Core
>> Core
TITLE: Core
AUTHOR:
ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: for season 2 generally speaking, esp the finale.
GENRE: Gen
CHARACTERS: Dean-centric. But there’s Sam and John too, and Bobby.
SUMMARY: “You don’t run against a bloody stop watch, do you hear?”
RATING: PG
FEEDBACK: Dude…duh.
DISCLAIMER: If I owned any of them I wouldn’t be writing about them. Much. Too busy, see.
NOTES: PIF (Pay It Forward) gift for the shiny
kimonkey7. I’m not sure if that’s what you had in mind, hon, but I do hope it pleases you. Also, beta-ed by the ever-radiant
hiyacynth. You deserve chocolate and pools, just so you know.
A thousand men can’t undress a naked man -Greek Proverb
It feels wrong swallowing miles without his girl. It feels right too. Thud after thud, the sound of his feet in something other than boots for a change. He can feel himself push against the ground, feels the road pushing back at him.
He’s playing out dialogues in his head, with people who should have been there //whoa, Dad, did you see that? Sweet ride// finds elation in moments of past //that was for our mom, you son of a bitch// tries not to think of the future.
Sometimes Sam will join him (he’s got freaking long legs, but they both keep the same pace, mirroring each other, and that’s the most peaceful running he does, just him and Sam in companionable silence and dawn breaking around them, as steady as a watch and as scary).
What he likes most though, is alone time. When it’s just him, and the road, and the woods// city// fields around him and the smell of smog// fresh grass// wheat// his own sweat and the sound of cars// birds// his breath// his heart.
It’s those times when he pushes himself harder (against the road, not time, never time) and the road is a ribbon full of possibilities and each day a new miracle for him that euphoria spreads through his lungs as fiercely as smoke and everything is as above as below so inside him.
He’s not the son of John, not the brother of Sam, not a demon hunter, not a heart breaker, not a child wiser, older than his years. No desire to live, no fear of dying, //hey, so Zen, grasshopper// not the son of a dead mother, son of a dead father, brother of a once-dead brother, soul prize for a demon, lover of a thousand women with no name, driver of a car that feels like love. He doesn’t have to be anything.
Road doesn’t demand, implore, need help. The road just is, and Dean just is on the road. Stripped of everything, layer after layer left behind on the asphalt like breadcrumbs for a way back home.
Can’t have that when he’s driving. Cuz he loves his girl, he does. But in his girl, he consists only of layers.
Here, now, it’s just him. The wind. The morning hour. Layers melting, bleeding out.
They used to do this a lot when they were growing up, Dad working with them on a healthy, strong physical condition. // Stamina, boys. Remember. When you fight, fight to win. Fight dirty if you have to, cuz life’s dirty too. But if you can’t win, run. Run like the devil. And get back only when you know how to win//
Sam would nag, and Dean would sometimes trip him, and Dad would be pissed or chuckling, depending on his mood.
He always liked it. Jogging was different, different from running for your own goddamn life, monster breathing down your neck.
Lines have blurred. This running is peaceful and naked, but the moment he stops, he feels the cold breath of time on the back of his head too. As if nothing’s changed.
He hasn’t done much of it after he picked Sam up and Jess died, not till the cowboy cemetery.
He’s started again. He never uses a stopwatch.
One evening he overhears Sam telling Bobby how he’s worried, how it’s not right, that peace Dean carries, not when the year is slowly passing. How he kept it all in and he doesn’t know how to help him. “Let him be, boy,” Bobby said and Sam sighed.
Doesn’t matter. Just him, the road, the wind.
At first Sam would ask him where he’d been, and Dean would snark something back about his manliness needing the workout, but after that Bobby talk, Sam asks no questions. Just joins him once in a while, when his nose isn’t in some book or other, and his fingers aren’t keeping an invisible beat on the table, like a strange chiming clock.
Dean wants to tell him that it’s alright. He’s not too fond of dying, no, too many miles and perks and chicks along the way for him to die, but he’s not going to throw a tantrum either. He’s got his wish. Sam safe, Dad free, the Demon dead.
As his feet hit the ground in their steady, even pace, he feels all this weight slide bit-by-bit down on him, like water. That’s his own time. His free time. Dean time. Time.
No weight, no fear, no longing. Like floating in warm water. And time…time’s not important. Cuz when he’s on the road, he’s the only one doing the running.
He hits the shower. By the time he strips of everything (taut lean muscles, tired, strong, solid, reassuring, alive, his) he’s already pulled all those other layers back on and he’s Dean Winchester again.
-The End
You don’t run against a bloody stop watch, do you hear? A runner runs against himself, against the best that's in him. Not against a dead thing of wheels and pulleys. That's the way to be great, running against yourself. Against all the rotten mess in the world. Against God, if you’re good enough. ~Bill Persons
SIDENOTE: I got a thing for jogging. And a thing for those Zen things (damn you Duncan MacLeod), and as I was doing a paper rubbish clearance I found a big part of this fic (mainly the Dean running, Dean layers, Dean peaceful and himself) scribbled on a piece of paper stuck between the pages of my journal. Might have been there for over a year or few months. I have no idea. So I thought I’d clear that out too. It seemed to fit my mood, so. *shrug* Small piece I had to complete as part of the whole uh…flamethrower business, among other things.
Also, you guys? Are there any fics where any of the Winchesters work out (be it Kata, or sparring or jogging or whatever) that you could link me to? And that you liked? I would love you forever. I’m passing through this weird ooooh let’s watch (or read about) hot guys working out phase.