SPOILERS FOR S5 (just in case)!
This has been betaed by the fantastic NewspaperTaxis like AGES ago, BUT all mistakes are MINE, MINE, MINE!
I own nothing and how sad is it that while I was writing this I was thinking to myself: WTF ARE YOU EVEN WRITING? and then after reading it again I thought to myself: AWW POOR SAMMY!
Enjoy...
Broken. That's what it is. The world is broken.
Curved into lines that are so sharp they cut into you and keep cutting until you bleed out on the floor.
Distorted, like looking through water up at the sky for so long, that the sky stops looking like a sky.
Twisted in ways, that'll make it really hard to put everything back as it was, when all of this will be over. If the world was ever really anything but twisted and broken.
-:-
Even the early morning sunbeams that are warming up Sam's left cheek are bent in an awkward angle, while coming through the curtain. Long, thick strips of yellowish light strangling him by his neck and stretching all the way up to the crown of his head.
The air in the room's broken into pieces of beer, Whiskey and drunken breath coming from parted lips.
The sound is distorted too; light snore, light sniffle, heavy breath and rustle of the sheets.
-:-
The burn of toothpaste on the side of Sam's mouth when he brushes his teeth; sliding down his throat almost making him choke… makes him wonder if Lucifer will ever allow him to brush his teeth, wash himself… or will he forever wear blood and flesh of his victims.
Nicking himself while shaving; sharp pain, blood – like his life has always been… how much pain will he feel, when Lucifer'll get his hands on him?
Suffocating on stale air while getting dressed; one leg at a time, one arm at a time, trying to stretch out time but failing miserably… will he notice time when Lucifer will be inside of him? Will there be time? Or will eternity feel like a minute? Or will a minute feel like eternity?
Feeling his back split in two, when he bends down to tie his shoes; seeing mud and something resembling blood on the tip of his boots... just another day gone by… will there be days, or will there only be nights? Light or dark? Sun or moon? Or just darkness all around when Lucifer will drag him to Hell?
'Almost' smelling death when he sees all those bottles kicked between two beds; dinner. He wonders if he'll ever be able to taste beer or will Lucifer only ever feed him blood?
Seeing and hearing and feeling nothing, when he pushes his spare jeans into the rucksack on the bed; push them right between some shirts he's pretty sure are either to be washed really, really well or to be just thrown away… will he wear clothes in Hell? He'd ask Dean that, but… one glance at his brother… no, he'll find that out on his own.
Almost hearing the Devil call out his name, when he chokes on a sneeze coming up his throat and tears push at his eyes; sonofabitch. He fuckin' won't let go... he's barely hanging on, but he won't... he won't say yes!
-:-
"Sam?"
The gruff voice that comes to Sam's ears from somewhere behind him makes him jump; shudder and push his fingers into a fist, digging his nails in the flesh.
He turns around and sees his brother folding up his jeans; hole at the knee, dirt on the hem of them.
"Bless ya."
Bless me? Bless me?
Sam's really not sober enough for this and all he can do is wonder for a second if a) Dean's been living under a rock for the past few years, or b) he finally said yes to Michael.
But his big brother's eyes are still his; green and a bit unfocused after sleeping for only a few minutes with some – still – drunken slur in his voice.
His face is still his face; sweaty with lingering anger and weariness stretching every line on it.
Dean is still Dean. Still his big brother.
Sam smiles a crooked smile, because it just seems to fit the broken world and says: "Ummmh… thanks."
He's so not sober enough for this.
The End.