I seriously love to drown Sam. It's becoming kinda crazy, idk, idk. I concentrated on the DROWNING part, not the 'what happened before' and 'what happened after' parts.
I own nothing, and I'm sorry for any and all grammar/spelling mistakes you're gonna find.
The orange sunlight bled over the still surface, turning crystal blue water into red, bloody mess of… stillness. The trees around the lake were looking themselves in the mirror that the water enabled; how the Fall made them bald, made them loose their precious leaves, leaving their branches bare and thin, scattering the leaves all along the lake, throwing them in the water; leaving them there to rot. To die. One wave interrupted the brown leaves that were bathing on the edge of the lake, one wave that nearly stopped Dean's heart.
"Dean!" his throat hurt from yelling his brother's name over and over again.
"Dean!" the sweet taste of water invaded his mouth on the last word he said to his brother…he could see him, running down the shore, the sun on his back, the look of horror on his face…and then the water swallowed him again.
"Sam!" the noise that the little pebbles were making under his shoes, was driving him insane…he couldn't hear Sam clearly, could only touch the edge of Sam's gruff voice.
Another wave disrupted the calm water, sneaking straight to the shore, moving the sand up a little, moving the leaves and depositing them on the shore.
"Sammy!" his voice echoed over the water, stilling the wave.
He was hit with it, it hit his shoe, and it hit the edge of his jeans…the wave that pulled his brother's body down. Down to the dark depths of the lake, down to the depths that held…the thing.
He was sinking, sinking so low, so low, so deep…into the darkness. Into the depths that were only reserved for decaying leaves and twigs and dead fish and other natures rejects. But not for him. And that thought, the thought that he doesn't belong in the depths was what moved his hands, it was what made his arms flail, trying to grab onto something, but all his fingers touched was the soft, cold squish of water.
No, no, no, no, Dean!
He opened his mouth to scream, Dean, only to be filled with water, a strange taste of…calmness, clarity.
He was falling, falling so deep, so low, he didn't even know where he begun and where he ended. It was all a blur of mixing colors, orange, red, black, brown, white…there was no up, no down...it was just falling. A free fall that would end in his death on the sand covered floor, among the dead fish and decaying leaves and… stuff.
There was mud in his mouth; he knew that, because he could feel it settle between his teeth, on his tongue, in his throat. The pressure in his ears was squishing his brain into pudding, blood flowing through his body, too fast, too loud, too bright.
And there was darkness with small lines, dots of orange light when he opened his eyes… and they burned from the sweetness of the water, the coldness of it.
And he was falling again, legs heavy, upside down, jeans low on his hips, and his shirt in his face, his arms lost in the void of the water, in the loneliness of it. In the coldness of it… he felt the pressure on his chest, in his lungs…
Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe…Dean!
It ached at first, the incapability of breathing; it was a dull ache, which turned into a blinding pain, a hurt so deep…it burned.
He needed air, he needed to breathe, that's normal, breathing is normal, and his lungs were burning up…no air, just water, just silence in the water. Just silence in the lake…the too still lake, the too peaceful lake...where people drowned…died.
It hurt, it hurt so bad…not breathing…it burned, it ached…flashes of things, images…Dean a boy, his Dad, Bobby, Jess, Dean, Dean…
Something grazed his face, slimy and long…a fish, his brain told him, but his senses said…the thing.
Something pulled at his leg, wrapping itself around his ankle…lake grass, his brain told him, but his senses said…the thing.
Something hard and thin wrapped around his waist…the thing his brain told him, but his senses said…Dean.
He lost the battle then, he lost the fight he had in him, he lost the tickle of his hair when the water moved the locks just right, he lost the sense of everything…the colors were black now, the water was in him, around him, the scorching burn in his lungs was forgotten when his brain no longer registered it…the only thing that was there, the only feeling that his body still registered was the strong grip Dean's hands had on him…and the blind faith…trust that every cell in his body possessed, that his brother will save him.
Man, but his brother was heavy…thin sure, but heavy as a log. All bones and muscles…and dragging his unconscious 'too big for his own good' brother out of the water was just too much. After almost loosing him, after almost not grabbing him in time, after…seeing him go down…under water…just…like that…it hurt.
No answer, just a wet body, too silent and too still laying on the shore. Face wet, hair wet, eyes closed, the brownness of them lost to the setting sun, his chest not moving, his mouth slightly parted, thin lips, blue tinged.
The water was dripping from his own hair, droplets of it falling onto Sam's cheeks, forehead, nose, neck, chest…to wet, to still, not breathing…to cold.
There were touches…
There was air…
Breathe, damn it…
There was cold…
Sammy, no, no, no…
There was warmth…
That's it, Sammy, 's okay…
And there were words…echoes that slipped into the dark place he was in…
Sam, you're gonna be fine,'s gonna be fine, Sammy…
And there was the pain of coughing his lungs out. And there was the pain of realization that he nearly lost his brother. And there was a touch, a soft pat on his back and the water came spilling out of his mouth again, hitting the pebbly floor, and bringing to life the words: "Sam, lay off my shoes."
He would laugh; he really, really would…if his throat wasn't on fire.
The setting sun finally drowned behind the lake, leaving its surface dark and still again. Leaving it to the moon and the stars…leaving it to the forest. Leaving it in peace.
"Just breathe, man."
The soft pressure of Dean's hand on his back was…soothing.
The hand was still…soothing.
"We have to go, Sam…you're wet."
A beat of silence to accommodate the crickets and the early night birds.
"Well, you know…thank you…for…you know…"
"Yeah, just don't let your guard down again."
Instead of an answer Sam coughed…falling on all fours, barely catching himself on his hands he felt the strong grip of Dean's hand on his chest, smoothing down the tremors:
"'s Sam…" he wheezed out between the coughs.
Dean patted his chest, making him ache and moan, but the pat brought more water from his body: "Oh grgh…"
"Yeah, you'll be fine. Doctor it is, Sammy."
More coughs into the silent night.