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thegeminisage · 3 years

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writing that’s not supposed to be writing but that’s just supposed to play the mental movie for you:

"I'm not trying to smother you, man," Dean says. "But I can't—if anything happened to you—" He stops again. "Sammy, let us handle the demons. God knows you've done enough." He closes his eyes briefly against the memory of Sam's face right before he fell. It's okay, Dean. I got him.

"Dean," Sam starts, like he's gearing up to dig in his heels on this one, but he's cut off by a distant boom. It sounds almost like thunder, but summer is long over and there’s no flash of lightning to explain the noise.

Dean squints out into the dark. "Did you hear that?"

Something massive and unidentifiable rises up behind the woods, blotting out the stars behind it, then swoops back down.

Sam grips the porch railing so hard his knuckles whiten. "Is that demon smoke?"

Boom. This one rattles every window in Bobby's house, close enough that Dean feels it in his feet. "Sam, get inside," he says, keeping his eyes on the treeline.

"Dean, what if that’s Balthazar? We have to—"

Something in the distance glows bright white and then fades behind the trees. The wind's starting to pick up. "I said get inside! Now!"

Bobby opens the front door. "What in the hell—"

"Both of you, get down!"

Too late. The light explodes—

When Meg’s perception settles, she's standing in tall dry grass that ripples in the sulfur-scented wind, dark wandering silhouettes barely visible against the deep blood-red of the sky. Something huge and jagged juts up out of the ground. For a moment everything is very still.

This is even worse than she thought. It's dark inside Sam Winchester's soul.

Then there's a sound like a thunderclap and the ground heaves beneath her feet. Around her, the shadows all stumble off their mysterious paths. She hears a child sobbing somewhere in the dark. That jagged thing the distance—it might once have been a wall—comes further apart, piece after piece crashing to the ground. The sky’s faint red light flickers dangerously.

Meg picks her way across the unsteady ground to the nearest shadow and turns it to face her. It's Sam-shaped, younger than the version outside, but its teeth are bared and its eyes demon-black. "It's a prison,” Sam’s voice snarls, "made of bone and flesh and blood and fear. And you sent me back there!"

"What the hell," Meg hisses, and lets go. She doesn’t understand why the words sound so familiar until she sees the brand, the binding link that she put on that arm to keep herself in Sam’s body. She’s looking at the memory of herself. And if the echo of Meg is here, then Lucifer's must be too.

One of the shadows glances over at her: little-boy Sam, clutching a parcel in his hand. "Dad lied to me. I want you to have it." Another shadow, twenty-two with floppy hair, passes by on her other side. "I have these nightmares. And sometimes—they come true." She wheels around. Another Sam on his knees, black veins spreading over his face, screaming: "Dean! Let me out of here! Let me out! Dean!"

Once Meg crosses the last of the wall, the sky gives way to absolute blackness save for a single spark in the distance. Were Meg able to feel, she knows she would be frozen to the bone. She recognizes this place; she spent decades of Hell-time studying it from the outside. This is the Lightbringer's Cage.

Like a camera lens zooming in, the spark rushes towards her until an endless wall of flames fills her vision. Behind the fire: bars, chains upon chains, and six hundred and sixty-six locks to hold the Cage closed. Many are broken, most by her own hand.

"Lucifer," she breathes, and pushes forward heedless of the flames. Fire, her old friend—it will not hurt her here.

Being inside the Cage is like standing in the eye of a hurricane. Two enormous shapes, incomprehensible even to her own mind, circle in the void above her, bleeding malice. The first has wings made of a hundred thousand quivering hands reaching out from a body with too many eyes. The second form is an undulating mass of razorblades and barbed wire and silvery scales, each engraved with tiny ticking clockwork, each razor-sharp. There's another Sam, bleeding and broken, curled around himself on the parched bedrock below. His screams are silent; she couldn't hear them anyway above the clash as the two shapes come together. Lucifer and Michael, still fighting after all this time.

