Work Text:
It’s all the same.
The bar stools, the blonde hair.
Nothing moves, nor changes.
But nothing can stay the same.
The man in the corner needs a shave,
The lady next to them: a slave.
Here to stay,
Here to fight them all.
Life moves forward for all but these few,
The serial killing brothers are back.
Looking around for anything that looks new,
But there’s a layer of dust on this old shack.
The barmaid watches them closely,
The silence blaring louder than anyone dares to breathe.
But they block the doorway,
Silence spilling to the outside.
The two don’t speak,
Letting actions do it themselves.
The guns are up and raised,
Better do what Sammy says.
The older brother yells out,
Asking if they’ve been here before.
It’s only seconds before there are gunshots,
And two bodies hit the floor.
The scene is strange,
Seemingly fighting themselves.
Pushing and shoving the others,
Knocking the liquor from the shelves.
Then the silence is back,
Leaving confusion in it’s wake.
“God dammit, not again”
Is all the older brother says.
He points to his younger brother,
tending to the lady at the bar,
And yells out “Let’s go.”
In return, “They can’t have gotten far!”
There are few patrons left,
The waitress sobbing in the back,
She points them in the right direction,
Hoping they have fair luck.
They’d just lost two of their own,
And in such a blitz,
But Sam and Dean won’t have it,
Never having called it quits.
Into their trusty steed they mount,
Her engine roaring into gorgeous life,
The purring taking some of Dean’s steel,
As his calloused hands grip the wheel.
They roll out onto more dirt,
The settling dust giving it all away,
Sending them chasing after their copied selves,
Trying not give it all away.
The good, the bad, the ugly,
The brother right beside you,
And the beer that you drink.
It costs more than they think.
Chasing after serial killer selves,
Hoping to survive.
Knowing there’s only two ways for this to end,
It’s us or them.
They finally catch up,
Hoping to thrive.
Emptying the laundry mat,
By handing the only guy a crisp five.
Surrounded by noise,
Uneven loads coming to head,
One pair will soon be dead.
Either way, it’ll be Winchester led.
The shots fire,
Sam’s hit by ricochet,
But they keep it up,
Holding onto their charade.
Dean surrenders,
Sam bleeding by his side.
They tie them up,
One next to the other,
Despite failed protests,
Dean’s right where he needs to be.
With the right tools,
He bides his time.
Waiting for the right moment,
To put the stake in the dick’s side.
He only knows one thing,
It’s unclear if he’s dead or alive.