FIC: Weapon of Choice: Chapter 14 A
Oct. 13th, 2006 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xantissaThis chapter completely run away from me. But I kind of like it any way. I'm posting half because I'm stuck and not sure when I will write the second part.
Title: Weapon of Choice
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: xantissa
Summary: A case turning out to be a set up. Sam taken away from him. An enemy he can’t identify. Father that struggles to understand. Dean, alone, fighting to save his brother from power no one can really understand.
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: 18+
Warnings: incest, slash, demon possession, violence.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all it’s characters belong to WB. I do it just for fun, no profit being made from my writing.
Spoilers: Mild for Asylum, Nightmare tiny ones for probably most of the first season.
Thanks for beta to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lifesscar
Chapter 14 A
“Mr. Connor?” A tiny, redhead slip of a woman asked, approaching John. His head snapped at hearing his false name. He recognized her as the doctor that took Dean for the tests.
“Yes?” He stood up, impatient to hear the news about Dean.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Kim Sandowal. I’m the doctor overseeing your son’s treatment.”
“Yes, yes I remember. Can we skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase? Please?”
The doctor opened her mouth, closed it and then tried again.
“Of course. Your son doesn’t have any broken ribs, that’s good. But most of them are heavily bruised. And I mean heavily. Actually, the fact that your son has very well developed muscle tone might have saved him. The denser quality of muscle tissue absorbed much of the impact force. Dean has a badly sprained right wrist and possible concussion. The nature of the... accident is still unclear. You said he was found in his motel room but the nature of the injuries is consistent, rather with a fall.”
Or being slammed into a wall thought John but kept his mouth shut.
The doctor shifted, becoming a little uncomfortable.
“Because he was found naked, we performed some routine tests to make sure your son didn’t have any hidden injuries and to exclude...” She hesitated a little at the next word “Rape. There are signs that your son was sexually active recently but there’s nothing that would suggest it wasn’t consensual. No bruising, nor tearing.”
“I understand. When can I take him home?”
“We need to keep him here at least twenty four hours. We need to make sure there aren’t any hidden injuries and there is always the concussion we have to worry about.”
John could feel Sarah standing beside him, quiet and calm. He was thankful for her silent support. It helped. Not being alone.
“Thank you. Can I see him now?”
The doctor obviously swallowed some choice words and nodded.
“Yes. Just ask the nurse to show you the room.”
* * *
Dean was asleep. He looked pale and somehow vulnerable lying so motionlessly among the crisply white sheets. White was never his color.
His ribs were taped and his right hand bandaged tightly. The blood was cleared from his face. He didn’t look that bad besides the paleness and stillness.
“He hates being sedated.” John said more to himself than to Sarah. “It always makes him feel fuzzy and tired afterwards.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type to just lay here and rest.” Sarah remarked watching John sit down beside Dean.
John smiled. Slow and sweet.
“Yeah. When he was little he was always running here and there. Never still. Putting him to bed was pure horror.” John’s voice faded away as he stared at his eldest son.
“What did you do, Dean?”
Sarah watched him and wondered how John couldn’t sense that his other son was there too? She still found it difficult to remember that not everyone had senses like her.
She went to the window and looked down on the busy street. She didn’t really see him. He was just a shadowed figure in the darkest corner of the street, just beyond the reach of any kind of light.
“You should go home, John.” She said gently, her eyes still focused on the figure three stories below.
“I’m going to stay with him. You should go though…”
“John.” She said with more insistence now. Her voice changed enough for him to look at her, confusion and a little bit of temper peeking through the concern. “Go. Home.”
She turned away from him and looked down into the shadows.
“What do you…” John stopped and really looked at her. At her hand flat against the cool glass, at her eyes focused on a spot he couldn’t see. “He’s here.”
“Yes.” Was the simple answer from her.
“I shoul…” John started but this time she cut in forcefully.
“You should go.”
John paused, not really used to somebody giving him orders.
“Look Sarah, I appreciate you trying to help but he is my son and it’s me that should take care of the problem...”
She looked at him, her eyes fierce and eerily light, like an amber fire.
“Right now Sam is not your son. If anything he belongs more to me than to you right now. Besides what will you do when he comes? You try to fight him, he’ll kill you.” She turned away from the window and looked him straight in the eye “Or maybe you are going to reason with him?” She snorted. “Forgive me but you don’t strike me as the erudite type.”
“Sarah.” He warned her, his voice low and threatening.
