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Title: "From the desert to the well"
Author![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
the_milky_way
Character(s)/Pairing: Sam Winchester (Sam/Dean)
Theme: 03 Paranormal
Prompt(s): 30. Fire
Rating: PG
Words: 1.159
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kripke and Warner. I don't own anything.
Warnings: set after 5.22 but no real spoilers
Beta:parka_girl, Thank you.
Summary:
Sam falls back into life from wherever he took Lucifer , Dean catches him
Ashes, dark and depressing, cover everything. The green of the grass, the brown of the ground beneath, every space in the air. It’s floating, falling, swirling, almost like snow. White, gray and black mixed together.
A soft breeze spreads it around, like a blanket over the dead. He stands, watching it without really comprehending what happened. He has not idea why he’s here, why he’s watching this scene and not feeling anything but calm in the eerie silence. It’s around and within him.
But then something moves; leaves flitting around, whirling in little maelstroms of wind and his brain kick starts, poses questions he can’t answers, shows him images he can’t understand. The smoldering remains of what used to be a building triggers something deep in his mind, something familiar, something connected to him.
But the house is gone; ruins are all what’s left. Burned wood, decaying walls, a collapsed roof and blackened earth. It all lies in pieces, just like his mind. Pieces of a puzzle that used to be complete, working, and intact. Now there’s only debris and broken pieces, burned out and incomplete. Like himself. All that’s left are shards of a mosaic that once used to be memories, that used to be him.
He sees the house it once was and then what is now. What he doesn’t see, what he can’t see, is what he was, what he was supposed to be, is supposed to be. There’s a flicker, just at the corner of his eye and he blinks, tries to keep it away, tries to look at what’s there. Then everything is gone.
No remains, no smoke, no ash. Just a house, more than one actually. Houses, a street, cars and streetlights. Sun and clouds, birds and flowers. Colorful, not gray and burned. But still calm and silent, around him but not within him anymore.
Sweat dries on his skin, makes him shiver and huddle even more in his jacket. His hair clings to his skin, softly swirling around his eyes with each little brush of the air. It’s a desperate scene and he doesn’t know why he’s standing there watching, just looking at it all.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t know where to go or how to even make a step. It’s like he’s frozen into place; his body catatonic and his mind racing not able to settle on a single thought. Suddenly the silence is too loud. He flinches at every sound; every leaf that rustles against the branches makes him shiver even more. There’s a fire inside of him, full of fear and anxiousness, fuelled by the uncertainty of his being, of his mind.
Everything suddenly moves past him, around him, while he’s still frozen in place, rooted to the spot and staring at the house. A house that looks even more familiar now that he can really see it. A fence, a porch, windows through which light shines when it’s suddenly dark. Everything moves, days, nights, people, life.
It’s slow motion and then high speed in front of his eyes. Images, flashes of them, things and people just in front of him, next to him, around him. And he’s just there. Everything moves.
Only he doesn’t.
And then he does. There is life behind the windows, people moving, candles burning, laughter and yet still a desperation around it. He moves because he wants to see more. Closer now. He wants to get a grip on everything, maybe pull more puzzle pieces in.
He moves.
And then he stops again because the door is open. A figure so familiar that he gasps, breathes again, something he hasn’t done in a while he thinks. It hurts to just look, to stand there and not know what to do, what to say, how to remember. It hurts so much that he moves again.
Backwards. Away.
“Hello?” The figure says. It rings in his ears, pulls apart pieces in his mind and slots others back together. But it’s not enough yet. Not enough to remember, to pull the familiarity close. He tries to vanish into the shadows again, tries to stay as immobile as possible, like before, when he was invisible to everyone and everything.
It doesn’t work.
“Hey, you a stalker or something? Fuck off, man. I got guns.” The voice is deep, smooth and menacing in a way that makes him shiver all over again. It also executes a power he feels deep within his bones. A power over him.