Meg trembles. Even as a memory, the power of Lucifer's true form overwhelms her.

"Lucifer!" she calls. "Morningstar!"

He turns toward her, the attention terrifying and blinding, like being caught in a floodlight. Immediately his brother swoops in for the kill. With a shriek of grating metal and crunching bone, the angels slice into each other with a viciousness Meg has rarely seen even in all her time in Hell.

Finally they see it, a hole in the world opening up wider and wider by the second, dividing the stone that stretches up endlessly into the gray sky.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says. The air is getting colder. "Come on, I know you know this song—"

"Please," Sam laughs, but he does; he's heard it so many times it could be his own lullaby, and when the chorus comes in— "Eeeeexit light!" he shouts, head thrown back. He can't hit a note either. The gate fills their vision; there is nothing else. "Eeeenter ni-ight!"

"Taaake my hand," Dean crows, looking at Sam instead of the looming oblivion before them, and he's smiling too, grinning from ear to ear. He almost looks young again. "We're off to Never-Never La—"

Castiel jerks his hand up, wreathing Meg's host body in flame, but she does not burn. "You think fire can hurt me?" she snarls, eyes gone yellow and glowing. The fire flies off of her, embers stinging his skin, and she slides back into smoke and hurtles towards him.

Castiel wraps his tattered wings tight around his vessel and then flings them open, sending Meg slamming into the wall of the barn. Chunks of wood and rot fall all around him as he squints to see where she's gone.

There—a sound to his right. She cracks a solid punch to his jaw that leaves him reeling; she must be very angry to fight like a human.

The lights flicker and go out. Dread crawls into Jesse's chest as he stumbles out of bed, limbs feeling clumsy and heavy, breath fogging in the air. A tall, hulking figure materializes out of the shadows on the wall behind Ben and raises something in its hand—a weapon.

A machete.

A frisson of terror, dark and inexorable, rushes up Jesse's spine. He lunges, desperate to stop that wicked blade before it meets Ben's neck, and feels the pain slice into his shoulder instead. That's nothing, his skin is already stitching itself back together, but the impact sends them both sprawling and it takes Jesse a few disorienting seconds to stagger back to his feet. When he finally jerks upright, he comes face-to-face with the ghost.

At first Jesse doesn't recognize him. It's hard to make out any features past the charred exterior: there's an empty space where the ghost's mouth should be, blackened and burned completely away. He sees blond hair, an upturned nose, strong shoulders. But when Jesse meets its eyes—

He knows those eyes. How they looked in the firelight; how they looked as their own light went out. Even after three years, there are some faces you never forget.

Argent forces himself up to his elbows, coughing. "Derek?" He tries not to jostle his wound too much when he rolls over. It's difficult to see through the dust the spray of bullets kicked up, but he's able to make out the black shape of Derek's shifted form lying motionless ground a few yards away.

Don't be dead, Argent thinks blankly, ice flooding his veins. Don't be dead.

Derek's not dead. He makes it to his feet before Argent does, then immediately staggers and falls over again.

Snow blankets the roof of the watchtower and slicks under Arthur's boots, and in such conditions it's nigh impossible to keep his footing. Visibility is wretched, for up here the wind blows the snow between them, buffeting them back and forth over the icy floor. His father is getting older, yes, but he's still a skilled swordsman, and Arthur, fighting left-handed, is at a distinct disadvantage. He has no shield and wears no armor, not even chainmail; the only thing standing between him and his father's blade is his very flammable cloak.

Arthur's not sure he could kill his father now even if he did want to. He's no match for him like this.

His father's crown has fallen off his head, rolled away to some distant corner. His cloak is damp with snow and singed by fire. His eyes flash gold, sometimes; when they do fire races up the edge of his blade, making him doubly dangerous. Arthur's magic has finally been brought to heel, but his father's is going mad, there one second and gone the next, the flames dying and rising again unpredictably. Presently his sword, still alight with flames, comes down in a hard overhead blow. Arthur blocks in time, but his father's strength is greater—Arthur stumbles all the way back to the battlement, his back leaning out over the open air while their blades are still locked.

