Author's Note: Winchester brothers. Ha. Dean.
MAJOR SPOILER
-for the first season of SPN basically, so read at own discretion.
Disclaimer: SPN is not mine.
Never Let Go
Dean cries. The taste of tears is unfamiliar, because right now, nothing is familiar, nothing will be familiar, not even if his mother walked up and said, "Dean, darling," like she used to before she died, the way he can't forget and never will. But that will be unfamiliar too, now, in this moment. He could kill the Demon and feel nothing but blank cold. His brain is numb, his heart is raw and bloody. He can taste pain in the back of his throat. Sam's body is so limp and so heavy in his arms.
Once upon a time there were no demons or ghosts, nothing that came out of walls and ripped chests open, nothing but two boys and a baseball. Dean is twelve. Sam is eight.
The only color in the memory is red—the red of Sam's girly hat, that pushes his damp curls against his forehead.
"C'mon, throw the damn ball," the black-and-white Dean shouts. He is proud he can swear. He thinks it is manly.
"Deannnn!" Sam shrieks exactly like a nine year old girl who has just been told that her dress is ugly, "I'm gonna tell Dad!"
"So? I dare you."
"I will!" Sam says, but he is rooted in place.
Dean smirks.
"Watch me," Sam calls defiantly, that look on his face, and begins to sprint towards the front door; Dean panics a bit, because he didn't think Sam really would, but only a bit, because he is twelve and a man.
This is before Sam suddenly discovered the human form of Miracle-Gro and did like Honest Abe. In the normal, Dean-approved world, Sam's legs are short and skinny, no match for Dean. He catches his brother easily and tackles him to the ground, roaring at the top of his lungs.
As soon as he touches Sam, the memory is in millions of color. The air is filled with floating gold dust motes and dandelion fluff. The sky is October blinding blue, with orange and gold leaves in the foreground. Not a single white cloud dulls the breathless color. The grass is yellow-brown. The color of Sam's eyes change from green to hazel to gold, as they roll over the grass and through dappled shade. His brother screams in delight and his cheeks are flushed rosy red, clawing at Dean's jacket, breath puffing out white in the sharp, chilly air, which smells like wood smoke and apples.
And abruptly Dean is back in the darkness and the cold, and the taste of tears. He realizes now why everything is edible with salt, even Sam's raw tentacles on rice. Tears are the only thing left in the end; salt is the taste of life.
Dean screams Sam's name to the sky. He wants to rip out his cold, useless heart and he buries his face in Sam's shoulder, pretending he is alive, pretending they're both alive--Dean grips his brother until his fingers go numb, because he won't ever let go.
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