And then he’s there, right in front of him, clutching his jacket and shaking him hard. He feels loose, like he’s falling, all while even more pieces are slotting together. He can hear the voice, loud and clear. Just doesn’t get the words. A rush of blood is pounding in his head, pain spikes through him with every shake and all he can do is clutch at the arms, shoulders, in front of him.
Green eyes, furious and shocked. Full of tears, anger and so many emotions that it’s impossible for him to separate them all. His mouth is dry, teeth worrying his lower lip and he hasn’t said a single word, isn’t sure if he can speak at all. His throat feels raw, like he screamed for a time that can’t be measured anymore. Loud, long, and painful.
It takes just one word and he collapses in on himself, curled up in pain and against a strong body.
“Sammy?”
The fire in his veins is back. There’s fire all around him, images of the house burned down in his mind. He’s still not sure if he saw, imagined or wished for it. Fire in his mind and on his skin where he’s touched. Fire on his cheeks where tears suddenly roll and can’t be stopped.
This isn’t hell. This is real. Not a figment of his imagination, not a cruel way of showing him what he’s lost. No, this is all here and it’s real. And he doesn’t know how to deal with it. Mind is on overdrive, thoughts cart wheeling, jumping around, and incoherent.
When it’s all too much, too painful, and too bright, he sinks down and just sobs. Sobs to breathe, to feel, to hold on to the pain in his chest, to make sure that he really is alive.
“Sam… Sammy. Hey, hey it’s all good now. I got you. I got you.”
And Sam knows it’s true. He’s back where he belongs, still not sure how or when or why. But he’s back. Ashes float around him and he blinks. Heart skips but then there’s Dean, right in front of him. Green eyes wide and shocked and happy.
Dean.
All he could think of … wherever he was.
Dean.
Lucifer mocked him about it, mocked him mercilessly about the love, the desire, the lust. Taunting and cruel. Showed him images of what he’d done to Dean, how he’d dammed his brother’s soul with his love. Shoved him images of Dean’s happy life, Dean forgetting about him, Dean being everything Sam has ever wanted to be and failed so spectacularly to achieve.
“Dean.”
One word and suddenly his world rights itself again.
Author
the_milky_wayCharacter(s)/Pairing: Sam Winchester (Sam/Dean)
Theme: 03 Paranormal
Prompt(s): 30. Fire
Rating: PG
Words: 1.159
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Kripke and Warner. I don't own anything.
Warnings: set after 5.22 but no real spoilers
Beta:
parka_girl, Thank you. Summary:
Sam falls back into life from wherever he took Lucifer , Dean catches him
Ashes, dark and depressing, cover everything. The green of the grass, the brown of the ground beneath, every space in the air. It’s floating, falling, swirling, almost like snow. White, gray and black mixed together.
A soft breeze spreads it around, like a blanket over the dead. He stands, watching it without really comprehending what happened. He has not idea why he’s here, why he’s watching this scene and not feeling anything but calm in the eerie silence. It’s around and within him.
But then something moves; leaves flitting around, whirling in little maelstroms of wind and his brain kick starts, poses questions he can’t answers, shows him images he can’t understand. The smoldering remains of what used to be a building triggers something deep in his mind, something familiar, something connected to him.
But the house is gone; ruins are all what’s left. Burned wood, decaying walls, a collapsed roof and blackened earth. It all lies in pieces, just like his mind. Pieces of a puzzle that used to be complete, working, and intact. Now there’s only debris and broken pieces, burned out and incomplete. Like himself. All that’s left are shards of a mosaic that once used to be memories, that used to be him.
He sees the house it once was and then what is now. What he doesn’t see, what he can’t see, is what he was, what he was supposed to be, is supposed to be. There’s a flicker, just at the corner of his eye and he blinks, tries to keep it away, tries to look at what’s there. Then everything is gone.
No remains, no smoke, no ash. Just a house, more than one actually. Houses, a street, cars and streetlights. Sun and clouds, birds and flowers. Colorful, not gray and burned. But still calm and silent, around him but not within him anymore.
