Demon Drabbles

by Vanzetti

1. Taint

The Colt is heavy and cold in his hand.  Disturbingly solid, like all this world of men and matter.  She doesn't feel the taint of it: she loves the thinness of her arms, the fall of her hair as she shakes her head.  He's watched her watch herself in mirror, glass, the clouding eyes of her latest victim.  When he tried to prove how weak flesh is, she laughed in his hands.  She won't give up the corpse she's wearing.

One flawed weapon before him, one (perhaps) in his hands, one way to be certain.  He lifts the Colt, fires.


2. Message

Bobby calls them first, now, whenever he hears of one.  Dean figures he could say the Latin in his sleep and Sam has three cracked ribs from when the last one tossed him into a wall.  This one isn't Meg either, just some punk-ass bitch in the body of a kid Sam's age, staring up at Dean out of venom-black eyes.  It twists against the ropes and spouts threats and curses they've heard before.

Sam shakes his head and keeps chanting.  Dean leans down to whisper in its ear.  "Have a good trip. And tell your daddy, Dean says hi."


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