Okay so I lied in saying that I wouldn't be posting for a month because how could I NOT post after that finale? Seriously. This is just a quick oneshot from Sam's perspective for that scene. Yes, that one. You know the one.
The Most Permanent Stain
I knew my blood type before I knew my multiplication tables. I knew it was A positive, and that meant I could only receive blood from O negatives and other A positives- like my big brother. It was lucky we shared the same blood. Saved our lives on a few occasions, and I always thought it made a poetic kind of sense. It wasn't until years later that I learned that wasn't exactly true. Because my blood had been polluted years ago, poisoned by an evil that would continue to run through my veins long after the source of it was destroyed. It wasn't so poetic anymore.
I learned the texture of blood before I learned how to talk to girls. I could identify the distinct metallic smell of it, the way it flowed over fingertips and pooled onto pavement. I knew the signs of blood-loss, had long since learned to look for the unsteady shuffle of my brother's feet after a hunt, the hazy fog that settled into my own head as the sticky red substance poured from open wounds, seeped steadily into the cool grass beneath our boots.
I learned how to stop blood, how to staunch a wound, cut off the flow by applying pressure, even if it hurt. Because blood means life, and as long as you can keep it from spilling, you can keep breathing. So I learned how to stitch and sew skin back together again until the blood stopped flowing scarlet, until it was nothing but a drying stain.
And I learned how to clean those stains, how to wash my hands of blood; my clothes too. I knew the right amount of detergent, the proper soaking time. It didn't always come clean, but we saved a lot of jeans that way.
I know everything there is to know about blood, and right now I know there's too much of it. It's spilling into the cracks of the concrete and it's gathering at the corners of my big brother's mouth as he tries to talk, to tell me to leave. It's oozing from the center of his chest, right next to his still-pounding heart, the one that rattles with each breath he takes. It just keeps pumping, not knowing that each time it does, more thick red sludge leaks out and onto the ground, going anywhere but where it's supposed to be.
The world is stained in red, and we need to get away from it, so I pull Dean with me, away from the pool of crimson that has settled in the space where he lay. But the blood follows us, falling against our heels as we walk, trickling into every crevice of Dean's ruined shirt. I know it's one of his favorites, but it will never come clean now, no matter how hard I scrub or how long it is left to soak.
Dean goes limp in my arms.
The tears come, but even they can't fix the stain.
So yeah. That episode was insane. I might add Dean's POV for this scene, but I'm not sure yet..inspiration has to come! Thanks for reading as always and I wish you all the best of luck during this hellatus!
