Nothing special. Just a snapshot of a dark moment.
Thanks for giving it a glimpse tho! Enjoy :)
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of his steps on the concrete.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Carrying him onward, further and further into the night without a destination... away from something that is no matter how fast he runs... always close behind...
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Streetlamps, flashing lights of billboards, the lights of the cars passing him... light everywhere but still... it seems that nothing can illuminate the darkness around him.
Tap. Tap...
He has no idea how long he's out here already, how much time has passed since he's left his apartment to get away from it, that pressure, to run it out of his system. Futile. It is still there in his chest and on his shoulders, weighing down on him like a mountain. Crushing. It feels like drowning in a sea of air, its waves pushing, tugging, shaking you, pulling you down and you try to breathe but no air reaches your lung.
Noise. There is a white noise in his head and noise filling his ears, music that blares from his headphones. His fingers close tighter around the iPod in them, holding the small device in a vice grip...
Tap. Tap...
... and his pace quickens, gets faster and faster as he rips the headphones off and throws both to the ground and he runs, runs faster to leave the noise behind.
He tries to escape.
But he can't.
It is still there, that white noise. In his head. And the pressure in his chest. So often. Too often.
I can't breathe.
He is sprinting now, his lungs burning from the lack of air and his heart in hammering in his chest that feels too tight. He wants to scream but all his lips form is a soundless cry.
Tap...
There is a dull pain when his knees hit the ground. A sharp breath that he does not have leaves his throat as he slams his fist down on the concrete, the sharp pain that shoots up his arm forcing the noise and the pressure back... but only briefly. Again he hits the ground hard. Again. And again. But every time it comes back with a clash...
In the half-light he can see blood on his knuckles and he knows that it should hurt more than it does. He wishes it would because the pain is good, this other pain that makes it all better for a while. But all he feels is an odd numbness.
Screwing his eyes shut, he hangs his head. Breathe in. Breathe out.
I can't.
A buzzing in his ears and the swift, filtered sound of cars rushing past him carelessly.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
How?
His heart is still beating rapidly, heavily, pumping his blood through his veins like a bullet train... leaving his body quivering with every of its beats. Time passes. Seconds. Minutes? He does not know. It moves on while he remains here on his knees, holding himself up on bloody hands.
Breathe.
I'm trying.
Dents in his ego, cracks in his soul and scars on his heart. Always there.
You have achieved so much, they say. Success. Money. A good life. You are on the top.
But something is missing. Something is not right, not okay. With him? Maybe. There is an emptiness...
I want...
What?
... it...
Away. Sometimes, when it all becomes too much. The fighting. Clawing, biting, scratching his way out of the gutter and up the mountain is what he has done all his life. But after the summit comes another summit and it all begins anew.
I can't.
He sits back on his heels, lifts his hands and stares at the blood. Why doesn't it hurt? Fresh blood trickles out of the wounds as he balls his hands to fists, running down in fine rivulets.
Give me a break...
It is the calling of his phone, that very special ringtone that makes him move eventually. Roman. Bloody fingers retrieve the small device from a pocket as he slowly rises to his feet again. He's on a bridge, he notices. Stepping up to the railing, he tries to draw a deep breath. An attempt that is of no avail.
"Hey," he says, tries his best to bring up a casual tone.
"Dude, where the hell are you?" Roman asks.
The low voice is warm, just like it always is when they talk. His gaze drops to the river below that crawls its way forward ceaselessly.
"Out for a run," he replies quietly.
There is a snort on the other end of the line.
"We have a date tonight, man," he hears Roman grumble half-heartedly. "Remember? Beer, football? You coming now or what?"
A heavy gust of wind tugs at him, the cool air sweeping like icy fingers over his sweat slicked skin, skimming through his hair as he keeps staring down at the river. Maybe the lack of response is a blink too long or maybe their bond is simply so strong that Roman feels something...
"Dean?" Roman says after a moment, his voice suddenly careful and maybe even a bit tense. "Dean, where are you?"
The nightly lights of the city dance on the uneven surface of the water below. Beautiful. Like gems...
"On a bridge..." he Dean murmurs without really realizing that he does, in a voice that might be sounding a tinge too faraway.
There is a hesitant second long quietness on the other end of the line.
"On a bridge," Roman echoes then slowly. Quietness for a second on other end of line. Then: "What..."
