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Part Twelve
the difference is you

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~Dylan Thomas

( the difference is you )

Part Eleven
of honor and exile

Born after the fall of their father, Izzy and her brother Raiah had never been angels. They’d never known their ancestral home of heaven and every story of that place was so mired in bitterness that they naturally assumed it was a terrible place. The history they’d been taught had been entirely revisionist in nature; God was nameless, faceless, compassionless. Christ was much like the Wizard of Oz with his claims to grandeur fueled only with smoke and mirrors. Earth, they were told, was greater than both heaven and hell and the war they fought was for ownership of what was once a magical place. Humans? Well, suffice it to say, humans were a plague, a throwback to Egypt, more harmful and merciless than locusts. Humans were puppets of the other side and they overran this Eden as if they were anything particularly great. Humans were cattle and killing one was to Izzy as swatting a fly, except with more imbedded fanatical rage. With the childhood stories of the humans’ false dominance.

They were pathetic.
( of honor and exile )

Part Ten
cardinal rule of cons

John Winchester taught his boys just about everything he knew. Everything in his life had been passed down to them. He had even, as a good father would, learned new things just to teach to them. In his early years of hunting, right after Mary died and money was tight, he accumulated a series of rules key to a wanderer’s survival. The prehistoric method of hunting and gathering meant squat when one hunted demons and gathered little but infamy. The new method involved his brand of hunting, financed by his brand of gathering—a tax, so to say.
( cardinal rule of cons )

Part Nine
belief in things unseen

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was her face and that sorry-ass look. He was curled up next to his body; half his spirit melded with the flesh, the other half was on his side and in a fetal ball. The most random thought passed through him—did Adam and Eve ever curl up like this? He turned a little away from her and noticed that they weren’t in the Critical Care Unit any more. He was connected to less than half the machines he’d previously been jacked into and he was breathing all on his own.

“How long was I out?” He asked, rolling up, his legs vanishing into his legs.

“Not long,” she said quietly. Her dejection was evident.

“‘Not long’ angel time or ‘not long’ for someone who isn’t immortal?” ( belief in things unseen )

Part Eight
blood and broken feathers

Dean lowered his arm and put both hands on his waist. He looked down to the linoleum floor and cursed under his breath. Amitiel watched him curiously before asking, “What’s wrong?”

With a bitter look he smirked, “This whole thing just reminds me of a poem. Dylan Thomas’ ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’”

She sighed, “I wish I could write poetry. Like Gabriel. She writes beautiful poetry.”

He narrowed his eyes. “See, thing is Ami, I don’t read poetry. Don’t read much more than obits and limericks so you’re gonna have to help me out here.”
( blood and broken feathers )

Part Seven
into the rabbit hole

Sam followed the tunnel for miles before a cave-in stopped him in his tracks meters below the Earth’s surface. He stood there, in the dim light of his lantern, in the breathless air and he just stared at the wall of rock before him. His brother was just beyond this wall. He didn’t know how far he was, but he was, just out of reach. He was in the heart of a nine foot wide wormhole that had been made by . . . that thing. It gave him chills just to replay what happened. It was just a blur, a flash of a second but in that blur, in that second, his brother was gone.
( into the rabbit hole )

Part Six
a visitor comes calling

“Let go of my arm!” Sam snapped, tugging away from who he’d thought had been a weakened convalescing brother, only to be gripped in a death lock the moment Dean heard who was on the other side of the door.

“How the hell did she find us?!” He demanded barely under his breath.

Sam smirked, “Part bloodhound?”
( a visitor comes calling )

Part Five
those delusions of grandeur

He slept through most of the night, only waking once when he felt the pinch of a needle in his arm. He woke with a start only to be comforted by Sam watching over him, a close eye on the nurse administering the intravenous. He knew it would have to happen eventually and he also knew Sam would wait until he was asleep.
( those delusions of grandeur )

Part Four
what would freud say

He wasn’t afraid of dying. He was afraid of being gone. Being unable to watch out for Sam or protecting him from everything that was crashing all around him. The idea of death didn’t scare him. He knew there was a hell; there must be someplace out there that wasn’t. Even though his own faith wasn’t particularly strong, it wasn’t because he didn’t believe in better things, it was because, mainly, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t reconcile a world that had an all-loving God who could just watch a mother being pinned to her ceiling like a butterfly as she was set on fire with her blood raining down on her children. It wasn’t non-belief in Dean Winchester, it was resentment of indifference and he damn well imagined God and all his hordes of angels as one big apathetic bunch.
( what would freud say )

Part Three
in the koi pond

They got out of there before the cops showed up. With the roads in the condition they were in, they didn’t have to make a dramatic and hasty exit. Conversely, their flight wasn’t all that speedy either. As well as the Impala did on wet road, on ice, Sam didn’t take many chances. Dean was curled on the passenger’s seat, a dull headache throbbing behind his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Just peachy.”

