| Those Who Seek the Dead (c) 2007 Eponin ________________ 1,634 words Written for
destina's challenge over at the
family_secret community.
Prompt #1.
They’re in Shelter Cove, California when the end of October rolls around. Sam doesn’t even realize the date, the time of year, until he catches sight of the jack o’ lanterns lit up on the resident's porches, plastic cauldrons and spiders and black cats hanging in windows. He hates that his memories have faded, even though he knows it's the natural order of things. The mind will protect itself, blunt the pain, even when it’s unwanted. Sam would rather have the pain.
Sam steals away while Dean is off hustling pool and distracted. He makes for the open air and the rhythmic beat of the waves on the surf; the night air — windless and cool around him; the black sands beneath his bare feet still warm from the autumn sun. The beach is darkness around him, blending with the deeps of the ocean, butting up against the shore, and Sam loves that this place is different from other beaches ; a one of a kind line stretching out along the horizon. Jess loved the water.
He lays out the single black candle, lights it with a wooden match tipped with red, and spreads the salt in a circle wide enough to seat four, though he’s the only one here. For now. Salt is supposed to keep out evil, supposed to purify, but Sam has never seen Mom or Jess as evil and has never been able to bear the thought that it might keep them out. The light from the candle is supposed to guide their way home; setting out food welcomes them to the table. The dive they were laying their heads in this week didn’t even have a hotplate, much less a kitchen, so Sam had to content himself with laying out a bar of Jess’s favorite chocolate. He’d lifted it from the last convenience store they’d stopped at. He leaves the scorched locket inside the box, silver chain tarnished and dull. Those prayers were answered years ago in a gray house in Lawrence, the dreams of meeting her taken away by flame and words of apology. Three years later and he still has no idea what she meant by them.
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When Sam looks up, Jess is standing there dressed in jeans and that ridiculous Smurf shirt she’d always insisted on sleeping in. “Sam.” Her voice has new layers to it, dips and valleys that echo the waves rolling up on the beach. “Jess. I…” He wants to apologize. Apologize for not telling her who he was, about those things he’d left behind, afraid he could never outrun, but she presses two fingers against his lips and he falls silent. Her hand is warm, real, and tears prick the corner of his eyes. He blinks furiously, not willing to close his eyes to wipe away the tears for fear she’ll vanish before he can speak. He cups her hand in both of his. She glances around the circle, at the bits and pieces of ritual he’s gathered over the years. “No more, Sam.” “Jess,” he starts to say but she just rolls her eyes and kisses him long and deep. Sam blinks up at her, dazed, when she lifts her head. “That always was the only way to get you to shut up.” “Sammy!” Sam jerks his head around. Dean is running along the sand and even at this distance he can see the furious expression on his face. Jess looks over too, and giggles. “Maybe I should share that technique with your brother?” “Jess!”
That is, of course, when Dean slams into them both, knocking Sam over onto the sand. By the time Sam blinks the grit out of his eyes, Jess is gone and the candles have gone out. Dean’s knee has settled into the small of his back, pressing him down. Sam turns his face to the side, spitting out sand. Screw this, he thinks, and reaches down to gather a fistful of the coarse grains. He flings the handful over his shoulder and Dean shouts “You bitch!” in surprise and falls backwards. Freed, Sam scrambles up onto his knees and spins to face his brother. Dean is shaking the dirt free from his hair and blinking furiously. Sam growls at the sight, an actual growl deep in his throat, because, damn it, he wasn’t done talking with Jess, and he knows, deep in his bones, that the chance to say all those things he’d kept buried deep since flame and ash took her from him is done and gone now. There will be no more chances like this. He plants one foot and lunges forward, bowling Dean over onto his back, pummeling him with his fists until Dean gathers himself and fights back. They roll over and over each other, elbows and knees fighting for purchase on slick skin. Dean manages to elbow Sam in the eye while pulling on his hair and Sam knees Dean in the crotch when his foot slips out from underneath him while trying to stand. They collapse, finally, at the edge of the water, lying side by side until the tide washes in, cold and relentless, soaking Dean’s entire left side. They scramble back onto dryer sand, Dean shaking droplets from his hair, wringing water from his flannel shirt, until they both sag back down to lay side by side, breath fogging in the cooling air.
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__________ “It was just goodbye, Dean.” Sam’s voice is hushed, drowned out by the waves, but he knows his brother hears him. Dean rolls onto his side, peers at Sam. “Hmph,” he grunts, but even as the sound emerges he turns, settling his head on Sam’s chest. He hooks an arm around Sam’s waist, slides fingers underneath his shirt to scratch at Sam’s belly. Sam settles back on the sand, one arm cradling his head, and closes his eyes against the press of shades passing in the night. Dean’s arm is a warm and familiar weight, anchoring him to the here and now, drowning out the voices, until he hears nothing but the waves. He blinks up at the velvety black and is content.
__________ PromptI might lift the
eaves again
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