The White Storm
“He’s coming,” Sam exhaled, barely breathing, fear closing off his body and mind. The end of the world was here and it was all his fault. Dean was right; the voicemail playing over and over in his mind. He was a monster, hoisted up by his own ego and need to prove his tainted soul worthy. “I’m so sorry,” he said, repeating himself in a half-strangled voice. The words just didn’t seem enough.
Gripping the bloodied knife in his hand, Dean couldn’t take a moment to steel his courage. Everything was moving so fast and spinning out of control. This, right here, was Ground Zero for Armageddon and if he’d just been less of a dick and reached out to Sam instead of pushing him away, things could have been different. He’d started this mess and in confronting Sam the way he’d done he’d precipitated it. This was all his fault.
“Sam, get behind me!” He barked, positioning himself before the great and swirling vortex that seemed to get bigger every second. Staring into the brilliant white center of the maelstrom, Dean knew this was it. This was the end.
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May. 16th, 2009