Dislcaimer: The Winchesters, no-ot mine, neither is this lovely poem, "Jabberwocky", by Lewis Carroll, nor the title that I borrowed from Red.
A/N: This part is a little short but the story needed to have a little wrap up. Hope it is enjoyable. As always, be on the lookout for those pesky typos that always seem to sneak by my editing-foo skills.
Nothing and Everything -part 2
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.
Before Dean had time to ease his stuttered breaths, A figure suddenly stood before him. The figure was draped in silvery robes and his hair, white and long, swirled around his head as though caught in a strong breeze. Only, the air was still and deadened and nothing else moved. Dean watched the man curiously, too battle weary to to feel fear.
At last the robed figure spoke. His voice deep as the grave, it rumbled like thunder, echoing and cracking in the heavy atmosphere. It rolled over Dean like Death and he wanted away from it, but he couldn't turn from the terrible sight.
"Righteous Man, you have felled one of my pets and have spilled your life's blood in my sacred realm. Your blood has power to destroy in this place. I am most displeased with what has taken place." The voice paused and the whole of everything was silent, holding its breath as it waited for the... something.
The god like man's eyes began to burn redder than the flame eyed creature thatlay dead at Dean's feet. Smiling a dreadful smile displaying a gaping maw full of pointed teeth, the man boomed out a terrifying laugh that cut at Dean and filled him with a powerfully sick feeling. The weariness of before giving way to churning, gut-wrenching worry.
Dean shrank back as the thing pointed a claw-like finger at him and demanded, "You will leave now!" The voice seemed to arc out across time and space. The ground shook and buckled and everything shimmered and splintered around him like a mirror shattering. Dean was hurtled out the place he loathed and he lost track of it all until he found himself in the middle of a musty room decorated in early-American garage sale with two lumpy beds taking center stage. He was in so much pain he could barely breathe...
And then he was braced against a solid flannel covered chest that was warm and vibrated with a fast thumping heart and there were arms that held him tightly, strong arms that wrapped him close and snug and soft hair tickled his tender, bruised face, catching in the scabby scratches and scruffy beard and the consuming pain eased and he could breathe and he did. The nothing faded and his everthing returned.
And Dean heard the sweetest sound that the world held. It was a soft, deep voice. Its soothing tones washed over him, around him and through him until all Dean knew once more was... Sammy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe,
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
~ The End. Thank you for reading and reviewing if you're so inclined.