Rumble
A/N: Hi everyone. This will be a two chapter story. Continuation of the last scene of 2x02 Everybody Loves a Clown because I needed more Dean angst.
This one is dedicated to my dear friend Becky with lots and lots of love!
"And I'm not alright. Not at all.
But neither are you. That much I know.
I'll let you get back to work."
Piercing eyes bore into Sam's back as it slowly recedes, desperation etched in the green hue they hold, silently begging for him to stop. Tightly pressed lips suddenly open, wanting to say something, to reach out to his brother as he walks away, but not knowing what or how. The sound of the screen door as it shuts makes him flinch, effectively severing the one tether, the one connection that had kept him grounded this long. His mouth makes a small popping sound as it closes, having been unable to utter a single word.
And then there is nothing. No wind. No birds. No signs of life. Just silence; all-encompassing and threatening to smother him where he stands.
Then it starts.
There is a rumble somewhere in the distance. It may be barely audible, the sound that begins to filter its way through the suffocating stillness, but he knows it's there; it's always there, just beneath the surface.
Recognizing its origins, he shifts his feet and tries to concentrate on it, tries to stop it. Once distant and low, it starts to build in momentum and volume, the crescendo forcing his eyes to close and guiding his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep the storm from reaching the shore and wreaking unknown havoc as it lands.
But it's too late, it can't be stopped; the signs of impending chaos are already in plain view.
Short, rapid breaths.
Hands formed into fists so tight that nails start to pierce the softness of tender palms.
Clenching of the jaw so forceful that teeth mash violently as they drive into each another.
Wild eyes fly open, unable to see anything amid the torrential downpour; pummeled by a deluge of emotion that seeps unrelentingly into his brain. It permeates, coats everything until any remaining logic is extinguished, lost in a crimson tide of anger, rage and guilt.
Tremors shimmer through his taut frame like electricity along a frayed current unable to ground itself, left to spark and lash out at whatever is in proximity to it. Energy ripples through him and he grabs the first destructive object in his sights.
The weight feels good in his hands; it's a perfect outlet to help unleash his fury.
The rumble now sounds like a freight train and it's coming up fast, meandering its way like a snake from the pit of his stomach to vibrate along the surface of his throat.
The crowbar is lifted high just as the sound breaches the surface and spews out of him; raw, guttural and crazed.
TBC - Thanks for stopping by! :)