Sam smirked, “Good, I was starting to worry.”
( in the koi pond )

Part Two
mint tea and eucalyptus

Dean sat on his bed and popped another Ricola into his mouth. It wasn’t . . . disgusting. Not much of a compliment but he could deal. The heater was on the blink and all the night manager could offer them were more scratchy blankets. He gave them a discount on the room and when Sam told him the next morning, Dean considered it all-good.

“We should head over to the Super 8 while we can, you’re sick,” Sam pointed out.

Dean coughed, his throat itchy and dry. “Yeah, but poor feels worse.” He kept his voice low, any higher and it just wouldn’t register.

Sam shook his head and tossed another blanket over his brother’s shoulders. He smirked, “Doesn’t look that way.”

“Shut up Sam.”
( mint tea and eucalyptus )

Part One
the patterns in raindrops

He knew Sam was the one with the psychic ability. It was just there, a fact he didn’t challenge. It was something he trusted like the color of the sky and the taste of cold beer. Just things that were. So, when he had the inkling that something was going to change his life that night, he didn’t take it with the confidence he gave Sam’s visions. Besides, it was like every other feeling he’d gotten before the climax of a hunt: the jittery nerves, the rush of adrenaline, the stomach pain and the strange feeling of being half starved. The headaches and the shakiness he had successfully weaned off over the years, the rest was just as potent as they had been during his first hunt. Each time he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t survive; come home to see the new sun. Twice already in his life had his death been assured and twice had he cheated it. This feeling was present those times as well. This night, it was stronger than both.
( the patterns in raindrops . . . )

click for part | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

Dean sat in that in-between place. That place between death, life and the afterlife. The place where everything met and converged and diverged and was no more and no less all at once. The sun was setting over him in a bright white and yellow revelation and the clearing expanded before him clear and beautiful and clean and good. He sat on the most verdant green grass he’d ever seen and smelled the freshest air he never thought still existed. Air that was untouched by the advancements of man. Across from him was the little boy. He was looking Dean over. There was something different about him, different about his eyes, his gaze, and the hold of his attention. Dean knew he was supposed to be wary but the differences added up to so much that it was as if looking to a completely different child. It was a mask worn by a new player.

“Where am I?” He asked the child.
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine . . .

click for part | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

By the end of the fifth hour the black night began to grey. The sun would be up soon and they would be a quarter through the ritual. The Shine now hovered stationary, four feet above Dean, their eyes parallel. It had faded from its deep black to a dull cinder color. The group of three could see the creature twitching over its invisible shackles. It was an extremely powerful demon and the first quarter had only done so much of the binding. This worried Mel. John and Sam could see it in her eyes.

At five, there seemed to be a ripple effect of iridescent light. Mel held up her hands. It was time to rest.

Silence swallowed the whole of the small clearing. They were all still for a moment. The Shine had stopped twitching and seemed to be in a state of stasis now. Sam looked to Melody and she nodded to him and John. The father and son rushed into the circle as Mel ran to the car for supplies.

“Dean?” Sam said quietly, going to his brother, his voice raw and dry from the five hour chant. It was also stretched taut with emotion. John ducked under the sleeping beast and went to his son. Dean’s wound had stopped bleeding and the brittle grass was painted in a darkening red. His skin had lost all its color and was now a pallid ash. His lips were cracked and a frozen blue. Sam and John looked to each other. They knew, at this stage, a human body would be long dead.
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine . . .

click for part | one | two | three | four | five | six

Francine’s smile was back in full, wide, toothy force. After three days of tests and trials and errors she’d located the cause of Dean’s steadily growing fever and breathing difficulty. She stood with John and Sam just outside his room.

“It’s definitely a lower respiratory tract infection. It’s a non-infectious strain that the CDC’s been tracking out of Asia. That’s why it took so long to pinpoint; non-infectious strains aren’t red flagged so you have to wade through all the higher risk strains before you hit this territory. Whatever attacked Dean must have come into very close blood-to-surface contact with an infected person.” John thought that was a morbidly cute way to say ‘must have ripped an infected person to shreds.’ ( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine . . .

click for part | one | two | three | four | five

Melody Sweetgrass woke with the dawn. Her body was used to coming up alongside the sun that even though she, John and Sam had taken turns blessing the room that night, she woke feeling fully rested. She took a deep breath and stretched out in her couch. Sam had insisted she have it. He and John had made themselves as comfortable as they could be in their small, hard chairs. She looked just across from her to see John in the corner of the small room doing his morning pushups. She could hear, ‘99’ leave his mouth then one more and he was done. He jumped up quietly and stretched out his chest and arms. She smiled when he caught her gaze.

