RE: Gen, drowning, 3/3stripytightsNovember 5 2014, 00:59:08 UTC
“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “She’s good, but you need to rest.” He winces even as he says it, because it sounds mother-hen enough that Sam’ll probably mock him for days over it when he’s better.
Sam doesn’t even seem to register it though, he’s giving Dean this look as though he wants something but doesn’t want to ask for it, and hell, Sam could ask for anything right now and Dean would get it for him, no questions asked. When he finally gets the words out after an extra puff of oxygen, his voice is still hoarse and quiet. “Dean, can you grab me my folder?
Dean knows exactly which folder Sam means. He keeps his homework in it, his essay questions, anything current that he needs to do, treats that folder like Dad treats his journal, and no way is Sam doing homework after today - he can feel an incredulous look creeping onto his face. Sam’s already shaking his head though before Dean even replies. “I mean it Dean. It’s school tomorrow and even if we’re leaving in a couple of days, it matters to me.” He just about gets that out, before the coughing starts, deep hacking coughs that sound like he’s still trying to throw up the entire lake, and Dean doesn’t have the heart to say no.
“Yeah alright,” he says, they’re about thirty minutes from the motel, and he’s already planning how to get there and back the fastest, when Sam grabs at his wrist and at least he’s warmer now.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he says, low and fast like he needs to get the words out regardless of what it costs him. He doesn’t need to say anything more, Dean already knows what he means. It doesn’t change the fact that Sam doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to hunt, and if Sam was better, Dean would argue. Because of Sam there’s a little girl alive in the next room. But Sam’s looking at him as though he needs Dean not only not to argue but to understand, and Dean just can’t, can’t trace Sam’s thoughts or agree with his conclusions. Sam almost died today but it’s not the first time for either of them and it won’t be the last. Sam gets it, he does, lets Dean’s wrist go, and curls back into himself, the white starched bed shrinking him down, a huddled mass under the blankets but not a drop of his stubbornness gone.
Then John’s there, paperwork in one hand and looking at Sam like he hung the moon, pride all over his face - written clear like so little he thinks is. “My boy,” he says, presses a rough hand on Sam’s shoulder like he wants to convey all his love and pride through that touch, like he thinks this is proof that Sam’s going to stay, as though it’ll wipe out the arguments and the vitriol that both of them have spat. Sam’s face crumples up at that, like John saying that eats at his resolve, and his eyes look like he’s drowning all over again. Dean can’t bear to watch the familiar unhappy lines creep back, calls John out to talk about going back to the motel and tries not to watch through the door as Sam pushes his face into the pillows and remains as still as though Dean had never revived him at all.
RE: Gen, drowning, 3/3lauehimeNovember 24 2014, 05:49:12 UTC
That was so heartwrenching! Leave it to Sam to save the girl when he doesn't even want to be there. I loved the line when Dean is thinking that he wants to be mad but at the same time, he's proud of the man Sam is growing to be. That was a very powerful line that rang true to me. Even if Sam hates it, there is the little girl that is still alive because of him. Still, the reality of Sam being unhappy is what's heartbreaking in the end. The last line pretty much killed me. Thanks for sharing!
RE: Gen, drowning, 3/3link_womanNovember 30 2014, 06:56:45 UTC
Sorry it took me so long to comment! This was absolutely stunning. Your Dean voice is spot on, and I think your John is perfect too. John is probably the most difficult character to write in preseries fics, and I feel like some people make him a little too harsh, but you got him down perfectly (in my opinion at least :D). I'm so glad you accepted my prompt, this was perfect.
Sam doesn’t even seem to register it though, he’s giving Dean this look as though he wants something but doesn’t want to ask for it, and hell, Sam could ask for anything right now and Dean would get it for him, no questions asked. When he finally gets the words out after an extra puff of oxygen, his voice is still hoarse and quiet. “Dean, can you grab me my folder?
Dean knows exactly which folder Sam means. He keeps his homework in it, his essay questions, anything current that he needs to do, treats that folder like Dad treats his journal, and no way is Sam doing homework after today - he can feel an incredulous look creeping onto his face. Sam’s already shaking his head though before Dean even replies. “I mean it Dean. It’s school tomorrow and even if we’re leaving in a couple of days, it matters to me.” He just about gets that out, before the coughing starts, deep hacking coughs that sound like he’s still trying to throw up the entire lake, and Dean doesn’t have the heart to say no.
“Yeah alright,” he says, they’re about thirty minutes from the motel, and he’s already planning how to get there and back the fastest, when Sam grabs at his wrist and at least he’s warmer now.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he says, low and fast like he needs to get the words out regardless of what it costs him. He doesn’t need to say anything more, Dean already knows what he means. It doesn’t change the fact that Sam doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to hunt, and if Sam was better, Dean would argue. Because of Sam there’s a little girl alive in the next room. But Sam’s looking at him as though he needs Dean not only not to argue but to understand, and Dean just can’t, can’t trace Sam’s thoughts or agree with his conclusions. Sam almost died today but it’s not the first time for either of them and it won’t be the last. Sam gets it, he does, lets Dean’s wrist go, and curls back into himself, the white starched bed shrinking him down, a huddled mass under the blankets but not a drop of his stubbornness gone.
Then John’s there, paperwork in one hand and looking at Sam like he hung the moon, pride all over his face - written clear like so little he thinks is. “My boy,” he says, presses a rough hand on Sam’s shoulder like he wants to convey all his love and pride through that touch, like he thinks this is proof that Sam’s going to stay, as though it’ll wipe out the arguments and the vitriol that both of them have spat. Sam’s face crumples up at that, like John saying that eats at his resolve, and his eyes look like he’s drowning all over again. Dean can’t bear to watch the familiar unhappy lines creep back, calls John out to talk about going back to the motel and tries not to watch through the door as Sam pushes his face into the pillows and remains as still as though Dean had never revived him at all.
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