Fic - Like the Wind to the Water
Title: Like the Wind to the Water
Author: Ry (curseangel / dreamsforlease)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dark themes. Season four spoilers. Second-person POV. Character death, mature themes, the works. Get a box of Kleenex. Seriously.
Characters/Pairings: Sam and Dean Winchester.
Summary: You know that knife that Sam had in the pilot, that keeps showing up at random? We (nakitamanomiko and I) surmised that it used to be Dean's, until Sam stole it on his way out the door. This started out as a cute story involving the knife, Dean, and Sam's attachment to inanimate objects. It turned into something completely different. Presumably year!verse alternate, a few months in. Title and cut text from Sarah McLachlan's "I Will Not Forget You", which works way too well in these scenarios.
You were positive it would work, that you could find it and fool it, trick it and trap it until it gave you what you wanted. But it didn't happen like that - it got away, left you spinning with that knife in your hand, not The Knife but the other one, the one that was his before you ever left the first time, that you took from him, that you thought you might fool it with. So you're standing at the edge of the dock damp and confused and angry, and before you know what you're doing you're throwing the knife in the direction it went, except it's not there anymore and the knife hits the water's surface, goes down underneath until you can't see it anymore, faster than you can blink.
It takes a few seconds to realize what you've done, but when you have you're kicking yourself so hard you could practically leave bruises. The knife, his knife, is gone, down under the placid slow waves of the lake and you're the idiot who threw it at nothing and lost it. You've had that thing since you left for school, since you stole it out of Dean's bag, and for ages it's been your something safe. Your bit of comfort without him there, protection that belonged to the one who'd always protected you. And you threw it away like so much garbage, like a pocket-knife. You could kill yourself you're so damn mad (it's just an expression, don't make that face).
You remember where it fell, and you take it at a run to dive in after it, hoping its not too shallow a spot, because it'd be really freaking embarrassing to die cos you broke your neck taking a headlong run at a lake. Under the water, it's hard to see, murky and stinging at your eyes. You reach and your hand touches bottom, knuckles scraping across rock as you grip at nothing. After a few tens of seconds of groping along the lake's rocky floor, your lungs are burning and you have to come up for air, admitting a very temporary defeat, gasping for air and then breathing deep as you move to find higher ground to stand on.
It takes a few seconds for your hearing to return to normal from the sounds of underwater, and for you to realize the clapping sound you hear isn't coming from the water. "Nice dive," you hear, feel sharp pain like a knife in your ribs at the familiarity of the voice. You know it can't be, but it sounds like, and when you look at the shore, it is. You're not even sure what to think, not even in control of your own body anymore when you move and it's to him, choking out his name when you wrap your arms around him and it's wet, you're soaked and he complains about the chill but he's holding on, too, and you almost forget about the stupid knife because you're getting dry again but your eyes and cheeks are still wet, but not from the lake.
"I know," he says, simple, and you cling to him like any little brother would, sobbing like you've just gotten the best birthday present ever, like you've lost the best friend you've ever had, like everything you've wanted is right there in front of you and it's too much to take and you can't anymore. And he doesn't move, just holds you back, lets you lean your head on his shoulder even though you're too tall and it probably looks ridiculous, puts his hand on the back of your neck just for the skin contact and the warmth of touch. You can't let go and he doesn't make you.
You don't even know how it happened but it did, and you can't complain, you're not even thinking anymore. It's been months, and you're so torn up inside that you almost wouldn't care if this was an impostor if only for the chance to grab him and hold him tight, so close nothing can get between, nothing can hurt him ever again. No more dying, please, and you pray to a god you don't know if you believe in anymore to let him be here, to let him stay.