But she wasn’t one to be easily scared. She felt jittery and buzzed, the powerful energy of her Weapon already so close to her was awakening something harsh and aggressive inside her. Something primal. Something that was created with only one purpose. To kill. To fight. To destroy.
“You can’t do anything right now. You did your best, bringing me here. Now stop being a liability and go.”
John gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping wildly.
“Fine.” He grounded between clenched teeth and turned on his heel. He didn’t slam the door probably because they were in a hospital.
She watched the angry line of his back as he left, saw the pride, the anger in him and cursed her own temper. She wasn’t perfect, damn it. She had her moods too. So she snapped annoyed that he wouldn’t see the logic in her proposal.
There was a sense of fear she was loathe to address. The fear that he wouldn’t call, wouldn’t come to her any more. She already promised to help. He didn’t need to be around any more. She wondered if it would mean that he would give up. Just like that. One spat and he was off. She hoped not. It would mean he was a lesser man than she thought.
Sarah looked out the window, at the sea of moving cars. It was time for her to go. Sam was still out there. Somewhere. He was watching. Waiting. Probably wanting to see his brother. And she was stopping him.
With a last glance at the sleeping man she turned to leave, idly wondering about the trace of strange energy, an echo, she still could see on his right wrist under the bandages. Something once was there, even gone it still left a faint imprint.
Just as she was reaching for the door knob, she heard a faint moan coming from the sleeping man. Intrigued, she looked back over her shoulder at Dean.
He was still lying in the strange half on his side, half on stomach position he rolled into, trying to probably ease the strain on his heavily bruised back. He seemed sleeping, but as she looked she could see his eyelids fluttering. The dim, bad hospital lighting didn’t do him justice making him look pale and greenish, his bruises even more prominent. He seemed so out of place here, in the hospital. She could sense his strong, vivacious life force, the zest for life that one could see in the lines of his body. He was a very, very good looking man. Beautifully built. He pushed all her buttons, not much different than his father. The wonder of DNA she thought as she approached him, wondering if he would awake or slip back into sleep.
As she watched his lids fluttered once more and opened. His eyes were pale now, looking almost blue, reflecting the pale blue hospital gown, but they were hazel. A warm, luminescent hazel that had a tendency to reflect the color of his clothes.
His face, although handsome and definitely eye catching, didn’t look familiar. But his eyes... there was just something about them...
He moved his lips, still too much under the spell of sleep and drugs in his system to surface completely. She guessed his question anyway.
“I’m Sarah. Your father’s friend.” There was a flash of recognition in his still hazy eyes. “You are in the hospital. You are bruised, your right wrist is sprained badly but there aren’t any serious injuries.” She could see he had problems with keeping awake. She looked into his eyes and felt her hands start to shake. It was ridiculous. Her hands never shook.
There was just something about his eyes...
“Did you break the chain?” She could see him drifting away again and pressed harder. “Did you break the spell, Dean?”
He blinked at her, obviously already halfway to sleep, not really understanding the question. However, he did nod slightly, the angle of his face changed, the sparse light in the room somehow finding his eyes and catching, spilling shards of green and blue and brown. Her vision swam and she felt the bile rising to her throat. She was sick, her skin clammy.
Sarah was running out of the room, away from the single hospital bed and the man on it before she even realized what was going on. All she could feel was the sickness in her stomach, the way her guts twisted and all she could see was that single moment the light caught and spilled all those colors all over her vision. Somehow she stumbled into the bathroom not really caring if it was man’s or a woman’s one. She stumbled into the stall, her cheeks already wet with tears she didn’t even realize she was spilling and sank to her knees hugging the porcelain bowl and dry heaving. She felt like she was going to vomit, spill all her insides out but nothing came besides the half choked hiccups and dry heaving. All she could think of was the same sentence over and over again, becoming a mantra, a wall to hide behind. A lie that wants, needs desperately to become truth.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember.” She sank further to the floor, curling into a fetal ball on the floor, not caring if it was dirty, not seeing or hearing anything beyond the mantra in her mind, on her lips. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. Oh God, oh Jesus, please, don’t let me remember.”
Blue and green, sunlight catching the flecks of color in his eyes.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”
A hand in her hair, tightening gently, pulling he head slowly to the side.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”
Blue and green, touch warm and so achingly familiar on her skin.
“I don’t remember.” She sobbed pitifully
Light blinding her, only the broad shouldered silhouette in front of her. I’ll be back. Promise.
