#supernataral ficlet

[xx-blueboy-xx]

Day One: Visual Viscera | Goretober

Prompt List! | @awfulwingz

CW: Major Character Death, Gore, Disembowelment, Vomit 

Words: 579

Blood, there was so much blood.

His hands trembled as they slipped across the man's torso, he could hardly see them through the liquid that coated them. Blood had soaked through the knees of his jeans, and was starting to make a lake beneath the body. How could a beast make such deep claw marks? The howls of the hellhounds had long since faded but Sam could still hear them, ringing inside of his mind. Punctuated by every scream that had torn from his brother's throat. Deep, open wounds gaped across his body - invisible claws moments before had tore through him like butter. Despite all of the red that was flowing from them, Sam could still see his ribcage through the flayed muscle and skin. He could see bits of his lungs and hell, Sam thought he could see his heart. Worst of all, as he pressed his hands down on the man's torso, tears streaking down his face: he could feel the spongy give of his intestines. 

He was desperately trying to put them back in. He knew logically, it was useless. They had spilled out across his waist, soaked his clothes through. There was no coming back from this, his voice was broken and cracked as he pulled and pushed. The organs slid through his hands like string, for a moment he imagined Dean as a stuffed toy: everything spilling out as he had been torn at the seams from years of love and wear. 

"No, no -'' He was mumbling the word over and over again. As if that would change anything. As if somehow begging into the empty air that felt like it was burning as it went down his hoarse throat, from all the screaming he had done: would bring him back. "You can't be dead. You can't do this to me! Dean!" 

Sam was hardly processing what he was saying, it felt as if he was simply on repeat. Like someone was rewinding the recording. A part of him was waiting. Waiting for the day to reset - it was cruel how, he was wishing he could hear the familiar opening notes to Heat of the Moment. What he would give to hear Dean poke his head up now, and blink at him. Get a shit eating grin and go.

"Gotcha' good Sammy!"  He would clasp his shoulder and laugh. "You're bawling your eyes out like a girl!" 

That didn't happen. 

In reality Sam felt his hand sink into Dean's torso, his body was already starting to go cold. The feeling of his arm being coated with the blood, the wet and disgusting give of his intestines rose nausea through the hunter. He wasn't squeamish, but, in that moment he pulled away as if he had been burned. The entire world spun in blurry waves of tears. He turned himself away from the body, and retched. He had barely eaten anything all day unable to knowing the clock on Dean's timer had only hours left. So, what came up was nothing but bile and it burned through his throat. It joined the blood making a toxic mixture, and his hair fell into his face getting coated with it. 

He pulled his knees to his chest and clutched them close. His entire body shook, and slowly the sobs stopped coming. Everything stopped and he simply sat there - still. Eyes faded and glassy, looking like shattered mirrors as they took in nothing around him. 

He might as well be dead too.