FIC: Hear Her Calling (5/14)
Title: Hear Her Calling (5/14)
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: When a veteran marine friend of their father calls the boys for help when mysterious deaths start occurring on his fledgling cruise, it's not long before the boys end up in over their heads. Hurt!Dean and some Sammy!whumping for good measure.
Disclaimer: The Winchesters belong to Kripke and the CW. I am but a poor player who struts and frets her hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.
Beta: Beta’d by the fabulous TraSan who correctly my hap-hazard tenses and took time out of her own writing to make this story better than it otherwise would have been.
Timeline: Mid-Season 2, after Sammy has found out The Big Secret.
Pairings: None, Gen.
Chapters: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 ]
When Dean woke up again, it was to the sound of music. At first he assumed that there was some kind of ball going on and the orchestra somehow filtered up here but the music was like nothing he’d ever heard before. He strained his ears to catch more of the sound and soon he began to recognise snippets of it. The low bass thrum of the Impala’s engine formed a base note, constant and ever present as his heart beat which made the staccato rhythm. Even his lingering headache didn’t seem so much a pain as an essential part of the melody.
He levered himself lightly up in the bed, the cramp in his stomach adding its own delicate solo to the melody, so sweet to his ears. He glanced to his side where Sammy lay perched so close to the edge of the bed that any strong movements of Dean’s would likely roll him off onto the floor. The susurrus of Sam’s sleeping breath occupied the song for a moment, a reassuring gentle sound that gave way to the crescendo of pain as Dean tried to move once more.
Dean wanted to lie there and watch his brother sleep for eternity. The shift of the blankets as Sam shifted a little uneasily, the quiet mutters in his sleep and the pop of his lips when he drew in a breath. All of them twirled together in his mind forming a kind of blanketing lullaby that tried to draw Dean back into the gentleness of sleep. The main song persisted even over the melody of Sammy. It wasn’t a song about Dean’s life, it was a song of Dean’s life from the crackle of flames that had signalled the end of normalcy to the guttural pop and squish of the first time a bullet from Dean’s gun had hit a living (undead) thing and torn into it. It was his father’s gruff voice, whiskey rough, imparting advice in one of the post-hunt bars they’d found and it was grating cry of little Sammy on the nights when their father was out and Dean wanted to curl up in a ball himself.
The sleeping bulk of Sam was an obstacle to be overcome. ‘Can’t go over it,’ A children’s rhyme and skipping footsteps segued effortlessly into the harmony, ‘Can’t go under it, have to go through it.’ But there was no going through Sam, he was solid and real, no fading wraith like their parents, hovering on the edges of Dean’s memory, just waiting to steal away and leave him alone. Dean waited for his brother to restlessly stir once more and pressed down on the mattress close to the small of Sam’s back. Sam let out a snort, pizzicato, and rolled onto his back, one giant arm flailing around to slap onto the bed. The way was clear.
Dean stole across Sam’s sleeping body, aware of every breath of air as it formed a haunting chorus in his mind along with all the breaths that Dean had seen stall and stop. All the times he had been a moment too late, all the last words that Dean would never relay to their remaining family and finally in the soprano range were the dying screams, the imploring cries for mercy to a monster that never knew the meaning. It called Dean on, it waited for him.
Dean’s footsteps were barely audible against the velvet soft of the carpet but Dean found himself matching the tempo of the music surrounding him anyway. He knew walking outside in his boxers just wouldn’t do. He needed to get up to the deck and people would surely comment on him. He glanced towards the closet and pulled open the doors, only the tiniest whine of the hinges giving any auditory clue to what he was doing. He pulled on a pair of the standard-issue dark green trousers, the swish of the fabric against skin like a delicate hissing counterpoint. The shirt was fastened with equal quiet care, Dean not wanting to disturb the song that called him onwards.
He left the boots off. Bare feet could be dismissed as an eccentricity and he knew that booted footsteps would be too loud and might wake Sammy and Dean needed Sammy’s sleeping breath or else the music would be ruined. He fixed the sound in his mind as he headed towards the door and centimetre by centimetre he opened it, smiling as the slight crackle of the salt line against the aged wood added its own harmony.
His eyes strayed somewhat longingly to the piano that taunted from the corner of the room, fingers straining to try and jot down some of the music in his head before it faded away and left him once more but common sense whispered that it would be too loud, it would drown out the rest of the music instead of joining with it, it should be left alone and so Dean drew himself away from the ebony and ivory and slipped soundlessly out of the door.
The harmonic buzz of the lights overheard formed the backbone of the tune this time along with the rhythmic brushing of his feet against the carpet. Every now and then, a bubble of laughter from a room or the sound of a chattering voice would dip into the rhythm, tugging and whirling the tune off in another direction, to Dean’s first kiss and the sweet press of cherry-flavoured lip gloss against his mouth and onwards to the first time that Dean had slept with a girl, the awkward tumbling, the hitched and fumbled breaths and the laughter when the natural rhythm had been found and even the hot tight pleasure that had surged through him formed part of the music, guiding his footsteps down the corridor.
“Hey lad, what’cha doing about?” A gruff voice joined seamlessly into the song and the tang of salt that clung to his clothes created its own peppery chorus, “Your brother said you were out for the count.”
“Needed some air.” Even Dean’s own rough voice fit the tune, a sea shanty of old friends met and lost. The echo of his father once more and the half-remembered lilt of his mother’s voice as she tucked him in filled the air, “I think I drank a bit too much last night.”
The slap of a hand on his back created a brief lull in the music before it began its crescendo up towards the whirling dervish, “Been there, done that. By the sound of it, you put on a show.”
Dean joined his laughter to Jerry’s own, enjoying the blissful harmony it created along with the long-forgotten sound of his father’s laughter and the open amusement that Sam often displayed. There was also Cassie’s laughter, soft and gentle in the middle of the night, luring and enticing. “So Sammy informed me, I’m sure I’ll not live to hear the end of it.” Of that, Dean truly was sure. No-one could listen to music as beautiful as this and ever expect to go on without it.
“How are you doing with tracking the whatever it is?” Jerry asked, his voice shorter and tighter than normal.