"Did you not say once that I deserved to die?" his father hisses, golden-eyed. He looks like some kind of monster. "Think of the things I've done, Arthur. The innocents that have died in my fight against evil! Did you not want to put a stop to it?"

Merlin takes the stairs two at a time, gasping for breath. "Arthur?" he calls, heedless of the danger, but there is no reply. The tower is utterly silent, save for the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls. Just a little further, he's almost at the top—

Merlin stops short. A thin line of scarlet cuts through the frozen gray stairs, creeping towards him and pooling around his boots. He thinks he can hear something dripping. He follows the line with his eyes, up, up, and slowly it widens—

It's blood. The stairs are covered with it—the ladder, the trap door...

"Arthur!" Merlin shouts again, and scrambles forward, slipping through the blood, not caring that it stains his hands and clothes, only that it is still warm, it can't be too late, it can't be—

Cas has his feet propped on the table, his coat draped over the chair. He's got a beer in his hand. He looks like shit, because he always looks like shit; he's just got one of those vessels. From this angle, Dean can only see the back of him, and his face, angled to look at Sam, in profile. He's smiling.

"Nothing," Dean mumbles, and lays his cheek down on the cool surface of the table. His heart's going over-time again. He thinks about being in this kitchen a year ago and trashing the hell out of it. If this were the real Cas, Dean would beat his face in.

Dean hears the clink of Cas setting the bottle down in the sink. He feels rather than sees Cas come over to stand beside him. And then Cas kneels, so that Dean, head still down, sees his face there sideways. And he can't not look at him unless he moves.

Dean's vision swims. The pounding in his head gets worse. One of the vampires grabs Dean's hair and, yeah, no, that's more than far enough. Dean knees it in the balls.

Pain as the fangs tear out of his flesh. The vampire howls, hunched over—and then it stops dead, trembling, and begins to scream. Light and fire start pouring from all the orifices in its head, and every cell in Dean's body goes slack with relief. Dean knows it's Cas before the vampire's corpse falls to reveal him standing there.

The vamp behind Dean takes off. Dean shouts as the fangs leave his neck, but there's no way he's letting it get away that easy. He takes aim and hurls his machete after it like he's skipping a stone—it spins through the air and takes the vamp's head clean off. "Go get it," Dean pants to Cas. He doesn't have time to go back for it now. He slips his hand inside Cas's trench coat and pulls the machete out of its sheath on Cas's belt instead. "Thanks, Cas."

Mom squints at the projector as they crowd into the library. "Is that Hatchet Man? They must have made more of them while I was dead."

"Yeah, this is the last one. Came out in '89."

"Dean," Sam says, somehow putting decades of disappointment with Dean's taste in movies into a single word. "You're inflicting these on Jack?"

"Trick or treat," Hatchet Man says. "Time to slice and dice."

"We let him drink beer," Dean argues. "What's a few R-rated movies?"

In the movie, someone screams. They all watch Hatchet Man show some unsuspecting skateboarder his own insides.

The bunker's red emergency lights come on. There's a shadow standing in front of him. Dean blinks. Dad, he thinks, and his father's boots swim into focus. But—

Dean scrambles back, looking up, up, up—

Dean holds up his hands. Fine, whatever, let them have their fun. The pit itself is on the far side of the bunker, in a little dip that's mostly out of sight of the road, so it's not like anybody's gonna see. But the sun's been up for a few hours now, and the four inches of snow that fell overnight makes everything look so much brighter, and Dean's just not used to a daytime fire in a hole.

A realization strikes Dean then, and he smiles. "Hey, Sammy," he calls, and Sam looks up. "You forgot the salt."

Sam throws his head back and laughs.