She curled even more tightly into herself, refusing to remember, refusing to be pulled into that pain again, running away from the hurt. She fisted her hands in her hair and pulled until the tears on her face were ones of pain, until all she could see were red and black spots in front of her eyes and she screamed. A mindless, horrible sound that cleared any other thought.
Just this pain.
It’s okay.
This anguish.
Don’t worry. It’s nothing.
Just the scream.
I’ll be back. Blue. Green. Brown all over her. Warmth slowly slipping away.
* * *
A nurse in street clothes, ready to go home felt a little queasy and decided to step into the bathroom before she left the hospital and headed home. She touched the knob and her knees buckled. She felt something cold and tight close over her heart, a dull pain
that made her dizzy and weak. She slid gently to the floor, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling as she lay on the cold tile, unaware that her life was slowly seeping out of her.
* * *
A heart monitor attached to an older woman on a hospital bed started beeping it’s alarm as her heart rate skyrocketed and then started falling dangerously. Her eyes were open and staring, she felt weak and strangely dizzy.
Her daughter roused, surprised by the alarm, the heart monitor only a procedure.
“Mom?”
She touched her mother’s hand and the skin was cold and clammy.
“Nurse!” She called but no one answered, so she got up from the chair to go and look for help when she felt a strange, dull pain in her heart. Her knees sagged and she hit the floor hard and fell face down. Her eyes were open and staring at the gray tile as her life slowly seeped away.
* * *
At the nurse station, the older nurse stared baffled at the board that showed which heart monitors in which rooms send alarm signals. One after another, the whole damn board was lit up.
“Anna!” She yelled into the general direction of the back room. “Come here!”
“I’m off!” Came the tired and irritated reply.
“Now! Something’s seriously wrong!”
Not waiting for Anna, she left the room and headed for the corridor. As soon as she rounded the corner she stopped, stunned. On the floor, lying on her back and staring numbly upwards was doctor Sandowal, her red hair fanned in a dull red pool over the gray tiles. Some feet over was Jeremy, the orderly slumped over his cart, obviously unconscious. Farther back she could see a few more people slumped along the walls or on the floor. All motionless, all pale, their eyes open and staring numbly ahead.
“Holy Mother of God!” She whispered and wanted to kneel next to the doctor, trying to make sure she was still alive but as she bent down she felt sudden dizziness enveloping her and then a cold, dull pain in her chest.
She slid to the floor next to the redhead doctor. Silently. Gently. She was weak, so weak she could only stare numbly ahead and she knew, she knew she was dying. The only sound around her the faint whine of heart monitors on the ward, all singing the same song.
* * *
Her eyes tightly closed, Sarah whined softly in the back of her throat. The memories like a dark, insistent pressure on her mind. Pushing. Clawing at her to let them in. Fighting and screaming, the memories already leaking pain and terror into her psyche.
Something changed though. Someone was there. Near.
She opened her eyes, blurry and stingy from the tears she shed and looked up at the dark figure standing above her. The light was behind them, only the broad silhouette visible to her. It was a man. A tall man dressed in a black coat. But she didn’t need to see his face to know who or what he was. She could sense him; the wave after wave of incredible strength, of power was washing over her, speaking to something deep and dark inside her.
“Mother.” He said in a low voice. It was dark and thick like molasses, it also held a ring of wonder in it, a feeling she heard before.
He was hers.
When he lowered himself onto one knee in one graceful, effortless move she knew what she would see. Black eyes, no irises nor whites, and two, thick black lines leaking down from his eyes in a dark parody of tears. His hair was shaggy, obscuring part of his face but to her he was beautiful. She looked into those black, dead eyes and saw everything. Saw her creation.
She made no move to stop him as he reached for her neck, his big hands encased in leather closed over her neck, the strong fingers searching out a certain spot with painful gentleness. She watched his face even when he pressed on her nerves, watched him calmly as darkness enveloped her, as her mind shut gently down.
* * *
He carried her through the hospital corridor in silence. His black coat moving gently in time with his slow, measured steps. He walked slowly, softly past people sitting on the floor or leaning on the wall, catching their breaths, confused and afraid. He carried her, cradling her head to his shoulder, careful not to jar her. No one noticed him. No one stopped to ask what he was doing. No one looked into his face.
No one he passed knew how close to death they were today, no one in the hospital, no one in the city.
Her body was quiet and still in his arms.