“I think I’m very close,” Dean replied and smiled as the tenor of Jerry’s voice blended into the waltz of sleepless nights and blissful days and the rest that would come at the end of it all. “I should probably finish my round and head back to Sam before he worries himself to an early grave.” It was what Dean should do but all the shoulds and woulds and coulds and never could have beens formed an intricate melody in his mind and he knew he was doing the only thing that he could at that moment.
“Okay, lad.” Jerry said gruffly, “Take care of yourself.” The swish-thud of Jerry’s footsteps occupied the lead in the tune until they faded away around the corner and Dean’s own swishing footsteps carried him towards the steps up to the deck. The metal grating was rough and cold against his bare feet and the shiver that slid up his skin provided a jingling counterpoint as step by step he climbed, keeping his footsteps syncopated to the heartbeat thuds that rang his skull to the exquisite pain of the headache.
The tang of salty sea air and the crashing waves against the side of the boat created a roaring thunder in the song that sung itself throughout Dean’s entire frame now and he scanned briefly for anyone else on the deck that might be able to share the music too. There was no-one and he walked lonely once more, the rush of the water a harmony to his loneliness now and the only rhythm now was provided by ‘You’ll have to kill him’ echoed again and again in his father’s gruff voice, his father’s final words to him, the legacy of a life spent hunting.
The cold metal of the rails sung into him and he lifted one bare foot to the rail, curling and arching his foot over it, keeping a grip despite the salt-slick smoothness. He could have vaulted the railing but he wanted to preserve his part of the song, lock away the haunting sweetness in his soul before the final dive. Dean faced the back of the ship, watching fascinated at the puffs of white kicked up by the back of the boat, he gripped the rail in both hands and leaned out, feeling the rush of air lifting and buoying him.
Then he let go.
---
Sam wasn’t sure what had woken him up. As he attempted to clear the sleep fuzz that settled around his mind, his ears sought out what could have disturbed him from his sleep. His eyes fell first upon the water feature that had plagued Dean but Sam felt no need to use the toilet so he dismissed that. Moments later he turned to check on his sleeping brother and found only twisted empty sheets. For seconds, Sam couldn’t breathe against the panic that lurched into his throat and then the adrenalin kicked in, speeding around his body and drop-kicking every organ into action. Sam lurched up to his feet and scoured the room for any sign of his brother.
His feet carried him towards the bathroom, hoping that Dean was just emptying his stomach once more but there was no sign of his brother there nor was he anywhere in the lounge. Sam cursed his brother, hoping that this was just another case of Dean doing what Dean does and to hell with anyone that might worry about him. Sam pulled on just enough clothes to be respectable and headed out into the corridor.
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly into either direction and the bright overhead lights dazzled Sam’s still waking vision. He considered eenie-meanie-miney-mo before opting for the worst case scenario and pacing down the corridor which he knew led towards the steps up to deck. He passed a couple of guests on the way, barely acknowledging them except with a nod. He picked up the pace, heart thudding in his chest.
When Sam’s hand closed on the metal banister of the steps that led upwards, he had to pause a moment to suck in deep breaths, the knife-fine edge of panic almost tottering him over into hyperventilation. Dean might need him, Sam thought as he forced his breathing to slow and began the ascent up to the deck, pushing open the hatchway and clambering out in the chill of the night air.
After the artificial brightness of the corridors, it took Sam’s eyes sometime to adjust to the dark outside, lit only by ropes of small bulbs that were twisting around the railings to give the deck a cheerful air. It was in the shadows of the lights that Sam spotted the figure, leaning outwards, hands on the rails. Sam didn’t need the light to recognise him, knowing the shape of his brother as well as his own. A desperate wordless cry erupted from Sam’s throat towards the figure just as the hands let go and it plummeted out of Sam’s view.
“Somebody!” Sam screamed, almost feeling the salt stinging the back of his throat. The thunder of footsteps came up the steps and Sam spun to face them even as his own footsteps carried him to where he’d seen his brother fall. Only a soft plume of white marked the spot and before Sam knew it, his own body was clambering over the rail. “Men overboard,” He retained the sense to cry out before he dove off the side towards the last place he’d seen his brother.
---
One of the lines from Titanic that stuck in Sam's head was about the thousand knives stabbing all over your body from the cold of the water. This wasn't iceberg territory in the middle of the Atlantic though so Sam estimated there were only five hundred and seventy two knives, five hundred and seventy three if you counted the panic knifing him in the stomach.
'No time for this' Sam's survival instinct prompted him, the voice in the back of his head that always sounded like Dean, as Sam let out a bubble of air, watching the direction of the bubbles as they rose to the surface and following. He burst through to the surface and sucked in a breath of salt-stung air before he twisted and propelled himself back down under the water.
Salt stung and clawed at his eyes but Sam kept them open, scouring the shadowed water for any sign of his brother. A twist of movement caught his attention and Sam pulled himself towards it, pushing the gargantuan limbs that his brother often teased him about to the limit to try and get down there fast and now. The movement revealed itself to be just a fish that careered away from Sam, Sam’s lungs burned, reminding him of the need for oxygen and he followed the bubbles once more to the surface, knowing he’d be useless to his brother if he died too. The ship was further away now, the lights just a smear of brightness, but Sam didn’t care as he sucked in another deep breath and plunged back downwards.
Sam had never believed in God so strongly as in that moment when heart, mind and silent lips sent out a wordless cry to the deity he had never lost faith in despite, or perhaps because of, the terrible things he’d seen. He promised everything he had to promise if he could just reach his brother in time. Sam believed in God but he trusted in himself as he pulled himself down into the water, striving to go deeper and deeper, hoping for any glimpse of his brother. He felt the burning ache in his chest once more telling him he should return to the surface and breathe again but instead he pushed himself down further, hoping for the extra inches that would make the difference.
His fingers snagged on cloth.
Sam twisted his body in the water, barely daring to look as ice cold fingers tightened their grip on whatever they had caught and tired legs began once more to kick towards the surface, desperation providing the fuel his body needed. He raised his hands up and blurred eyes gave him the image of khaki shirt in his fingers and the pale face of his brother, paler than Sam had ever seen, lips blue and dark shadows around the eyes.
