Just another random story sitting around on my computer from a while ago. And yes it's another tag to 9x23 because I'm not over it. Spoilers obviously. Dean's POV.
Howling at the Moon
There's something wrong. Something off. I'm trying to see past this haze but it is all-encompassing; a black shadow that swims in front of my eyes, though they remain closed. And I think they should stay closed because I remember dying. I think I shouldn't be feeling anything right now because my heart stopped beating hours ago. I remember my brother trying to pick me up off of that wall, carrying me with him as I bled out and died in his arms, not unlike the way he had died in mine all those years ago. I still remember that day with indescribable clarity.
The worst day of my life.
That memory carries the taste of death, of a pain so loud and deep that it cuts across my chest and leaves me gasping for breath. Usually. But now, there is something different about it. Something new.
The pain is still there; all the suffering and guilt that has built up in my tangled mind still writhes inside my head, but there is a detached aftertaste to those memories now, as if they happened in a different lifetime, or maybe to a different person. I can feel it all, or I can simply choose not to. It feels good to keep my distance like this, but it also makes me uneasy. I don't understand why I still have the ability to think or feel anything. I wonder if this is what people mean when they say their life flashes before their eyes when they die. Maybe this time I died slower than the other times. Maybe this time is final, so there's this strange limbo where my brain still works even when nothing else does.
But that can't be right because the memories aren't flowing one after the other. It was just the one. And now my thoughts have instead been interrupted by a low, somber voice that brings me closer to the surface, though I still feel that thick black haze hovering over everything. I recognize the droning timbre, the deliberate drawl of the King of Hell as he speaks to me, tells me about a new kind of life. I'm not sure exactly what he means, but as the words continue to flow into my ears, I feel a thrumming in my bones, a fluttering tension in the space where my heart used to beat. I let it come, let the sensation ripple along each tendon, until every muscle is alive with it and I can feel the now familiar grip of the First Blade in my hand.
It sings against my chest, pulling me even further back to myself until I can feel the soft pillow that has been placed carefully behind my head, the stiff pull of stretched bruises that smatter my face, and the place where Metatron's blade had found a home, now just a dull ache. I feel alive, and it confuses the hell out of me. I feel alive, but there is a new tint to this existing, a dark heat that radiates from my very core, shadowing my senses with a raw severity. A clarity I've never felt before. I long to open my eyes, to experience all senses, and I search for the right muscles. Crowley is still talking, and I use his words to guide me those last few inches back into existence. Because I long to do exactly what he is telling me I can. I long for this newfound freedom that I can feel pumping through my veins, so I let it fill every part of me, let it bleed from the edges of my fingers all the way to the ends of my hair. Finally, I can open my eyes.
And finally, for what feels like the first time in my life, I can see.
Demon!Dean fascinates me and I'm so excited to see how they deal with that next season and how much of "Dean" is still present. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading!