Hands and Feet chapter 3
Thanks so much for all the comments for the first two chapters! You're all too kind! In this part we get a somewhat glimpse of a more desirable Dean, because I've really put him in the dog house in this fic (I do love him, truly! It's just for plot's sake I swear) *wink*. In the next chapter after this one, though, we will get an explanation from dear ole Dean-o, but hopefully he's not too late…
-punkin
Part 3:
Dad brought us to a lake one weekend for Dean's birthday when I was ten. The weather hadn't been great, sure, and the supposed beach was more mud and rocks than actual sand. Nevertheless, they were some of the best days of my entire life. Dean had been so happy back then, his laughter genuine and easy to elicit, he'd even taught me how to do a flip off of the dock. No one else ever had that much patience with me at that age. I remember having a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. Dean always won, of course. But between you and me, I think Dad let him. As for Dad…well it was as if the man had been a different person for that moment in time. The sorrow had leaked away from his eyes and just for that one weekend, it was easy to pretend we were a normal family who did normal things. The lake water had been heavy and murky, and if one dove far enough, it could be like he or she was trapped in a never ending pit, with miles of water pushing in on every side.
That's how I feel now, like I'm under water…drowning, but unable to fight it. It's like the real world is muffled and hidden behind thick, persistent glass. The sensation leaves me speculating exactly how Dean is always able to stay under for so long without suffocating, assuming he doesn't actually cheat as I incessantly, although good naturedly, imply. I can feel, vaguely, a burning deep within me, as if someone has slid their hand into my abdomen and left a scorching, hot coal behind.
It's agonizing.
But no matter how much I want to, I'm unable to scream. I'm unable to move. And I'm unable to even speak.
I've had nightmares like this in the past, where I was helpless to stop something terrible from happening and could only remain motionless as my family died before my eyes. I'd wake up, sweaty and in tears, only to discover a frantic Dean right there by my bed side, waiting and ready to soothe the terror away. Why isn't that happening now? Why is Dean not waking me up?
Similar to a freight train, the memories come barreling into me without forewarning. Oh god…Dad's dead! Has been dead for weeks! I can see him, lying on the hospital floor, the coffee falling from my numb fingers…
My heart slows as I realize the fact that I still have Dean, that I'm not alone. Thank God! Except…Dean doesn't want me. He thinks I'm a freak. He told those hunters about me. But that can't be right, can it? Dean would never…
Suddenly, my drowning analogy seems enormously lackluster. It's more like sinking…
Sinking into depths where I'm aware I won't be able to return from. Due to some reason, I can't bring myself to care. Why not just let myself sink? Why not let reality just push me farther and farther down? Dean would be so disappointed in my willingness to give up. I mean, in the past he would've been. I envision his reaction now to be very, very different. Maybe he wouldn't care at all. He probably doesn't, that's why I'm not waking up. He doesn't want me to.
God, I'm so confused.
I suspect perhaps some of those coals have been forced into my head as well, bouncing around chaotically inside my brain. That's what it sure feels like anyways.
In the distance, it seems, millions of miles away, I can abruptly hear a voice calling my name. "SAM!"
It sounds so familiar. But it can't be…
I guess I didn't realize before just how cold I am until the sensation of warm, albeit calloused and rough, hands are suddenly touching me, pushing at my hair and running along the lengths of my body. I want to scream and pull away as soon as the mysterious touch reaches my stomach, their fingers, although surprisingly gentle, are still tremendously excruciating. Maybe whoever it is will remove the burrowed coals from my flesh. God, I hope so.
The cry catches in my throat. In lieu of it comes a feeble choking noise, a mere half whimper. But that can't possibly be me, can it?
The voice is back again, carrying with it a heart breaking, cracking tone that is peculiarly demanding and pleading all at the same time. "Shhh, Sammy, it's ok. Just stay with me, man. You're going to be all right. You're going to be fine."
Dean?
I'm losing my mind now, because Dean can't be here. Dean can't be talking to me like this, with so much raw concern and thinly veiled love. He doesn't want me, I'm unwanted, unneeded, a hindrance, a freak…
Why is it so hard for me to grasp this? Why can't I get it into my stupid head?