“I can still only do thirty without dying.” She confessed, her voice low.

He grinned, “I remember.”
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine . . .

Click Here For Part 1
Click Here For Part 2
Click Here For Part 3
Click Here For Part 4

Avera’s Diner was located just south of Renid Medical Center on Central Avenue. It was a small and clean place with a 1950’s soda shop theme going. John thought it was a pretty nice set up until he saw the established date. 1956. The décor was authentic and made him appreciate it all the more. He and Mel sat in the back booth, both with their backs to the wall so the entire restaurant was in sight. It was a habit both had acquired from different places. Neither wanted to be snuck up on. Here they had a clear view of the diner.

They waited for their order while the elderly waitress poured them both a cup a coffee. Mel added a long stream of sugar to her cup while John took his straight and black.

“So, first light?” He asked her, still not completely taken with her plan but knowing the other option was to have his son live in fear the rest of his life.
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine . . .

Click Here For Part 1
Click Here For Part 2
Click Here For Part 3

Sam heard Dean’s voice and something inside of him relaxed and calmed. He felt an ease in his neck and shoulders when he didn’t realize he’d been tense. He inched up closer to his brother’s bed and reached out, holding his forearm.

“Hey.” He said quietly.

Dean looked his brother over, checking for wounds and injuries even though his vision was still dim and slightly blurred. “You okay?” He asked. His throat was dry and his voice was scratchy.

Sam smiled at his brother’s concern, “I’m not the one in the hospital bed.”

Dean frowned, arching his brow, “Point taken.”
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine

Click Here For Part 1
Click Here For Part 2

9 Years Ago ~ 12:19 am

John spun the Impala down Route 77 in Portland, Maine. This late April night was pouring rain making the speed he was driving a little more reckless than he was used to. Maybe a lot more. Definitely. He glanced behind him and swerved into the next lane to the right, his eyes fixed on the glowing shield and cross of Mercy Hospital. The red and white sign acted as a beacon burning bright, guiding him.

“Dad?” He heard his seventeen year old son gasp from the passenger’s seat. John glanced over to Dean. His hazel eyes seemed to be losing color fast. Almost as fast as his skin. The front seat of the car was nearly completely covered in his son’s blood. His hands were wrapped around the piece of tablecloth John had torn off to stop the bleeding. He was losing his grip on it. His fingers were becoming slack. “Dad?” Dean whispered again, his focus shifting and his eyes wandering. John snapped his hand to his son’s side and pressed the fabric there.
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine

Click Here For Part 1

John Winchester felt his phone vibrate at his side. He flipped it open and saw Sam’s name. Again. John pushed the phone back in his pocket and returned to his maps. He’d check the messages later once he figured out where Donella, Ottawa was. John wasn’t a major fan of Canada. It’s not that he had anything against the people. No. People were people wherever they were from. His issue was with Canada itself. The history of the place. It wasn’t like America with its smorgasbord of fear and rich history of death. See, Canada was ‘cleaner’ so to say. You’d think that would be something that would relax a man like John Winchester but no, damn it to hell it didn’t. See, that meant that when some shit hit the proverbial shitty fan it was from a fucking obscure source. His trips up north were euphemized as ‘educational expeditions’ but he’d prefer a good old gothic cathedral over entering Door #1 blind as a bat.
( Shine 9 . . . )

Current Mood: the shine

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Sweetness & Mercy

Recent Entries

SPN: The First Born: Part Twelve

SPN: The First Born: Part Eleven

SPN: The First Born: Part Ten

SPN: The First Born: Part Nine

SPN: The First Born: Part Eight

SPN: The First Born: Part Seven

SPN: The First Born: Part Six

SPN: The First Born: Part Five

SPN: The First Born: Part Four

SPN: The First Born: Part Three

SPN: The First Born: Part Two

SPN: The First Born: Part One

Shine 9 (Part 9 ~ CONCLUSION)

Shine 9 (Part 8)

Shine 9 (Part 7)

Shine 9 (Part 6)

Shine 9 (Part 5)

Shine 9 (Part 4)

Shine 9 (Part 3)

Shine 9 (Part 2)