A/N: Not set in any particular time period. Just something that came to me as I was contemplating other meanings for the word of the week.


No breath.

No air.

No light.

No Sam.

The sea is salty on his tongue. Stings the back of his throat when he breathes it in through the nose.

Dean's never liked the ocean. Too many scaly things hidden beneath the waves. Too many dead things lost in the dark forever. And now he has one wrapped around his ankle.

Down, down, down it drags him.

Down into the drink.

To that place where sunken ships and lost souls go to die.

Funny, he thinks as the emptiness swallows then sinks:

Not exactly the drink he expected would get him.