I made a thing.. I don't know where it's okay or not, but enjoy it anyway, yeah? :)
Love from Torino (the authoress)
Do you know how dark a lit world is? It's darker than anything you'll ever see. It's centred in light with shadows creeping slowly towards it, extinguishing the light slowly, slowly. It gets dark and sometimes the event repeats and sometimes it doesn't.
It never did for them. They saw the light at such an early age it haunted them just as much as the spirits they kill. In the form of their mother on fire on the ceiling they saw the light of death, and a death by light.
They witnessed a beautiful light, an unremorseful passing and the horrid consequences. It broke them. Not their heart, that is pretty much intact. No, it broke their mind. The logical part at least, the rest works more than just fine.
It's dark in their mind. The light was lit once and now it can't shine. It shone once and went out and they can't find the demon that lit it. They need the light, like so many people need the comfort of others, so many people need money and so many people need sanity. They need the light, but they live in darkness and it drives them to find the light again. It drives them to kill, to maim, to seek the blood of others, to render others capable to see the light once before they too are robbed of it.
Why should anyone have it if the Winchesters can't? Why are they so different from the others with their candle still unlit? Why did they deserve to lose the light so early? Why did they have to grow up in a blackened world with nothing but the remaining candle tallow? It's unfair.
Killing makes things easier, distancing certain things and putting others in a clear perspective. Killing things with a reason makes them heroes, keeps them in the shadows because of the supernatural reason for helping and it covers their burnt out light.
They share the same light. Two parts of a whole, they are. Two equally important parts of one destructive machine kept in balance because of the cooling tallow. Without it they'd be lost, but they aren't, because it's still there.
The remains of what once was a great bonfire waiting to be lit keeps them from giving up. They remember how it felt to burn bright as a star, and it is as addictive as drugs and alcohol is to normal people. They don't stop the search for the light, for the burn and the smoke. But rather than driving them towards the light it lures them further into the dark woods of their shared imaginations. It drives them so far from the outside world that if just one little branch snaps they will snap too.
And they do snap. Sam dies once, Dean brings them both back from the dead because Dean died too, at the very moment the knife entered Sam's spine he died. Dean's light lit, but he stomped on it, killed the fire forever. He does seek the fire if it costs him his brother's life, then he'd rather live in darkness for eternity, with or without his other half.
He brings them back, and then he dies. Over and over, Dean dies. Mystery Spot. They don't talk about it, they proceed as if nothing has happened but the plot twists and ends up twisted. They kill now, not for the helping but for the murder. Their mind is far gone, beyond redemption they are, and they don't stop. They keep going, and going, and going. If you catch my drift.
They sin, and they sin, and they sin again. In every way. Killing, lying, fucking. Does it matter? It's dark around them, in them, on them. Their eyes are filled with black fog and it never clears, it never lets them see what's going on. But between you and me, with minds messed up from the ages of 4 years and 6 months, how clearly do you think they would be able to see?
They seek darkness now. A dark to wash away the tallow they previously had tried to keep from fading. They tallow was poisonous now, a disease in the centre of their minds and hearts, and of their shared mind and heart. It was suffocating them now, taunting them worse than before. Showing them that they were a lost cause ever since the day they opened their small eyes and saw the world. They see it now. The darkness is welcoming, it's kind. It is home.
Sam isn't wanted by Azazel, he's feared. The angels doesn't want Dean, he's tainted. Could they even care less though?
It's all about the thrill now, the thrill of the kill. The feeling of darkness filling them more and more, taking up the vacant places inside them. Making them whole. But it disappears when the high from a kill ends. And it disappears quickly after several kills in a row. It needs to be the perfect kill. It has to be plastered on their face (blood), on the ground (blood), in the sky (blood), in history (blood).
It starts like this: shoot the monster dead, the feeling appears. Do it a couple of more times and suddenly the feeling never reappears, it's gone.
It continues like this: knife, sword, poison, holy water, strangulation, punching, but in the end it's too plain, too easy. They start exploring.