Yet, here I am, obviously hallucinating the older brother I'll never have again. I pray to sink faster, to sink farther, and to just become numb to all this clinging pain.
An unendurable pressure begins to be exerted against my middle, shoving the hot coals deeper than I thought feasible into me. I can taste blood in my mouth, on my tongue. Is it possible for my insides to be burning like this? Why isn't anyone putting out the fire? Surely someone has noticed by now…
"-am! Stay with me! Don't you dare…" Not-Dean is talking once more. I can't quite focus on all the words, though. They come across jumbled and muted, like when we were kids and made those silly, fake telephones out of tin cans and string. It'd been Dean's idea. We thought we were being so clever. Me? I'd just loved the fact that I possessed a direct line to my elder brother, a connection between us that lead to him and only him. It was special…is special.
But this is NOT Dean. Because Dean hates me, Dean wouldn't beg me to stay. Would he?
I surprise myself when all at once I manage to lift the dauntingly heavy lids covering my eyes.
Unbelievably, Dean's face is right there, so close to mine that he's practically on top of me. Don't get me wrong, though, because personal space kind of went up in flames alongside my nursery twenty odd years ago, so Dean and I really don't have any issues went it comes to being in each other's breathing room. But let me tell you, this is close, even for us.
I can't help the cough that tears itself from my throat, or the subsequent wetness that slides between my lips and dribbles onto my chin. From the devastated look on my imagined older brother's face, I have a sneaking suspicion it's blood. I guess you don't take a knife in the stomach without some serious consequences.
Fingers are immediately wiping at my face in the next moment, lingering over my pulse point and supporting my neck. Why is it so hard to just keep my head from lolling? I'm so tired…
"SAM! No sleeping! Hey…" my eyes snap open. I hadn't even realized I'd closed them to begin with. Everything was just…running together.
Dean looks terrible. Or, I mean, Not-Dean looks terrible? His face is haggard, the pallor to his skin sickly and wan. His emerald green eyes are red rimmed and shining with an emotion I can't quite seem to identify. The fact is I've never seen him like this, I've never witnessed him when this emotionally compromised. Especially not since the crash, not since Dad…well, you know. He's been too walled up behind righteous anger and frustration, too focused on hiding behind alcohol and violence. Too busy avoiding me…
That's the instance in which the small hope barely clinging to life within me is ruthlessly murdered. I can't face this right now. I can't face what my own mind has conjured in my last moments when I know that it's not real. A shiver tears down my spine. I wonder if Not-Dean can see the fire ants crawling and swarming all over my body. If he can, he's being unusually calm about it. I know for a fact Dean hates bugs, despite his protest, particularly ants.
But this isn't truly Dean, so why does it matter?
With a last, desperate gasp, I somehow manage to form words, the coppery, thick blood gurgling in my throat and nearly choking me. "I-I'm sorry…" I whisper. I know it's not really him, not really my brother, but god…I want it to be so badly. More than anything I want it to really be him! Even so, I had to say it, because I am sorry. Sorry for all the trouble I've caused, sorry for all the times I've let him and Dad down, sorry for not being able to help him with what he's going through.
Not-Dean tries to shush me, his hands pushing at my hair and cupping my cheeks, babbling on about an ambulance and to save my strength, saying we can have this discussion when I'm feeling better, saying I've nothing to apologize for, saying that he's the sorry one. It makes me want to cry. He's so real.
My sibling beams warmly down at me. It's so authentic, so Dean, and it's unquestionably the first smile I've gotten from him in ages. Who cares if it is slightly strained and marked by severe fret? The coals are flickering now, the flames weakly dying. While the relief is joyous, I'm smart enough to comprehend that it is not a good sign.
I let the darkness sweep me away, then, without putting up any resistance, even when I can barely make out Not-Dean wailing my name. It's almost enough to make me stay. Almost.
In a fleeting second, one in which an intolerable wind whistles within my ears and swirls all around me, I am suddenly staring down at my own lifeless body and the huddled form of my sobbing older brother above my bloody and broken figure.
