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tigriswolf) wrote2006-11-19 03:09 am
Falling into the Sky - SN fic - PG13 - wincest
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.
Warnings: implied incestous slash of the pretty, pretty boys--is that new?
Pairings: please look above
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: bit over a thousand, but not by much
Point of view: third and second
Notes: This is old. Very old. And I would explain who is which, but I'll say only this: the dreamer is always Sam.
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There is no stopping when you fall into the sky. The Nightmare Academy by Frank Peretti
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Fire is immortality, and you want to let go... to stop the burn... to end...
Fire hurts and cuts and bruises in a way you never thought flames could, and your skin peels... shatters... tears...
And you want to wake, because you know it’s a dream... it’s always a dream...
And you’re falling. You scream for help, for someone, for anyone, for—
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“—DEAN!”
-The wind tears at you, mocking you, jeering at your failure. You’re falling and burning and crying, but the wind doesn’t care, doesn’t caress you, doesn’t even apologize for its cruelty.
You scream but no sound comes out; the wind has stolen your voice away.
You’re falling up, into the sky. You want it to be over, for the flames to die and for you to join them in death, because surely it’ll be better than this.
And you try begging for help again, from anyone and everyone, whoever’ll answer, and only one word escapes your lips—
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“Dean!”
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There is no answer. Never is, not in this place, this nightmare come to life.
You’re still falling. You’re always falling. You’ve fallen so often you should be used to it by now, but you never are. You’re always burning, too, and you know that’s something you’ll never be okay with.
God, you hate fire.
You hate the heat of the flames, because they remind you of something—
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“Dean.”
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— something you want, but can never have. Not even in this, the Dream-Nightmare place, where impossible things happen, like falling into the sky. Where you can burn forever and never scar, where you can weep yourself away into nothingness—
What could you possibly want so much?
Why is there water on your face? It’s not raining.
Oh, you’ve come to the edge of the sky. What’s on the other side?
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“Dean...”
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What lies beyond? You’ve never fallen this far before.
Could it be the end of pain? The flames have finally gone out... is this what you’ve waited for?
Is this what you’ve longed for, dreamt for, begged for? The end of the fire, the pain, the demented longing?
There is only one thing you can say, one thing the wind lets you say, before it throws you over the side of the sky.
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“Dean...”
“Sammy.”
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A warm breeze on your face. The sound of the ocean. Gulls call in the distance. The fresh salt scent fills your nose. Hot sand beneath you. The taste of blood in your mouth.
Your blood. Where you bit your lip to keep from screaming as you fell into the sky.
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“Sam, c’mon, open your eyes.”
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Why are you at the beach? You were falling, on fire, off the edge of the world... there was nowhere else to go. It was the end.
Wasn’t it? Why can’t you remember? What can’t you remember?
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“Sammy, open your eyes.”
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You open your eyes and look around. It is a beach, just like the one you and her visited. But something... something rubs you the wrong way. Something’s not right, but you can’t pinpoint it. You roll over and quickly lunge to your feet, constantly surveying the area around you.
Something’s wrong. But it seems so peaceful...
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“Sammy, please fight. Please wake up.”
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The ocean turns violent the second you look away, up at the sky. The waves darken and start to roll; the gulls’ calls turn sharp and biting. Beneath your feet—where did your shoes go?—the sand burns.
In a distant corner of your mind, you wonder where all the people are. And then the flames begin to consume you.
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“Sammy, goddamnit, wake the fuck up.”
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Tears pour down your face and you fall onto the sand; it scalds all your available skin, shearing away all thought of screaming for anyone.
But no one had answered before... no one ever answered.
And, deep inside you, from a well of strength you had forgotten about, a well that reached deep into your core, one word escapes. One word there is always an answer to, even if you can’t hear it.
The word trembles on your lips and almost falls back into your mouth, but the conviction from your well shoves it out.
“Dean...”
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“I’m here, Sam, I’m here. Please, open your eyes, talk to me, man.”
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The gulls shriek in the wind that no one is there, no one answered, but another word forces itself out of your bleeding throat, through your cut mouth, and “Lie” enters this nightmare.
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“I’m not lying, Sam.”
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You burn and you freeze and the ocean claws at you while the gulls peel away your skin and feast.
You’d thought the pain was over, when you fell over the edge of the sky. You thought you couldn’t feel anymore.
And then the gulls vanish, and the ocean recedes, and your skin reforms, and the flames die. And another warmth fills you, this warmth comforting and kind and—“Dean” your hoarse, old, weary voice says.
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“I’m here, Sam. Please... please just open your eyes.”
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Fear fills you. The Dream-Nightmare place brightens around you. A hand reaches from the sky, and beckons, and you know it’s time to go.
But you’re so afraid. What’ll happen when you wake up?
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“Please, Sam...”
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“Wake up.”
The warmth and light suffuse your body, recalling to mind times you can’t remember. A soft breeze ruffles your hair, caresses your face—the wind is kind again.
“Wake up.”
The voice echoes around you, a voice you could never defy, a voice you had never wanted to defy.
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“Dean.”
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“Wake up.”
The wind pulls at you, insistently, demanding you comply. Your eyes flutter open—
“Good, Sammy, that’s it.”
—and the light shines brightly, too brightly, so you close them again.
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“Dean?”
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The wind touches your forehead—funny, it feels like a hand. You turn into the touch, suddenly wanting the warmth even more, and the voice speaks again.
“C’mon, Sam. Open your eyes. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
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“Dean... wha?”
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Your eyelids flicker; the light has dimmed. The warmth beside you moves, so you move with it, suddenly terrified of being cold.
Is this still a dream? You can’t tell anymore.
“Sammy... I need you to open your eyes. Please.”
And it occurs to you the voice is begging, pleading, cajoling, demanding—the voice needs you to open your eyes and keep them open, to remain even if the light burns you away.
You cannot deny the voice.
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“Dean...”
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You’re falling again, back into the sky. Except... this time there is no fear. No pain or rage. No burning and no crying.
You’re falling into the sky, but you know there will be a stop, because he’ll be there to catch you when you open your eyes.