spn/ff - Help, I'm Alive 6/?
Title: Help, I’m Alive 6/?
Author: Liv
Fandom: Supernatural/Firefly
Characters: River Tam, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer
30-kisses Prompt: 22. Cradle
Rating: R
Warnings: general spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Firefly. Any characters you don’t recognize are original and should not be used without my permission.
Author’s Note: Did…did I just use lore to explain away River? I think I did. And cookies for whoever can guess the Criminal Minds reference/quote I slipped in.
part 1|part 2|part 3| part 4|part 5
There was dried blood in her hair. It was a startling discovery and made her go cross-eyed as she stared at the strands of hair stuck together, coated in something that looked red when the light caught it, and smelled coppery when the wind accidentally blew it against her nose. She was only outside because Simon told her that sunshine would be good for her, that she was starting to look pale. As if anyone one that gorram boat wasn’t pale.
River watched Simon become distracted by Jayne and his guns and his cursin’ and slipped away back onto the ship unnoticed, her dress twirling around her knees as she moved across the cargo bay. She felt like one of those things that Sam sometimes dreamt about. He called them ninjas. She felt like one, moving like the wind on the current until she reached the infirmary. She paused, staring through the window into her own private hell, memorialized, preserved, into shiny metal and sterilized knifes; made to cut into her and poison her. Her eyes darted around the room, mapping it out through the window.
Her breath fogged up the glass and she wiped it clean, her eyes flickering out of focus for a moment. Simon is logical, Simon is efficient, and Simon is an idiot. Simon wouldn’t believe that she would steal from him. River straightened, moving down the metal steps that made indents in the bottom of her feet, stepping around the doors and into the pretty, pretty clean white room. River stared at the chair, sitting idly, innocently and waiting.
“Can’t look,” she breathed, stepping along the perimeter to where Simon kept his medication for her. No lock, no key. Tiny, happy bottles clinked against each other as she ran her fingers over the tops of them, looking for the right one, looking for hers.
She touched it and little whispers broke out in her head. Dancing and falling like pieces of paper. Would it have been suspicious to take the medicine and a syringe? Probably, but logic in River’s mind was that she could explain it away to Simon if he asked, that she took it to be rid of it. Lying to Simon was bad, not telling the whole truth could be forgiven.
River locked herself in her room, ripping apart a dress and using parts as a tourniquet. She found it much easier to administer the drug herself, without Simon telling her to stay calm, and waited. She waited for her stomach to unsettle and her body to fall asleep so she could wake up. It was painful, and too quickly. River was overwhelmed with warm feelings and fell asleep sitting against her wall, the needle and glass bottle hidden under her pillow.
She woke up against her wall, feeling…safe.
It was always safe with Sam.
.
Sam’s eyelids fell closed for a moment, one very long moment before he managed to blink them back open, straightening up in his chair at Bobby’s table. There was a cup of cold coffee in front of him and an empty bottle of beer next to it. Sam wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth, and sighed, looking over his shoulder to the front of the house, where Dean and Bobby were still talking. It hadn’t been that long, maybe a few minutes since they’d made some lame excuse and left him at the table alone. Sam shook his head, reaching out for the cold cup of coffee and swallowing half of it. It tasted weird, but knowing Bobby it was probably something weird. He cracked his neck and settled back against his chair, glancing over his shoulder again. Dean looked over at the same time and nodded to him, clapping Bobby on the back and heading back to the kitchen, flopping into the chair next to Sam and resting his forearms against the table.
“Go get some sleep, Sam,” said Dean, nodding off to the couch in the other room. Sam stared at his brother, his eyes narrowing.
“So all of a sudden I can sleep?”
“You’re safe at Bobby’s,” said Dean. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you here.”
“Nothing bad was happening to me, Dean.”
“Besides the freaky chic named River,” muttered Dean, rolling his eyes. Sam shook his head and drained the last of the coffee, setting it back and pushing himself away from the table.