Sam kicked upwards towards the surface, pushing with every piece of strength he had left whilst maintaining his death grip on the sodden, un-moving form of his brother. The water was murky and dark and Sam’s eyes stung with the effort of keeping them open but he persevered, desperate for a glimpse of moonlight and a chance of life. It was when he saw the first glimmer of moonlight through shadowed water that he realised he would never make it that far. He tried to burn whatever reserves of energy were left in his body but the glimmering through the water remained just too far away.
Suddenly his blurred eyes alerted him to a monstrous black figure spiralling down from above and Sam’s body jerked as it flooded once more with adrenalin, his exhausted legs pumping to pull himself and the dead weight of his brother away. The monster was faster though and soon, it was directly in front of him. Sam rapidly blinked salt-stung eyes to try and clear his vision, trying to find that last reserve of strength to get himself away. Dean sagged in his grip and Sam felt nerveless fingers begin to let go.
The monster seized Dean and Sam felt the brush of rubbery smooth skin as it brushed him. Sam opened his mouth in a wordless scream and felt the brine rush in, gagging him. Something was pressed into his mouth and suddenly he felt the blessed relief of oxygen once more. His chest heaved as he pulled more and more air into starved lungs. He felt the thing pulled out again and snapped his mouth shut to prevent any water getting in. The not-monster wavered in front of him and Sam could just make out the black-clad limbs as one arm gestured upwards, the other keeping Dean held in a tight grip.
Sam nodded and they rose up to the surface, Dean clasped between them and the breather being passed back and forth. Sam had never loved the air as much as he did when he felt it against his shoulders as they broke the surface. Almost as soon as he was through, he felt strong hands on his shoulders and he was pulled into the boat now rocking on the ocean. Moments later, similar hands took Dean from the scuba diver and lifted him into another boat waiting nearby. Sam’s still blurred vision could make out a rush of movement as they worked on his brother. The diver swum back to Sam’s boat and pulled himself out, pulling off the mask and rubber headpiece to reveal an angry-looking Jerry. “Of all the..”
“Not the time,” A voice said to Jerry’s right and Sam swung his head where he could see an equally burly man sitting at the oars. Jerry shifted himself around to an oar and seized hold, setting a pace back to the lift on the side of the ship. Sam felt a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders and pulled tight.
Sam knew he was very cold and knew he was wet but somehow none of that seemed to matter except for the fact that his brother was in the other boat and, by the still busy movements Sam could see, they were still trying to save his life. He watched as that boat was rowed towards the ship which had come about at some point and was now halted nearby. He watched as the mechanical elevator system lifted it up out of the water towards the deck. He saw the people on deck and caught a glimpse of his brother as he was lifted out of the boat and onto a waiting trolley and whisked out of sight.
Sam knew someone was talking to him and that rough hands were chafing his arms but he couldn’t hear anything beyond the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears. The gentle swing alerted him to the fact that his boat was now making its way up in the elevator. Hands grabbed and hauled him onto some trolley and then he was moving swiftly down corridors and his only thought that was that at least they were taking him to his brother and he would see Dean. When the trolley stopped in the clinical white room that could only be an infirmary, there was no sign of his brother and Sam felt his constant companion panic make its presence felt once more.
“Wuh-where?” He forced the words out of chattering teeth and constricted throat.
“Lie back,” A soft voice instructed and a face swam into view, Dean would have called it pretty. It took him a few moments to recognise Abigail, one of the nurses he’d seen occasionally in the off-duty room, “JB, lie back. You are freezing.”
Sam lay back obediently. His brother wasn’t there so there was no movement anymore. He let his eyes drift close, feeling the edges of sleep rock against his mind. That was, until he felt the sharp sting of a slap against his numb cheek, “Wha?” He protested.
“No sleeping,” Abigail commanded, “We need to get you warm.” He heard the snip of scissors as his drenched clothes were cut away from him, replaced by heated blankets that tingled and prickled against Sam’s icy skin. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose and Sam inhaled the warmed air, letting it settle into parched lungs.
“D-D-D,” Sam couldn’t understand why the first word he had ever learnt to say was now so much of a challenge but he persisted in trying to push it out of his mouth, “Deeee.”
He felt Abigail’s palm warm against his forehead and then the rub of a towel on his hair, “What is it, JB? You worried about that passenger? He’s next door with Janey. I think that’s a little above and beyond the call of duty, diving in like that. Jerry looked furious at you.”
Sam just mutely nodded to her words, exhaustion beyond measure to put out the effort of speaking again. Gradually the cold-onset lethargy sluiced away from him as the warming began to take effect and spiky pins and needles raced over his sensitive skin.
As soon as Sam was feeling well enough he sat up from the bed. Abigail tsked at him and tried to persuade him to sit back down but Sam refused. In the end Abigail handed him a hospital gown, turning her back as Sam rapidly wriggled into it and then wrapped the blankets around him again. “Please, I want to know about… about the passenger I rescued. Is he alright?”
Abigail rolled her eyes, “Too damn nice for your own good, JB. You stay here and rest up and I’ll go find Jerry.”
Sam knew he should listen to the nurse, they generally had the right idea when it came to medicine but then there was the right idea and the idea which would get him closer to Dean. Sam slipped off his oxygen mask and slid back down off the bed, bare feet padding against cool hospital tiles. He kept the blankets, snuggling around them as a barrier from the cold and against the reality of what was happening to his brother.
There’s only one door in the room and Sam made his way out of it, supporting himself for a moment on the metal handle when his legs gave for a moment. He found himself in a long corridor, the same pristine white as the room he just left, with three doors spaced at regular intervals downwards. There were chairs lined the walls opposite the doors and Sam resisted the temptation to sink down into one just for a moment. He was just approaching the first of the other doors when Jerry erupted out of it, raking a hand back through his salt and pepper hair with a tense expression before he noticed the youngest Winchester.
