A/N Hey guys. I've been battling a bad case of writer's block for a while now. While I've managed to somehow keep posting somewhat regularly, actually sitting down to write has become a special kind of torture. Either I have no ideas and I spend hours staring at a blank word document, or I have a bazillion ideas, and every time I try to write them out, they come out in the most terrible words, and they make no sense. All the updates I'd done so far were half-completed things I'd had planned out before I was struck by this block, and I'm on the verge of burning out. This story was a new idea I attempted to write through the block, and it's taken me almost three days to write a thousand words because I kept deleting everything I'd written out. I'm still not happy with this, but whatever. This is the best I can get out right now, and if I try to rewrite it even one more time, I might actually end up tearing my own hair out.
This is a weird ambiguous one-shot thing. Y'know, the usual fare with me. Enjoy! :) ~Sammy
The grayest of blue skies
"I stood there, and I watched the world burn."
"You were supposed to save it. Why-"
"Why? Because I can."
000
"Dean-"
"Sam-"
He was surprised enough to smile a bit, his lips curving up the slightest bit. His brother was smiling too, and what had their life become, when both of them smiling together was as much a rarity as it was for them to get time off from a hunt?
They weren't in between hunts, though, and smiling was a rarity, so their smiles faded quickly, and he waved his hand at his brother. You go first.
"I'm going to be right there with you, okay?"
"Yeah, I know. You told me that already."
"No, Sam. I mean I'm going to be right there."
"Dean, you can't-"
"I'm doing it anyway."
000
The engine started with a rumbling roar that smoothened out into the purr of a well-loved machine. It was well loved; more loved than the knives they sharpened each night and tucked into the lapels of their jackets, as loved as the guns they stripped and cleaned at every chance and slipped into the waistband of their jeans, almost as loved as one brother to the other as they protected each other at every cost.
"You good?"
(are you sure about this? do you need to stop? you have everything you need, right? do you want anything? can you do this? are you okay?)
He nodded, because that's what he'd been taught to answer with, and he didn't know how else to answer. "Yeah. You?"
His brother nodded, because he'd been the one who taught him the right answer in the first place. "Yeah. I'm good."
000
He punched Dean in the face, hard enough to bruise (he could punch hard enough to kill and he almost did but this was dean) and he stormed out of the motel room, leaving the door barely hanging on its hinges.
000
Angel Grace was bright enough to be blinding.
Archangel Grace was bright enough to burn.
Ruby laughed- blood (sweet nectar) gurgling through the hole in her chest.
"Close your eyes, Sammy. Don't want the precious boy-king's eyes to hurt now, do we?"
000
It was the Last Day, and they watched the sunrise together. (the stars didn't shine as bright anymore. not after lucifer broke the moon and pulled clouds over the night sky.) They were silent, except for their breathing, and the one inconsequential half-second after the sun breached the horizon where the gravel crunched under their feet as they turned and walked away.
They had crept around in the silence their entire lives. Silence was familiar. This, though? This was different.
This was the Silence that preluded Mourning.
000
Gabriel's words echoed in his head (or was it lucifer's? he didn't know anymore).
It was always meant to be.
Well screw that.
000
It was cold, and Dean wasn't with him, even though he promised.
("I'll always be there for you." "We're better off apart." "Pick a hemisphere.")
He thought he was okay with this being the one promise Dean's broken.
Maybe if Dean broke this promise, he wouldn't disappoint him. Or, well, at least he wouldn't have to watch when he let him down.
000
"Lucifer."
"Sam. So nice of you to call. Is this just a friendly chat, or did you want something?"
"You know what I want."
"Yeah, yeah. You want the apocalypse to be over. I want Michael to pull the stick out of his ass. Neither of us are getting what we asked for this Christmas, sorry."
"That's not-"
"I know that's not what you meant, Sam. I'm old, not stupid. You're here to say yes."
"I have conditions though."
"I didn't expect you not to."
000
Yes?
"Yes."
Finally.
000
He knew angels could see souls, but he hadn't expected this.
Nick was lying on the snow, bloody sores marring his face, his hands splayed across his chest in an almost repentant way, but that wasn't what he(they) could see.
((nick was lying on the snow, his body too big for the soul that had been crushed into what barely took up an atom-span of space when lucifer took over. it was a bright pinprick of light, almost as bright as the angel he'd once hosted. lucifer(sam) left him lying on the snow with a shrug.))
000
"The problem with you humans," he(they) said, a hand tracing over the cuts he(they) had carved into the soft flesh, "is your over-inflated sense of self-worth."
He(they) hooked a nail under a flap of skin, feeling the slick of blood stain his(their) fingertip. "You think you're so earth-shatteringly important."
He(they) pulled on the (filthy little creature) human girl's chin, until she was looking him(them) in the eye. "You forget how easy you are to just… break."
His(their) grip tightened, and the girl screamed.
He(they) smiled.
000
They called it a 'refugee camp'.
Lucifer thought that was hilarious.
'What refuge could you find under a makeshift roof?'
They called it a 'rebel camp'.
Lucifer thought that was hilarious.
'What revolution can you lead from wooden cabins?"
He(they) left Camp Chitaqua alone anyway.
000
You miss him, don't you?
"What?"
Dean. You miss him, I can feel it.
"I don't-"
I've never lied to you, Sam. The least you could do is return the favor.
"Okay, yeah. I miss him."
Okay.
"Okay?"
Yes, okay.
"That's it?"
You expected something more.
"Yeah, I mean, it's Dean. You didn't look like you liked him when I talked about him the first time."
That's because, the first time you mentioned him, he was stopping you from joining me. I have nothing against your brother, Sam. I made a promise, remember?
"So, you're okay with me missing him."
Of course. I'm okay with anything you do, Sam. You and I are the same, after all.
"Oh."
That doesn't mean I understand why you miss him.
"He's my brother."
He abandoned you.
"I messed up. I couldn't expect him to forgive me again."
And yet you miss him.
"Don't you miss Michael? Ever?"
I miss the memory of him. Michael stopped being Michael long before I ever fell. He was different.
"Dean's not like that. He's- He's still Dean."
I'm sure he is.
000
Dean shot a seven-year-old girl because she'd been in the same room as her infected mother for more than twelve hours, and he 'didn't want to take a chance.'
The girl had little blonde pigtails.
Lucifer was silent when he cried.
I'm sorry, Sam, Lucifer murmured, I'm sorry you lost your brother.
000
((I promised not to harm dean. this isn't dean. this is a monster wearing his skin.))
Dean's neck snapped under his(their) foot, and he could feel his(their) lips curve into a grin, even as he(they) turned around to see another Dean.
(this dean was dean)
He sighed, and he could feel Lucifer do the same.
Dean looked horrified.
('look, dean,' he'd say, 'look at what your brother's become.')
Lucifer laughed.
000
"Sammy," Dean said, his face bruised and battered and swollen, "I'm right here. I'm not leaving."
'Sammy's left the building. Come back later? Or, y'know, don't.'
"I promised I wouldn't leave you, Sam. I'm here."
He lies. He always lies. Don't you trust me, Sam?
"I'm here, Sammy. I'm right here."
000
"It's you and me against the world, right, Sam?"
Maybe it was.
A/N So. That was complete bullshit. I do not like how this came out, because I know I've written better. Writer's block is really the worst thing that can happen to me when I'm on a break. Ugh. Leave me a review and let me know what you thought? Is this as bad as I think it is? Or is my mind playing tricks on me again? ~Sammy