The darkness outside swallowed them quickly, easily, readily. Shadows fell on them like old lovers, like the favorite blanket enveloping them with love and passion.
* * *
TBC
Title: Weapon of Choice
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: xantissa
Summary: A case turning out to be a set up. Sam taken away from him. An enemy he can’t identify. Father that struggles to understand. Dean, alone, fighting to save his brother from power no one can really understand.
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: 18+
Warnings: incest, slash, demon possession, violence.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all it’s characters belong to WB. I do it just for fun, no profit being made from my writing.
Spoilers: Mild for Asylum, Nightmare tiny ones for probably most of the first season.
Thanks for beta to
lifesscarChapter 14 A
“Mr. Connor?” A tiny, redhead slip of a woman asked, approaching John. His head snapped at hearing his false name. He recognized her as the doctor that took Dean for the tests.
“Yes?” He stood up, impatient to hear the news about Dean.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Kim Sandowal. I’m the doctor overseeing your son’s treatment.”
“Yes, yes I remember. Can we skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase? Please?”
The doctor opened her mouth, closed it and then tried again.
“Of course. Your son doesn’t have any broken ribs, that’s good. But most of them are heavily bruised. And I mean heavily. Actually, the fact that your son has very well developed muscle tone might have saved him. The denser quality of muscle tissue absorbed much of the impact force. Dean has a badly sprained right wrist and possible concussion. The nature of the... accident is still unclear. You said he was found in his motel room but the nature of the injuries is consistent, rather with a fall.”
Or being slammed into a wall thought John but kept his mouth shut.
The doctor shifted, becoming a little uncomfortable.
“Because he was found naked, we performed some routine tests to make sure your son didn’t have any hidden injuries and to exclude...” She hesitated a little at the next word “Rape. There are signs that your son was sexually active recently but there’s nothing that would suggest it wasn’t consensual. No bruising, nor tearing.”
“I understand. When can I take him home?”
“We need to keep him here at least twenty four hours. We need to make sure there aren’t any hidden injuries and there is always the concussion we have to worry about.”
John could feel Sarah standing beside him, quiet and calm. He was thankful for her silent support. It helped. Not being alone.
“Thank you. Can I see him now?”
The doctor obviously swallowed some choice words and nodded.
“Yes. Just ask the nurse to show you the room.”
* * *
Dean was asleep. He looked pale and somehow vulnerable lying so motionlessly among the crisply white sheets. White was never his color.
His ribs were taped and his right hand bandaged tightly. The blood was cleared from his face. He didn’t look that bad besides the paleness and stillness.
“He hates being sedated.” John said more to himself than to Sarah. “It always makes him feel fuzzy and tired afterwards.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type to just lay here and rest.” Sarah remarked watching John sit down beside Dean.
John smiled. Slow and sweet.
“Yeah. When he was little he was always running here and there. Never still. Putting him to bed was pure horror.” John’s voice faded away as he stared at his eldest son.
“What did you do, Dean?”
Sarah watched him and wondered how John couldn’t sense that his other son was there too? She still found it difficult to remember that not everyone had senses like her.
She went to the window and looked down on the busy street. She didn’t really see him. He was just a shadowed figure in the darkest corner of the street, just beyond the reach of any kind of light.
“You should go home, John.” She said gently, her eyes still focused on the figure three stories below.
“I’m going to stay with him. You should go though…”
“John.” She said with more insistence now. Her voice changed enough for him to look at her, confusion and a little bit of temper peeking through the concern. “Go. Home.”
She turned away from him and looked down into the shadows.
“What do you…” John stopped and really looked at her. At her hand flat against the cool glass, at her eyes focused on a spot he couldn’t see. “He’s here.”
“Yes.” Was the simple answer from her.
“I shoul…” John started but this time she cut in forcefully.
“You should go.”
John paused, not really used to somebody giving him orders.
“Look Sarah, I appreciate you trying to help but he is my son and it’s me that should take care of the problem...”
She looked at him, her eyes fierce and eerily light, like an amber fire.
“Right now Sam is not your son. If anything he belongs more to me than to you right now. Besides what will you do when he comes? You try to fight him, he’ll kill you.” She turned away from the window and looked him straight in the eye “Or maybe you are going to reason with him?” She snorted. “Forgive me but you don’t strike me as the erudite type.”
“Sarah.” He warned her, his voice low and threatening.