“Whatever, Dean,” said Sam, rubbing his eyes as he headed for the couch. Screw Dean, screw Bobby, screw Dad. It wasn’t like any of them were actually listening to him. He’d sleep just to spite them. Sam flopped facedown on Bobby’s worn out couch, breathing in the smell of gun power and rock salt. He was out in two minutes tops, his snores muffled by the scratchy fabric of the couch pillows.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Dean?” asked Bobby, looking down at Sam as he and Dean stood over him, watching him sleep. Bobby’s face was screwed up in concern, while Dean just looked stony and determined.
“It’s the only way to save him,” Bobby nodded and turned back to the kitchen, pulling a book off the coffee table and flipping it open, leafing through stained, dog-eared pages with Dean on his heels, looking over his shoulder. “What do you think it is?”
“I’m thinking it might be some sort of succubus,” said Dean, moving around Bobby and grabbing a semi-clean cup next to the sink. “Guy can’t stop thinking about her, he’s practically a zombie-”
“Good theory,” muttered Bobby. “You get inside Sam’s head it might go after you.”
“I can handle it,” said Dean, turning to Bobby and holding out his cup for him to take. “Let’s do this.”
.
Sam’s head was swimming, warm and fuzzy, swaying on his feet. He blinked quickly, shaking his hair out of his eyes and looking around. He wasn’t in River’s room. He wasn’t in the kitchen or in the cargo bay or on the bridge or any of the places he usually woke up to. He blinked, frowning, feeling another wave of warmth and fuzziness fog up his head. The sound of something wet hitting metal caught his attention and his head whipped around, his hair flopping back into his eyes. He was in a bathroom, and somebody was throwing up.
“River?” he asked softly, moving closer to the sound of retching, holding his hand against the wall next to him to keep his balance. River was leaning against a toilet, her forehead pressed into the metal rim, her arms wrapped around her stomach and her knees drawn up to her chest. Sam frowned, moving to her side quickly and dropping to his knees next to her, pushing her hair off her sweaty forehead and tipping her face into the light.
“Woah. Baby, you okay?”
“It hurts,” she whispered, shifting her weight so she’s leaning against Sam, her forehead dropping into the curve of his neck. “I took too much.”
“To much what?” asked Sam, his hand moving to her back.
“I have to take it so I’m better,” she whispered into his shirt collar. “I have to be better for Simon. I have to be better.”
“River, that’s blood,” said Sam, his eyes widening in horror as he realized what that copper smell was and the drops of red on the metal toilet lid. “Whatever it is, it’s making you sick-”
“It makes me better,” said River, her voice hard. She brought a hand up to her mouth, wiping a line of blood off her chin. “It makes me better out there.”
“Obviously it isn’t working.”
“It’s not supposed to be like this,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “Not here, not with you here. Something changed.”
“Changed how?” asked Sam softly. River’s eyes opened slowly, shinning with tears and pulled away from him, looking over his shoulder.
“Shouldn’t be here. He’s not allowed.”
“Who?”
The sound of a gun being cocked had Sam’s head shooting up, looking over his shoulder. “Dean?”
“Get away from it, Sammy.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I said get away from it,” snapped Dean, training his gun on River. Sam glanced down at the girl and then back up at Dean, making a face.
“Please tell me this is an actual dream and you’re not really here.”
“Not right,” whispered River, moving her hand (the one with smeared blood across it) around the back of Sam’s neck, twirling her fingers into his hair. A muscle in Dean’s neck pulsed when River pressed her nose and mouth into Sam’s shoulder, staring at him unblinkingly. “He skipped a step and through off the dance.”
“Look, I don’t care what the hell it is your saying,” said Dean, scathing, sarcastic, condescending, his words rolling off his tongue while he frowns at her, his gun pointed at her. “Just get the hell out of my brother’s head and I wont have to kill you. Deal?”
“Stop talking to her like that, Dean, jesus- How the hell did you get into our heads!?” shouted Sam.
“I’m in your head, Sam,” said Dean, giving his brother a look. “She’s not real.”
“She’s real, Dean,” said Sam seriously. “I can’t explain to you how I’m feeling, but- Is this the reason we’re at Bobby’s?”