Sweat dries on his skin, makes him shiver and huddle even more in his jacket. His hair clings to his skin, softly swirling around his eyes with each little brush of the air. It’s a desperate scene and he doesn’t know why he’s standing there watching, just looking at it all.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t know where to go or how to even make a step. It’s like he’s frozen into place; his body catatonic and his mind racing not able to settle on a single thought. Suddenly the silence is too loud. He flinches at every sound; every leaf that rustles against the branches makes him shiver even more. There’s a fire inside of him, full of fear and anxiousness, fuelled by the uncertainty of his being, of his mind.
Everything suddenly moves past him, around him, while he’s still frozen in place, rooted to the spot and staring at the house. A house that looks even more familiar now that he can really see it. A fence, a porch, windows through which light shines when it’s suddenly dark. Everything moves, days, nights, people, life.
It’s slow motion and then high speed in front of his eyes. Images, flashes of them, things and people just in front of him, next to him, around him. And he’s just there. Everything moves.
Only he doesn’t.
And then he does. There is life behind the windows, people moving, candles burning, laughter and yet still a desperation around it. He moves because he wants to see more. Closer now. He wants to get a grip on everything, maybe pull more puzzle pieces in.
He moves.
And then he stops again because the door is open. A figure so familiar that he gasps, breathes again, something he hasn’t done in a while he thinks. It hurts to just look, to stand there and not know what to do, what to say, how to remember. It hurts so much that he moves again.
Backwards. Away.
“Hello?” The figure says. It rings in his ears, pulls apart pieces in his mind and slots others back together. But it’s not enough yet. Not enough to remember, to pull the familiarity close. He tries to vanish into the shadows again, tries to stay as immobile as possible, like before, when he was invisible to everyone and everything.
It doesn’t work.
“Hey, you a stalker or something? Fuck off, man. I got guns.” The voice is deep, smooth and menacing in a way that makes him shiver all over again. It also executes a power he feels deep within his bones. A power over him.
And then he’s there, right in front of him, clutching his jacket and shaking him hard. He feels loose, like he’s falling, all while even more pieces are slotting together. He can hear the voice, loud and clear. Just doesn’t get the words. A rush of blood is pounding in his head, pain spikes through him with every shake and all he can do is clutch at the arms, shoulders, in front of him.
Green eyes, furious and shocked. Full of tears, anger and so many emotions that it’s impossible for him to separate them all. His mouth is dry, teeth worrying his lower lip and he hasn’t said a single word, isn’t sure if he can speak at all. His throat feels raw, like he screamed for a time that can’t be measured anymore. Loud, long, and painful.
It takes just one word and he collapses in on himself, curled up in pain and against a strong body.
“Sammy?”
The fire in his veins is back. There’s fire all around him, images of the house burned down in his mind. He’s still not sure if he saw, imagined or wished for it. Fire in his mind and on his skin where he’s touched. Fire on his cheeks where tears suddenly roll and can’t be stopped.
This isn’t hell. This is real. Not a figment of his imagination, not a cruel way of showing him what he’s lost. No, this is all here and it’s real. And he doesn’t know how to deal with it. Mind is on overdrive, thoughts cart wheeling, jumping around, and incoherent.
When it’s all too much, too painful, and too bright, he sinks down and just sobs. Sobs to breathe, to feel, to hold on to the pain in his chest, to make sure that he really is alive.
“Sam… Sammy. Hey, hey it’s all good now. I got you. I got you.”
And Sam knows it’s true. He’s back where he belongs, still not sure how or when or why. But he’s back. Ashes float around him and he blinks. Heart skips but then there’s Dean, right in front of him. Green eyes wide and shocked and happy.
Dean.
All he could think of … wherever he was.
Dean.
Lucifer mocked him about it, mocked him mercilessly about the love, the desire, the lust. Taunting and cruel. Showed him images of what he’d done to Dean, how he’d dammed his brother’s soul with his love. Shoved him images of Dean’s happy life, Dean forgetting about him, Dean being everything Sam has ever wanted to be and failed so spectacularly to achieve.
“Dean.”
One word and suddenly his world rights itself again.