But she wasn’t one to be easily scared. She felt jittery and buzzed, the powerful energy of her Weapon already so close to her was awakening something harsh and aggressive inside her. Something primal. Something that was created with only one purpose. To kill. To fight. To destroy.
“You can’t do anything right now. You did your best, bringing me here. Now stop being a liability and go.”
John gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping wildly.
“Fine.” He grounded between clenched teeth and turned on his heel. He didn’t slam the door probably because they were in a hospital.
She watched the angry line of his back as he left, saw the pride, the anger in him and cursed her own temper. She wasn’t perfect, damn it. She had her moods too. So she snapped annoyed that he wouldn’t see the logic in her proposal.
There was a sense of fear she was loathe to address. The fear that he wouldn’t call, wouldn’t come to her any more. She already promised to help. He didn’t need to be around any more. She wondered if it would mean that he would give up. Just like that. One spat and he was off. She hoped not. It would mean he was a lesser man than she thought.
Sarah looked out the window, at the sea of moving cars. It was time for her to go. Sam was still out there. Somewhere. He was watching. Waiting. Probably wanting to see his brother. And she was stopping him.
With a last glance at the sleeping man she turned to leave, idly wondering about the trace of strange energy, an echo, she still could see on his right wrist under the bandages. Something once was there, even gone it still left a faint imprint.
Just as she was reaching for the door knob, she heard a faint moan coming from the sleeping man. Intrigued, she looked back over her shoulder at Dean.
He was still lying in the strange half on his side, half on stomach position he rolled into, trying to probably ease the strain on his heavily bruised back. He seemed sleeping, but as she looked she could see his eyelids fluttering. The dim, bad hospital lighting didn’t do him justice making him look pale and greenish, his bruises even more prominent. He seemed so out of place here, in the hospital. She could sense his strong, vivacious life force, the zest for life that one could see in the lines of his body. He was a very, very good looking man. Beautifully built. He pushed all her buttons, not much different than his father. The wonder of DNA she thought as she approached him, wondering if he would awake or slip back into sleep.
As she watched his lids fluttered once more and opened. His eyes were pale now, looking almost blue, reflecting the pale blue hospital gown, but they were hazel. A warm, luminescent hazel that had a tendency to reflect the color of his clothes.
His face, although handsome and definitely eye catching, didn’t look familiar. But his eyes... there was just something about them...
He moved his lips, still too much under the spell of sleep and drugs in his system to surface completely. She guessed his question anyway.
“I’m Sarah. Your father’s friend.” There was a flash of recognition in his still hazy eyes. “You are in the hospital. You are bruised, your right wrist is sprained badly but there aren’t any serious injuries.” She could see he had problems with keeping awake. She looked into his eyes and felt her hands start to shake. It was ridiculous. Her hands never shook.
There was just something about his eyes...
“Did you break the chain?” She could see him drifting away again and pressed harder. “Did you break the spell, Dean?”
He blinked at her, obviously already halfway to sleep, not really understanding the question. However, he did nod slightly, the angle of his face changed, the sparse light in the room somehow finding his eyes and catching, spilling shards of green and blue and brown. Her vision swam and she felt the bile rising to her throat. She was sick, her skin clammy.
Sarah was running out of the room, away from the single hospital bed and the man on it before she even realized what was going on. All she could feel was the sickness in her stomach, the way her guts twisted and all she could see was that single moment the light caught and spilled all those colors all over her vision. Somehow she stumbled into the bathroom not really caring if it was man’s or a woman’s one. She stumbled into the stall, her cheeks already wet with tears she didn’t even realize she was spilling and sank to her knees hugging the porcelain bowl and dry heaving. She felt like she was going to vomit, spill all her insides out but nothing came besides the half choked hiccups and dry heaving. All she could think of was the same sentence over and over again, becoming a mantra, a wall to hide behind. A lie that wants, needs desperately to become truth.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember.” She sank further to the floor, curling into a fetal ball on the floor, not caring if it was dirty, not seeing or hearing anything beyond the mantra in her mind, on her lips. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. Oh God, oh Jesus, please, don’t let me remember.”
Blue and green, sunlight catching the flecks of color in his eyes.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”
A hand in her hair, tightening gently, pulling he head slowly to the side.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”
Blue and green, touch warm and so achingly familiar on her skin.
“I don’t remember.” She sobbed pitifully
Light blinding her, only the broad shouldered silhouette in front of her. I’ll be back. Promise.