Roman doesn't finish the sentence. Or maybe he does and it's just drowning in the white noise that surges up suddenly before it breaks at the sound of his name being said, like a wave breaks at the shore.
There's another moment of silence in which Dean's eyes flick over the dancing lights on the water while a part of his mind wonders if the water would be hard as concrete if he'd jump now or of it would be as soft as it looks with all the lights floating on it. It looks so peaceful down there. Quiet.
"M'tired, Ro," he whispers. "I..."
"Dean, where are you?"
He tells him. He thinks he does. He's not sure. His lips move but the noise in his head is so loud again that he can't hear if a sound passes them at all. Through the noise he can hear Roman's voice though, telling him to stay where he is, telling him that he will be there in a few minutes. And Roman keeps talking to him, about what they'll have for dinner and what movies they'll watch after the football game is over.
He's talking to him, tells him to listen and Dean does. Less to the words than rather to the voice that is an inherent part of his life for so long already that it seems like forever and he can't think of a life without it.
It reaches out to his thoughts that have gone astray, pulls them back in, quietens them. Almost. Except for a few stubborn and swift ones which escape nevertheless and all the while his eyes stay fixed on the dancing gems, that peaceful quietness down there.
The pressure in his chest... it's getting stronger again and he draws a deep breath, but somehow it feels as no air reaches his lungs. Still not.
Never.
"Ro?" he whispers but as the line falls quiet while Roman waits for him to speak, he doesn't know what to say.
He wants to speak but...
I don't want anymore.
... he can't.
Another heavy breeze cuts through the night, tugs at him forcefully as it flows over the railing and down towards that other world below the bridge. The phone stays at his ear as he rests his forearms on the railing. The dried blood looks almost black even in the fuzzy light of the streetlamps, like a grotesque painting. It still does not hurt. It should. He wants the pain, needs it and through the pressure surfaces the urge to make it hurt. Somehow.
He does not.
Instead he closes his eyes and listens to Roman.
Roman.
Friend, brother...
... we have a date tonight, man...
... or more?
I need you.
The thought surfaces through the turmoil in him. It's the truth, isn't it? He needs Roman. He can't disappoint him, can't let him down. Not him...
How many time has passed when the line eventually falls dead, he has no idea. The phone he still holds pressed to his ear is taken away from him while a hand settles on his shoulder, its touch so very familiar and warm. It is now that he realizes how cold he feels, how violently he is shivering, standing here in only shoes and trainings shorts and without a shirt.
"Dean..." The low rumbling voice is right beside him. When has Roman come here? The hand on his shoulder gently turns him around and his eyes lock with undisguised worried greys. "What are you doing here?"
Dean watches as Roman shrugs his jacket off and wraps it around Dean's shoulders.
Make it go away...
"I uh... I don't know," he replies just above a whisper.
... because I can't.
Brows furrow over those worried eyes and a sigh passes Roman's lips as he lifts his other hand to Dean's hair, smoothing over it and he can see in his friend's eyes that now that Dean does not have his guards up, that Roman understands, can read it in Roman's eyes before he pulls Dean into an embrace that is warm and tight, holding him close to the solid frame that feels like an anchor. His own arms come up and around the massive body, his fingers twisting into Roman's shirt.
"Dean," Roman say hushed, worried. Guiltily. "God, Dean, why haven't you told me?"
"I..." ... wanted to... "I uh..." ... I couldn't...
He feels the arms around him tighten their hold and hides his face against a broad shoulder.
Shelter.
"I'm sorry," he hears Roman apologize softly. "I'm sorry that I haven't seen it. We're gonna go to my place now and I'm gonna listen to you." Gentle lips leave a kiss on his hair. "I need you, Dean, and I'm here for you no matter what."
Funny enough it lessens the pressure a little to hear it and it's not the words itself because in a way he has never doubted that Roman would be there for him. It is because Roman knows now and for the first time in what feels like forever he can breathe again and it is what he does, breathing in and out, in and out while he holds on to Roman. The white noise in his head, it quietens a little and the ruthless sea he is drifting in, it calms down. The pressure... fades.
Maybe this is only a moment of quietness in a storm that will come back to him all too soon but at least he knows that now that he has reached this safe isle, that he will never have to drown in it again...
- End -
Maybe it's worth nevertheless to leave me a few words?