Welch
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Summary
Dean and Sam had seen plenty. Open fractures, chest cavities torn open, heaps of shed skin, the worst things done to both human and non-human bodies, and yet neither of them was prepared.
A pair of jet-black wings lay on the floor, not strewn, placed particularly. They were large, easily six feet long and no doubt just as wide if outstretched. They sat in shallow pools of thick blood slowly filling beneath them, steadily dripping from the raw flesh that was at the root. The feathers were broken, frayed, and crumpled; bent at flinching science-fiction angles as if there was a great struggle in the removal. An odor eerily similar to iron and salt permeated the room, saturated it with horror.
Dean grabbed his jacket off the stairs and flung the one beside it to Sam. He caught it robotically, his gaze still set to the wings. “Get in the car, Sam.”
ON HIATUS (for personal and creative reasons, please don't hate me)
Bookmarked by Welch
19 Dec 2016