Watershed, Sam, Dean, 1/1
Dec. 31st, 2013 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mangacat201Title: Watershed
Author: Mangacat(201)
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to any and all materials recognizably belonging to the show Supernatural, nor am I making money off of using them for my own fannish pleasures.
Warnings/Spoilers:temporary character death
Summary: Dying feels different every time.
A/N: So, apparently, I can’t let it go even though I barely have a day to go on my bingo and still two and a half squares to fill. Also, I decided to make Dean get hurt this time, ha! For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo square ‘drowning’.
Mirror on AO3
It’s a strange image of the world that you can see from under water. Colours are blurry and indistinct, shapes distorted to the point of being unidentifiable. Even in the memory of times long passed, rare, treasured summer days of playing at the lake, submerged in water so still that all the ripples are gone and the surface is smooth and undisturbed – even those memories are of a world in between.
In the kind of water that is churned by thrashing, flailing limbs reaching for the surface, for something to grab, to hold, for leverage in a dance of life and death, waters filled with bubbled breath going up alone and empty of oxygen, waves and splashes – there up is down and nothing of the world is familiar, except for the dread of slowly dwindling air, the need for breath crushing in a blind ache against the chest. All while the brain still holds out that last bit of rational thought that the water surrounding everything is not fit to be breathed until at last, inevitable instinct kicks in, mouth opening wide in a silent scream, lungs expanding only to feel the rush of cold stifling water instead of raw air, smothering even the smallest hitch of breath. There’s darkness creeping in, and silence, stillness coming back to the water and right on the edge of sight there’s that large towering shape, coming closer and closer and then even that is gone like a half remembered dream.
Sam’s heart beats like a fluttering bird, lodged in his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he drags his unresponsive brother to the shore, legs still halfway in the stream, bobbing along gently in the little waves and swirls that lap at his body and soak into the denim of his jeans. He slaps Dean’s cheeks for a moment to see if that will rouse him and gets no response. After that, he doesn’t lose a second before pushing Dean’s sodden coattails aside and lets his hand slowly glide over the slight bumps of Dean’s ribs before he finds the right spot to cross his fingers and push.
Sam doesn’t need to think, practised motions bunching his muscles, push, breathe, check, adrenalin running high and sometimes forgetting to breathe for himself so he’s lightheaded without a feeling for how much time has passed in which Dean hasn’t moved. It’s just a moment’s hesitation when he holds his cheek over Dean’s mouth to feel even the slightest breath and gets … nothing … a moment in which he ponders the possibility to just, stop. Let it be the end right there, and break the circle that has kept them going on and on for so long, broken and mended and welded back together so many times that no other human being knows the notion of how dying feels different every time better than they do. The thought is in his head, fleeting, there and gone in the span of less than a second, before his fist comes down on his brother’s chest with a dull crack, bruising flesh and twisting into the cold, wet fabric over Dean’s heart, pushed back by the lurch in the body beneath it, tepid water bubbling from Dean’s mouth and his lungs seizing, then expanding with the proper nourishment as life flows back.
Sam sits frozen for a moment, watching as Dean coughs up the last of the water and then turns his head slowly to face Sam. He lets go of the breath he held and unclenches his fist on Dean’s chest. The moment stretches as they look at each other, and Sam wonders if he sees the same thought in Dean’s eyes for a fraction of a second before a beatific smile stretches his brother’s lips.
“Hey.”
“Hey”, Dean sounds like he spent the night in a bar with a pool table and a bottle of Jack. But he obviously doesn’t care, letting his head fall back to look at the canopy of leaves above them, taking slow, careful breaths. Sam lets him have it for a minute, sitting silent at his side, his hand on Dean’s chest where he can feel the heart beat slow and steady. Unhurried.
“You know, it’s been quite some time since you died the conventional way.”
Dean twists his head to look at him incredulously and punches him in the shoulder before dragging him down by the arm into an awkward, never-to-be-mentioned half embrace. They lie there for a moment, chest expanding with their breath against each other, listening to all the things they never say.
Don’t do that to me again.
Don’t scare me like that.
I won’t go on without you.
The leaves overhead rustle in the wind that blows the clouds away from the sun, warm light slowly traveling over the water until it begins to dry the wet, heavy droplets on their skin.
Author: Mangacat(201)
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership to any and all materials recognizably belonging to the show Supernatural, nor am I making money off of using them for my own fannish pleasures.