His expression instantly morphed and he stepped up into Sam’s personal space, standing so close that Sam could count the pores on his tip of his nose. “That has to be without a doubt the most foolish and ignorant thing that I have ever seen anyone do and boy, I used to help train the rookies. What the hell do you think you were doing? No, don’t answer that. It’s abundantly clear to me that you weren’t thinking whatsoever. If you were thinking, you’d know that a highly trained crew of ex-marines would have a far better chance of getting your brother out of the water. If you were thinking, you’d realise that putting yourself in the water only meant that we had to pull out two people instead of one. If you were thinking, you just might have realised that having someone to point out where your brother had gone down might have meant we got to him all the sooner and maybe he wouldn’t be in a coma right now.”
“That’s enough, Jerry.” The soft voice of the doctor interrupted the tirade as the slim woman walked out of the door that lead to where Dean was being treated.
Sam felt like he was just an inch tall in that moment and he looked almost tearfully towards the doctor, “Is Dean going to be okay?”
“Sit.” The doctor said, her voice no less commanding for its lack of volume and Sam sat in one of the chairs. He had gotten used to hospital waiting chairs over the years, considered the hard plastic to be an apt punishment for whatever had happened to land his family in there in the first place so the plush leather seats in the infirmary felt like a luxury Sam didn’t deserve. “Your brother is alive,” She said as soon as the boy obeyed. “But he swallowed a lot of water and he wasn’t breathing down there for a long time, we won’t know if there was any brain damage until he’s awake. He also hit the water hard, punctured a lung, broke a couple of ribs. I wish I could tell you for certain but we really won’t know much until he wakes up. I’ve got him sedated at the moment because he needs the ventilator and if he wakes up and starts fighting it, it will do him too much damage. With hope, I’ll be able to remove him from sedation in a couple of days and we can see what happens.”
“Sam? Sam!” The gruff voice of the ex-marine sounded like it was coming from miles away and Sam could barely make it out over the ringing in his ears and the thundering of his heartbeat in his skull, “Damn it, he’s going into shock.” Sam felt a hand at the back of his head as it was pushed down between his knees, “Breathe, boy. Breathe!” Sam sucked in air, his chest feeling tight and he couldn’t see beyond the blotches that decorated his vision. A warm hand rested on his back and rubbed, the weight so like his fathers that for a moment, Sam thought he was really there. Ever-so-slowly, Sam took back control of his body and eventually felt the same hand lifting his face back up. To his disappointment, he looked into the worried blue-green eyes of Jerry, “You back with us?”
“Yeah,” Sam croaked, feeling like he’d just ran a marathon, unable to stop the tremors that ran havoc through his body, “I just…”
“No need to explain, boy.” Jerry cut him off, “Janey may be one of the finest doctors that I’ve ever had the fortune to meet, heaven knows I’d be a corpse three times over without her, but she has yet to master the subtleties of bedside manner. We usually let Casey deal with patients but she’s busy monitoring your brother.”
“Dean!” Just the mere mention of his brother was enough to snap Sam into the here and now, “Can I see him?”
Dr Janey had been loitering nearby, a guilty look on her face at the distress her words had caused to the young man, “In a moment, get your strength back. I’ll warn you, he doesn’t look great.”
“Been trying to tell him that for years.” Sam half-heartedly jested.
Janey smiled, “There’s a tube down his throat helping him breathe, several other wires attached monitoring his pulse ox, heart function, electrolyte levels. He’s got a chest tube in to relieve the pressure on his lungs. He’s covered up with a number of warming blankets. While you managed to get him out of the water before he turned hypothermic, he’s still in the danger zone if his body temperature drops.”
Sam had thought he would get used to the sight of his brother looking three shades of crap on a hospital bed but every time the first sight of him was like a full body slam right into the pit of his stomach and Sam wobbled a little before making an unsteady, and determinedly unaided, pace across to the seat someone had conveniently put beside his brother’s bed. Sam couldn’t actually see that much of Dean from beneath the wires and tubes and blankets that seemed to twist haphazardly around his upper body though Sam was sure it all made sense to the doctor. His face was pale and dark shadows purpled under his taped-shut eyes. The plastic tube coming out of Dean’s mouth attached to the ventilator almost made Sam gag as he remembered the same situation not that many months before.
“I know it looks bad,” Janey’s voice said, “But he’s actually holding his own. I need to get some more X-rays done but I should be able to remove the chest tube by tonight. You should try talking to him, they say coma patients can hear.” Janey nodded to her nurse who was monitoring Dean’s vitals and the two of them drew back a little to give Sam room to talk to his brother.
“Idiot,” Sam cussed under his breath, “It’s just a mermaid, Sammy. Nothing to worry about, Sammy. How many times do I need to tell you not to follow the voices? If there is one telling you right now to head into the light, just ignore it, alright? Light is over-rated anyway.”
Sam felt a squeeze on his shoulder and saw the bulk of Jerry towering over his seated frame, “I know now is not the best time, Sam, but I need to know what the hell happened.” His voice was softer than his previous shout but there was still an angry edge to it.
Sam turned away from his brother and curled his blankets tighter around himself, “It’s a mermaid.” He answered, keeping his voice pitched low enough that the doctor and nurse couldn’t hear, “We found out that James had seen one three days before he died though no luck on finding out about Alan. Dean saw it three days ago. I thought we’d be fine, I was blocking him in on the bed but when I woke up, he wasn’t there anymore.” Sam had to pause to calm his breathing, eyes dragging themselves back to his brother before he forced himself to look away, “I headed up towards the deck. I wasn’t sure that’s where he’d go but I figured it was the most dangerous place. He was just standing there leaning off the back of the boat, I yelled to him and he just..” Sam shrugged and shook his head, barely believing it himself, “He just let go. I yelled to a couple of members of staff then dived in after him. The rest you probably know.”
“The fall alone coulda killed you,” Jerry grunted, “You are lucky, both of you are damn lucky.”
“Jerry,” Janey’s tone was a little spiked and warning as the short, dark-haired doctor nodded to where Sam slumped in his seat.
Jerry scowled and turned towards the door, “I’m going to go sort this mess out. Hopefully none of the other passengers saw it.” He snapped off a salute, more out of habit than any respect to the room’s occupants, and marched out of the door.
