(no subject)

[theunsmiling]

It's a dark room, and cold, shrouded in iron and lead, covered over in symbols to repel every evil thing under the sun, and a few things that will never see the light of day. There's one door, bolted tight, and salt sealed into the very walls.

Nothing can get in.

Nothing can get out.

All that exists inside is Sam. Sam, and his blood, and his demons.

And one angel, too-skinny and wild-haired and so very, very somber.

So very, very silent.

Maybe she's a hallucination, too.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

"What's different is that I'm gonna make sure it can't happen again, now let go of me!"

The struggle, such as it is, has been noticed -- or so the pounding footsteps headed their way from from upstairs would indicate.

[theunsmiling]

"Shalt thou choose to make me, Samuel Winchester?"

Which is to say:

Bring it.

[gavemea_45]

His gift, such as it is, affords him no power over angels that he's aware of -- and even if it did, he's in no shape to use it.



Given the alternative, that doesn't mean that he's not going to try.

[theunsmiling]

Michael does not budge. Not an inch.

Not a whisper.

"Thou art no Jacob, Samuel, to be wrestling with angels. Give over. Have done."

Her wings press more tightly around them, holding him back. Holding him up.

"I shall not let thee fall."