Yay! Midterms are over! And 93 views of my first fanfic! Thank you guys!
My national exams are coming up so if you can spare a moment please wish me luck and note that updates/new stories may be slow in coming until December but I would still love to hear from you!
I'll be wearing orange on Wed. Oct 21st for Pacer's Unity Day2015 because I believe that together the world can be a stronger and better place.
Catch me next weekend at Wizard World's TulsaCon! - It's gonna be awesome! - My cosplays will be: Demon!Dean, Castiel(with an angel tablet, I wish I had an angel blade but no dice, yet), and my Marvel favorite Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier.
If you're reading this please always remember that you are awesome and the world is a better place for having you in it!
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Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thank you to the CW for just having such an amazing show! And thank you for letting me play in your (really awesome) sandbox! This is for fan purposes only! And again I own nothing!
And now to the story…I've had season 10 on my brain, can ya tell?
Heh, A sly grin kicks up onto stiff facial muscles; The night is young, time to look alive! This new place is such a drag, he thinks as he picks himself up off the cushy memory foam bed that's littered with rare and precious manuscripts. He pauses to read a title, Really, you really think that's gonna get rid of me boy? Please, you wish it'd be that easy. A hand runs across the short spiky hair that wasn't his choice, What to do, what to do? It's such a shame there's no fun playthings and parties here, just rest and "cures". Out there in the world there was always something to do, somewhere to go, it was the first time in so long he'd been able to feel so alive, so free. But here he was kept trapped, caged, not gone but not free either. This body he was in wasn't cured by any means, he still remained, but it was strong enough to keep him back in the corners. It was only times like this, when the body was so worn down and exhausted, that he could come back and take control. Even now he could feel the host of this body fighting back for control. But while he had some time he might as well try to have some fun, right? Reaching a hand out he grabbed the knife from under the pillow, Ooo, shiny.
Men of Letters, hm, fingers trailed loosely along the spotless wall, What a bunch of nerds. It was quiet, only one other person to play with down here. The door is even open, how inviting, but what a sight, gigantor curled up under the covers just snoring away. Silly boy, doesn't he know nighttime is for play? He smirks; one hand poised just above the light switch the other at the ready with the knife. It wasn't the blade but it'd do fine. His mind raced on how this was going to go down, relishing the pleasure and satisfaction this would bring.
That was all the distraction Dean needed to slide back into control. Silently the tables were turned, the demon sinking away into the dark corners of his mind, and it was him standing there staring at a sleeping Sammy. What had he almost done? He slid to the floor, hands on his head, and knife clattering to the ground. What if he'd been a moment later? He wouldn't have been able to stop it. He was almost too late this time as it was. He was just so tired. Eyes filled with tears that would never fall.
Quietly he pulled himself to together, picked himself up, shut off the light and wandered back to his room, shutting the door for protection, as futile of a measure as it was. Not protection for himself, no, he was too far gone, not a man anymore, just a shell still standing, a demon's meat suit walking, no any protection he could bring would be for Sam.
They should really have a conversation about this. This wasn't the first time it's happened, luckily Sam's never been awake or around to notice, but Dean really just can't deal with this anymore. He rubbed his hand against the dark bruise like half-moons under his puffy eyes. He couldn't be awake all the time, couldn't be on guard all the time. There was something still in him, still bad, wearing him for a meat suit, and it had plans, plans that horrified even Dean's experienced mind. He needed to share this with Sam and maybe they should talk about locking Dean's door from the outside at night. But he thought of Sammy, soundly asleep, and just couldn't find it in himself to wake his brother, disturb his needed rest, just to share in a burden he never asked for. Half of him admits he's afraid he'd just lose control over himself in the doorway again, and that the thing inside him will pick up where it left off and get to Sam.
He just couldn't do it, not now. In the morning, he thinks, We'll talk this all over in the morning. Everything will be fine. He tries to tell himself but inside he knows better, noting will ever be okay again, not until he puts this thing to bed, permanently. Opening another book that smells of the mildew and dust of decades long past he searches for a path, any way possible, to set himself free of this curse. Absently scratching the livid red raised mark on his arm he settles in for a long night of translating the ancient texts.
Down in the dark depths of a mind and soul the demon regains strength to make a break at freedom, and all alone it bides its time and thinks. One day it'll have this body all to itself again and then it'd just be him and his meat suit against the world, walking free.