Supernatural ficlet: lines of escape in my mouth
lines of escape in my mouth [Supernatural, Sam/girl!Dean, PG-13, 730 words, spoilers to the end of season 2. Many thanks to vinylroad for the beta, and to Jeff Buckley for the title.]
lines of escape in my mouth
I could kiss you
With lines of escape in my mouth
Escape, and he can hardly believe it. Feels giddy with relief, wants to twirl Dee around, but she'd knee him in the nuts if he even tried. Lightheaded with exhaustion too, a week of sleepless nights catching up, a year of madness and desperation and false hope.
They tumble giddy-drunk back to their motel room, and Dee leans against the door while Sam tries to find the keycard and she just giggles when he can't find it. Giggles like a little girl, and he hasn't heard that in so long. He lifts her up by the waist and kisses her, tastes the laughter and it's good. Takes some for himself, and he has to put her down, helpless with stolen laughter, and there's a can it from the next room.
She finds the keycard eventually, shoved in his hoodie pocket on the back seat of the car. Waves it in the air as though she can hold it out of his reach - he takes it off her easily, doesn't even have to tickle her.
*
He wakes up and she's gone, flat pillow beside him, empty space.
"Dee," he calls, "Dee." Frantic.
And she's back, crawling into him, crawling into his arms. "It's okay," she says, "I'm here, just needed to pee, I'm here now," and he goes back to sleep then, soothed by her breath against his neck.
*
Her feet are tiny.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to have had a brother. It feels disloyal.
She has pretty feet, and she always paints her toenails. On a cold day, thick socks and steel capped boots, and underneath, rose pink toenails.
He dreams of the beach and tiny pink seashells.
*
"You're my baby sister."
"I'm your big sister," she says. It used to be true, but not any more, not since he could lift her with one hand, could feel how small her ribcage is, fragile bird bones.
He cups her head in his hands. Speaks slowly, eyes fixed on hers. "You're my baby sister," he says.
"That's sexist," she retorts, but he sees it in her eyes that she gets it.
"I don't care," he says, and folds himself around her. He waits for her to fall back to sleep before he sleeps again.
*
He holds himself rigid - can't let the shivers out in case they're so violent they'll break him to pieces and how crazy would it be to break apart now?
Dee's hands on his arms. "It's okay, you know," she whispers.
"I know." She's safe, he knows, contract destroyed. It'll just take a while to get his body to understand.
"No. It's okay to let it out," she says.
"I can't."
"You can."
"What if I can't stop?"
"I'll stop you."
He rests his chin on the top of her head. Her hair needs washing - he can smell the grease from the café they ate in that morning, her last breakfast, and she'd laughed and insisted it had to be unhealthy. Told him to get some exercise after she was gone and work off the last year of bad meals, and Sam had nearly choked on his fried egg sandwich. He puts his hand on her hip, feels the flesh there, feels the bone. And he lets it out.
"I hate you. I hate you for being so selfish and being willing to leave me behind without you and I hate you for not knowing that I couldn't live without you and I hate you for being a hypocrite and I love you so much it hurts."
And Dee's soothing his back, like she did when he was little and fractious, finding that spot in the center that eases him and the anger's not anger it's hurt and it's not hurt it's agony and it's spilling out of him and her shoulder is sopping wet.
*
Kisses bright and sharp like sunlight, and it's morning peering through his swollen eyelids. Dee's all elbows and eager, happy like there's been no year like the last.
Open eyes and it all floods in, ash on his skin, fat frantic flames, and he's shivering, shaking, relief.
She's shushing him, fingers on his lips, hands on his face, and he hadn't realized he'd made a sound.
"We did it," he says, awed, and she nods her head as she bends down to kiss him again.
//
lines of escape in my mouth
I could kiss you
With lines of escape in my mouth
Escape, and he can hardly believe it. Feels giddy with relief, wants to twirl Dee around, but she'd knee him in the nuts if he even tried. Lightheaded with exhaustion too, a week of sleepless nights catching up, a year of madness and desperation and false hope.
They tumble giddy-drunk back to their motel room, and Dee leans against the door while Sam tries to find the keycard and she just giggles when he can't find it. Giggles like a little girl, and he hasn't heard that in so long. He lifts her up by the waist and kisses her, tastes the laughter and it's good. Takes some for himself, and he has to put her down, helpless with stolen laughter, and there's a can it from the next room.
She finds the keycard eventually, shoved in his hoodie pocket on the back seat of the car. Waves it in the air as though she can hold it out of his reach - he takes it off her easily, doesn't even have to tickle her.
*
He wakes up and she's gone, flat pillow beside him, empty space.
"Dee," he calls, "Dee." Frantic.
And she's back, crawling into him, crawling into his arms. "It's okay," she says, "I'm here, just needed to pee, I'm here now," and he goes back to sleep then, soothed by her breath against his neck.
*
Her feet are tiny.
Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to have had a brother. It feels disloyal.
She has pretty feet, and she always paints her toenails. On a cold day, thick socks and steel capped boots, and underneath, rose pink toenails.
He dreams of the beach and tiny pink seashells.
*
"You're my baby sister."
"I'm your big sister," she says. It used to be true, but not any more, not since he could lift her with one hand, could feel how small her ribcage is, fragile bird bones.
He cups her head in his hands. Speaks slowly, eyes fixed on hers. "You're my baby sister," he says.
"That's sexist," she retorts, but he sees it in her eyes that she gets it.
"I don't care," he says, and folds himself around her. He waits for her to fall back to sleep before he sleeps again.
*
He holds himself rigid - can't let the shivers out in case they're so violent they'll break him to pieces and how crazy would it be to break apart now?
Dee's hands on his arms. "It's okay, you know," she whispers.
"I know." She's safe, he knows, contract destroyed. It'll just take a while to get his body to understand.
"No. It's okay to let it out," she says.
"I can't."
"You can."
"What if I can't stop?"
"I'll stop you."
He rests his chin on the top of her head. Her hair needs washing - he can smell the grease from the café they ate in that morning, her last breakfast, and she'd laughed and insisted it had to be unhealthy. Told him to get some exercise after she was gone and work off the last year of bad meals, and Sam had nearly choked on his fried egg sandwich. He puts his hand on her hip, feels the flesh there, feels the bone. And he lets it out.
"I hate you. I hate you for being so selfish and being willing to leave me behind without you and I hate you for not knowing that I couldn't live without you and I hate you for being a hypocrite and I love you so much it hurts."
And Dee's soothing his back, like she did when he was little and fractious, finding that spot in the center that eases him and the anger's not anger it's hurt and it's not hurt it's agony and it's spilling out of him and her shoulder is sopping wet.
*
Kisses bright and sharp like sunlight, and it's morning peering through his swollen eyelids. Dee's all elbows and eager, happy like there's been no year like the last.
Open eyes and it all floods in, ash on his skin, fat frantic flames, and he's shivering, shaking, relief.
She's shushing him, fingers on his lips, hands on his face, and he hadn't realized he'd made a sound.
"We did it," he says, awed, and she nods her head as she bends down to kiss him again.
//