She turned her head slightly to look at him, interrupting Dean. “If he doesn’t go, we wont wake up.” Sam didn’t look back, continued staring at Dean.
“Dad’s not really coming. Is he? It was all a trick because you thought something was wrong with me.”
“Something is wrong, Sam,” growled Dean, waving his arms around. “You can’t honestly think that I believe everything’s alright with you, do you? With the nightmares and Jess and looking for Dad, don’t tell me it hasn’t taken it’s toll on you. This…whatever it is, whatever she is, isn’t real.”
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” said Sam softly, pulling River closer to him, shaking his head. “No idea, Dean.”
“He’s ruining the dream, Sammy. We won’t wake up. I have to wake up, for Simon. I have to…”
“Shh, River, it’ll all be okay,” muttered Sam, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her on the forehead. “Dean ‘ll leave and we’ll wake up.”
“He doesn’t think I’m real,” said River, the tears in her eyes spilling down her cheeks, her voice cracking and high pitched. Dean frowned at her, sitting it Sam’s lap, shaking on the floor.
“What’s going on, Sam?” he asked softly, lowering his gun and tucking it away into the back of his pants.
“Get out of here, Dean,” said Sam, ignoring Dean’s question. “Let me be happy for two seconds before you wake me up and ruin it all.”
Dean stared at him. Stared at him longer than he should have before he turned a walked away, disappearing and leaving the two of them alone again. River closed her eyes taking a shuddering breath, pressing her forehead against Sam’s shoulder.
“You made him sad,” said River. “He wont be happy when you wake up.”
“He’ll deal,” whispered Sam, nudging her cheek with his nose so she’d look at him and pressing his forehead against her, closing his eyes and breathing her in. The smell of metal and space and nighttime filling his head. Something cool brushed against his cheeks, made his hair and her hair move as their dream changed into wind and nighttime and stars.
“I love you, River,” said Sam softly, his voice catching on the love part and her name. River sat up, moving her mouth against his and running her hands down his neck.
“I love you back.”
part 7
Author: Liv
Fandom: Supernatural/Firefly
Characters: River Tam, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer
30-kisses Prompt: 22. Cradle
Rating: R
Warnings: general spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Firefly. Any characters you don’t recognize are original and should not be used without my permission.
Author’s Note: Did…did I just use lore to explain away River? I think I did. And cookies for whoever can guess the Criminal Minds reference/quote I slipped in.
part 1|part 2|part 3| part 4|part 5
There was dried blood in her hair. It was a startling discovery and made her go cross-eyed as she stared at the strands of hair stuck together, coated in something that looked red when the light caught it, and smelled coppery when the wind accidentally blew it against her nose. She was only outside because Simon told her that sunshine would be good for her, that she was starting to look pale. As if anyone one that gorram boat wasn’t pale.
River watched Simon become distracted by Jayne and his guns and his cursin’ and slipped away back onto the ship unnoticed, her dress twirling around her knees as she moved across the cargo bay. She felt like one of those things that Sam sometimes dreamt about. He called them ninjas. She felt like one, moving like the wind on the current until she reached the infirmary. She paused, staring through the window into her own private hell, memorialized, preserved, into shiny metal and sterilized knifes; made to cut into her and poison her. Her eyes darted around the room, mapping it out through the window.
Her breath fogged up the glass and she wiped it clean, her eyes flickering out of focus for a moment. Simon is logical, Simon is efficient, and Simon is an idiot. Simon wouldn’t believe that she would steal from him. River straightened, moving down the metal steps that made indents in the bottom of her feet, stepping around the doors and into the pretty, pretty clean white room. River stared at the chair, sitting idly, innocently and waiting.
“Can’t look,” she breathed, stepping along the perimeter to where Simon kept his medication for her. No lock, no key. Tiny, happy bottles clinked against each other as she ran her fingers over the tops of them, looking for the right one, looking for hers.