LIIIKE idk if this makes any sense. but there it is. that’s what insane people do we write in a way that involves no words interrupting the mental movie. i am so bad at proper prose this is the only way i know how to do it

#personal #liz loves writing #got distracted reading my [redacted] fic and nearly regressed into accursed [redacted] fandom #not today satan

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sam-moose · 3 years

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This is a random blurb I made when I shifted to SPN for the first time, so yay!

Was this a request?: Yes!

Person who requested it: @constanza1000 hope you enjoy!

I groaned and made my way down the hallway. I just woken up from a bad hangover not to long ago and my head is KILLING me. Basically what happened was me and the boys went out to drink and we drunk a little to much. Dean went off with this Blondie while Sam and I were stuck together. I'm just praying to Chuck that he didn't do anything bad. Or I'm going to go die, again.

"Good morning R-A-C-H-E-L!" Dean yelled while I walked into the kitchen. Sam was probably getting dressed or something because he wasn't in here. "Before Moose gets in here, what the hell happened last night?" I groaned and stood beside Dean. He shrugged, "Sam was caught doing something. Um, kissing another girl. We had an argument while Castiel flew over and took you back here." He said and my eyes went wide.

So that's why me and Sam wasn't together in bed when I woke up. While I stood there and thought, everything was coming back to me, harder than before. Sam was caught kissing Ruby while I stood there shocked. Dean came over and pushed him, yelling at him while Castiel grabbed me and teleported me here. He wiped my fucking memory. What in the Lucifer's cage.

"Oh." Was all I said while I walked quietly back into my room. There was no way that I could face Sam after what he has done. To be honest, I don't want to face him, ever. A knock was heard at my door and my heart sped up, thinking it was Sam. "Rachel, are you awake?" Jack asked softly. I smiled, "Yeah! Come in if you want!" He peeped his head into the opened door and closed it back.

"How are you feeling?" He asked innocently and touched my head, probably making sure I didn't have a fever. "I'm alright, Jackie! It's just something happened last night and I don't wanna think about it." I answered and hugged him. He smiled and hugged me back gracefully, smiling like he never did before. "What happened if I can ask?" I nodded and sighed, "Sam cheated on me last night. With Ruby."

Jack's eyes went glowing yellow, ya know when he's angry. I gasped and put my hand on his shoulder. Jack was my best friend, and that's probably why you see us together 24/7. Hell, we even cuddle together when Sam doesn't want to, which I now know why. "It's alright, Jack! Please, don't get angry." I hugged him to get him to calm down and it worked. He sunk his head into my shoulder and hugged my tightly, never letting go.

"I'm sorry that he did this to you. I'm going to hurt him. What will make you feel better?" Jack asked and pulled back from the hug, looking into my eyes. I thought for a moment, "Umm, maybe you can get me some breakfast that Dean made and bring it in here? I'm a little hungry. And maybe we can go to the store and get your favorite candy." I said, wiggling my eyebrows. "Nougat?!" He exclaimed and I nodded.

Within a second, Jack ran out of my room and towards the kitchen. I giggled at his antics and laid back down onto my bed, scrolling through Tumblr. Jack walked into the kitchen and got a plate, piling eggs and pancakes onto it. "Wow, Jack. You're gonna eat all that?" Dean said and shoved an egg into his mouth. Jack rolled his eyes and shook his head, "No. It's for Rachel. Then we're going to go get some nougats!" He smiled and grabbed a fork, then pouring some syrup onto the pancakes.

Sam looked up, eyes burning red. "W-what?" He asked and Dean coughed, trying not to get Jack to hear him. "Run along. Tell Rachel to bring me some pie too!" He yelled while Jack zoomed back towards my room. "I will!" He yelled. Sam sighed and looked back down at his plate. Dean shook his head and looked at his brother. "Why the hell did you kiss the bitch?!" He asked. "She isn't a bitch, she's a demon and is pretty." Sam scoffed. Dean rolled his eyes, "Demons are a bitch. Even Crowley says it." He said and got up from his seat. "Well, me and Rachel are done anyway. It doesn't matter anymore." Sam replied. Dean again rolled his eyes and continued to eat.

