UnGen had a summer challenge going, which I decided to enter. As I was coming up with ideas, I realized I can hardly write more than a drabble anymore. So this is small. However, I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Thanks to Maja and Lu and Sky and Petra for letting me annoy them with this.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
She is (not Sam) the boy whose mother burned over him on the ceiling in his nursery.
"Your mother bled for you," Meg says. "My father made sure of it. He bled her dry, raining down on your face."
Her voice is his voice. She talks out loud so he can hear it.
"I've seen it," she mocks. She is (he is) sitting on a curb somewhere with blood on her shirt. It's morning but still dark. "My father showed me. He can do that, you know."
She inhales and cigarette smoke chokes him. Her pleasure, his pain.
"She screamed. She screamed for you before he burned her body. I think she screamed a little for herself, too."
Another deep breath full of smoke. He tries to gag but can't; her movements are his movements.
She rises (he rises) and flicks the cigarette on a pile of dead leaves. They stare at it as one of them catches fire.
Her thoughts are his thoughts.
"Just like that." And she laughs.
*
He is (not Dean) the man who held his little brother while their mother burned.
"I remember the screaming."
His memories, but not.
"The heat was unbearable."
Dean stares back at him from his position against the wood, arms tied behind his back. "You trying to hurt me? Cause you're not," he snarls.
The skin walker moves closer. Their eyes match. "But I am," he says, and suddenly Rebecca's face morphs into Mary's face.
They're his thoughts, but not.
He puts his hands to his head as images flash across his vision. She's smiling, beautiful, as she kisses him (not him) to sleep. Then she's screaming.
"I didn't see it, but oh, it was painful to hear." Dean turns and now the skin walker is the one smiling.
*
She is (not Kate Milligan) the woman who fell in love with John Winchester, the man whose wife bled and burned on the ceiling of their home.
Sam is tied down, strapped to a table. He's waking, but still groggy.
Memories, the ones she stole, float around in her head.
"Your father was just so torn over Mary's death," she whispers in Sam's ear. He groans, almost awake.
Adam, who is not Adam, paces. He's hungry, but she's not finished.
She leans in again. "Ironic," she says. "How you wanted to be normal so bad, but you were the reason it never happened."
Another groan. He's coming to.
"Some demon comes over and burns your mother to a crisp? There had to be a reason."
His eyes flutter open. She stops.
But her stolen thoughts do not.