Next chapter
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: When a veteran marine friend of their father calls the boys for help when mysterious deaths start occurring on his fledgling cruise, it's not long before the boys end up in over their heads. Hurt!Dean and some Sammy!whumping for good measure.
Disclaimer: The Winchesters belong to Kripke and the CW. I am but a poor player who struts and frets her hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.
Beta: Beta’d by the fabulous TraSan who correctly my hap-hazard tenses and took time out of her own writing to make this story better than it otherwise would have been.
Timeline: Mid-Season 2, after Sammy has found out The Big Secret.
Pairings: None, Gen.
Chapters: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 ]
When Dean woke up again, it was to the sound of music. At first he assumed that there was some kind of ball going on and the orchestra somehow filtered up here but the music was like nothing he’d ever heard before. He strained his ears to catch more of the sound and soon he began to recognise snippets of it. The low bass thrum of the Impala’s engine formed a base note, constant and ever present as his heart beat which made the staccato rhythm. Even his lingering headache didn’t seem so much a pain as an essential part of the melody.
He levered himself lightly up in the bed, the cramp in his stomach adding its own delicate solo to the melody, so sweet to his ears. He glanced to his side where Sammy lay perched so close to the edge of the bed that any strong movements of Dean’s would likely roll him off onto the floor. The susurrus of Sam’s sleeping breath occupied the song for a moment, a reassuring gentle sound that gave way to the crescendo of pain as Dean tried to move once more.
Dean wanted to lie there and watch his brother sleep for eternity. The shift of the blankets as Sam shifted a little uneasily, the quiet mutters in his sleep and the pop of his lips when he drew in a breath. All of them twirled together in his mind forming a kind of blanketing lullaby that tried to draw Dean back into the gentleness of sleep. The main song persisted even over the melody of Sammy. It wasn’t a song about Dean’s life, it was a song of Dean’s life from the crackle of flames that had signalled the end of normalcy to the guttural pop and squish of the first time a bullet from Dean’s gun had hit a living (undead) thing and torn into it. It was his father’s gruff voice, whiskey rough, imparting advice in one of the post-hunt bars they’d found and it was grating cry of little Sammy on the nights when their father was out and Dean wanted to curl up in a ball himself.
The sleeping bulk of Sam was an obstacle to be overcome. ‘Can’t go over it,’ A children’s rhyme and skipping footsteps segued effortlessly into the harmony, ‘Can’t go under it, have to go through it.’ But there was no going through Sam, he was solid and real, no fading wraith like their parents, hovering on the edges of Dean’s memory, just waiting to steal away and leave him alone. Dean waited for his brother to restlessly stir once more and pressed down on the mattress close to the small of Sam’s back. Sam let out a snort, pizzicato, and rolled onto his back, one giant arm flailing around to slap onto the bed. The way was clear.
Dean stole across Sam’s sleeping body, aware of every breath of air as it formed a haunting chorus in his mind along with all the breaths that Dean had seen stall and stop. All the times he had been a moment too late, all the last words that Dean would never relay to their remaining family and finally in the soprano range were the dying screams, the imploring cries for mercy to a monster that never knew the meaning. It called Dean on, it waited for him.
Dean’s footsteps were barely audible against the velvet soft of the carpet but Dean found himself matching the tempo of the music surrounding him anyway. He knew walking outside in his boxers just wouldn’t do. He needed to get up to the deck and people would surely comment on him. He glanced towards the closet and pulled open the doors, only the tiniest whine of the hinges giving any auditory clue to what he was doing. He pulled on a pair of the standard-issue dark green trousers, the swish of the fabric against skin like a delicate hissing counterpoint. The shirt was fastened with equal quiet care, Dean not wanting to disturb the song that called him onwards.
He left the boots off. Bare feet could be dismissed as an eccentricity and he knew that booted footsteps would be too loud and might wake Sammy and Dean needed Sammy’s sleeping breath or else the music would be ruined. He fixed the sound in his mind as he headed towards the door and centimetre by centimetre he opened it, smiling as the slight crackle of the salt line against the aged wood added its own harmony.
His eyes strayed somewhat longingly to the piano that taunted from the corner of the room, fingers straining to try and jot down some of the music in his head before it faded away and left him once more but common sense whispered that it would be too loud, it would drown out the rest of the music instead of joining with it, it should be left alone and so Dean drew himself away from the ebony and ivory and slipped soundlessly out of the door.
The harmonic buzz of the lights overheard formed the backbone of the tune this time along with the rhythmic brushing of his feet against the carpet. Every now and then, a bubble of laughter from a room or the sound of a chattering voice would dip into the rhythm, tugging and whirling the tune off in another direction, to Dean’s first kiss and the sweet press of cherry-flavoured lip gloss against his mouth and onwards to the first time that Dean had slept with a girl, the awkward tumbling, the hitched and fumbled breaths and the laughter when the natural rhythm had been found and even the hot tight pleasure that had surged through him formed part of the music, guiding his footsteps down the corridor.
“Hey lad, what’cha doing about?” A gruff voice joined seamlessly into the song and the tang of salt that clung to his clothes created its own peppery chorus, “Your brother said you were out for the count.”
“Needed some air.” Even Dean’s own rough voice fit the tune, a sea shanty of old friends met and lost. The echo of his father once more and the half-remembered lilt of his mother’s voice as she tucked him in filled the air, “I think I drank a bit too much last night.”
The slap of a hand on his back created a brief lull in the music before it began its crescendo up towards the whirling dervish, “Been there, done that. By the sound of it, you put on a show.”
Dean joined his laughter to Jerry’s own, enjoying the blissful harmony it created along with the long-forgotten sound of his father’s laughter and the open amusement that Sam often displayed. There was also Cassie’s laughter, soft and gentle in the middle of the night, luring and enticing. “So Sammy informed me, I’m sure I’ll not live to hear the end of it.” Of that, Dean truly was sure. No-one could listen to music as beautiful as this and ever expect to go on without it.
“How are you doing with tracking the whatever it is?” Jerry asked, his voice shorter and tighter than normal.
