title: saint and the dragon
pairings: gen, can be read otherwise.
notes: For technosage, because I promised. Part of a large set of crack!fic - this is 500~ long so I figure it can stand on its own just fine.
summary: He's on horseback, but the horse is shaped like the impala and his legs are spread impossibly wide. The hill above him is burning, dragon stomping on huts and snapping up villagers with its teeth, moaning aloud i'm dying someone save me while crunching on virgins.
Something hits him and he falls back and down, through the earth and the sky, flat back dizzy.
He thinks he's in hell, because how far down can you fall, exactly? but it's bright and sunny, and a hint of a breeze, no sulphur or burning lakes of fire to be found.
He's on horseback, but the horse is shaped like the impala and his legs are spread impossibly wide. The hill above him is burning, dragon stomping on huts and snapping up villagers with its teeth, moaning aloud i'm dying someone save me while crunching on virgins.
He has a lance, and he knows he's got to be fucking high on something because the weapon is made of salt, crystal and pure and he has half an inclination to lick it - taste if it's real. He thinks he cut himself on it, because his shirt is red and he doesn't own anything red. "Attracts too much attention," he hears his father say, deep in the back of his mind, "stick to dark or neutral colours." His windshield has a black dog on it, and he vaguely wonders if he's death.
death to me, the dragon says, and he looks at it. "I don't want to kill you," he states but the dragon smiles sadly. i'm crunching on virgins, you have to kill me. Dean looks at the corner of the dragon's mouth, sees blood drip down and onto the green grass of the hilltop.
"I guess I do." Dean says, and he runs over the dragon with his horse. The last virgin is cowering in a corner, Dean dismounts and walks to him bowleggedly, hauls him up and helps him into the last hut left. The roof is burnt up and there is a very old woman sitting on the heath.
She looks at him unseeing; knitting black yarn into socks or scarves and snipping through the loose ends ruthlessly. He steps towards her suddenly, she startles and misses the thread named sam. Her face twists; she stabs him in the chest with a needle: you saved your brother. does it hurt?
"No," he shakes his head. He's bleeding and he can see his heart.
Sam's above him, hand raised as if about to slap him awake. He raises his arm to stop Sam but finds he can't move: it's enough to stop Sam on the downswing.
"Dean?" Sam asks, and Dean nods enough to reassure Sam. He takes inventory quickly: everything in place, nothing broken except maybe a rib. There's red at the corners of his vision and he wipes at his eyes, unsurprised to find smears on his hands.
"If you ever try to save me again, I'll kill you." Sam's voice is cracking in the middle, and he pokes Dean's shoulder as if emphasizing the point.
"Better you than anybody else." Dean mutters. Sam frowns, but then he helps his brother up, lets Dean lean against him for support, each other's blood all over each other's clothes.