crows
There are thousands of glass crows swirling above him, coloring the ceiling black and blue and empty. he feels raw all over, his eyes only mirrors to reflect the dying light.
(if only you were here, if only)
But you are gone and he is nothing but loss, the emptiness like water filling his stomach, his lungs, the space between his fingers. There's nothing more to look for here, but he has no other place to go to. He could always call Dean, though Dean did not come when he had called him, didn't even pick up the phone. The classroom is nothing but a painful reminder, but then again, what isn't; he will never be whole again, nothing will ever get better-
The young professor touches her silver pendent, nervousness making her finger quiver. The harsh light is looming over him, blinding, disorienting, beautiful.
Coffee, cheap and scalding is burning his tongue (its always fire) the packed outdoor stairway smells like rain and flowers and opportunities. None of which is his, not anymore. There's a girl standing in the middle of the stairway, the crowds spreading around her as if she was a stick in a river flow; Curled up against the phone she's holding to her ear. She's sobbing harder then he ever thought would be humanly possible. It's so ugly, it's actually mesmerizing, he cannot look away. At the end she leaves. Everybody does.
You are so pretty when you cry, you said. I love the way you offer me lies. Your skin is nothing but a shell , concealing all this darkness inside. How naked you are, my love, my only.
School day is over, pretty teenagers in blue cars are driving back home, (if only he could take everything back, go back home, cry into Dean's shirt, or maybe) earth gets rounder with each passing minute, quietly rids of the weak and lonely. The streets are slowly filling with all those who never witness the light of day- hookers and taxi drivers, record store sellers, young man with much makeup on too tall hills. All of them slightly bend over, gravity pulling them down, down, down-
Do you love me? Every night, he asks the same question right before you burn.
I have always loved you, whoever you chose to be, you say.
I have nothing without you, nothing, he says desperately, always so desperate.
That's aright, the smile stretch her lips into an ugly snarl. I cant recognize the difference.
He goes into a bar , cheap alcohol, cheap women. Two guys kiss in the corner, half lying on a dirty table. Their eyes are complete black, empty like the beer bottles scattered all around them. Sam wonders if he should care. He doesn't. maybe never has.
Someone is pushing him forcibly into a brick wall, short women with lips that are red, so red. Her posture screams loneliness, fake vulnerability oozing out of her like snakes.
Say yes, she whispers into his ear. Its all I need.
(i loved you so much, but I have never trusted you)
He wants to agree but he cannot remember how to speake. She bites his lip strong enough for him to taste blood. Yes, she whispers, her fingernails scratch a long and bleeding line above his heart. It feels amazing. He lets her drag him out of the bar, into her tiny house,
She pushes him onto a small cot, unbuttons his shirt so quickly, so differently then how you would have done it. Her eyes are liquid ink and she spreads himself over him. She lights a candle.
Please don't hurt me, he whispers.
She dips the candle and the room is filled with dancing shadows.
No. no, no-
Your fingers comb his hair. Don't be scared, you say, softly. Fearing death is just fearing loneliness. You wipe a stray tear on his face. It always ands in tears.
He tries his best to stop crying, choking on air. You died. You're dead.
You kiss him as you would a weeping child, on the forehead. You are alone, oh so lonely. You think only the dead are dead?
He wonders the streets, he cannot remember where the apartment is (it burnt down) the air is cool and crisp. Somebody spits on him. He leans on a brink wall and thinks about the crows. He can almost feel their wings touching him. Black and blue and smooth all over, like a lovers touch.
"-ammy- Sam-"
The man that stand in front of his is not Dean. Its never Dean.
Stop, Sam tries to say. Stop pretending. Dean is not coming.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't get your massage up until now- oh god, Sammy, what happened, what happened to you-"
Not-dean is freaking out, his hands touch everywhere. Sam wants to crawl away but he's so tired and he hasn't eaten for days, if not weeks. He can't remember where he is, he can't remember anything really, but the crows and the fire, so much fire…
(could it be, the universes collapses within me, please could you just stay- one day more, a lifetime of sunsets, I can't do this without you; I love you so much, how could you just leave me to this ever consuming eternity)
"look at me, Sam, just look, please- I'm here."
There's a desperate tone to that voice. warm, calloused fingers curl against his shoulders, the bones grinding underneath loose skin.
"I cant do this," he hears himself say.
"Jess is dead," says not Dean.
"Stop, no, stop-" he wants to crawl out of his skin
"Sammy. Listen to me. Look at me. Look."
Fingers under his chin, the smell of gun oil and leather. Dean looks at his, his eyes overflowing. "Sammy. Jess is dead."
The crows disappear, one by one. Sam hides his face in his brothers shoulder, and cries.