“I think I’m very close,” Dean replied and smiled as the tenor of Jerry’s voice blended into the waltz of sleepless nights and blissful days and the rest that would come at the end of it all. “I should probably finish my round and head back to Sam before he worries himself to an early grave.” It was what Dean should do but all the shoulds and woulds and coulds and never could have beens formed an intricate melody in his mind and he knew he was doing the only thing that he could at that moment.
“Okay, lad.” Jerry said gruffly, “Take care of yourself.” The swish-thud of Jerry’s footsteps occupied the lead in the tune until they faded away around the corner and Dean’s own swishing footsteps carried him towards the steps up to the deck. The metal grating was rough and cold against his bare feet and the shiver that slid up his skin provided a jingling counterpoint as step by step he climbed, keeping his footsteps syncopated to the heartbeat thuds that rang his skull to the exquisite pain of the headache.
The tang of salty sea air and the crashing waves against the side of the boat created a roaring thunder in the song that sung itself throughout Dean’s entire frame now and he scanned briefly for anyone else on the deck that might be able to share the music too. There was no-one and he walked lonely once more, the rush of the water a harmony to his loneliness now and the only rhythm now was provided by ‘You’ll have to kill him’ echoed again and again in his father’s gruff voice, his father’s final words to him, the legacy of a life spent hunting.
The cold metal of the rails sung into him and he lifted one bare foot to the rail, curling and arching his foot over it, keeping a grip despite the salt-slick smoothness. He could have vaulted the railing but he wanted to preserve his part of the song, lock away the haunting sweetness in his soul before the final dive. Dean faced the back of the ship, watching fascinated at the puffs of white kicked up by the back of the boat, he gripped the rail in both hands and leaned out, feeling the rush of air lifting and buoying him.
Then he let go.
---
Sam wasn’t sure what had woken him up. As he attempted to clear the sleep fuzz that settled around his mind, his ears sought out what could have disturbed him from his sleep. His eyes fell first upon the water feature that had plagued Dean but Sam felt no need to use the toilet so he dismissed that. Moments later he turned to check on his sleeping brother and found only twisted empty sheets. For seconds, Sam couldn’t breathe against the panic that lurched into his throat and then the adrenalin kicked in, speeding around his body and drop-kicking every organ into action. Sam lurched up to his feet and scoured the room for any sign of his brother.
His feet carried him towards the bathroom, hoping that Dean was just emptying his stomach once more but there was no sign of his brother there nor was he anywhere in the lounge. Sam cursed his brother, hoping that this was just another case of Dean doing what Dean does and to hell with anyone that might worry about him. Sam pulled on just enough clothes to be respectable and headed out into the corridor.
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly into either direction and the bright overhead lights dazzled Sam’s still waking vision. He considered eenie-meanie-miney-mo before opting for the worst case scenario and pacing down the corridor which he knew led towards the steps up to deck. He passed a couple of guests on the way, barely acknowledging them except with a nod. He picked up the pace, heart thudding in his chest.
When Sam’s hand closed on the metal banister of the steps that led upwards, he had to pause a moment to suck in deep breaths, the knife-fine edge of panic almost tottering him over into hyperventilation. Dean might need him, Sam thought as he forced his breathing to slow and began the ascent up to the deck, pushing open the hatchway and clambering out in the chill of the night air.
After the artificial brightness of the corridors, it took Sam’s eyes sometime to adjust to the dark outside, lit only by ropes of small bulbs that were twisting around the railings to give the deck a cheerful air. It was in the shadows of the lights that Sam spotted the figure, leaning outwards, hands on the rails. Sam didn’t need the light to recognise him, knowing the shape of his brother as well as his own. A desperate wordless cry erupted from Sam’s throat towards the figure just as the hands let go and it plummeted out of Sam’s view.
“Somebody!” Sam screamed, almost feeling the salt stinging the back of his throat. The thunder of footsteps came up the steps and Sam spun to face them even as his own footsteps carried him to where he’d seen his brother fall. Only a soft plume of white marked the spot and before Sam knew it, his own body was clambering over the rail. “Men overboard,” He retained the sense to cry out before he dove off the side towards the last place he’d seen his brother.
---
One of the lines from Titanic that stuck in Sam's head was about the thousand knives stabbing all over your body from the cold of the water. This wasn't iceberg territory in the middle of the Atlantic though so Sam estimated there were only five hundred and seventy two knives, five hundred and seventy three if you counted the panic knifing him in the stomach.
'No time for this' Sam's survival instinct prompted him, the voice in the back of his head that always sounded like Dean, as Sam let out a bubble of air, watching the direction of the bubbles as they rose to the surface and following. He burst through to the surface and sucked in a breath of salt-stung air before he twisted and propelled himself back down under the water.
Salt stung and clawed at his eyes but Sam kept them open, scouring the shadowed water for any sign of his brother. A twist of movement caught his attention and Sam pulled himself towards it, pushing the gargantuan limbs that his brother often teased him about to the limit to try and get down there fast and now. The movement revealed itself to be just a fish that careered away from Sam, Sam’s lungs burned, reminding him of the need for oxygen and he followed the bubbles once more to the surface, knowing he’d be useless to his brother if he died too. The ship was further away now, the lights just a smear of brightness, but Sam didn’t care as he sucked in another deep breath and plunged back downwards.
Sam had never believed in God so strongly as in that moment when heart, mind and silent lips sent out a wordless cry to the deity he had never lost faith in despite, or perhaps because of, the terrible things he’d seen. He promised everything he had to promise if he could just reach his brother in time. Sam believed in God but he trusted in himself as he pulled himself down into the water, striving to go deeper and deeper, hoping for any glimpse of his brother. He felt the burning ache in his chest once more telling him he should return to the surface and breathe again but instead he pushed himself down further, hoping for the extra inches that would make the difference.
His fingers snagged on cloth.
Sam twisted his body in the water, barely daring to look as ice cold fingers tightened their grip on whatever they had caught and tired legs began once more to kick towards the surface, desperation providing the fuel his body needed. He raised his hands up and blurred eyes gave him the image of khaki shirt in his fingers and the pale face of his brother, paler than Sam had ever seen, lips blue and dark shadows around the eyes.
