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SHARDS, SHREDS, SCRAPS
Weight
by
Sade Lyrate
Her breaths are harsh and hasty, out of rhythm as she curls up on the ground, coughs up water. But she's safe, free from the grasp of the monster in the lake, and it takes a moment for the shrill cry of emptiness in his heart to make him look around, register the silence that shouldn't be, the lack of movement that should have followed them.
His eyes cover the stretch of shore, land on the lake in a frantic sweep, denial only half-formed before he dives back in, lungs still recovering, burning the moment the weight of the water settles on him again, the darkness refusing to part, let him see. No time for thoughts, airless tightness gripping closer with each stroke, until there's a glimmer of form, swaying like a sheet in a wind.
His heart's bursting with desperation and demands, muscles aching at the exertion, but so close now he can't give up. Kicks propel him enough to catch at the body, see the sunken log holding onto his brother's leg like a lover. He pulls at the long-dead wood, anguish adding to his strength. It splinters in his hands, lets the body free, and he kicks both of them toward the surface, like a light at the end of the tunnel.
There's no breath under his palms as they breach, just clammy skin, barely there heartbeat, blue leeching the life out of the stubbled cheeks. He's wearier than he's ever been, but he can't rest, not even as he drags the two of them to the dry strand.
Strain straddles him as he pinches the freckled nose, blows a breath he needs less than his brother into the lungs, waits for a response, repeats. His heart beats out prayers in staccato, willing for those green eyes to open, the stupid jerk to start breathing on his own again as his surroundings blur, his body on autopilot.
He doesn't know how long it takes (not too long), but finally, finally, muscles contract under his touch, he pushes his brother to his side, collapses behind him on to the wet sand, listening to the gurgling breaths as air and water struggle for dominion, hands stroking the back of the dark, wet shirt, wanting to hug the smaller frame to himself and never ever let go again.
Thank God whispers through his mind, movement in the corner of his eye making him spin around, ready for a fight he won't be able to win.
But it's only the girl, dark eyes large, wet clothes clinging to her frame just like her arms.
"You-you alright?"
It's insane, it's the only thing ever really worth asking, but it always feels wrong, coming from anyone but his brother. Their absent father. He stares at her, still reeling from the one more almost in the Winchester-history, knowing it's all far from over, choking on the adrenaline-laughter.