"Shore leave," he mutters; his voice breaks and takes your heart with it, shattering all over again. You choke out a question against his t-shirt, "How long?" but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because he's still leaving, still going to be gone and back in Hell where he came from and there's nothing you can do to stop him doing it, because probably this isn't even really his body, isn't even really Dean except that it's his soul, some demon pulling the strings to make him solid and real and whole. You don't pull back - you could, but you can't, it hurts too much, and you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, sad soft forest green, the way he looks at you when he wants to cry but he won't because he's gotta be the big brother, he has to be a man about it. You always used to wish he'd just let himself cry, because the look was so much harder to bear than the tears.
"Few minutes," he says, keeps it short because of the betraying tightness in his voice, making you wonder if he knows how long its been, "I'm sorry, Sammy." The apology breaks you down again, "Don't," sobs hoarse and dry now against his shoulder, all your tears used up. He says it again anyway, you know how much he means it, how much he always does. He's the one in Hell and he's apologizing to you, and you'd hit him if you weren't kitten-weak with tears and fear and please god don't take him away again.
You're not sure when you repeat it to him, "Don't," if you mean don't apologize or don't go. It could go either way and he can't take your command now anyway, because he's pulling away from you like you're gonna break if he pushes too hard, and you're not sure you won't, extricating himself from your arms when you don't let him go right away. "Take care of yourself, Sam," he says, and you want to tell him that you can't, that you need him to do that for you like he always has, but you can't get the words out and you can't say that to him anyway, not when it's not his choice, not when they're making him leave.
You barely manage, "I will," and he's gone before you can find him with your eyes again, but you still feel him there, feel him watching you as you fall to your knees in the sand, dirt clinging to your damp clothes, and you thought you were all out of tears, but you were wrong. And all you want is him back again, but he's gone and you know where to, and you hardly said a word to him. You almost didn't say anything, didn't say anything important, and you know you should have been strong for him, tried to show him that you're okay without him there cos now he's gonna worry, but you can't hold it together anymore. God, you don't even want to try.
Because you need him there. Because you're his stupid little brother and you want your big brother back. Because this is so much worse than skinned knees and prom rejections. Because you can't do this on your own.
You didn't really look too close, but you're pretty sure if he doesn't come back, if you can't get him back, those sad green eyes are going to haunt you for the rest of your life.
Author: Ry (curseangel / dreamsforlease)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Dark themes. Season four spoilers. Second-person POV. Character death, mature themes, the works. Get a box of Kleenex. Seriously.
Characters/Pairings: Sam and Dean Winchester.
Summary: You know that knife that Sam had in the pilot, that keeps showing up at random? We (nakitamanomiko and I) surmised that it used to be Dean's, until Sam stole it on his way out the door. This started out as a cute story involving the knife, Dean, and Sam's attachment to inanimate objects. It turned into something completely different. Presumably year!verse alternate, a few months in. Title and cut text from Sarah McLachlan's "I Will Not Forget You", which works way too well in these scenarios.
You were positive it would work, that you could find it and fool it, trick it and trap it until it gave you what you wanted. But it didn't happen like that - it got away, left you spinning with that knife in your hand, not The Knife but the other one, the one that was his before you ever left the first time, that you took from him, that you thought you might fool it with. So you're standing at the edge of the dock damp and confused and angry, and before you know what you're doing you're throwing the knife in the direction it went, except it's not there anymore and the knife hits the water's surface, goes down underneath until you can't see it anymore, faster than you can blink.
It takes a few seconds to realize what you've done, but when you have you're kicking yourself so hard you could practically leave bruises. The knife, his knife, is gone, down under the placid slow waves of the lake and you're the idiot who threw it at nothing and lost it. You've had that thing since you left for school, since you stole it out of Dean's bag, and for ages it's been your something safe. Your bit of comfort without him there, protection that belonged to the one who'd always protected you. And you threw it away like so much garbage, like a pocket-knife. You could kill yourself you're so damn mad (it's just an expression, don't make that face).
You remember where it fell, and you take it at a run to dive in after it, hoping its not too shallow a spot, because it'd be really freaking embarrassing to die cos you broke your neck taking a headlong run at a lake. Under the water, it's hard to see, murky and stinging at your eyes. You reach and your hand touches bottom, knuckles scraping across rock as you grip at nothing. After a few tens of seconds of groping along the lake's rocky floor, your lungs are burning and you have to come up for air, admitting a very temporary defeat, gasping for air and then breathing deep as you move to find higher ground to stand on.
