#THE DOOR JUST SLAMMING SHUT AND SILVER WORDLESSLY JOINING IN WITH THE HOSE

[brokenximagination-archive]

Drabble- Broken Wings

WARNING: Please make sure you have blacklisted ‘tw; child abuse’ if you need to, and please don’t hesitate to let me know of any other trigger warnings that I forgot to mention. 

It is put under a ‘read more’ cut because I wrote far more than I intended to, and I won’t force you lovely people to scroll past all of it.

Bare feet crushed acorns and snapped twigs hidden in the leafy undergrowth as scrawny legs pumped away. The wind whistled past his ears as he dodged and weaved through the woodland. Boughs reached out, their branches occasionally snagging on the child’s celestial garb. Off-white robes smeared with the brown of mud and the green of moss, littered with small holes and rips. 

He is a beautiful child, fair locks shimmered with gold as sunlight beamed through the canopy. Chubby cheeks painted pink, and a wide grin overflowing with delirium. His laughter sounded like a robin’s chirrup as it echoed among the trees, joining the chorus of wrens, starlings, and jays. 

As the crunchy coppice came to an end, as did the boy’s running. Toes flexed and dug into the soft dirt as his eyes, blue like the dawn sky, raked over the wildflower meadow before him. Tentatively, he walked into the blanket of tall grass, running his fingers over the fluffy plumes drooping beside him.  

His destination- the centre of the golden field. 

There he stopped, his small frame breaking only a few blades as he lay down. The grass swaying above him provided gentle shade. What sunlight did break through, was relished by his skin, appreciative for the warmth. 

It is unclear how long the boy lay there, but when he opened his eyes, the golden field was washed with black. Like someone spilled ink on a watercolour portrait. His frail body shivered as he sat up, deeply missing the sunlight and the warmth. 

It was time for the reluctant journey home.

The grass scratched at his feet as he left the meadow, an itch quickly lead way into niggling pain. He was fairly certain that he was bleeding, but it was too dark to check his heel and be sure. Nevertheless, he carried on. Hugging himself as he was swallowed by the pitch black forest. 

Great big trees towered above him, seemingly changing shape into something warped and threatening, partially hidden in the shadows. Their leaves provided an extra layer of darkness, and the boy could no longer see his hands in front of his eyes. Blindly, he navigated through the woodland that he raced through so joyfully earlier that very same day. 

Branches clawed at his skin, night critters brushed against his shins, protruding roots caught and tripped him up at every chance. His body was littered with black and blue splotches, raw cuts soaked his tattered robes a bright red. Still, with waning energy and watery eyes, he persisted. 

‘HOO!’

The hoot of a night owl startled him into a sprint. Feet pounded away, kicking up leaves with the dust. Stumbling, tripping through the woods. Branches turned into razors against his skin, cutting his chubby cheeks. He fell once more, and this time did not get up again. 

He tucked his knees up to his chin as he curled up into a ball, nestled in between two large tree roots. Fat tears rolled down his beaten face, stinging his grazed knees as the salty water fell into the wounds. His body was wracked with the force of his sobs, and violent shivers from the bitingly cold ground. Eyes darted around at every snap of a twig, at every rustle of a bush. Once innocent sounds now promised threat and harm to the scared, lonely boy.

A large hand grabbed his wrist. 

His jaw dropped and a piercing scream echoed throughout the trees. A flock of birds were startled and shrouded the moonlight as they flew away, the beating of wings joined his scream in piercing the silence of the night.

He was being pulled to his feet, dragged along as he struggled and fought against wide strides. His feet pitter-pattered against pristine tile, leaving dirty and bloody streaks in his wake. He clawed and bit at the hand that still had it’s bruising grip on him but nothing loosened it.

‘We warned you, Samandriel’

The voice boomed over his screams, bouncing off the white walls, equally as clean and pristine as the floor.

‘This was your last chance’

Still he screamed, ‘NO! NO!’, and continued to fight against his captor. And continued to do so even as they went through corridor after corridor. Each felt as endless as the one before. 

Finally, they turned away from the corridor and into a small room, one that Samandriel has never seen before. Inside of it was only one piece of furniture. 

A large, white, reclining chair. 

He was pulled towards it and roughly lifted by his wrist, his arm painfully stretching from it’s socket. His feet scrambled for purchase for a few seconds before he was unceremoniously dropped into the padded chair. Immediately he clambered to escape but was stopped by one hand pressed against his chest, pushing and holding him back. 

Swiftly, a belt wrapped around his chest. One on each ankle. More on each wrist. One on his chin, and another along his forehead. Until he was strapped down to the large chair, completely unable to move. 

He begged ‘why?’.  He asked ‘what is this?’  And ‘where am I?’. 

Wordlessly, almost sullenly with an odd expression in his eyes, the man left. The white door slammed shut behind him, and Samandriel was left alone. Throat hoarse and limbs sore.

But he wasn’t alone for at all long.

Soon, a lady walked in. She was as prim and proper as her up-do hair and pressed grey suit suggested. High-heels clicked against the tiles as she sauntered towards him, echoing throughout the empty room.

‘Samandriel...’

She cooed, pursing her lips as her cold fingers moved some stray golden hair away from his face. 

‘You have been told time and time again, you can’t just run around as you please on that filthy planet. What if a human saw you? What if you got hurt? We can’t have that now, can we?’

Samandriel stayed warily silent. It was only for a brief moment, but he could have sworn that he saw her face contort into disgust as she took in his dishevelled appearance.

‘Do you know what this is?’

She asked and detached something from the chair itself. It looked like a silver pen with a hose attached to it, but Samandriel doubted that it was that simple. He went to shake his head but forgot that he physically couldn’t. Silence wasn’t an option, she was clearly expecting an answer. 

With a small voice, he whispered, ‘no...?’

She smiled, painted lips curling over perfect white teeth. It looked unnatural, like she wasn’t used to it.

‘No, you wouldn’t, would you. Well, no matter. All you need to know is that it’ll fix you, Samandriel. Wouldn’t you like that? To be normal like all your brothers and sisters?’

It suddenly whirred to life, a loud and piercing shrill. The sound startled the fledgling, but it was the spinning rotors on the very tip of the instrument that frightened him the most. He renewed his struggling with vigour, yanking against his restraints, trying to break free. 

His eyes widened as the drill loomed steadily closer, chest heaving as his breaths turned into panicked hyperventilation. His fruitless struggling stopped, dirty nails dug into the white seat, leaving small crescent-shaped holes. 

Like a deer in headlights, he could only be still, and helplessly watch his own destruction.

...................................................................................................

Bare feet slapped against the tiles as scrawny legs moved with an even stride. The chatter of other angels drifted past his ears as he weaved through the crowd and through the corridors. They mostly ignored him, their wings occasionally brushing against the child’s celestial garb. Pure white robes draped across his body, covering him in a spotless, pristine uniform.

He is a beautiful child, fair locks shimmered with gold as incandescent light illuminated him from the ceiling. Hollow cheeks were pale, and his face was as still as a porcelain doll. 

Angels were made to be seen, not heard.

#supernatural drabble #Samandriel #Naomi #v; little wings #headcanon #tw; child abuse #//I am.... so not sorry for this #//suffer with me #//this took me so long to write lmfao #//I hope it was worth it