The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors (halfshellvenus) wrote,
The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors
halfshellvenus

Supernatural Gen "Drowning" Drabbles: Deluge

Title: Deluge
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Dean, Sam, John in turns (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 5x100 Gen drabbles for the supernatural100 challenge on “Drowning.”

x-x-x-x-x

Tuned Out
Sam’s resentment alone should be enough to envelop the car, but he’s been edged aside by Dean’s music for the last two days.

It has more guitars than singers sometimes, and there’s a certain pounding sameness to it all. Sam glowers, too many trips through “You owe me” wearing him down with their silent accusations. So he left for Stanford—it isn’t news. And now he’s back, though that could change if Dean keeps testing his sanity like this.

He slides down, too muddled for reason or revenge, as his thoughts struggle for air in the swelling tide of Metallica.


A River of Lost Hope (John)
Three klicks into the jungle, Mackleby hit a trip-wire that ended his tour for good. John was on point, struggling to route his unit backwards as quickly as possible without running into any more booby traps.

It was too late then. The noise had brought in a group of VietCong, flanking them on three sides and closing in on the fourth. John’s troop edged in reverse, determined and cautious, before a rain of bullets filled the air around them. They streamed and pinged, driving the men downward until there was no place to breathe that wasn’t already crowded with death….


Picket Fences
They’d lived in a place like this once, a bedroom town outside Detroit when Dean was eleven.

Dean still remembers it— too-tidy lawns when their own sported weeds, uncomfortable questions like, “Who are your parents, dear?” and “How come you’re never home?” and “Now Dean, where did these bruises come from?”

He couldn’t wait to get out from under the scrutiny of an entire community based around something he’d never be.

Now they’re investigating a knagkrulth attack at a nearby playground. Walking through picture-perfect streets, the apple-pie expectations of suburbia crowd in until he feels like he just can’t breathe.


Running On Empty
If Sam were here, they’d fight over the front seat.

Instead, it’s all his—when he’s not actually driving. There’s no bickering or jostling, no laughing over stupid things. It’s so terribly quiet all the time.

If Sam were here he’d tease Dean, and once in awhile he might look at him the way he used to, when Dean was the answer to his questions, his problems, and all the longed-for things Sam still wanted but couldn’t have.

Dean’s chest is tight with the memories of what is missing.

How can a man drown from an excess of empty space?


Dissolution (“Devil’s Trap”)
The wall is a phantom behind him, unstable and unsure as Dean sways with the agony of his battered, fractured soul.

The demon bends and breaks his spirit, ruptures his very foundation from within. “They don’t need you,” it says, and Dean’s heart aches from the words and the pressure in his chest.

It veers closer, pushing up against him, eyes flickering from demon to father to demon again as it seeks to destroy him both for sport and for revenge.

Dean’s insides gurgle and his lungs begin failing, as they fill with the unnatural presence of his own blood.


-------- fin --------

Tags: drabbles, my_fic, sn_gen
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