(no subject)
It shouldn’t have woken him.
The island was never silent. Even at night, the whoops and trills of birds could be heard among the trees, the chitter of monkeys and the occasional sound kicked up by a nocturnal predator on the prowl ever present. The sounds had long since faded into the background of a life Dean had accepted, the jungle sounds new lullabies to replace the hum of the Impala’s engine, the steady whirr of cheap motel A/C.
The sound of a child crying hundreds of feet away, separated by trees and brush and enforced bamboo walls shouldn’t have woken him, but it did.
Dean’s eyes popped open. He’d worked late yesterday and studied later still, and it was with bleary eyed confusion that he stared up at the hut ceiling, waiting for the cries to cease.
Sooner or later, they always did. Sharon had only to pick Terpsichore up, or Hera to offer her a stuffed bear, and the little girl would quiet.
Not this time, it seemed.
Lips pressed together in worry, Dean rose from the bed, padding out of his hut with feet bare across the grass that separated his hut from Sharon’s and her girls.
The cries grew louder with each passing step, and by the time Dean reached the hut he was running for no reason at all, spurred by a fear he didn’t understand until he stumbled across the threshold to an empty hut, silent and still save for the screaming form of his baby sister on her bed.
“Hey,” Dean crooned, swinging her immediately onto his hip. “It’s okay, kiddo, c’mon now.”
But it wasn’t okay, and Cori only buried her face against his neck and cried harder, little fingers clinging to his shirt as he carried her from room to room, searching for what he knew he wouldn’t find.
They were gone. Sharon. Hera. He could feel it.
Dean’s ass missed the side of the bed, folding legs taking him all the way to the floor, but his arms were steady around Cori.
Was she supposed to be grateful, that her mother was gone but at least she hadn’t died pinned to the ceiling? Was he? Once again clinging to a sibling to protect her from harm, but at least he hadn’t had to run through fire to do it?
Dean’s throat closed up tight, one bewildered sob escaping half-strangled before he got a handle on it. In his arms, Cori’s cries were growing weaker - god only knew how long she’d been wearing herself out with tears, but Dean’s hand was steady on her back, rubbing slow circles against her soft cotton pjs. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be okay now. I’m right here, I’m not gonna leave you.”
There’d be time to fall apart when she was sleeping.
[open to Winchester friends and family]
The island was never silent. Even at night, the whoops and trills of birds could be heard among the trees, the chitter of monkeys and the occasional sound kicked up by a nocturnal predator on the prowl ever present. The sounds had long since faded into the background of a life Dean had accepted, the jungle sounds new lullabies to replace the hum of the Impala’s engine, the steady whirr of cheap motel A/C.
The sound of a child crying hundreds of feet away, separated by trees and brush and enforced bamboo walls shouldn’t have woken him, but it did.
Dean’s eyes popped open. He’d worked late yesterday and studied later still, and it was with bleary eyed confusion that he stared up at the hut ceiling, waiting for the cries to cease.
Sooner or later, they always did. Sharon had only to pick Terpsichore up, or Hera to offer her a stuffed bear, and the little girl would quiet.
Not this time, it seemed.
Lips pressed together in worry, Dean rose from the bed, padding out of his hut with feet bare across the grass that separated his hut from Sharon’s and her girls.
The cries grew louder with each passing step, and by the time Dean reached the hut he was running for no reason at all, spurred by a fear he didn’t understand until he stumbled across the threshold to an empty hut, silent and still save for the screaming form of his baby sister on her bed.
“Hey,” Dean crooned, swinging her immediately onto his hip. “It’s okay, kiddo, c’mon now.”
But it wasn’t okay, and Cori only buried her face against his neck and cried harder, little fingers clinging to his shirt as he carried her from room to room, searching for what he knew he wouldn’t find.
They were gone. Sharon. Hera. He could feel it.
Dean’s ass missed the side of the bed, folding legs taking him all the way to the floor, but his arms were steady around Cori.
Was she supposed to be grateful, that her mother was gone but at least she hadn’t died pinned to the ceiling? Was he? Once again clinging to a sibling to protect her from harm, but at least he hadn’t had to run through fire to do it?
Dean’s throat closed up tight, one bewildered sob escaping half-strangled before he got a handle on it. In his arms, Cori’s cries were growing weaker - god only knew how long she’d been wearing herself out with tears, but Dean’s hand was steady on her back, rubbing slow circles against her soft cotton pjs. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be okay now. I’m right here, I’m not gonna leave you.”
There’d be time to fall apart when she was sleeping.
[open to Winchester friends and family]