(no subject)

[always_enduphere]

The chapel is small.  Built for mourners on the edge of the dead, its walls are clean and white, sturdy, meant for shelter.  Wood and brick, not meant to contain the darkness now held within them, twitching in the form of the body strapped prone to a hasty trap made of splintered pews.

It's quiet inside, removed enough from the city that the only sounds are rattling breaths from the body in chains, snatches of anxious voices and the occasional rumble of the floor, creaking and groaning from unseen onslaught, but holding.

There's an energy in the air, an electricity that raises hackles along with hairs, pouring from the ravaged body in an angry throb, but within the trap it can't do more than rattle walls, beneath the chains that smoke its skin, it can't do more than hiss curses on borrowed breath, and promise agonies yet to come.

In the center of the trap, the thing wearing Dean Winchester bares its teeth, blinking black towards any with stomach left to look at him.

Comments

[jianhuo]

She has to stay outside the trap. She knows this, and yet it's all she can do to not go to him, take his face in her hands the way she used to do when their surroundings were much more tropical and he knew - he remembered - the truth about her. Saffron's there to help, to do what she can though she knows her knowledge of all this pales in comparison to Castiel's and Sam's despite all the reading up she's tried to do since being in Darrow and especially since encountering the ghost with Dean and agreeing to take this on.

She just needs him to make it out of this.

A sob almost escapes her, but Saffron pushes it down. She's tough, always has been, and now can be no exception. Baby, she wants to say. It's not what comes out. "Hang in there, Dean. You're going to get through this." Her voice is steadier than she expected it to be.

[always_enduphere]

Bound though he is, Dean twitches at the sound of a familiar voice cutting through the dull roar of pain. He's dying, he can feel it, a weight behind his eyes and bearing downward, sitting on his chest. It makes it easier, somehow, to be kind, knowing that he's almost at the end.

"Cherry," he says, barely getting the word past cracked lips. "I do, I want cherry pie."

[jianhuo]

Saffron lets out a small laugh that sounds more like a sob, the distance between where she stands at the edge of the trap and where he's tied in the chair feeling like miles.

"You can have as much cherry pie as you want," she promises, and by God, he's going to be around for her to make good on that. "I won't even make you help fix them. All you'll have to do is eat."