Tantalus
Created for the Dean-focused h/c tags challenge for the prompt ‘DROWNING’
And somehow, this ended up being as much about Sam as it was about Dean... just a short tale about those things that are Just. Out. Of. Reach.
Tantalus
There is a house made of glass at the bottom of the valley. Surrounding it are mounds of jagged rocks, stacked high, walls that besiege it and cut deeply into Sam's feet. He barely notices it, never feels the pain, doesn't care about the bloody footprints that he is leaving behind.
Above him, the sky is as black as oil, so deep and merciless that not even the stars see fit to light his path. Sam's path is an easy one, though: straight down, until he can reach the glass house.
In the darkness, the glass house shines on its own, like a diamond standing on a velvet pocket. Inside, something more precious than all the diamonds in the world is being lost.
Sam knows that and he runs faster. He needs to get there before the light goes out.
Already he can see it dimming.
Sam runs faster, faster than he has ever run in his life. And Sam has spent most of his life running. Running from his fate, running from his life, running from his family.
The only difference is that now, Sam is not running away; he is running towards him. Towards Dean.
There is a house made of glass at the bottom of the valley and inside that house there is a well. Sam has no idea how he will go down that well, if there is a ladder or some rope or if he will just have to climb down, but that is a problem that Sam will deal with once he gets there.
One second of distraction is all that takes for the rocks to shift violently under his feet and Sam is airborne for a few seconds before he lands heavily on the unforgiving ground.
His hands and knees scrap against the rocks and turn into raw meat; he can feel where a few teeth have loosened inside his mouth, from where he has landed on his jaw.
None of that matters; Sam shrugs them off for the inconsequential things that they are. He is almost there. He can almost hear the splashing.
There is a house made of glass at the bottom of the valley and inside that house there is a well. Inside the well, Dean is drowning.
Sam picks himself up and grabs one of the jagged rocks. He will need that to cut the ropes that bind Dean's feet and arms, preventing him from saving himself.
It is not the jagged rocks or the unforgiving sky that Sam sees as he runs down the hill; it is his brother's face, silently screaming as water fills his mouth every time Dean tries to take a breath. There is no struggle; Dean isn't even attempting to swim his way out or trying to stay afloat.
Sam forces himself to come to a stop as he finally reaches the glass house. Inside, there are no other structures of features except for the well. It too is made of glass, a glass of water where Dean barely floats as a crooked cork.
There is no door in the glass house, but glass is weaker than bone and Sam uses his to break inside.
"Hang on Dean!" Sam hears himself saying. "I'm coming!"
Dean doesn't answer. He never answers even though Sam is so close he can see the glassy look that has started to take over the green in Dean's eyes.
Sam doesn't even pause; he uses his hands as leverage and hauls himself over the edge of the well and dives inside.
The fall will most likely kill him, Sam remembers midway through. But by then he no longer cares. He can see Dean now, looking up at him with hope in his eyes, fading light guiding his way down. Like there was any other way for Sam to go but down, to his brother.
Sam's body hits the cold water with a splash and when he looks around, he can no longer see Dean. The light is out and all Sam can see is his reflection on the black glass. "Dean!"
The silence inside the well is more oppressive than its narrow, straight walls. For a moment, Sam despairs, thinking that all of his efforts were in vain and Dean has drowned already.
His kicking feet hit something under water and instinctively Sam knows its Dean's body.
Sam dives beneath the dark waters and opens his eyes without fear. At the bottom of the well, there is a red glow. Fire, burning cold and menacing, paying no respect to the fact that fire and water do not coexist, to the simple truth that water kills everything, even fire.
Maybe this water is weak, ineffective, Sam thinks to himself. If it can't kill the fire, it won't kill Dean either.
But as he grabs his brother and holds him close, already Dean looks like a corpse, pale and slack, lips hanging open and paying no attention to the water that slowly fills his lungs.
Sam takes hold of Dean's arms and quickly cuts the ropes that prevented Dean from saving himself and pushes both of them to the surface.
Dean is too heavy, weighed down by the burden of death and water.
Sam pulls and pushes, hands almost slipping and losing their tight grip on Dean's arms. The surface is inches away but neither of them can taste the fresh air above.
In despair, Sam presses his mouth against Dean's. While Dean was drowning, Sam still had some air in his lungs; he shares it with his brother now.
Dean's lips are soft and pliant under his and Sam grasps him in a fake lover's hold, one arm around Dean's waist, the other cradling his head and pinching his nose close.
Dean's lungs are more resistant than his lips. Already filled with water, they refuse to take anything else inside, even when it's given in a willing, desperate attempt to save his life.
Sam is growing weak and he knows that he won't be able to keep them both afloat much longer. The fire below is beckoning to the both of them but the decision to give in to it is Sam's alone.
If he let go of Dean's body, Sam could surely swim to the surface and save himself.
But a house made of glass is full of reflections and Sam knows that his shame would be reflected in every one and each of them. He holds on tighter.
There is a house made of glass at the bottom of the valley and inside that house there is a well. Inside the well, Dean is drowning and Sam drowns with him because he could not save the both of them.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Sam!... SAM! Wake the fuck up!"
Sam opens his eyes, blearily taking in his surroundings. He fully expected to be wet, to be dead.
Instead, he's lying on a generic beige carpet with so many stains that it almost looks colorful. And Dean is standing above him with blood shot eyes and a bitten lip, from where he vented his worry.
"That's it, you motherfucker," Dean says in a voice too much filled with relief to be taken as acerbic, his hands palming Sam's face like he is reading his brother's condition in Braille. "That's it… you're back. Jesus, fuck, you're back."
"Back," Sam tries, testing his voice. The result is less than what he was hopping for, more frogish than human. "Back from where?"
And the answer is right there in Dean's eyes, because even now his brother can't voice it.
Hell.
Sam shivers, even though he can feel the sweat rolling down his neck, soaking the edge of his shirt. Fear is colder than ice.
Because what is memory now, was reality before. And even though not all is yet clear in his gap-filled mind, Sam can still remember how many days he spent running down that hill, towards that glass house. How he never managed to save Dean one single time.
"We're good now," Dean whispers brokenly, because he looks as out of breath as Sam himself feels. "We're good."
Many thanks to jackfan2 for her awesome betaing!