Title: The Body of the Beloved
Author: ezgal
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Kind of, but not really, for Asylum, Skin, and Hook Man.
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Author's Note: Do drabbles need betas? They're such itty, bitty things. Which are really hard to write, so they probably do. But too late, here I go, beta-less.
Summary: Three drabbles, in a drabble frame.


"What the--Shit."

"Shit, you killed me," Dean says from the ground. "I can't believe you fucking killed me." He touches the holes in his forehead, gingerly, looking at the blood on his fingers. Corpses shouldn't pale, but they shouldn't talk either, and that isn't stopping Dean. "Goddamnit." Nothing stops Dean when he's pissed. "Well, I hope you're happy. Go, be normal." Dean laughs--short, hard, mirthless. "All this time, all you had to do was kill me. Guess I should be glad you didn't figure that out sooner, huh, Sammy?" He tries to say he's sorry, but Dean's dead, eyes closed, silent.

"Sam? Sammy?"

"Sam." Jess is waiting for him on the street corner. "You think this is what I want for you?" she asks, sadly. "Do you think it would've made me happy, that you're running around with your brother, killing things?" She caresses his cheek, where the shapeshifter left bruises, then traces a line down his arm where the Hookman left a scar, then she cups his jaw-line with both hands, smiling, leaning in, as if for a kiss. "You know what would make me happy, Sam? Give me my life back. Can you do that? That's all I want from you."

"Come on, Sam, please..."

"Please," Dean says, except it's not Dean, it has long, blonde hair and beautiful eyes, he knows those eyes, but it's Dean's voice coming out of the glossy lips, and teeth, too, are coming out from those glossy lips, sharp teeth, bloody teeth, and the thing says, "help," and "please," and it knows his name, but Sam doesn't know who to help, Jess, who's trying to hold on, or Dean, who's trying to break out, and the chimera is pleading with him, and maybe he should shoot it, yes, maybe that's the best thing for them all, just aim... squeeze...

His cheek stung; he started to reach for it, but his arm wouldn't move, which should've worried him. But he was looking at a night sky that seemed fake, too close, flat and grainy, and maybe none of this was real.

"You okay?" Dean sounded casual.

"Yeah," he heard himself say, voice fake as the sky. "The fuck happened?"

The sound of movement--a headshake, a shrug. "Don't know."

That should've worried him too, but Dean's leg was warm, solid against his arm, and that was all he needed to know.