fic; world on fire (spn, gen, pg-13)
world on fire
gen, 640 words, pg-13, pilot coda
Out of the confusion, disarray and noise, there's Dean.
disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. None of the events or characters are real, this was written for entertainment purposes only.
notes: bigs hugs and thanks yous to micheleeeex for all her kind words and dazzlebug for making this so much better than it was. The lyrics and title are from World on Fire by Sarah McLachlan.
- - -
The heat is stifling as the place rises up in flames. Sam chokes, and when he breathes, he inhales cinders and ashes and they burn, burn, burn, all the way down. The smoke's making him dizzy, and his head's spinning in circles, round and round and round, no room to think straight, and there's only Jess.
He calls her name out into the fire, and he can't pretend he's not expecting it when he hears no reply.
No, no, no. Jess.
He doesn't realize he's still shouting her name as the flames dance faster, closer, higher. He starts to cough and he can barely breathe, but he can't move either. Just can't.
"SAMMY!" he hears and then, out of the confusion, disarray and noise, there's Dean.
Dean comes. Dean always comes.
He's by Sam's side like lightening, pulling Sam up and into his arms, his body moving in familiar patterns, saving him, protecting him, shielding him from danger. Almost like a child, Sam finds himself thinking, and for an instant images he's never seen before flash through his head, blurry and faded like an old fashioned movie; Dean pulling him out of a burning building, holding on tight, whispering softly (it's okay, Sammy, it's okay) but as soon as they come they're gone.
Once they're out of the building, the full realization hits him hard, harsh, and fast. He pulls away from Dean and his knees buckle as the weight of everything comes crashing down on him. He can feel the bile rising up in his throat and he retches onto the hard pavement, tears leaving pale tracks through the smoke and ash on his face. He can feel Dean's hands on his shoulders, warm, gentle, and reassuring (it's alright, Sammy, it'll be alright) and he takes great gulps of the cold night air to steady himself. The police sirens scream not too far off in the distance and as their red and blue flashing lights cut through the dark, he drags his sleeve across his eyes and looks up at Dean (solidity, courage, strength).
"Wait in the car," Dean tells him quietly, pushing the keys of the Impala into his hands. "I'll take care of the cops."
Sam opens his mouth to protest, but stops at the protective, fierce look in Dean's eyes. Don't you push me away, he seems to say without words and Sam doesn't. Not because he'd rather not face it himself, but because that's Dean and if Sam doesn't let him take the burden - doesn't let him help in the best way he can - it'll hurt Dean more not to do it than for Sam to do it himself. So Sam leans against the car and waits until the sharp stab of grief becomes just a dull, throbbing pain and breathes in the night air, trying to ignore the smell of burning that reminds him of everything he's lost. He waits until the cries of the police sirens die out and the flashing lights disappear into the dark.
He waits for Dean.
Soft footsteps coming his way alert him to Dean's presence and Dean says with his eyes what he can't say with words. It's a mixture of are you alright? and it'll be okay and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.
Sam looks at him closely as something like pain and apology flicker across his face. Sam knows he's worried about him, knows that he would rather it had happened to him than Sam, knows that he'd gladly carry the weight of it all for him if he could.
He knows he wouldn't have it any other way.
Sam's world's on fire, speeding up and leaving him behind in its ashes, but as he focuses on Dean, the concerned tilt of his head, the fierce devotion in his eyes, and the warmth of his presence beside him, the fire doesn't burn so brightly anymore.
gen, 640 words, pg-13, pilot coda
Out of the confusion, disarray and noise, there's Dean.
disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. None of the events or characters are real, this was written for entertainment purposes only.
notes: bigs hugs and thanks yous to micheleeeex for all her kind words and dazzlebug for making this so much better than it was. The lyrics and title are from World on Fire by Sarah McLachlan.
- - -
The heat is stifling as the place rises up in flames. Sam chokes, and when he breathes, he inhales cinders and ashes and they burn, burn, burn, all the way down. The smoke's making him dizzy, and his head's spinning in circles, round and round and round, no room to think straight, and there's only Jess.
He calls her name out into the fire, and he can't pretend he's not expecting it when he hears no reply.
No, no, no. Jess.
He doesn't realize he's still shouting her name as the flames dance faster, closer, higher. He starts to cough and he can barely breathe, but he can't move either. Just can't.
"SAMMY!" he hears and then, out of the confusion, disarray and noise, there's Dean.
Dean comes. Dean always comes.
He's by Sam's side like lightening, pulling Sam up and into his arms, his body moving in familiar patterns, saving him, protecting him, shielding him from danger. Almost like a child, Sam finds himself thinking, and for an instant images he's never seen before flash through his head, blurry and faded like an old fashioned movie; Dean pulling him out of a burning building, holding on tight, whispering softly (it's okay, Sammy, it's okay) but as soon as they come they're gone.
Once they're out of the building, the full realization hits him hard, harsh, and fast. He pulls away from Dean and his knees buckle as the weight of everything comes crashing down on him. He can feel the bile rising up in his throat and he retches onto the hard pavement, tears leaving pale tracks through the smoke and ash on his face. He can feel Dean's hands on his shoulders, warm, gentle, and reassuring (it's alright, Sammy, it'll be alright) and he takes great gulps of the cold night air to steady himself. The police sirens scream not too far off in the distance and as their red and blue flashing lights cut through the dark, he drags his sleeve across his eyes and looks up at Dean (solidity, courage, strength).
"Wait in the car," Dean tells him quietly, pushing the keys of the Impala into his hands. "I'll take care of the cops."
Sam opens his mouth to protest, but stops at the protective, fierce look in Dean's eyes. Don't you push me away, he seems to say without words and Sam doesn't. Not because he'd rather not face it himself, but because that's Dean and if Sam doesn't let him take the burden - doesn't let him help in the best way he can - it'll hurt Dean more not to do it than for Sam to do it himself. So Sam leans against the car and waits until the sharp stab of grief becomes just a dull, throbbing pain and breathes in the night air, trying to ignore the smell of burning that reminds him of everything he's lost. He waits until the cries of the police sirens die out and the flashing lights disappear into the dark.
He waits for Dean.
Soft footsteps coming his way alert him to Dean's presence and Dean says with his eyes what he can't say with words. It's a mixture of are you alright? and it'll be okay and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry.
Sam looks at him closely as something like pain and apology flicker across his face. Sam knows he's worried about him, knows that he would rather it had happened to him than Sam, knows that he'd gladly carry the weight of it all for him if he could.
He knows he wouldn't have it any other way.
Sam's world's on fire, speeding up and leaving him behind in its ashes, but as he focuses on Dean, the concerned tilt of his head, the fierce devotion in his eyes, and the warmth of his presence beside him, the fire doesn't burn so brightly anymore.