Sam kicked upwards towards the surface, pushing with every piece of strength he had left whilst maintaining his death grip on the sodden, un-moving form of his brother. The water was murky and dark and Sam’s eyes stung with the effort of keeping them open but he persevered, desperate for a glimpse of moonlight and a chance of life. It was when he saw the first glimmer of moonlight through shadowed water that he realised he would never make it that far. He tried to burn whatever reserves of energy were left in his body but the glimmering through the water remained just too far away.
Suddenly his blurred eyes alerted him to a monstrous black figure spiralling down from above and Sam’s body jerked as it flooded once more with adrenalin, his exhausted legs pumping to pull himself and the dead weight of his brother away. The monster was faster though and soon, it was directly in front of him. Sam rapidly blinked salt-stung eyes to try and clear his vision, trying to find that last reserve of strength to get himself away. Dean sagged in his grip and Sam felt nerveless fingers begin to let go.
The monster seized Dean and Sam felt the brush of rubbery smooth skin as it brushed him. Sam opened his mouth in a wordless scream and felt the brine rush in, gagging him. Something was pressed into his mouth and suddenly he felt the blessed relief of oxygen once more. His chest heaved as he pulled more and more air into starved lungs. He felt the thing pulled out again and snapped his mouth shut to prevent any water getting in. The not-monster wavered in front of him and Sam could just make out the black-clad limbs as one arm gestured upwards, the other keeping Dean held in a tight grip.
Sam nodded and they rose up to the surface, Dean clasped between them and the breather being passed back and forth. Sam had never loved the air as much as he did when he felt it against his shoulders as they broke the surface. Almost as soon as he was through, he felt strong hands on his shoulders and he was pulled into the boat now rocking on the ocean. Moments later, similar hands took Dean from the scuba diver and lifted him into another boat waiting nearby. Sam’s still blurred vision could make out a rush of movement as they worked on his brother. The diver swum back to Sam’s boat and pulled himself out, pulling off the mask and rubber headpiece to reveal an angry-looking Jerry. “Of all the..”
“Not the time,” A voice said to Jerry’s right and Sam swung his head where he could see an equally burly man sitting at the oars. Jerry shifted himself around to an oar and seized hold, setting a pace back to the lift on the side of the ship. Sam felt a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders and pulled tight.
Sam knew he was very cold and knew he was wet but somehow none of that seemed to matter except for the fact that his brother was in the other boat and, by the still busy movements Sam could see, they were still trying to save his life. He watched as that boat was rowed towards the ship which had come about at some point and was now halted nearby. He watched as the mechanical elevator system lifted it up out of the water towards the deck. He saw the people on deck and caught a glimpse of his brother as he was lifted out of the boat and onto a waiting trolley and whisked out of sight.
Sam knew someone was talking to him and that rough hands were chafing his arms but he couldn’t hear anything beyond the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears. The gentle swing alerted him to the fact that his boat was now making its way up in the elevator. Hands grabbed and hauled him onto some trolley and then he was moving swiftly down corridors and his only thought that was that at least they were taking him to his brother and he would see Dean. When the trolley stopped in the clinical white room that could only be an infirmary, there was no sign of his brother and Sam felt his constant companion panic make its presence felt once more.
“Wuh-where?” He forced the words out of chattering teeth and constricted throat.
“Lie back,” A soft voice instructed and a face swam into view, Dean would have called it pretty. It took him a few moments to recognise Abigail, one of the nurses he’d seen occasionally in the off-duty room, “JB, lie back. You are freezing.”
Sam lay back obediently. His brother wasn’t there so there was no movement anymore. He let his eyes drift close, feeling the edges of sleep rock against his mind. That was, until he felt the sharp sting of a slap against his numb cheek, “Wha?” He protested.
“No sleeping,” Abigail commanded, “We need to get you warm.” He heard the snip of scissors as his drenched clothes were cut away from him, replaced by heated blankets that tingled and prickled against Sam’s icy skin. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose and Sam inhaled the warmed air, letting it settle into parched lungs.
“D-D-D,” Sam couldn’t understand why the first word he had ever learnt to say was now so much of a challenge but he persisted in trying to push it out of his mouth, “Deeee.”
He felt Abigail’s palm warm against his forehead and then the rub of a towel on his hair, “What is it, JB? You worried about that passenger? He’s next door with Janey. I think that’s a little above and beyond the call of duty, diving in like that. Jerry looked furious at you.”
Sam just mutely nodded to her words, exhaustion beyond measure to put out the effort of speaking again. Gradually the cold-onset lethargy sluiced away from him as the warming began to take effect and spiky pins and needles raced over his sensitive skin.
As soon as Sam was feeling well enough he sat up from the bed. Abigail tsked at him and tried to persuade him to sit back down but Sam refused. In the end Abigail handed him a hospital gown, turning her back as Sam rapidly wriggled into it and then wrapped the blankets around him again. “Please, I want to know about… about the passenger I rescued. Is he alright?”
Abigail rolled her eyes, “Too damn nice for your own good, JB. You stay here and rest up and I’ll go find Jerry.”
Sam knew he should listen to the nurse, they generally had the right idea when it came to medicine but then there was the right idea and the idea which would get him closer to Dean. Sam slipped off his oxygen mask and slid back down off the bed, bare feet padding against cool hospital tiles. He kept the blankets, snuggling around them as a barrier from the cold and against the reality of what was happening to his brother.
There’s only one door in the room and Sam made his way out of it, supporting himself for a moment on the metal handle when his legs gave for a moment. He found himself in a long corridor, the same pristine white as the room he just left, with three doors spaced at regular intervals downwards. There were chairs lined the walls opposite the doors and Sam resisted the temptation to sink down into one just for a moment. He was just approaching the first of the other doors when Jerry erupted out of it, raking a hand back through his salt and pepper hair with a tense expression before he noticed the youngest Winchester.