"I'm back!" Jack exclaimed and handed me my plate. "Wow Jack! I love it!" I giggled and took the giant plate, sitting it on the table next to me. He handed me a fork and I grabbed it, taking a huge bite of the pancakes and eggs. "Oh my Chuck. This is freaking HEAVEN IN MY MOUTH!" I yelled and took even a larger bite. Jack chuckled and grabbed his fork, sinking it into the pancakes and eggs too. Even his eyes went wide at the taste of it.

"Hold on, let me do something real quick. Wanna record it?" I asked Jack and he nodded. "Sure. What are you going to do?" I smiled and gave him my phone, "Something graceful. I don't want to think about what happened last night so I want you to record this and post it on my Snapchat story." I smiled and walked down the hall, with Jack right on my tail.

I signalled Jack to set the phone up, then I told him what we're going to yell at Dean. "Alright, so, as soon as we press record, we're going to run into the library and yell, 'CAS AND DEAN ARE A CANNON!' and then laugh while running towards the dungeon with the phone still recording, and just laugh. Then keep recording when Dean starts beating on the metal door. Then we hang up." I whispered to Jack and he giggled.

"Wait, are Cas and Dean actually together?" He asked and I shook my head. "No, but I can tell that they are in love." I teased and Jack laughed. "Let's do it." He said and I ran over to set up the phone. We nodded to each other, ready to set up the prank. "3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . ." I lip synced and we ran into the library, jump scaring Dean. "CAS AND DEAN ARE A CANNON!!" Me and Jack screamed and ran out.

I could hear Dean curse to himself and yell at us, about to catch us. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He yelled and Jack grabbed the camera, sprinting towards the dungeon. "WE'RE SO FUCKED!" He yelled towards the camera and I laughed, running into a wall. Dean fell onto the floor, sliding across and hitting his head on a table. "BAHAHAHAHA-" We both got back up and finally made it into the room, slamming the metal door.

"OH MY CHUCK!! I CAN'T-" I wheezed and fell onto the floor, clutching my stomach as I rolled around. Jack set up the camera but soon fell over, doing the same thing. "I c-can't breathe-" I was saying before I was interrupted by Dean banging on the door. "OPEN THE MOTHER FUCKING DOOR!" He yelled and banged on the door. "Well uh, *cough cough* that's it. I'll update you guys if you want. Other than that. Me and Jack, peace out!" I said and ended the video.

"Alright. How the heck are we going to get out of here?" Jack asked and wiped his eyes. I shrugged and yelled, "DEAN, IT WAS A JOKE! DON'T KILL US!" but Dean wouldn't listen. "NO. I'M GOING TO STAND HERE UNTIL YOU OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!" He said and kept standing in front of the door. "You're going to give up here in an hour!" I yelled. I could hear Dean yell no but suddenly, Jack had an idea.

"How about I teleport us back to your room?" Jack whispered and I nodded and giggled. "Sure." I replied and we where back into my room within a blink. "Wow." I said and smiled at him. Jack took a deep breath for what he was about to ask. "Um, Rachel? Can I tell you something?" He asked me and I nodded. He took another deep breath and said, "I, uh, I like you. And I was wondering if you would go out with me? I understand if you don't, I was just-" I interrupted him by placing my lips onto his.

For a split second, he didn't kiss back, but he then did. His lips felt like feathers, they were really soft. 30 seconds later, we let go and I could see pink rise up to his pale cheeks. "Yes. I would love to go out with you, Jack." I whispered and hugged him. Soon after this moment, we began dating and Sam was jealous. I didn't care about what he thought, as long as I was happy, nothing could change that.

#spn #supernatural fanfiction #jack kline fic #jack kline #dean winchester #supernatural fanfic #excerpt from a book i'll never write #first fanfic

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