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SHARDS, SHREDS, SCRAPS
Landslide
by
Sade Lyrate
Dean looked awful.
Scratch that. Dean always looked
awful. But last time he'd been as pale, blood as sharp against
bleached skin...
Sam swallowed, trying to avoid the memories, the flashback of the feelings, work on getting the debris off his brother, tossing away roots and branches, lumps of moist, heavy ground.
Thirty feet. More or less. Enough.
There was blood running down Dean's face. Just like-
Mine.
He swung around, peered into the darkness around them as he heard the strange not-quite-voice. Nothing.
Damn it!
They should have been more careful. An area with history of sinkholes, and they had gone ghostbusting there. After rain.
Might've as well played inverted Russian roulette.
As if that wasn't enough, the spirit wanted Dean. Making a note to himself not to let Dean forget that anytime soon, Sam steeled his jaw and wrenched a half-rotten tree trunk away. The man was a stupid jerk but...he was Sam's stupid jerk. He wouldn't lose Dean.
Not to some over-eager bitch.