Just a short little drabble on what could happen during the Season 10 finale! ~400 words
-GNS-
It starts out like this:
Red. Everything is red. I'm so angry, so furious that I can't see past the red blood, red rage, any of it. Distantly I know what I'm doing, killing. Some of them innocent, some not, but all dead. Red, red blood dripping from their chests, dripping from my blade. Each new body added to my count fuels the fire steadily burning inside of me. I cannot think, I do not feel remorse. The only thing I'm focused on is the way the skin gives to muscle gives to bone gives to breaking, underneath my knife. A hatred that I have never experienced before in my life has taken me over, I've lost count of the number. Push, pull, dead.
It builds like so:
Grey. Soft, slow, whispering, pleading. This one is different. This one dies in shades of grey. At first I was mistaken, thinking he was red like the rest of them. Screaming, kicking, begging. Desperate cries saying "please, please, please". This one isn't like that. I shouldn't have mistaken him as such. He starts with "stop." It's firm and strong, soothing my rage with a voice so- familiar, while adding more wood to the flame by thinking that he could stop the wildfire I have become. Then it's "Dean". My knife is in his chest but he's still holding on to me. His fingers are clutched in my shirt, his head is resting on my shoulder, and his last breath doesn't come quickly, like the others. I should have known.
It ends in darkness:
Black. That is all I know now. His feather light gasps against my ear still echo inside my skull. "I'm sorry- Dean I'm sorry". For what? My eyes trail down, down, down and I'm pushing against the body dead against my own. He's already getting colder. I recognize that face. It takes me a moment to fade back into myself again, before I can remember who. Then I'm clutching back onto him like he had to me, digging, digging, digging as if to find what I lost in him. Hot tears trail down my cheeks, each one carving out their own separate canyon in my soul. For what? I try to imagine what it must have looked like, to watch the light fade out of his eyes, what it must have sounded like to hear his heartbeat slow. But all I can see is darkness, black. God Sam, what were you sorry for?