Summary: A collection of
snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in
front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that
media...
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece,
as will the length and POV. Spoilers about for each and every
episode so far released in the USA.
Disclaimer:Dear
Kripke, who art with CW/ Hallowed be thy name./ Thy series come/ Thy
will be done/ in Europe as it is in USA./ Give us this week our
weekly ep./ And forgive us our fantasies/ as we forgive those who own
the Supernatural./ And lead us not into misery/ But deliver us from
Mary Sues.
COGITATIONS
122:
Devil's Trap
by Sade Lyrate
So pride become her downfall.
But what could she possibly expect after Johnny-boy turned up with a generic gun and thought he'd get rid of them with some holy water?
His boys certainly didn't really impress her back in Chicago. They fled her, sure. Point for them for that. But beaten, tails between their legs, broken, driven to lick their wounds. Hardly anything she couldn't deal with whenever she so choose. But Father ordered her to back down, lie low, find the friends of Dear Ol' John.
All the things she had heard about the Winchesters... teaches her to listen to the petty imps.
And like an ancilla tiefling, she steps right into the seal, trapped before she knows it, bound and tied.
All the more the fool.
As if they could keep her here forever.
They wouldn't. Their precious humanity, even dearer conscience would keep them from killing the poor girl. And die she would, if she left it. She knows, they know.
Check.
However, as Dean turns to her again, there is murder in his eyes, his rage turning those shaded green eyes into gateways of hell.
...as if he'd even glimpsed the real thing...
So he bellows and huffs and puffs.
It's the quieter, even words of Sam that threaten her home,
though.
The easy flow of Latin reveals her abode of bricks and
stone to be one of grass of leaves.
She trashes around, reaches out to tear the tongue from the boy's
mouth, pluck those lovely mossy marbles from the the other like no
little piglet ever could.
The invisible walls stop her, and she
spits and hisses and tries to shred everything around her into
beautiful bloody strips no hunter would ever even dare approach.
All is for naught, and the eyes, dark enough to belie possession, mock her, condemn her with fury worthy of the Inquisition.
The body is broken, the last words sever her already frayed bond with it, and Hell welcomes her back with open arms.
I decided to break these snippets into seasons. So this marks the end of the updates to this collection. There'll be some 'cleaning' up and similar, but otherwise, this one's finished.
My deepest Thank Yous go to all those who have revieved, especially to wild wolf free17 and Ghostwriter, who have had a couple of nice words to say on each installation.
The cogitations for Season 2 will begin after a pause.
Thank You for reading.