It is like this now:
The woman is walking towards her home, holding her bag close to her chest, it's late at night and the shady people are out there with her. She's wearing high-heels, short dress, and isn't more than 18 at most. She walks with a straight back and we know for certain she's pretty snobby by the way she moves and looks around with her nose in the sky. The hair's blonde, long, and pretty. That's the first to get bloodied.
A branch breaks, she does a little jump, heartbeat quickening. She looks around, not so over it all in the end. The fear in her eyes is delirious and delicious. It makes another branch break, eagerness driving the predator closer. She twists around and around, trying to catch a glimpse of the branch-breaker, and when she does, she runs. She runs so fast, shoes falling off, hair waving, luring them closer. They all run, and one falls and it's the girl. Not them, never them.
Now she screams. Hoarse and out of breath, eyes bulging, pinned to the ground. They creep out of the shadows, out of the dark, one stalking towards her with long strides, one looming behind the other. They're twice her size, heavily built, but the grins they were are twisted but blindingly gorgeous. They're handsome, but they're kissing suddenly and she's very confused, until suddenly they aren't and she's the one getting attention. The attention of a barrel of a silver gun.
"Sammy?" the smaller breathes. He's so close and up personal she starts to gasp for breath, heart beating painfully in her chest cavity.
"Shhh." the smaller whispers, leaning in, laying his head on her chest, putting the gun to her head rather than her face. "We promise not to hurt you, we're just going to light your candle, pretty one."
She's even more confused, eyes blown wide but narrowing quickly. Light her candle? That's a euphemism for giving pleasure of the sexual kind. It's weird, but she's certain they aren't going to use her for anything like sex. They were too giddy for that, and not even in a high or drunken way. They just looked like they'd just won a football cup or something equally ridiculous and was high of the adrenaline of the game. Oh god. She figured it out. She could see their faces, but the fear had blinded her and made her brain dull. She recognised them. Sam and Dean Winchester, occupation: serial killers with a fetish for grave mutilation and torturous killings.
She trashed around after realising this, making both Dean and Sam frown, in unison. She was terrified now, not just scared of them killing her but scared of the things they could also do to her after she was dead. They were probably into necrophilia too for all she knew. It horrified her, it made her body run cold as though it was preparing for death even before they begun the actual murdering. Dean seemed slightly disappointed, shooting glances at his little brother, who seemed to be getting more and more irritated.
"Stop trashing." Dean told her, in the same gentle and seductive way he had before, but she could hear the hollowness behind it now and now the tone was nothing but sickening in her ears. She wanted to tell them to go to hell, but when she had mustered the courage to do so, her mouth was stuffed with the silver gun.
"Stop it." Dean repeated, voice dropping several octaves and turning sharp as glass, cold as ice, and she freaked. She bit around the gun, earning her four pair of interested eyes, but she only lay there, not moving, giving up. Their expressions went from curious to outraged in the counting of two seconds, the beat of a heart, and the gun was whipped against her face. She yelled. They laughed.
"That's better!" Dean exclaimed, picking her up and throwing her into his brother's arms. She blacked out.
When she came to she wasn't outside, and had no chance to figure out where she was other than guessing she was caught in a horror film. Strapped to a table, chain to a table, an operating table. She freaked out again, but found that she couldn't move at all. She felt her body hurting, she could see where she was, but she couldn't move.
She wasn't alone; she heard a gleeful outburst without hearing the words exclaimed and the next thing she knew a knife was buried to the hilt in her lower abdomen. She wasn't getting away from these men alive, it was obvious and that fact freaked her out so much she blacked out again. It took the Winchester's less than a minute to become bored with her lifeless body. They slit her throat and burned the body, throwing the ashes in a river while laughing at the religion similarity.
They disappeared though. Not long after that murder. Not a soul has seen them since. It's said that they rotted because of all the blasphemy they brought to the world, then again the world was already a rotted place, Sam and Dean was only victims of the world's cruelty.