Pick up the pieces and go home.

[broken_brushes]

Four and a half years I'd been on the island. I'd lived and loved, I'd built something I was proud of, I'd cried and carried on. But only once had I ever come across a mysterious item from home, and over time, I'd forgotten that I, too, could be the target of anything so explicitly cruel

Comments

[quileutejacob]

Jacob was more than used to random things just showing up out of nowhere after almost two years on the island but that still never prepared him for when they, well, showed up out of nowhere.

It looked like some kind of stainless steel exam table and Shari was standing there with it; Jacob quietly hoped it didn't mean it belonged to her.

"Uh, are we redecorating your house, Shari? I didn't get the memo."

[broken_brushes]

Thank God for Jacob Black. He towered over me, over everyone, could have easily been a menace but was tender-hearted instead, and he looked after me so well that I scarcely knew what I would have done without him.

I sucked in a breath, opened my eyes and looked down at the image of my fingers splayed across the white sheet.

"I think I'm going to be donating this one to the clinic, actually," I replied, and finally glanced up to him.

[quileutejacob]

"Want me to move it for you? It might be kind of awkward by myself but at least it's out of the way and you don't have to deal with it."

It looked like one of those tables from morgues and Jacob was pretty sure that something like that wasn't a cause for celebration. If anything...yeah. He wasn't going to even touch that because if Shari wanted to talk, Jacob had every confidence that she'd speak up and they could talk about it. If not, he owed it to her to let her put it out of her mind.

"Least I can do. Just say the word and the werewolf moving service is ready and waiting."

[broken_brushes]

"Not right away, thank you," I replied with a shake of my head, and tried to offer him a reassuring smile. I didn't feel much like smiling, but it wasn't anything to do with being sad or upset.

"I think I'm going to save the rest," I admitted, and glanced down to the tag in my hand. "Maybe I can get someone to make me a chest for it."

[weary_head]

There's a part of Dean that wonders if it isn't too soon to despair. He's checked all the places Helen would be if she needed time alone, but when night falls and she doesn't come to the Club, her Club, he knows in his bones it's a lost cause. He should feel worse, probably, about despairing after only a day, but he's seen so many go - it's hard to keep holding out hope when there's so little reason to.

Leaving the kitchen and the urge to dump out his coffee and seek whiskey instead, Dean pauses in the rec room door. There's a cup at Shari's feet, and when Dean reaches her side, he can't remember where his own went, either, but he doesn't much care. His hand folds over hers, obscuring the tag. "We're gonna sit now," he says, fingers around her elbow.

[broken_brushes]

I honestly think I was fine until Dean's hand covered my own. I'd learned to compartmentalize a long time ago, had come to regard my death with pragmatism well before that, and wherever I'd gone was distant but calm. I looked down at those familiar fingers, though, and it was Dean, it was Dean, and I nodded but my chin trembled under the weight of a hundred things unsaid.

"Okay."

[weary_head]

Dean guides her to the couch, whose occupants thankfully only need one look at the thundercloud of Dean's expression before choosing to vacate. Sitting Shari down, Dean kneels in front of her, his hand still subtly fighting hers for possession of the tag.

"You with me?" he asks, angling his face until its between her and the table.

[broken_brushes]

"Yes," I replied with a quick nod. It wasn't entirely true, as my mind kept getting tugged back to the towel bunched at the end of the exam table, but it was enough. "I see you, Dean."

My gaze fell to the toe tag in my hand, and all at once I let go and let him have it. "I'm going to want that back."

[off_the_ceiling]

Jess had already been in the rec room when Shari arrived, and when her wave and smile went unacknowledged, she knew that something was wrong. Well, that and the fact that there was now a large metal table in the middle of the room which, even on the island, was something noteworthy.

"Shari," she said, but she didn't think Shari heard her even though she was now close to her, sidestepping the broken mug to reach for Shari's elbow. At the last minute she touched her shoulder instead--less likely to earn her an accidental elbow in the boob if she startled her.