TBC…
Yes, it is indeed going to be longer than initially planned *smile* and in the next part, we get an insight into Dean's apparent betrayal, what went down at the bar, and what will become of those pesky hunters who tried to kill our Sammy! Remember, it's not a death fic, I promise! I'm a sucker for a happy ending lol
-punkin
Part 3:
Dad brought us to a lake one weekend for Dean's birthday when I was ten. The weather hadn't been great, sure, and the supposed beach was more mud and rocks than actual sand. Nevertheless, they were some of the best days of my entire life. Dean had been so happy back then, his laughter genuine and easy to elicit, he'd even taught me how to do a flip off of the dock. No one else ever had that much patience with me at that age. I remember having a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. Dean always won, of course. But between you and me, I think Dad let him. As for Dad…well it was as if the man had been a different person for that moment in time. The sorrow had leaked away from his eyes and just for that one weekend, it was easy to pretend we were a normal family who did normal things. The lake water had been heavy and murky, and if one dove far enough, it could be like he or she was trapped in a never ending pit, with miles of water pushing in on every side.
That's how I feel now, like I'm under water…drowning, but unable to fight it. It's like the real world is muffled and hidden behind thick, persistent glass. The sensation leaves me speculating exactly how Dean is always able to stay under for so long without suffocating, assuming he doesn't actually cheat as I incessantly, although good naturedly, imply. I can feel, vaguely, a burning deep within me, as if someone has slid their hand into my abdomen and left a scorching, hot coal behind.
It's agonizing.
But no matter how much I want to, I'm unable to scream. I'm unable to move. And I'm unable to even speak.
I've had nightmares like this in the past, where I was helpless to stop something terrible from happening and could only remain motionless as my family died before my eyes. I'd wake up, sweaty and in tears, only to discover a frantic Dean right there by my bed side, waiting and ready to soothe the terror away. Why isn't that happening now? Why is Dean not waking me up?
Similar to a freight train, the memories come barreling into me without forewarning. Oh god…Dad's dead! Has been dead for weeks! I can see him, lying on the hospital floor, the coffee falling from my numb fingers…
My heart slows as I realize the fact that I still have Dean, that I'm not alone. Thank God! Except…Dean doesn't want me. He thinks I'm a freak. He told those hunters about me. But that can't be right, can it? Dean would never…
Suddenly, my drowning analogy seems enormously lackluster. It's more like sinking…
Sinking into depths where I'm aware I won't be able to return from. Due to some reason, I can't bring myself to care. Why not just let myself sink? Why not let reality just push me farther and farther down? Dean would be so disappointed in my willingness to give up. I mean, in the past he would've been. I envision his reaction now to be very, very different. Maybe he wouldn't care at all. He probably doesn't, that's why I'm not waking up. He doesn't want me to.
God, I'm so confused.
I suspect perhaps some of those coals have been forced into my head as well, bouncing around chaotically inside my brain. That's what it sure feels like anyways.
In the distance, it seems, millions of miles away, I can abruptly hear a voice calling my name. "SAM!"
It sounds so familiar. But it can't be…
I guess I didn't realize before just how cold I am until the sensation of warm, albeit calloused and rough, hands are suddenly touching me, pushing at my hair and running along the lengths of my body. I want to scream and pull away as soon as the mysterious touch reaches my stomach, their fingers, although surprisingly gentle, are still tremendously excruciating. Maybe whoever it is will remove the burrowed coals from my flesh. God, I hope so.
The cry catches in my throat. In lieu of it comes a feeble choking noise, a mere half whimper. But that can't possibly be me, can it?
The voice is back again, carrying with it a heart breaking, cracking tone that is peculiarly demanding and pleading all at the same time. "Shhh, Sammy, it's ok. Just stay with me, man. You're going to be all right. You're going to be fine."
Dean?
I'm losing my mind now, because Dean can't be here. Dean can't be talking to me like this, with so much raw concern and thinly veiled love. He doesn't want me, I'm unwanted, unneeded, a hindrance, a freak…
Why is it so hard for me to grasp this? Why can't I get it into my stupid head?
Yet, here I am, obviously hallucinating the older brother I'll never have again. I pray to sink faster, to sink farther, and to just become numb to all this clinging pain.