She touched it and little whispers broke out in her head. Dancing and falling like pieces of paper. Would it have been suspicious to take the medicine and a syringe? Probably, but logic in River’s mind was that she could explain it away to Simon if he asked, that she took it to be rid of it. Lying to Simon was bad, not telling the whole truth could be forgiven.
River locked herself in her room, ripping apart a dress and using parts as a tourniquet. She found it much easier to administer the drug herself, without Simon telling her to stay calm, and waited. She waited for her stomach to unsettle and her body to fall asleep so she could wake up. It was painful, and too quickly. River was overwhelmed with warm feelings and fell asleep sitting against her wall, the needle and glass bottle hidden under her pillow.
She woke up against her wall, feeling…safe.
It was always safe with Sam.
.
Sam’s eyelids fell closed for a moment, one very long moment before he managed to blink them back open, straightening up in his chair at Bobby’s table. There was a cup of cold coffee in front of him and an empty bottle of beer next to it. Sam wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth, and sighed, looking over his shoulder to the front of the house, where Dean and Bobby were still talking. It hadn’t been that long, maybe a few minutes since they’d made some lame excuse and left him at the table alone. Sam shook his head, reaching out for the cold cup of coffee and swallowing half of it. It tasted weird, but knowing Bobby it was probably something weird. He cracked his neck and settled back against his chair, glancing over his shoulder again. Dean looked over at the same time and nodded to him, clapping Bobby on the back and heading back to the kitchen, flopping into the chair next to Sam and resting his forearms against the table.
“Go get some sleep, Sam,” said Dean, nodding off to the couch in the other room. Sam stared at his brother, his eyes narrowing.
“So all of a sudden I can sleep?”
“You’re safe at Bobby’s,” said Dean. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you here.”
“Nothing bad was happening to me, Dean.”
“Besides the freaky chic named River,” muttered Dean, rolling his eyes. Sam shook his head and drained the last of the coffee, setting it back and pushing himself away from the table.
“Whatever, Dean,” said Sam, rubbing his eyes as he headed for the couch. Screw Dean, screw Bobby, screw Dad. It wasn’t like any of them were actually listening to him. He’d sleep just to spite them. Sam flopped facedown on Bobby’s worn out couch, breathing in the smell of gun power and rock salt. He was out in two minutes tops, his snores muffled by the scratchy fabric of the couch pillows.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Dean?” asked Bobby, looking down at Sam as he and Dean stood over him, watching him sleep. Bobby’s face was screwed up in concern, while Dean just looked stony and determined.
“It’s the only way to save him,” Bobby nodded and turned back to the kitchen, pulling a book off the coffee table and flipping it open, leafing through stained, dog-eared pages with Dean on his heels, looking over his shoulder. “What do you think it is?”
“I’m thinking it might be some sort of succubus,” said Dean, moving around Bobby and grabbing a semi-clean cup next to the sink. “Guy can’t stop thinking about her, he’s practically a zombie-”
“Good theory,” muttered Bobby. “You get inside Sam’s head it might go after you.”
“I can handle it,” said Dean, turning to Bobby and holding out his cup for him to take. “Let’s do this.”
.
Sam’s head was swimming, warm and fuzzy, swaying on his feet. He blinked quickly, shaking his hair out of his eyes and looking around. He wasn’t in River’s room. He wasn’t in the kitchen or in the cargo bay or on the bridge or any of the places he usually woke up to. He blinked, frowning, feeling another wave of warmth and fuzziness fog up his head. The sound of something wet hitting metal caught his attention and his head whipped around, his hair flopping back into his eyes. He was in a bathroom, and somebody was throwing up.
“River?” he asked softly, moving closer to the sound of retching, holding his hand against the wall next to him to keep his balance. River was leaning against a toilet, her forehead pressed into the metal rim, her arms wrapped around her stomach and her knees drawn up to her chest. Sam frowned, moving to her side quickly and dropping to his knees next to her, pushing her hair off her sweaty forehead and tipping her face into the light.
“Woah. Baby, you okay?”
“It hurts,” she whispered, shifting her weight so she’s leaning against Sam, her forehead dropping into the curve of his neck. “I took too much.”
