Sorry this is a late entry everyone, but I have been sunning myself in Lanzarote for the past week. And sorry that it's so depressing too, don't know where the hell this came from. I wrote it before I went on holiday – if I had another go now, I'm sure it would come out much more cheerful :-)
Title: Rigor Mortis
Author: Supernoodle
Disclaimer: As always, sadly, I only own the order that the words are written in.
Challenge Phrase: It comes on slow
Word Count: 100, dead on!
Other Players: Mad Server, Nana56, Mahtalie, Orange Autumn, Iheartsam7, Supernaturalsammy67, Muffy Morrigan, NC Girl, deangirl1, PADavis, TCB 0.5, twinchaosblade, SherryDarling, Vanessa Sgroi, Supernoodle, InSecret, and Onyx Moonbeam.
Rigor. It comes on slow.
He sits in mute agony in the darkened room with the acid burn of cheap whiskey in his throat.
The world around him is colourless now. As cold and lifeless as his brother's skin. Sam lies motionless beside him – not Sam though, Sam's body, just a brittle shell, and Dean wants to die.
Without his brother, he has nothing – he is nothing.
Grief consumes him utterly; it crushes the very breath from his body. Sam died in Dean's arms, and Dean died in his.
But Dean's death comes on slow.
It takes one whole year.