Woah… How long has it been?! A massive apology, guys - blame school! But hopefully I can post away and you'll like what I've got in store for yee.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Supernatural, Sam or Dean. Not even a teeny tiny knife or weeny gun.
Lyrics are the amazing Within Temptation's "Memories". (So, not mine either.)
Thanks to: Everyone who has reviewed, added this to their alerts/favourites…I feel so honoured! Thank you!
~Suffered In Silence ~
-Bloodbath-
In this world you tried…
Not leaving me alone behind
There's no other way…
I'll pray to the gods: let him stay
Sam looks up from the newspaper and watches in amused revulsion as Dean proceeds to shove pancake after pancake into his mouth.
He hasn't eaten anything - he's not hungry - but even if he were, he doubts whether he still would be after seeing the carnage before him.
Dean swallows and looks up. Sam shakes his head and goes back to reading. Dean grins.
He glances down at his own paper, half covered with pancake crumbs. He brushes them away, catching sight of something.
"What about this?" Gestures to the article. The waving around prompts several crumbs to scatter. Sam smirks. Dean shrugs.
He's talking away about the possibilities of a new hunt. Trying as hard as possible to act normal. Not wanting to constantly worry.
If only…
He holds up the page. Sam leans forward to look.
"What about this? A ten year old boy went missing…" Glances at Sam; trails off.
Puts down the paper article.
"Sam?" Dean can't stop staring. The hand he had near his mouth ready to shovel in more food is frozen in mid-air.
"Dean?" A confused face. "Why're you staring…?" He turns around - maybe something's behind him?
He sees nothing. Swivels around to face his older brother. "What?" A glimmer of impatience.
Dean stares still.
Talk about role reversal.
Dean points at his face. Drops the food in his hand.
Then it hits him, or rather - soaks him.
Blood trickles from his nose and creates a bloody path down his face. Cascades down his neck. Even drips unto his shirt.
A frantic fumble for napkins ensues - Dean passes them over wordlessly.
They get through all that was at the table.
Eventually the nosebleed -
Can something like that be likened to a small nosebleed?!
- subsides. Sam drops the bloodied napkins unto a tray. Looks down at his hands. Hands that are stained. He doesn't look up.
Doesn't want to catch Dean's eye.
Silence prevails. Dean folds the paper with unnecessary noise.
They stand in unison, ready to leave. Both pairs of eyes stare at the table. Sam looks at Dean, trying to grin.
"Looks like a bloodbath." He jokes, attempting to inject some humour and to lighten the suffocating mood.
Dean only looks back at him with something like amazement. Amazement as in, "How the hell can you joke about that?"
His words are dark. Perfectly matching the mood.
"That's 'cause it is."