An unendurable pressure begins to be exerted against my middle, shoving the hot coals deeper than I thought feasible into me. I can taste blood in my mouth, on my tongue. Is it possible for my insides to be burning like this? Why isn't anyone putting out the fire? Surely someone has noticed by now…
"-am! Stay with me! Don't you dare…" Not-Dean is talking once more. I can't quite focus on all the words, though. They come across jumbled and muted, like when we were kids and made those silly, fake telephones out of tin cans and string. It'd been Dean's idea. We thought we were being so clever. Me? I'd just loved the fact that I possessed a direct line to my elder brother, a connection between us that lead to him and only him. It was special…is special.
But this is NOT Dean. Because Dean hates me, Dean wouldn't beg me to stay. Would he?
I surprise myself when all at once I manage to lift the dauntingly heavy lids covering my eyes.
Unbelievably, Dean's face is right there, so close to mine that he's practically on top of me. Don't get me wrong, though, because personal space kind of went up in flames alongside my nursery twenty odd years ago, so Dean and I really don't have any issues went it comes to being in each other's breathing room. But let me tell you, this is close, even for us.
I can't help the cough that tears itself from my throat, or the subsequent wetness that slides between my lips and dribbles onto my chin. From the devastated look on my imagined older brother's face, I have a sneaking suspicion it's blood. I guess you don't take a knife in the stomach without some serious consequences.
Fingers are immediately wiping at my face in the next moment, lingering over my pulse point and supporting my neck. Why is it so hard to just keep my head from lolling? I'm so tired…
"SAM! No sleeping! Hey…" my eyes snap open. I hadn't even realized I'd closed them to begin with. Everything was just…running together.
Dean looks terrible. Or, I mean, Not-Dean looks terrible? His face is haggard, the pallor to his skin sickly and wan. His emerald green eyes are red rimmed and shining with an emotion I can't quite seem to identify. The fact is I've never seen him like this, I've never witnessed him when this emotionally compromised. Especially not since the crash, not since Dad…well, you know. He's been too walled up behind righteous anger and frustration, too focused on hiding behind alcohol and violence. Too busy avoiding me…
That's the instance in which the small hope barely clinging to life within me is ruthlessly murdered. I can't face this right now. I can't face what my own mind has conjured in my last moments when I know that it's not real. A shiver tears down my spine. I wonder if Not-Dean can see the fire ants crawling and swarming all over my body. If he can, he's being unusually calm about it. I know for a fact Dean hates bugs, despite his protest, particularly ants.
But this isn't truly Dean, so why does it matter?
With a last, desperate gasp, I somehow manage to form words, the coppery, thick blood gurgling in my throat and nearly choking me. "I-I'm sorry…" I whisper. I know it's not really him, not really my brother, but god…I want it to be so badly. More than anything I want it to really be him! Even so, I had to say it, because I am sorry. Sorry for all the trouble I've caused, sorry for all the times I've let him and Dad down, sorry for not being able to help him with what he's going through.
Not-Dean tries to shush me, his hands pushing at my hair and cupping my cheeks, babbling on about an ambulance and to save my strength, saying we can have this discussion when I'm feeling better, saying I've nothing to apologize for, saying that he's the sorry one. It makes me want to cry. He's so real.
My sibling beams warmly down at me. It's so authentic, so Dean, and it's unquestionably the first smile I've gotten from him in ages. Who cares if it is slightly strained and marked by severe fret? The coals are flickering now, the flames weakly dying. While the relief is joyous, I'm smart enough to comprehend that it is not a good sign.
I let the darkness sweep me away, then, without putting up any resistance, even when I can barely make out Not-Dean wailing my name. It's almost enough to make me stay. Almost.
In a fleeting second, one in which an intolerable wind whistles within my ears and swirls all around me, I am suddenly staring down at my own lifeless body and the huddled form of my sobbing older brother above my bloody and broken figure.
TBC…
Yes, it is indeed going to be longer than initially planned *smile* and in the next part, we get an insight into Dean's apparent betrayal, what went down at the bar, and what will become of those pesky hunters who tried to kill our Sammy! Remember, it's not a death fic, I promise! I'm a sucker for a happy ending lol