It takes a few seconds for your hearing to return to normal from the sounds of underwater, and for you to realize the clapping sound you hear isn't coming from the water. "Nice dive," you hear, feel sharp pain like a knife in your ribs at the familiarity of the voice. You know it can't be, but it sounds like, and when you look at the shore, it is. You're not even sure what to think, not even in control of your own body anymore when you move and it's to him, choking out his name when you wrap your arms around him and it's wet, you're soaked and he complains about the chill but he's holding on, too, and you almost forget about the stupid knife because you're getting dry again but your eyes and cheeks are still wet, but not from the lake.
"I know," he says, simple, and you cling to him like any little brother would, sobbing like you've just gotten the best birthday present ever, like you've lost the best friend you've ever had, like everything you've wanted is right there in front of you and it's too much to take and you can't anymore. And he doesn't move, just holds you back, lets you lean your head on his shoulder even though you're too tall and it probably looks ridiculous, puts his hand on the back of your neck just for the skin contact and the warmth of touch. You can't let go and he doesn't make you.
You don't even know how it happened but it did, and you can't complain, you're not even thinking anymore. It's been months, and you're so torn up inside that you almost wouldn't care if this was an impostor if only for the chance to grab him and hold him tight, so close nothing can get between, nothing can hurt him ever again. No more dying, please, and you pray to a god you don't know if you believe in anymore to let him be here, to let him stay.
"Shore leave," he mutters; his voice breaks and takes your heart with it, shattering all over again. You choke out a question against his t-shirt, "How long?" but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because he's still leaving, still going to be gone and back in Hell where he came from and there's nothing you can do to stop him doing it, because probably this isn't even really his body, isn't even really Dean except that it's his soul, some demon pulling the strings to make him solid and real and whole. You don't pull back - you could, but you can't, it hurts too much, and you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, sad soft forest green, the way he looks at you when he wants to cry but he won't because he's gotta be the big brother, he has to be a man about it. You always used to wish he'd just let himself cry, because the look was so much harder to bear than the tears.
"Few minutes," he says, keeps it short because of the betraying tightness in his voice, making you wonder if he knows how long its been, "I'm sorry, Sammy." The apology breaks you down again, "Don't," sobs hoarse and dry now against his shoulder, all your tears used up. He says it again anyway, you know how much he means it, how much he always does. He's the one in Hell and he's apologizing to you, and you'd hit him if you weren't kitten-weak with tears and fear and please god don't take him away again.
You're not sure when you repeat it to him, "Don't," if you mean don't apologize or don't go. It could go either way and he can't take your command now anyway, because he's pulling away from you like you're gonna break if he pushes too hard, and you're not sure you won't, extricating himself from your arms when you don't let him go right away. "Take care of yourself, Sam," he says, and you want to tell him that you can't, that you need him to do that for you like he always has, but you can't get the words out and you can't say that to him anyway, not when it's not his choice, not when they're making him leave.
You barely manage, "I will," and he's gone before you can find him with your eyes again, but you still feel him there, feel him watching you as you fall to your knees in the sand, dirt clinging to your damp clothes, and you thought you were all out of tears, but you were wrong. And all you want is him back again, but he's gone and you know where to, and you hardly said a word to him. You almost didn't say anything, didn't say anything important, and you know you should have been strong for him, tried to show him that you're okay without him there cos now he's gonna worry, but you can't hold it together anymore. God, you don't even want to try.
Because you need him there. Because you're his stupid little brother and you want your big brother back. Because this is so much worse than skinned knees and prom rejections. Because you can't do this on your own.
You didn't really look too close, but you're pretty sure if he doesn't come back, if you can't get him back, those sad green eyes are going to haunt you for the rest of your life.