vampireifurita (vampireifurita) wrote,
vampireifurita
vampireifurita

  • Music:

Hope Leaves

Fic title: Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?

Author name: vampireifurita

Artist name: mulanreflection

Genre: Gen, Wincest

Pairing: Dean/Sam, some background Castiel/Sam, Castiel/Crowley

Rating: R

Word count: 26,732

Warnings: horror, disturbing imagery, violence

Summary: After Sam sacrificed himself to save the world; Dean had gone to Lisa just as he’d been asked. Things had been just fine until he started hearing music that no one else could hear and things just go downhill from there. With no one to turn to, bear witness to man lost at sea, in the throes of grief and unexplainable music that haunts him much like the memories of his brother.

----------

Time doesn’t really matter anymore. It passes and that’s all that he knows. He doesn’t know how much has passed since last he saw him, or how long he’s been on the road, or even when he checked into this empty room. All that matters to him in this moment is the blessed silence.

Under normal circumstances he would be trying to fill the silence with music or television or even the company of someone, but he’s had so little silence that he treasures what he gets.

Sitting on worn, yellowed sheets in this rundown, no name place, he lets his mind wander. His thoughts slow and nearly stop altogether, leaving him peaceful and calm for the first time in so long that he can’t even remember the last time he felt like this. His eyes wander the water stained walls, the worn down carpet and the threadbare sheets. The tacky theme is of no consequence, he rarely notices these things anymore.

He is walking down an empty highway. Eight lanes empty of traffic. There are no cars on this interstate to nowhere. His feet drag across dented pavement, poorly fixed holes filled with burning asphalt. He steps around the cracks and the fissures, avoiding the minute obstacles in his path. There is nothing remarkable about the scenery. No buildings, no trees. All he can see are the signs to turn offs and ramps leading to nowhere.

On the horizon lies a crumbling city: skyscrapers that once stretched towards the sky in brilliant colors from the sun reflecting off their glass, now dull and decaying. As he gazes at this monolith of the world, sheets of glass and beams of steal break away from one of the towering buildings and tumble towards the earth. Without even having seen this vestige of human ego up close, he knows that the debris has crashed into the mountains of garbage and bloated bodies filling the streets.

The pain in his chest grows stronger the longer he walks. The exits off this highway seem more appealing, there is color to his right: bright greens, fluorescent purples, and neon oranges. The dull gray of the highway is unappealing and he wishes that he could take the turnoff to that brighter world, but he knows deep inside that the moment he gets on that off ramp that the world over there will darken.

Up ahead he sees a sign that causes his heart to stutter. He pulls his sticky shirt away from his body to let in some air to his overheated skin and gazes at the sign, crossing to the far right lane of traffic.  Enbisaland the sign reads. His feet carry him to the exit and he takes a step onto the pristine pavement of the turnoff. The road starts to crumble beneath his feet with every step he takes. His heart is thundering in his ribcage, eyes watering as he watches the scenery die. With every step this world starts to fade. The flowers start to wither and die, the water goes from a sapphire blue to a muddy brown, and the little town starts to smoke as fire starts to catch at the roofs. 

Eyes watering and lungs gasping for air he turns and runs back towards the highway. Once his feet hit the tarmac the world of Enbisaland starts to heal. He presses his hand to his aching heart to stem the aching hurt as he turns his back on Enbisaland and returns to the interstate.

The sun sets as the moon rises and it is dark before he takes his hand away from his chest, his fingers stained with moisture.

The city has no lights, and the interstate does not have lamps. Each exit is brightly lit though, as he passes them by. He never sees another soul on the road.

When he reaches the city he takes a winding exit under other exits, weaving through the chaos of this unprecedented crossroads. His turn takes him to the very bottom of the city, the seedy ground covered with the refuse of life.

He passes by crumbling apartment buildings and leaning factory buildings, his feet taking him wherever. He steps over bloated corpses, eyes bulging out of sockets and bellies burst open, putrid guts spilling on the ground. There are no living people here. The city is dead.

In the center of this behemoth mortuary is a small run down motel; out of place in its unassuming appearance, among the opulence of the skyscrapers. He approaches it with trepidation, knowing that nothing good resided therein.

Pushing open the door to a random room, he peered inside. It was just another run down room in another nameless place. Something caught his eye though, perched on the bedside table was a tarnished picture frame. His heart thundered in his chest and he clasped his hand over it, feeling it beat. Shakily he walked towards the frame, the picture within facing the wall. His hands trembled, his knees threatened to give out with every step, and his eyes started to take on tunnel vision. Reaching out with numb fingers he picked up the frame and turned it around.

Hazel eyes bored into his soul and nerveless fingers dropped the stained frame as his knees gave out.

~There is a wound that’s always bleeding,

 There is a road I’m always walking

 And I know you’ll never return to this place.~

His chest was on fire, and his shirt was starting to be soaked with perspiration. Looking down his eyes widened as they fell upon the gaping hole in his chest. His heart had been torn from his chest and he hadn’t even noticed.

As if it had been waiting for this moment of realization, the wound started gushing blood, soaking his jean clad thighs and spilling onto the worn carpet. Lightheaded and struggling to breathe, he forced himself to his feet and ran from the room, hand clutched over his chest to stem the flow of blood.

The city around him was burning. Acrid smoke filled his lungs and the stench of burning flesh stung his sinuses. Once I’m done, there’s only smoke, burning in my eyes to blind. To cover up what really happened, force the darkness unto me. Steel garters and panes of glass crashed down around him as he struggled through the cluttered streets. Fire licked at his skin, glass shards dug into his muscles and smoke burned his lungs.

He had to get out. He had to escape this land of sorrow and death, had to find his heart and stitch up the hole in his self. He needed to stem the tide of blood flowing from his veins. The road opened before him, the soaring crossroads of this reality, causing him to pause in his dash for freedom.

“You have a choice.” Whirling to face the only other living creature he had encountered in this barren wasteland, his eyes grew wide at the sight of the Crossroads King. “We could make a deal.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but with a wave of his hand, Crowley rendered him mute. “Or not, I’m only offering this once Winchester, and it’s a good deal, if I were you I’d take it.”

Eyes narrowing at the smarmy bastard and keeping a wary eye on the crumbling crossroads, he nodded for Crowley to continue. “You can go on as you are, half a person, wallowing in sadness and unbearable grief, or I could take it away from you. I could make the pain disappear.”

Frowning, he narrowed his eyes as chunks of concrete started to fall from the towering turnpike. “I could take the pain away, and you would get ten blissful years. All I want is your soul.”

Rolling his eyes, he gestured to his throat, indicating he had a question. The King of the Crossroads waved his hand in a gesture indicating he should just get on with it. “What exactly would you do?”

“I’d stitch up that hole in your soul, for one.”

“How?”

The King of the Crossroads paused, eyes narrowed in on the destitute figure in front of him. “By taking him away of course.”

If he had had a heart it would have stopped. “Take him away?”

“It will be like he had never existed, or if you prefer that he is out there somewhere living the life you know he had always wanted: wife, kids, lawyer job…”

“No.”

Brow furrowing, the King of the Crossroads tilted his head. “Are you sure? You won’t last long as you are. I’m offering you the Taj Mahal of all deals here, are you sure you want to pass this by? I won’t offer this to you again.”

“No.”

Face darkening with displeasure the King of the Crossroads turned away from him. “Suit yourself.”

The crossroads came down around him the moment that the demon disappeared, having only been held up by his presence.

He screamed, only to realize he was still sitting on the end of his threadbare bed in his innocuous room.

Chapter 13
Tags: big bang '11, do you want the truth or something beaut, fanfiction, supernatural
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