Precipice 1/1
Dec. 4th, 2011 08:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mangacat201Title: Precipice
Author: Mangacat(201)
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam - Gen
Rating: R
Word Count: 700
Disclaimer: I neither own them because other people have that right, nor am I writing a script here folks, this is all fabricated and completely profitless.
Warnings: depression, suicide attempt
Summary: If you stare into the abyss long enough, one day it will stare back.
A/N: I needed to write something and this was the only thing that came up short enough for a quickie. It was written before 7x10 aired. For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo prompt: suicide attempt.
This is not the first time that Dean finds himself at the edge of a cliff.
Literally and figuratively.
He’s teetered with one foot over the abyss for what feels like all his life, but somehow it’s different this time. The sharp tang of alcohol burns against his tongue even though he barely feels it these days. It should worry him, but the times when the fog induced by half a bottle of whiskey was enough to cloud the memories are years past. Now a whole bottle just blurs them slightly and he doesn’t think he wants to know what they feel like when they’re sharp and sober.
Dean looks down the two hundred foot sheer drop of granite rock, thinks about getting his gun and making a game of shooting pebbles in competition with himself. It’s a complete waste of ammo and eyesight, but it’s just the kind of mindless occupation that is all he can stomach these days.
Before he can decide one way or the other he lets the intoxication take control of his body for a moment, swaying with the breeze. Dean suddenly has that feeling people sometimes get when they stand up high and look down and wonder what it would be like to just step off and fall and feel that rush of air. Only they don’t imagine the ground coming up to meet them in the end and they never step off because that rational part of their brain tells them that no matter how tempting it is to feel that rush, the finality on the ground will not change.
His foot slips on a loose pebble and unsettles his precarious balance and for a moment his body lurches forward until his outstretched arms restore the balance instinctively, but Dean is left staring down the abyss once more. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, sizzling under his skin.
And that feeling, that rational part of your brain being a counterweight in the back of your mind, holding you back… it’s not there.
Dean knows the finality of death, at least as far as it has ever applied to him. He knows the ground, knows the pain, knows that last moment when you’re gone but your senses are still online and they fade slowly like a phantom ache.
But he doesn’t know the fall.
Doesn’t know that sweet moment of weightlessness, the suspension of pain.
Suddenly it’s just easy to tip the scales, rock forward on his toes until the momentum of his own mass carries him forward and he doesn’t even need to make a conscious decision, the weight of a soul enough to tip him over the precipice.
He closes his eyes to feel the slightest brush of air against his face and waits for the sweet oblivion of the fall.
Instead the air is pressed forcefully out of his lungs when a strong arm connects with his chest like a blow and changes the momentum of his fall from forwards to backwards. Dean’s back hits the ground with a bone-jarring thud, head bouncing off the stone so that he bites his lip and the metallic tang of blood fills his mouth with a deeply familiar taste. Beside him, he feels trembling muscles, cold tears and frantic whispers.
“What did you do, what did you do, why would you… don’t, don’t do this to me, I can’t, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it, I need you, I need you, I need you here. Don’t you go, don’t you do this to me.”
For a little heart-stopping moment, Dean wants to turn away, wants to say ‘no’ finally, needs to say ‘no’ at least once, once in his life. But he’s tried before and it’s just… it’s not what he’s made of.
So Dean yields, steps back from the precipice, soaks up the warmth from the body beside him, opens his eyes and embraces the pain, lets the flayed and tattered thing inside him settle in his bones like lead.
But it chimes with all that’s his life.
Sam, Sam, Sam …
And it’s enough. For another day.
Author: Mangacat(201)
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam - Gen
Rating: R
Word Count: 700
Disclaimer: I neither own them because other people have that right, nor am I writing a script here folks, this is all fabricated and completely profitless.
Warnings: depression, suicide attempt
Summary: If you stare into the abyss long enough, one day it will stare back.
A/N: I needed to write something and this was the only thing that came up short enough for a quickie. It was written before 7x10 aired. For the
hc_bingo prompt: suicide attempt.This is not the first time that Dean finds himself at the edge of a cliff.
Literally and figuratively.
He’s teetered with one foot over the abyss for what feels like all his life, but somehow it’s different this time. The sharp tang of alcohol burns against his tongue even though he barely feels it these days. It should worry him, but the times when the fog induced by half a bottle of whiskey was enough to cloud the memories are years past. Now a whole bottle just blurs them slightly and he doesn’t think he wants to know what they feel like when they’re sharp and sober.
Dean looks down the two hundred foot sheer drop of granite rock, thinks about getting his gun and making a game of shooting pebbles in competition with himself. It’s a complete waste of ammo and eyesight, but it’s just the kind of mindless occupation that is all he can stomach these days.
Before he can decide one way or the other he lets the intoxication take control of his body for a moment, swaying with the breeze. Dean suddenly has that feeling people sometimes get when they stand up high and look down and wonder what it would be like to just step off and fall and feel that rush of air. Only they don’t imagine the ground coming up to meet them in the end and they never step off because that rational part of their brain tells them that no matter how tempting it is to feel that rush, the finality on the ground will not change.
His foot slips on a loose pebble and unsettles his precarious balance and for a moment his body lurches forward until his outstretched arms restore the balance instinctively, but Dean is left staring down the abyss once more. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, sizzling under his skin.
And that feeling, that rational part of your brain being a counterweight in the back of your mind, holding you back… it’s not there.
Dean knows the finality of death, at least as far as it has ever applied to him. He knows the ground, knows the pain, knows that last moment when you’re gone but your senses are still online and they fade slowly like a phantom ache.
But he doesn’t know the fall.
Doesn’t know that sweet moment of weightlessness, the suspension of pain.
Suddenly it’s just easy to tip the scales, rock forward on his toes until the momentum of his own mass carries him forward and he doesn’t even need to make a conscious decision, the weight of a soul enough to tip him over the precipice.
He closes his eyes to feel the slightest brush of air against his face and waits for the sweet oblivion of the fall.
Instead the air is pressed forcefully out of his lungs when a strong arm connects with his chest like a blow and changes the momentum of his fall from forwards to backwards. Dean’s back hits the ground with a bone-jarring thud, head bouncing off the stone so that he bites his lip and the metallic tang of blood fills his mouth with a deeply familiar taste. Beside him, he feels trembling muscles, cold tears and frantic whispers.
“What did you do, what did you do, why would you… don’t, don’t do this to me, I can’t, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it, I need you, I need you, I need you here. Don’t you go, don’t you do this to me.”
For a little heart-stopping moment, Dean wants to turn away, wants to say ‘no’ finally, needs to say ‘no’ at least once, once in his life. But he’s tried before and it’s just… it’s not what he’s made of.
So Dean yields, steps back from the precipice, soaks up the warmth from the body beside him, opens his eyes and embraces the pain, lets the flayed and tattered thing inside him settle in his bones like lead.
But it chimes with all that’s his life.
Sam, Sam, Sam …
And it’s enough. For another day.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-05 03:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-05 03:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-05 04:00 am (UTC)Poor boys!
Great read.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-05 05:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-06 03:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-06 03:25 am (UTC)Cat
(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-06 02:12 pm (UTC)about dark knight's heir
Date: 2011-12-22 03:21 am (UTC)Re: about dark knight's heir
Date: 2011-12-22 03:47 pm (UTC)