Risk

Running. Keep running. All my senses on fire. I saw it. And if I can see it, I can kill it. I know I can. There's a river or...or a lake or something here. That's what it likes, that's what it'll always return too. Like me in a way. Revert to type. Set to default. Yeah, 'cos that's what I do when Dean waits for me to tell him, when he looks at me, with such frustration and torment...that...I want to tell him. I do.

Go left. Yeah, left. Dad used to say you could always smell water. Like, there was always a breeze on water, or near water, and that if you lifted your face, you could smell it. Nothing scientific in his theory, but then, that was Dad. He said it, you believed it. Wish he was here now. Now that Dean's been dragged away by that...that thing...

Through branches and bush leaves and spiders webs and yeah, if I strain hard enough I can see it, and if I wasn't breathing so damned hard, I could probably smell it. It's a lake. I crash through the undergrowth, which seems to multiply the closer I get to it. I can hear thrashing in the water...if I had the patience to slow down, I could probably make out where it's coming from, and if the moon would just damn well shine and give me some light...

See, Dean knows. Like, he knows that I'm getting stronger and it's not by osmosis. And he's watching me. He's waiting. Little tests, like I don't notice. And I fail them all. Yeah, that's me. Sam Winchester. Way to disappoint your brother – big arrow pointing in my direction, folks.

I shout his name, but there's no reply. I stumble free of the woodland, onto my face, almost into the river, but I manage to save myself. God, where are we? The middle of God damned no where. Squinting into the lake, for anything, any movement. But it's still. Like glass. Whatever was thrashing is still now. Still hear my heart thumping though. I stride quickly. The land speed record for walking in pretense of normality. No point in running and maybe missing something. Some unnatural edge to something. Some random movement.

And then I see him, and my heart jumps into my throat as I wade out, the cold water making me gasp as I get deeper. My jeans clinging onto my legs, adding weight, pulling at me. But I'm strong. I know this at least. I make myself strong. Because I need to be. I can fix this. All of this, if Dean would let me. But, he doesn't have to know. I don't think I ever want him to know. I never want to see his face when he finds out. Find out what I have been doing. What I do.

I turn him over, and pull him back towards the shore. So light in water. I push against the drag of the water and the weeds and whatever else I'm walking through. His mouth open, his eyes closed. I stumble at the shore, as I drag his weight up onto the grass. I call his name, but he's a rag doll. There's no resistance. Onto his side, head back, open his airway...it'll come...the water will come. I rub his back, almost punching his lungs, trying expel the contents of the lake.

At this moment, I want to tell him. If he'd just wake up, I think I'd tell him right here and now. I would. At this moment I'd gladly suffer that deep, soul searching look he would give me. That mixture of 'I can't believe you would do that' and 'How could you?'. I know that's what he'd do because that's what I ask myself. Afterwards, of course. Add one tablespoon of disgust, and fold into a thick mixture of shame and bake, at gas mark 'Distrust' for...well for the rest of our lives, probably.

I call his name again, hoping there's something there...hoping to hear the water rising and bubbling up in his airway, hoping he'll vomit it out, and breathe again. I shake him, in frustration. Like I know he wants to do to me. Hell, at this moment, in the stark loneliness of this God forsaken place, I'd even suffer him brushing me off and getting up and leaving me. Leaving me to it.

He already knows that I lie to him. I lie to his face. Blatant. Without turning a hair. And then, to top it off, I told him I was stronger, faster, a better hunter. Told him he was weak. Imagine that. My big brother. The strongest most resilient guy I know. Man, I must be fun to live with. A veritable ray of sunshine, me. Everyday, I wake up and wonder why the hell he hasn't left before now. I know he wants too. But, still...he stays.

And then, a spasm. His body jerks slightly, before he starts to curl in on himself and the relief washes over me like a shining light. I babble some incoherent platitudes, clichés and phrases that make me feel better more than anything else, as I watch him puke volumes of water onto the sodden grass. He lies weakened and small, little groans of effort with every breath. I smooth away some grit and mud from his face, telling him how good he looks, before lifting his arm to sit him up. He coughs up some more water. It dribbles down his shirt as he fights to lift his head.

"Did...did we get it?" he asks quietly. Into himself. Not looking at me as I support his weight.

"No. We lost it." I look down on his head. "Maybe next time, huh?"

"Yeah," he breathes, and he sits like that for a moment. And then, he grabs at my hand for me to help him up. On wobbled legs he staggers to a standstill, the water from our clothes causing a mini flood on the riverbank. And then, I stretch my arm around his waist, my hip against his, and he lets me. And, as we start to walk...I realise at that moment...that I can never tell him. That it would be the last straw and he would definitely walk.

No. The risk is too high, and I don't want to take it. Not now. Not yet.

Not ever.