“To much what?” asked Sam, his hand moving to her back.
“I have to take it so I’m better,” she whispered into his shirt collar. “I have to be better for Simon. I have to be better.”
“River, that’s blood,” said Sam, his eyes widening in horror as he realized what that copper smell was and the drops of red on the metal toilet lid. “Whatever it is, it’s making you sick-”
“It makes me better,” said River, her voice hard. She brought a hand up to her mouth, wiping a line of blood off her chin. “It makes me better out there.”
“Obviously it isn’t working.”
“It’s not supposed to be like this,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “Not here, not with you here. Something changed.”
“Changed how?” asked Sam softly. River’s eyes opened slowly, shinning with tears and pulled away from him, looking over his shoulder.
“Shouldn’t be here. He’s not allowed.”
“Who?”
The sound of a gun being cocked had Sam’s head shooting up, looking over his shoulder. “Dean?”
“Get away from it, Sammy.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I said get away from it,” snapped Dean, training his gun on River. Sam glanced down at the girl and then back up at Dean, making a face.
“Please tell me this is an actual dream and you’re not really here.”
“Not right,” whispered River, moving her hand (the one with smeared blood across it) around the back of Sam’s neck, twirling her fingers into his hair. A muscle in Dean’s neck pulsed when River pressed her nose and mouth into Sam’s shoulder, staring at him unblinkingly. “He skipped a step and through off the dance.”
“Look, I don’t care what the hell it is your saying,” said Dean, scathing, sarcastic, condescending, his words rolling off his tongue while he frowns at her, his gun pointed at her. “Just get the hell out of my brother’s head and I wont have to kill you. Deal?”
“Stop talking to her like that, Dean, jesus- How the hell did you get into our heads!?” shouted Sam.
“I’m in your head, Sam,” said Dean, giving his brother a look. “She’s not real.”
“She’s real, Dean,” said Sam seriously. “I can’t explain to you how I’m feeling, but- Is this the reason we’re at Bobby’s?”
She turned her head slightly to look at him, interrupting Dean. “If he doesn’t go, we wont wake up.” Sam didn’t look back, continued staring at Dean.
“Dad’s not really coming. Is he? It was all a trick because you thought something was wrong with me.”
“Something is wrong, Sam,” growled Dean, waving his arms around. “You can’t honestly think that I believe everything’s alright with you, do you? With the nightmares and Jess and looking for Dad, don’t tell me it hasn’t taken it’s toll on you. This…whatever it is, whatever she is, isn’t real.”
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” said Sam softly, pulling River closer to him, shaking his head. “No idea, Dean.”
“He’s ruining the dream, Sammy. We won’t wake up. I have to wake up, for Simon. I have to…”
“Shh, River, it’ll all be okay,” muttered Sam, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her on the forehead. “Dean ‘ll leave and we’ll wake up.”
“He doesn’t think I’m real,” said River, the tears in her eyes spilling down her cheeks, her voice cracking and high pitched. Dean frowned at her, sitting it Sam’s lap, shaking on the floor.
“What’s going on, Sam?” he asked softly, lowering his gun and tucking it away into the back of his pants.
“Get out of here, Dean,” said Sam, ignoring Dean’s question. “Let me be happy for two seconds before you wake me up and ruin it all.”
Dean stared at him. Stared at him longer than he should have before he turned a walked away, disappearing and leaving the two of them alone again. River closed her eyes taking a shuddering breath, pressing her forehead against Sam’s shoulder.
“You made him sad,” said River. “He wont be happy when you wake up.”
“He’ll deal,” whispered Sam, nudging her cheek with his nose so she’d look at him and pressing his forehead against her, closing his eyes and breathing her in. The smell of metal and space and nighttime filling his head. Something cool brushed against his cheeks, made his hair and her hair move as their dream changed into wind and nighttime and stars.
“I love you, River,” said Sam softly, his voice catching on the love part and her name. River sat up, moving her mouth against his and running her hands down his neck.
“I love you back.”
part 7