The grass under him was cold, a bitter reminder of the world around him, the same freezing ice that ran through his veins also in the very ground of the planet. Dean knew he wouldn't be sad to see this world go, not even if he'd been trying to save it for the past five years. It's been a long fight -- a long, useless fight that they lost the moment Sam said yes.
Sam, the familiar face, is now looming above him, the white leather of his shoe pressing down on his neck and all Dean can do is look up at his once-little brother. Now it's Lucifer staring down at him, tugging his brother's lips into a twisted smirk that his Sammy would have never even been capable of. But Sam, just like the people who thought of him as their leader -- his friends -- is a lost cause. A sacrifice that this world had demanded.
Sacrifices, so many sacrifices. And this mission had lead to one of the biggest, and now he had to give himself a moment to...hope that Cas' death had been a quick one.
Dean saw himself, the past-him, stumble onto the scene, and knew his time was coming to an end. No words were needed, his past-self had to be able to see that this future was not something he wanted, that he should do everything in his power to not end up here, under Lucifer's mercy.
A snap-crack and the world goes black.
Death embraces him, like it has many times before, but instead of falling down into the pits of Hell where he belongs, Dean finds a weightlessness around him for a moment -- much like being transported by an angel -- and then his back is once again against something solid.
He waits for pain, the first slice of many under the hands of Hell's demons, but nothing happens. It's only after a bit that he blinks his eyes open, and finds that either this isn't Hell, or the place has gone through some serious renovation. A push off the ground -- his neck isn't broken, how is his neck not broken? -- and he's sitting up, the world around him foreign and very much not the place where he had fallen.
There's no curses, no shouts of surprise, only the dragging of his body as he gets up with a tense frame. A quick look to all sides -- no immediate enemies in sight -- and his hand goes to his thigh; a single gun strapped there having never been drawn when faced with Lucifer.
Death or a nightmare, if there's something lurking in the shadows, he'll be ready.
Re: -> REVISE
And another sample;
The grass under him was cold, a bitter reminder of the world around him, the same freezing ice that ran through his veins also in the very ground of the planet. Dean knew he wouldn't be sad to see this world go, not even if he'd been trying to save it for the past five years. It's been a long fight -- a long, useless fight that they lost the moment Sam said yes.
Sam, the familiar face, is now looming above him, the white leather of his shoe pressing down on his neck and all Dean can do is look up at his once-little brother. Now it's Lucifer staring down at him, tugging his brother's lips into a twisted smirk that his Sammy would have never even been capable of. But Sam, just like the people who thought of him as their leader -- his friends -- is a lost cause. A sacrifice that this world had demanded.
Sacrifices, so many sacrifices. And this mission had lead to one of the biggest, and now he had to give himself a moment to...hope that Cas' death had been a quick one.
Dean saw himself, the past-him, stumble onto the scene, and knew his time was coming to an end. No words were needed, his past-self had to be able to see that this future was not something he wanted, that he should do everything in his power to not end up here, under Lucifer's mercy.
A snap-crack and the world goes black.
Death embraces him, like it has many times before, but instead of falling down into the pits of Hell where he belongs, Dean finds a weightlessness around him for a moment -- much like being transported by an angel -- and then his back is once again against something solid.
He waits for pain, the first slice of many under the hands of Hell's demons, but nothing happens. It's only after a bit that he blinks his eyes open, and finds that either this isn't Hell, or the place has gone through some serious renovation. A push off the ground -- his neck isn't broken, how is his neck not broken? -- and he's sitting up, the world around him foreign and very much not the place where he had fallen.
There's no curses, no shouts of surprise, only the dragging of his body as he gets up with a tense frame. A quick look to all sides -- no immediate enemies in sight -- and his hand goes to his thigh; a single gun strapped there having never been drawn when faced with Lucifer.
Death or a nightmare, if there's something lurking in the shadows, he'll be ready.