[broken_brushes]

My eyes opened with a slow, steady intake of breath. The touch of Jess' hand was familiar enough that even had she not spoken, I wouldn't have had to confirm it was her by sight. We lived together and she was one of my best friends; I probably knew her better than anyone on the entire island.

"I watched when they identified the body," I quietly said as I dropped my eyes to the sheet. "I had no idea what was going on until I saw my own face."

[off_the_ceiling]

Jess never had to face her own body, never experienced the follow-through to her own murder, but her own experience still brings her closer to understanding what Shari must be feeling now, and what she went through the first time around.

"I think once was probably enough, for that," she says after a moment. "Is there anything you want to take with you, or should I just take care of this?"

[broken_brushes]

"Maybe," I allowed, but was even less sure on that count than I sounded. I finally turned to look at Jess, and while I wasn't in a smiling sort of mood, my expression softened.

"I think the table needs to go to the clinic, the rest I'm going to keep." I knew how creepy it had to sound, but I hoped that if anyone could understand where I was coming from, it was Jess. "Just in case I need a reminder, I think."

[badblood_rising]

"Shari?"

Sam's not blind nor is he stupid, despite some people's accusations. All it takes is two seconds after he's stepped into the rec room to see that something's wrong, to notice that there's a metal table like something you might find in a medical examiner's office sitting in the middle of the room, to register that Shari's got a problem with it. Maybe problem's not the right world, but there's a broken mug on the floor, spilled coffee and you shouldn't pause like that against just any old table.

He ignores the mess, for the moment, and moves straight to her side, resting a warm hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

[broken_brushes]

For a long moment, I couldn't believe he needed to ask. My eyes opened slowly and my expression was composed, but I felt a sharp, incredulous and childish stab of pain that he'd not put two and two together.

And then I remembered who he was.

My eyes fell closed again as I drew a slow, steadying breath and let it out again. "Sam," I said, and finally looked up to him, a knot of emotion held carefully down inside my chest. I remembered how poorly he'd reacted the last time. Most of them did. There really isn't a graceful way to hear that someone you care about used to be dead, but the boys were always the worst and the Winchesters…well.

"This is mine."

[badblood_rising]

"Yours?" he asks, but clarification comes almost immediately from his own mind, hitting him square in the chest.

Hers. Her examination table. Sam glances down at the tag in her hands, a small detail that confirms his sudden suspicion.

It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter, not really, not here. Dean nearly married a werewolf. Jess came back to life. Sam's friends with an angel who chose to leave heaven and a hooker who chose to leave Kansas. That Shari's actually dead shouldn't matter, not when he's saved her from blood-thirsty mutants and stuffed bananas.

But it kind of does. "How?" he manages, voice soft. It's probably not the most sensitive thing to say, but it's the only thing he can think.

[broken_brushes]

"I was pushed from a fourth floor balcony," I answered, probably too easily for Sam's tastes. I know I didn't look at all troubled by the admission, and I didn't see any sense in beating around the bush.

"Sam, I…" I began again, because here came the difficult part, the critical bit that had always mattered so much before. I drew another deep breath and sighed it out. "I was a ghost for over a year before I got here."

I had been a ghost, and he'd exorcised ghosts. Salted and burnt, poof.

[broken_brushes]

He was so angry. I could hear it threaded through the normally calm timbre of his voice, could see it in the pinched places on his face when I looked up at him. Formidable; avenging, even.

One hand I kept firmly upon the table, the other I pressed flat against Ishiah's chest over his heart.

"No." Green eyes wide but serene, I watched him. He didn't understand. How could he? "Forgetting it is the worst thing I could do."

[broken_brushes]

"Because I am alive, Ishiah," I replied, my own measure of fierceness surging forward to meet his. "And sometimes I forget where I used to be."

On impulse, I seized his closest hand and laid it against my chest. "Do you feel that?" I whispered, the words wavering but my heartbeat steady. My fingers twisted in the front of his shirt and I lifted onto my toes to press a swift, fervent kiss to his mouth, further proof.

"I'm alive," I repeated as I settled back upon my heels. "Don't presume to tell me the right of this again."