Warnings/Spoilers:
Summary: Dying feels different every time.
A/N: So, apparently, I can’t let it go even though I barely have a day to go on my bingo and still two and a half squares to fill. Also, I decided to make Dean get hurt this time, ha! For the
hc_bingo square ‘drowning’.Mirror on AO3
It’s a strange image of the world that you can see from under water. Colours are blurry and indistinct, shapes distorted to the point of being unidentifiable. Even in the memory of times long passed, rare, treasured summer days of playing at the lake, submerged in water so still that all the ripples are gone and the surface is smooth and undisturbed – even those memories are of a world in between.
In the kind of water that is churned by thrashing, flailing limbs reaching for the surface, for something to grab, to hold, for leverage in a dance of life and death, waters filled with bubbled breath going up alone and empty of oxygen, waves and splashes – there up is down and nothing of the world is familiar, except for the dread of slowly dwindling air, the need for breath crushing in a blind ache against the chest. All while the brain still holds out that last bit of rational thought that the water surrounding everything is not fit to be breathed until at last, inevitable instinct kicks in, mouth opening wide in a silent scream, lungs expanding only to feel the rush of cold stifling water instead of raw air, smothering even the smallest hitch of breath. There’s darkness creeping in, and silence, stillness coming back to the water and right on the edge of sight there’s that large towering shape, coming closer and closer and then even that is gone like a half remembered dream.
Sam’s heart beats like a fluttering bird, lodged in his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he drags his unresponsive brother to the shore, legs still halfway in the stream, bobbing along gently in the little waves and swirls that lap at his body and soak into the denim of his jeans. He slaps Dean’s cheeks for a moment to see if that will rouse him and gets no response. After that, he doesn’t lose a second before pushing Dean’s sodden coattails aside and lets his hand slowly glide over the slight bumps of Dean’s ribs before he finds the right spot to cross his fingers and push.
Sam doesn’t need to think, practised motions bunching his muscles, push, breathe, check, adrenalin running high and sometimes forgetting to breathe for himself so he’s lightheaded without a feeling for how much time has passed in which Dean hasn’t moved. It’s just a moment’s hesitation when he holds his cheek over Dean’s mouth to feel even the slightest breath and gets … nothing … a moment in which he ponders the possibility to just, stop. Let it be the end right there, and break the circle that has kept them going on and on for so long, broken and mended and welded back together so many times that no other human being knows the notion of how dying feels different every time better than they do. The thought is in his head, fleeting, there and gone in the span of less than a second, before his fist comes down on his brother’s chest with a dull crack, bruising flesh and twisting into the cold, wet fabric over Dean’s heart, pushed back by the lurch in the body beneath it, tepid water bubbling from Dean’s mouth and his lungs seizing, then expanding with the proper nourishment as life flows back.
Sam sits frozen for a moment, watching as Dean coughs up the last of the water and then turns his head slowly to face Sam. He lets go of the breath he held and unclenches his fist on Dean’s chest. The moment stretches as they look at each other, and Sam wonders if he sees the same thought in Dean’s eyes for a fraction of a second before a beatific smile stretches his brother’s lips.
“Hey.”
“Hey”, Dean sounds like he spent the night in a bar with a pool table and a bottle of Jack. But he obviously doesn’t care, letting his head fall back to look at the canopy of leaves above them, taking slow, careful breaths. Sam lets him have it for a minute, sitting silent at his side, his hand on Dean’s chest where he can feel the heart beat slow and steady. Unhurried.
“You know, it’s been quite some time since you died the conventional way.”
Dean twists his head to look at him incredulously and punches him in the shoulder before dragging him down by the arm into an awkward, never-to-be-mentioned half embrace. They lie there for a moment, chest expanding with their breath against each other, listening to all the things they never say.
Don’t do that to me again.
Don’t scare me like that.
I won’t go on without you.
The leaves overhead rustle in the wind that blows the clouds away from the sun, warm light slowly traveling over the water until it begins to dry the wet, heavy droplets on their skin.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-01 06:08 pm (UTC)And isn't it nice to be revived the normal way? Dean will definitely be feeling that precordial fist-thump for a while. Ouch!
(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-01 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-02 04:09 pm (UTC)Great descriptions, and I liked that moment of hesitation on Sam's part. And of course their responses to each other when Dean came back - so much emotion, not a lot of which they're able to express.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-02 04:13 pm (UTC)