Yeah, I shouldn't be starting another fic. Don't worry, an update for Hiding Under A Painted Face is on it's way!
I own nothing except the idea.
OK, this is waaay AU. Abandon All Hope… went a completely different way. And Courtney. You WILL kill me. As will Bee. So I'm running. Now. –runs-
My Dying Thought.
My dying thought was him.
My dying thought was one I never thought I would get the chance to think.
I gazed into his tear filled eyes with my own rapidly blurring vision. The pain in my gut had long ago ceased to be pain, and instead filled my whole body with a dull throb, pulsing in time with my tired heart.
His burning jade eyes reminded me of the time we met, three years ago. I had held a shotgun to his back, thinking him to be an intruder. Then he turned around and I was lost in his intense green orbs. I could see his past, reflected in the shining dark green colour. He tried so hard to hide it behind bravado and smartass remarks, but he was hurting, bad.
I was lost then, falling into the depths of his soul. The question I had to answer was did I really want to claw my way out?
I was in love from then, but it took a while to admit it.
Now though, his eyes were hurting worse than I had ever seen, and I knew why. It wasn't because it was me. It was because he couldn't save me.
He kissed my forehead as tears of pain rolled down my face. It had returned. Pain always did. I grimaced and put pressure back on the wadding covering my wounds. He brought his lips down and we were joined, his lips softer than I'd imagined. And boy had I imagined it. For three years I had been dreaming, fantasizing about a Dean Winchester kiss. And it couldn't have been more perfect. We weren't each other anymore, we were as one. It sounds cheesy as hell, but that's what it was. It was everything I'd ever hoped and dreamed of wrapped up in a kiss. Our lips parted softly, and only I saw the single tear that rolled down his face as he left.
He was gone, and me and Mom stayed behind. The first fatalities of the apocalypse, but we certainly wouldn't be the last. I sense my death before I feel it. My heart slowing, my vision blurring. As it swims, that image of jade eyes appears in front of me.
My dying thought was of Dean Winchester, and all the things that could have been, but would never be.
--
My dying thought was her.
My dying thought was something I should never be thinking.
This wasn't fair. I had been to hell and back, had been ripped to damnation by hell hounds. I'd been beaten up by just about every supernatural thing on the lower forty eight, up to and including a damned fallen angel, and I was going to die in a cemetery surrounded by dead demons that I hadn't even got to kill.
Death was coming. I could feel it. It had already visited this town once before, and it was back. And I don't mean some piss poor excuse for a reaper. Death. As in, one of the horsemen of the apocalypse. That Death.
Beside me in the grass, Sammy crouched, checking my pulse. ''M fine,' I mumbled, shaking his hand off and standing up, making it, if a little unsteadily, to my feet.
He put his bitchface on. Damnit I hated that bitchface. 'Dean. You just got thrown fifty feet by the devil. Yu are not fine.'
I shrugged off his help and plodded determinedly up to the hill, where Lucifer stood. 'Well. You are a persistent one.'
'You are not taking Sammy,' I said, sounding a lot more solid than I felt.
'You know, it really not your choice,' he said, picking at an immaculate nail. To say he's just been digging, that was pretty impressive.
'No, I know. It's Sam's. And I can tell you. There is no way in hell that he would let you in.'
'You seem very sure of that.'
'He's my brother.' I shrugged, aggravating my more than likely dislocated shoulder. Sonuvabitch. 'I may not know much, but I know him. And he would never say yes to a son of a bitch like you.'
'Not even, to save you?' Lucifer looked me in the eyes then, pale grey radiating out. And I fell to my knees, clutching at his stomach. Knifes were poking and prodding from the inside out. I thought I'd felt pain in hell. Hell had nothing on this guy. I was reminded of Zachariah, giving me stage four stomach cancer. Oddly poetic. Lucifer stood forward, casting his voice out to Sam. 'What do you say, Sam? Will you say yes now?'
'Will Dean live?' he asked, emerging from the tree line.
'Of course.'
'Don't do it, Sammy!' I choked out, something leaking from the corners of my mouth. I was guessing blood.
He stood forward, licking his lips nervously. He swallowed and opened his mouth.
'Yes.'
My dying thought wasn't of Dad. It wasn't of Bobby, Cas, or even that simple three letter word.
My dying thought wasn't Sammy.
As Michael invaded my body so Lucifer wouldn't invade Sammy's, my dying thought was of Jo Harvelle, and all the things that could have been, but never would be.
--
Well, short, but I don't think any of these will stretch over 1000-1500 words. Unless it's a pairing that I really love.
Review?