FILLED: Puddles, Gen, Dean & Sam, 1/2i_speak_tongueAugust 5 2012, 20:16:10 UTC
(I totally failed at relating this to summer in any way shape or form. I'M SORRY!)
This is the part you hate most. The part that Dad and Dean never talk about. But they've felt it before too, and you know it because you've seen it happen. You've seen how that primordial fear rises up from their guts and permeates their bodies, makes them wide eyed and desperate every time something goes completely awry.
Your brain has to tell your body twice to do anything. Dean is lying there in front of you, pale and unresponsive, in a puddle like some kind of drowning guppy, and you have to reiterate to your legs: Down! Get down there!
The knees of your jeans soak up stagnant water as you curl your hands around his cheeks. You yell his name a few more times and shake his head, but nothing happens.
It stinks down here. It smells like sour milk and everything else that's gone bad. How long has he been lying here? Five seconds? Ten? Maybe if you'd got those stupid kids out of here faster...
You feel for a pulse. It's there, under his cool, wet skin. But it's slow and uneven, thrown out of whack by more electricity than it takes to light up the Empire State building. Jesus. What the hell was he thinking?
The kids. They're still outside. You left them on the front porch and told them you'd be back in a few minutes. You gave the little girl your phone and told her to call 911 if you or your brother weren't back in ten minutes.
Dean's barely breathing. You'll have to call 911 sooner than that. You root around in his pockets, trying not to move him too much, not wanting to make anything worse. You need someone to tell you what to do.
You press Dean's cell against your ear and the operator tells you that you shouldn't have touched him. That you could have electrocuted yourself right along with him and then what? She says you're lucky and you laugh briefly and hysterically. Please, you say. Just tell me what to do.
FILLED: Puddles, Gen, Dean & Sam, 2/2i_speak_tongueAugust 5 2012, 20:17:06 UTC
You follow her instructions as if your brother's life depends on it. It probably does. And that terrifies you more than anything ever has before. There's no one to blame but yourself if you screw this up.
You're supposed to elevate his legs but she tells you not to move him any more than you need to. You find an old crate and drag it over, sloshing through the small lake on your hands and knees like an ape. You gather Dean's legs up and prop them up on the crate. You wait for him to look at you like you're crazy. Tell you to get your giant paws off of him. It doesn't happen. He just lies there, limp like a puppet who'se strings have been cut, discarded and forgotten for something newer and brighter. Something with not so many chips and scars.
She tells you not to put anything under his head and it kills you to just lower it to the hard basement floor, but you do it. Because that's what you're told.
You kind of get it now. Why Dean likes orders so much, why he's so obedient. It's something to hang onto, when the rug's pulled out from under you. Something outside yourself, something greater.
What now, you ask. But that's it. She doesn't have anything for you. Wait, she says. Now you wait.
You take Dean's hand and ball it up against your chest.
You were wrong. This is the part you hate most.
(I didn't quite make it out of the basement. Sorry!)
Re: FILLED: Puddles, Gen, Dean & Sam, 2/2geckoholicAugust 5 2012, 20:45:13 UTC
Hm, I don't think LJ can recover stuff like that? :/ I could re-post the comment and you could respond to that one again, and I delete the rest of this thread? Agh. That might be awfully complicated. Or I could add the prompt for the masterlist, without reposting? Or, you know what? It'd probably be easiest if I just repost it in this thread, but after your fill. LOL, IDEK. Sorry for the confusion.
Re: FILLED: Puddles, Gen, Dean & Sam, 2/2 - (previously deleted prompt)geckoholicAugust 5 2012, 20:55:17 UTC
A coda to Faith. The scene(s) between Dean electrocuting himself and the cut to Sam in the hospital. Basically, I want Sam to freak out about finding his brother motionless in the basement, hovering when the ambulance arrives, when they first get to the hospital... Along those lines.
Re: FILLED: Puddles, Gen, Dean & Sam, 2/2mariahleeAugust 6 2012, 00:22:49 UTC
You need someone to tell you what to do.
D: OUCH because yes - it's interesting to see Sam think that, because he would, but how he so quickly goes his own way to do whatever it takes, regardless of what others tell him.
This is the part you hate most. The part that Dad and Dean never talk about. But they've felt it before too, and you know it because you've seen it happen. You've seen how that primordial fear rises up from their guts and permeates their bodies, makes them wide eyed and desperate every time something goes completely awry.
Your brain has to tell your body twice to do anything. Dean is lying there in front of you, pale and unresponsive, in a puddle like some kind of drowning guppy, and you have to reiterate to your legs: Down! Get down there!
The knees of your jeans soak up stagnant water as you curl your hands around his cheeks. You yell his name a few more times and shake his head, but nothing happens.
It stinks down here. It smells like sour milk and everything else that's gone bad. How long has he been lying here? Five seconds? Ten? Maybe if you'd got those stupid kids out of here faster...
You feel for a pulse. It's there, under his cool, wet skin. But it's slow and uneven, thrown out of whack by more electricity than it takes to light up the Empire State building. Jesus. What the hell was he thinking?
The kids. They're still outside. You left them on the front porch and told them you'd be back in a few minutes. You gave the little girl your phone and told her to call 911 if you or your brother weren't back in ten minutes.
Dean's barely breathing. You'll have to call 911 sooner than that. You root around in his pockets, trying not to move him too much, not wanting to make anything worse. You need someone to tell you what to do.
You press Dean's cell against your ear and the operator tells you that you shouldn't have touched him. That you could have electrocuted yourself right along with him and then what? She says you're lucky and you laugh briefly and hysterically. Please, you say. Just tell me what to do.
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You follow her instructions as if your brother's life depends on it. It probably does. And that terrifies you more than anything ever has before. There's no one to blame but yourself if you screw this up.
You're supposed to elevate his legs but she tells you not to move him any more than you need to. You find an old crate and drag it over, sloshing through the small lake on your hands and knees like an ape. You gather Dean's legs up and prop them up on the crate. You wait for him to look at you like you're crazy. Tell you to get your giant paws off of him. It doesn't happen. He just lies there, limp like a puppet who'se strings have been cut, discarded and forgotten for something newer and brighter. Something with not so many chips and scars.
She tells you not to put anything under his head and it kills you to just lower it to the hard basement floor, but you do it. Because that's what you're told.
You kind of get it now. Why Dean likes orders so much, why he's so obedient. It's something to hang onto, when the rug's pulled out from under you. Something outside yourself, something greater.
What now, you ask. But that's it. She doesn't have anything for you. Wait, she says. Now you wait.
You take Dean's hand and ball it up against your chest.
You were wrong. This is the part you hate most.
(I didn't quite make it out of the basement. Sorry!)
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BUT, OMG. This is amazing and wonderful and hurty and PERFECT. Thank you for writing it! ♥
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This is achy and awesome, and I'm all nostalgic for the early years now, sigh sigh.
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D: OUCH because yes - it's interesting to see Sam think that, because he would, but how he so quickly goes his own way to do whatever it takes, regardless of what others tell him.
Saaaad. ♥
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You were wrong. This is the part you hate most.
;___; Amazing fic, and Sam POV.
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