FIC: Rusalka (Part 2/2)
Author: Wilwarin1
Rating: R (language)
Type of story: Supernatural H/C
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimers: I´m just borrowing the characters of Supernatural. Eventually I will give them back, scarred, but otherwise okay. I hope…
Summary: Along the river people go missing never to be seen again. Among them one Dean Winchester…
Authors notes: Thanks go out to my beta
kimonkey7. Enjoy! Feedback is very much welcomed.
“Dean! Come on, damn you!”
It’s the frantic voice above him that first reaches him.
The hands on his body are next. They’re everywhere, rubbing hard, leaving tiny patches of warmth all over his chest, arms and shoulders. On his face, too, and warm air forces itself into his lungs.
“Come on, man! Don’t you dare give up!”
That voice again. It sounds familiar, but his brain is too clumsy to hunt down the memory. It doesn’t matter. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Wants to sleep.
A hard slap across his left cheek has him gasping and his eyes fly open. What the…!
Sam looks at him and there are tears in his eyes. Damn kid always was too soft for his own good. Never the soldier he is.
The memories click into place and he remembers the cave, the Rusalka. Remembers how to breathe, too, and damn if it isn’t the most painful thing in the world. Son of a bitch!
“Dean? Can you hear me?”
He tries to answer, but ends up coughing instead.
Sam eases him up, supports him when he wobbles.
He’s still freaking cold and the shivers are back full-force. His teeth chatter uncontrollably. He reaches up a shaking hand and wipes his mouth. Wait…? “Dude…did you…kiss me?” He forces out, and Sam looks surprised.
Next, anger and laughter war for the upper hand in Sam’s face and it really is funny to look at, Dean thinks.
“Did I…? What the hell, Dean?! You weren’t breathing! What the hell was I supposed to do?! Just sit back and watch you die?”
Yeah, okay. He understands, wants to say it, too, but another coughing fit steals his breath, leaves him gasping.
“You okay?” Sam asks when Dean has some semblance of control back.
He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he manages.
“What the hell happened, Dean? One second you’re right beside me and the next, I’m pulling you out of that damn creek. I didn’t even see you go down.”
“Wait…how long was I in the water?”
“No more than a couple of minutes. You shouldn’t even be this cold. What the hell’s going on?”
A couple of minutes…Funny how he knows he easily spent at least an hour down there. Probably more. “You didn’t hear her?” he asks.
“What? Who? What are you talking about, Dean?”
Dean pushes Sam away and tries to get to his feet. He makes it on the third try but even then he’s none too steady.
Sam’s right beside him ready to catch him if he falls. “Dean?”
“The…journal, Sam! Where’s the journal?”
“What? Dad’s journal? In your duffel.”
The zipper proves too much for his frozen fingers and he grunts in frustration, lets Sam take over. His shivering is getting worse again and he thinks he knows why. He’s made the Rusalka a promise down there and this is her way of keeping him to it; she’s stolen his warmth and he’s running out of time. Again.
Sam opens the journal for him and leafs through it, a question on his face. He doesn’t understand what’s going on and even Dean doesn’t fully understand, but this is important. He came here to do a job and he needs to finish it.
Finally Sam reaches the right page and Dean nearly rips the journal from him. Papers fall to the ground, but he ignores them, eyes rapt on the pertinent information. He pulls the duffel to him. Where is that damned thing?
“Dean, what’s going on? What are you doing?”
No time to explain, little brother. Just trust me, okay? He grips the rosary in his shaking hands and heads back to the creek, Sam a shadow on his tail. He really hopes he knows what he’s doing.
The Latin leaves his lips in odd little bits and pieces and he curses the cold in his body, rendering him clumsy. Halfway through the incantation his knees sag and it’s only Sam’s arms around his middle that keep him from tumbling headlong back into the water.
When the last words leave his lips he folds in on himself, so cold he doesn’t even remember warmth anymore. This is how the Rusalka must be feeling, he knows, and he pities her.
The creek ripples and, for just a moment, the head of a dark haired girl is visible. Dean feels his eyes burn when she smiles at him. Then she is gone.
In her place a body bobs to the surface, dead eyes looking up at the sky, before the current takes him downstream. They’ll call it in later. Her last victim will be returned to his loved ones. Just like the Rusalka has been.
~:~:~
Two hours later Dean spoons the last of the hot chicken soup into his mouth and sighs. He’s finally beginning to feel like himself again; warm and comfortable. He places the empty bowl on the nightstand and leans back.
“Have you found anything?” he asks his brother who’s at the table, leaning over the open laptop.
“Yeah, I think so. In 1869 a small group of Slovakian immigrants settled near that creek. They mostly worked as cheap labor. By now, they’ve been fully integrated in the population.”
“But no mention of the death of a young woman?”
“No, nothing. Sorry.”
“Not your fault. I imagine she had an accident, or maybe she drowned herself.”
“Yeah. Wow, I always thought Rusalka’s were just a Slavic legend.”
“I felt the same way about vampires and look where that took us,” Dean grins, and Sam laughs.
“You okay?” Sam asks some time later, and Dean nods.
“Yeah, I am. Thanks.”
“What for?”
“Not giving up on me.”
“Dude, you were gone like two minutes.”
“I know. But still…”
“You’re welcome.”
The End