She curled even more tightly into herself, refusing to remember, refusing to be pulled into that pain again, running away from the hurt. She fisted her hands in her hair and pulled until the tears on her face were ones of pain, until all she could see were red and black spots in front of her eyes and she screamed. A mindless, horrible sound that cleared any other thought.
Just this pain.
It’s okay.
This anguish.
Don’t worry. It’s nothing.
Just the scream.
I’ll be back. Blue. Green. Brown all over her. Warmth slowly slipping away.
* * *
A nurse in street clothes, ready to go home felt a little queasy and decided to step into the bathroom before she left the hospital and headed home. She touched the knob and her knees buckled. She felt something cold and tight close over her heart, a dull pain
that made her dizzy and weak. She slid gently to the floor, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling as she lay on the cold tile, unaware that her life was slowly seeping out of her.
* * *
A heart monitor attached to an older woman on a hospital bed started beeping it’s alarm as her heart rate skyrocketed and then started falling dangerously. Her eyes were open and staring, she felt weak and strangely dizzy.
Her daughter roused, surprised by the alarm, the heart monitor only a procedure.
“Mom?”
She touched her mother’s hand and the skin was cold and clammy.
“Nurse!” She called but no one answered, so she got up from the chair to go and look for help when she felt a strange, dull pain in her heart. Her knees sagged and she hit the floor hard and fell face down. Her eyes were open and staring at the gray tile as her life slowly seeped away.
* * *
At the nurse station, the older nurse stared baffled at the board that showed which heart monitors in which rooms send alarm signals. One after another, the whole damn board was lit up.
“Anna!” She yelled into the general direction of the back room. “Come here!”
“I’m off!” Came the tired and irritated reply.
“Now! Something’s seriously wrong!”
Not waiting for Anna, she left the room and headed for the corridor. As soon as she rounded the corner she stopped, stunned. On the floor, lying on her back and staring numbly upwards was doctor Sandowal, her red hair fanned in a dull red pool over the gray tiles. Some feet over was Jeremy, the orderly slumped over his cart, obviously unconscious. Farther back she could see a few more people slumped along the walls or on the floor. All motionless, all pale, their eyes open and staring numbly ahead.
“Holy Mother of God!” She whispered and wanted to kneel next to the doctor, trying to make sure she was still alive but as she bent down she felt sudden dizziness enveloping her and then a cold, dull pain in her chest.
She slid to the floor next to the redhead doctor. Silently. Gently. She was weak, so weak she could only stare numbly ahead and she knew, she knew she was dying. The only sound around her the faint whine of heart monitors on the ward, all singing the same song.
* * *
Her eyes tightly closed, Sarah whined softly in the back of her throat. The memories like a dark, insistent pressure on her mind. Pushing. Clawing at her to let them in. Fighting and screaming, the memories already leaking pain and terror into her psyche.
Something changed though. Someone was there. Near.
She opened her eyes, blurry and stingy from the tears she shed and looked up at the dark figure standing above her. The light was behind them, only the broad silhouette visible to her. It was a man. A tall man dressed in a black coat. But she didn’t need to see his face to know who or what he was. She could sense him; the wave after wave of incredible strength, of power was washing over her, speaking to something deep and dark inside her.
“Mother.” He said in a low voice. It was dark and thick like molasses, it also held a ring of wonder in it, a feeling she heard before.
He was hers.
When he lowered himself onto one knee in one graceful, effortless move she knew what she would see. Black eyes, no irises nor whites, and two, thick black lines leaking down from his eyes in a dark parody of tears. His hair was shaggy, obscuring part of his face but to her he was beautiful. She looked into those black, dead eyes and saw everything. Saw her creation.
She made no move to stop him as he reached for her neck, his big hands encased in leather closed over her neck, the strong fingers searching out a certain spot with painful gentleness. She watched his face even when he pressed on her nerves, watched him calmly as darkness enveloped her, as her mind shut gently down.
* * *
He carried her through the hospital corridor in silence. His black coat moving gently in time with his slow, measured steps. He walked slowly, softly past people sitting on the floor or leaning on the wall, catching their breaths, confused and afraid. He carried her, cradling her head to his shoulder, careful not to jar her. No one noticed him. No one stopped to ask what he was doing. No one looked into his face.
No one he passed knew how close to death they were today, no one in the hospital, no one in the city.
Her body was quiet and still in his arms.
The darkness outside swallowed them quickly, easily, readily. Shadows fell on them like old lovers, like the favorite blanket enveloping them with love and passion.
* * *
TBC
