Children of One Family

I do not own Supernatural and make no money from the posting of this story. I do not own The Sandman or The Endless and make no money from the posting of this story.

Author’s Note: The title is from Isaac Watts’ poem “Love Between Brothers And Sisters”.

*****



Dream



Visions are not dreams. But they are sometimes related.



Visions happen before. Dreams happen after.



Sometimes, you can hear the creaking of a gate.



You can never tell if it’s ivory or horn until it’s too late.





**



Destiny

You thought California was far enough away to run, that anger and disobedience would be enough of a knife to sever you from a life you hoped to leave behind.



When your brother shows up in your apartment, you realize you never escaped. You can’t unlearn the things you’ve learned. You can’t stop being the person you were trained to be.



The silvery slither of the chain locks you back in, and the sound of your return is like a book slamming closed.





**

Destruction



The Impala is a twisted wreck, practically not worth saving, like so many other things. The smell of metal and smoke reminds you of the smell of her blood dripping on your face, the smell of your apartment as it went up in flames. You flip the broken lid of your laptop and wonder if you can even salvage anything off the hard drive, and then wonder why you should bother. Your mind is on your brother, comatose in the hospital, and your father in the room across the hall from him.



You wonder how you can cobble together anything whole out of so many broken pieces.





**

Desire



The important thing to remember is that Desire is sexless.



You’ve run through all the barsluts, easy fucks, and quick blowjobs against alley walls and in bathroom stalls. They’re fun and make you feel good, but they don’t stick.   



The one who sticks around, the one who waits while you exercise your sticky collisions with strangers, who shakes his head ruefully when you walk back into the bar or the motel room, wiping off your mouth or adjusting yourself, can never be yours.



When you look at your brother and feel confusing heat molten in your bloodstream, uncurling like smoke, strange and inexorable, don’t blame Desire.



Desire is a catalyst.



**



Despair



There is a full-length mirror in a stand across the room from where you sit by your brother’s deathbed. It should reflect a corner of the bed, a corner of the room, and shadows. If you were to look up, look into the mirror, you would see thick fog and a squat, indistinct shape for an instant, before the room is reflected again. If you were looking at anything but your brother’s body, looking at anything but a bleak and endless succession of days, a lifetime of loneliness and the knowledge that you’d failed in this most important of tasks, you would see that the mirror is a window.



**

Delirium



Madness has at its stillpoint a horrible rationality. It makes complete sense to you that you should drive pell-mell to the nearest crossroads to make a bargain for your dead brother. It seems totally reasonable to let yourself be bargained down to one year instead of ten in order to get your brother back. A kiss that tastes like sulphur and ashes is normal.



A world that no longer holds your brother? Now that’s a world gone mad.



**

Death



She says, “Take my hand,” and you do and she is surprisingly strong as she pulls you up. You tower over her by at least a full foot, if not more. You didn’t think she would be so…short.



“You aren’t what I expected,” you say, and she laughs, but nicely. She seems really nice.



You ask, “What happens now?” and she says, “I can’t tell you that.”  



She ushers you down a dark hall and you hear the sound of wings. When you turn around, you see a flash as light reflects from the pendant she wears around her neck, and then she is gone.



Suddenly, you wake up.