hear Dean breathing, shuffling papers around. The logical, rational part of Sam knew if he was to turn his head, he’d see Dean there, head down, reading, but part of Sam was unconvinced. That part knew if he turned his head there would be nothing there.
It was all so wrong but Sam didn’t know how to make it right.
He was so fucking tired he could cry.
0x0x0x0
You’re afraid…
There was a buzzing under his skin, a prickling discomfort, and the Mark burned. Constant and throbbing and insistent as a hard on, and just as difficult to ignore. Dean ignored it anyway, just like he ignored Crowley’s whispering voice inside his head, Sam’s pained expression, the half empty bottle of Jack he’d hidden under the table when Sam had come back, as if Sam wouldn’t smell the alcohol on his skin, seeping out of every pore.
Nothing helped, but Dean didn’t know what else to do.
Everything was too messed up for him to make it right.
0x0x0x0
A/N While I was writing it I had Passenger's Holes running through my head - it seemed appropriate.