His expression instantly morphed and he stepped up into Sam’s personal space, standing so close that Sam could count the pores on his tip of his nose. “That has to be without a doubt the most foolish and ignorant thing that I have ever seen anyone do and boy, I used to help train the rookies. What the hell do you think you were doing? No, don’t answer that. It’s abundantly clear to me that you weren’t thinking whatsoever. If you were thinking, you’d know that a highly trained crew of ex-marines would have a far better chance of getting your brother out of the water. If you were thinking, you’d realise that putting yourself in the water only meant that we had to pull out two people instead of one. If you were thinking, you just might have realised that having someone to point out where your brother had gone down might have meant we got to him all the sooner and maybe he wouldn’t be in a coma right now.”
“That’s enough, Jerry.” The soft voice of the doctor interrupted the tirade as the slim woman walked out of the door that lead to where Dean was being treated.
Sam felt like he was just an inch tall in that moment and he looked almost tearfully towards the doctor, “Is Dean going to be okay?”
“Sit.” The doctor said, her voice no less commanding for its lack of volume and Sam sat in one of the chairs. He had gotten used to hospital waiting chairs over the years, considered the hard plastic to be an apt punishment for whatever had happened to land his family in there in the first place so the plush leather seats in the infirmary felt like a luxury Sam didn’t deserve. “Your brother is alive,” She said as soon as the boy obeyed. “But he swallowed a lot of water and he wasn’t breathing down there for a long time, we won’t know if there was any brain damage until he’s awake. He also hit the water hard, punctured a lung, broke a couple of ribs. I wish I could tell you for certain but we really won’t know much until he wakes up. I’ve got him sedated at the moment because he needs the ventilator and if he wakes up and starts fighting it, it will do him too much damage. With hope, I’ll be able to remove him from sedation in a couple of days and we can see what happens.”
“Sam? Sam!” The gruff voice of the ex-marine sounded like it was coming from miles away and Sam could barely make it out over the ringing in his ears and the thundering of his heartbeat in his skull, “Damn it, he’s going into shock.” Sam felt a hand at the back of his head as it was pushed down between his knees, “Breathe, boy. Breathe!” Sam sucked in air, his chest feeling tight and he couldn’t see beyond the blotches that decorated his vision. A warm hand rested on his back and rubbed, the weight so like his fathers that for a moment, Sam thought he was really there. Ever-so-slowly, Sam took back control of his body and eventually felt the same hand lifting his face back up. To his disappointment, he looked into the worried blue-green eyes of Jerry, “You back with us?”
“Yeah,” Sam croaked, feeling like he’d just ran a marathon, unable to stop the tremors that ran havoc through his body, “I just…”
“No need to explain, boy.” Jerry cut him off, “Janey may be one of the finest doctors that I’ve ever had the fortune to meet, heaven knows I’d be a corpse three times over without her, but she has yet to master the subtleties of bedside manner. We usually let Casey deal with patients but she’s busy monitoring your brother.”
“Dean!” Just the mere mention of his brother was enough to snap Sam into the here and now, “Can I see him?”
Dr Janey had been loitering nearby, a guilty look on her face at the distress her words had caused to the young man, “In a moment, get your strength back. I’ll warn you, he doesn’t look great.”
“Been trying to tell him that for years.” Sam half-heartedly jested.
Janey smiled, “There’s a tube down his throat helping him breathe, several other wires attached monitoring his pulse ox, heart function, electrolyte levels. He’s got a chest tube in to relieve the pressure on his lungs. He’s covered up with a number of warming blankets. While you managed to get him out of the water before he turned hypothermic, he’s still in the danger zone if his body temperature drops.”
Sam had thought he would get used to the sight of his brother looking three shades of crap on a hospital bed but every time the first sight of him was like a full body slam right into the pit of his stomach and Sam wobbled a little before making an unsteady, and determinedly unaided, pace across to the seat someone had conveniently put beside his brother’s bed. Sam couldn’t actually see that much of Dean from beneath the wires and tubes and blankets that seemed to twist haphazardly around his upper body though Sam was sure it all made sense to the doctor. His face was pale and dark shadows purpled under his taped-shut eyes. The plastic tube coming out of Dean’s mouth attached to the ventilator almost made Sam gag as he remembered the same situation not that many months before.
“I know it looks bad,” Janey’s voice said, “But he’s actually holding his own. I need to get some more X-rays done but I should be able to remove the chest tube by tonight. You should try talking to him, they say coma patients can hear.” Janey nodded to her nurse who was monitoring Dean’s vitals and the two of them drew back a little to give Sam room to talk to his brother.
“Idiot,” Sam cussed under his breath, “It’s just a mermaid, Sammy. Nothing to worry about, Sammy. How many times do I need to tell you not to follow the voices? If there is one telling you right now to head into the light, just ignore it, alright? Light is over-rated anyway.”
Sam felt a squeeze on his shoulder and saw the bulk of Jerry towering over his seated frame, “I know now is not the best time, Sam, but I need to know what the hell happened.” His voice was softer than his previous shout but there was still an angry edge to it.
Sam turned away from his brother and curled his blankets tighter around himself, “It’s a mermaid.” He answered, keeping his voice pitched low enough that the doctor and nurse couldn’t hear, “We found out that James had seen one three days before he died though no luck on finding out about Alan. Dean saw it three days ago. I thought we’d be fine, I was blocking him in on the bed but when I woke up, he wasn’t there anymore.” Sam had to pause to calm his breathing, eyes dragging themselves back to his brother before he forced himself to look away, “I headed up towards the deck. I wasn’t sure that’s where he’d go but I figured it was the most dangerous place. He was just standing there leaning off the back of the boat, I yelled to him and he just..” Sam shrugged and shook his head, barely believing it himself, “He just let go. I yelled to a couple of members of staff then dived in after him. The rest you probably know.”
“The fall alone coulda killed you,” Jerry grunted, “You are lucky, both of you are damn lucky.”
“Jerry,” Janey’s tone was a little spiked and warning as the short, dark-haired doctor nodded to where Sam slumped in his seat.
Jerry scowled and turned towards the door, “I’m going to go sort this mess out. Hopefully none of the other passengers saw it.” He snapped off a salute, more out of habit than any respect to the room’s occupants, and marched out of the door.
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