Lights Underwater

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Dean opens his eyes.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

He's floating.

Twigs, bits of weed and what looks like garden soil are floating too…just outside the windscreen… A sort of alternative fish tank - only to be enjoyed from the comfort of your driver's seat.

He can see it because the headlamps are still on.

See now, before this happened…Dean would have put down good money on the water flooding the battery points and the electrics going down immediately, in the event of a full (and stupid) engine submersion. But…

He turns his head to the right which is hard because it means dipping part of his mouth into the water.

Sam's determined features, forcing what looks like a tree trunk into the passenger window. For the first time ever, Dean wants it to shatter…like he never wanted his beloved car's windows to ever break before.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

He can see Sam's mouth moving, but he can't hear him. He just wants him to stop and look at him. There's so much you can say with just a little eye contact, you know.

It's what they used to do when they were kids. When Dad was yelling and there'd be hell to pay if they'd opened their mouths.

Before Ruby came on the scene. Before that soulless excuse for a brother came to get him from Lisa's.

"It's…it's not working, man," he says. "Too much negative pressure."

Well, he thinks he says it, but in reality he stopped talking long ago. Just after he stopped shivering.

Outside the car, Sam looks like he's floating too. Waist deep in water, he can see the water splashing up into Sam's face and neck, his hair lank and black against his pale, cold skin.

Thump! Thump!

It's not that bad now. In fact, who turned on the hot tap? He wishes he could tell Sam this – just so he'd slow down…take a breath or two. There's still time.

And then the lights go out.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The tree slides in Sam's wet hands.

Not enough purchase in the muddy base his feet are sliding in. Not enough strength in his aching, exhausted arms. The young tree was all he could find. No convenient rocks or boulders lying around. Well, none that he could see in a blind panic in the dark, anyway.

And what the fuck with the lights? He'd have bet a serious amount of cash that the electrics would have immediately shorted on contact with such a devastating amount of water…

Thump! Thump!

And then Dean turns to look at him and Sam wishes he wouldn't. Because half his face dips into the filthy water and he is no longer strong enough to keep his head up. His face is bleeding too. Probably smacked off the steering wheel on their way into the river.

At some point, the passenger door had flipped open and Sam had fallen out. No such luck for Dean though.

Dean keeps looking. Eyes wide. Pleading. Wanting to be freed. Waiting for Sam.

'I'm doing it, Dean. It's gonna crack!' he shouts, his voice some useless scream into the night.

Dean's mouth moves. He lifts a hand up out of the water – then lets it sink uselessly back under the muddied river that never ever should be inside the Impala.

Then the lights go out.

"Fuck!" Sam barks in response. " Fuck you!" he screams at the car. Her betrayal all the more bitter in such desperate times.

He retreats. The river pulls at his clothes as he wades back towards the shore. On drier land, he throws the tree down and slams his foot on to it. It skids off – his shoe still slick with mud.

"Come on!" he screams. The tree snaps with a crack – Sam pulling maniacally to force the splintered break.

He stumbles back, clutching what now resembles a club. He turns back towards the submerging car – pulls the knife from the back of his jeans – can hardly feel it in his grip – his hands are so, so cold.

No more thumps.

No noise. It's so quiet in here it's sublime.

Without him even being aware, he inhales some water, and splutters out a stabbing response.

It's getting him. The water.

Slowly, silently rising as the Impala sinks into the soggy river bed.

'What a sad fucking way to go,' he thinks. Trapped inside his own car, descending gracefully into some Midwestern river he's never even heard of. An ineffective impotence that should never be attributed to someone like Dean Winchester.

"Is there ever a good way to die?" Sam looks up from the atlas lying open on his knee. His smile is bright, his shoulders relaxed, the radio on and the countryside flying past them again.

"Hell yeah!" Dean retorts cheerfully, slapping the steering wheel for emphasis. "I want fire and steel and blood, several explosions, plus an insane amount of screaming from the demon we've just ganked, of course."

Sam smiles.

Shakes his head gently.

Turns another page.

It's just about then that the other Sam appears at the window again. Dean thinks he can see a flash of silver, but there's only moonlight now.

There's a loud 'Tick!' sound. Then another.

He turns his head again – the water lapping noisily in his ears. He really should just tell Sam to give it up…he really should. But his head is too damn heavy and if he could just relax his neck…

WHOOSH!

Sam gasps for air as he clambers out of the window – the car yawing dangerously into a slow roll. Dean's head lolls as he gets dragged out by the collar.

"Dean!" his voice a veritable squeak. "Dean, we're out- it's over.." He pulls his brother high, higher up onto his shoulder, his head rolling off and hanging sideways.

Three minutes. That's how long Dean's face had been totally submerged while Sam tried to free his legs from the steering column casing that had warped back on itself.

Sam pushes away from the Impala, struggles for balance. Dean's weight plunging his every step deeper into the sucking mud.

The ground rushes up to them. Dean's lifeless body slaps onto the sodden river bank, but Sam doesn't care.

He presses his ear against his brother's mouth. No sound.

"No!" He shakes Dean roughly – rolls him onto his side, hauls his hips back, bends his legs so that he doesn't roll backwards. "Dean! Dean, come on!"

He pounds on Dean's back – lifts his arm above his head (he'd seen that on TV once) – a little mantra, 'Come on, come on, let it out, let it out, come on, come on…' in little whispers…as if it was a secret.

Pushes his hand into Dean's abdomen.

Nothing.

Again, more forceful this time. Rhythmic pushing. Again. And again.

Until he gets it…a rumbling gurgle at first – like an air bubble. Dean's body jerks forward as a rush of water spews out from his nose and mouth.

"Yes! That's it, let it out, man!" The elation he feels is overwhelming. Fills him like a song. Heats him like the summer sun.

Dean groans as Sam takes the moment to roll him into a one-sided hug…

The bed is filthy with mud and river weed.

The floor is littered with an assortment of crumpled jeans, shirts, boots and jackets, blackened and sodden.

Sam in his boxers rubs frantically at Dean's bare chest and shoulders. His skin doesn't even blanche under pressure. And he's not shivering enough yet.

He's still cold.

"H..hurts me…Sam," he huffs out in time to Sam's rubbing.

"I know, I'm…I'm sorry, man. You're too cold. Still dangerous," he turns the towel and puts pressure on his brother's thighs – works the muscles, tries to generate heat.

He stops suddenly. Leaps off the bed and strides purposefully into the bathroom. On his return, he sets a glass of tepid water down onto the nightstand.

He pulls down the covers on the other bed, piles the pillows into a nest-like shape.

"Okay, time to get up." He's aiming for confident, but it comes out more like an order.

He reaches for Dean but there's no reply. His eyes flicker open in delayed reaction but his arms are lead. He makes a terrible groan, a burbled, wet cough as Sam pulls him into a sitting position and drags his legs around so that he sits on the edge of the bed.

Arms hanging lank, chin on his chest – Sam glances back at the mixture of mud and blood on the bed.

"We're heading over there. And then you're gonna drink some warm water."

"Sam -" A cough and a sneeze explodes from Dean's mouth mid sentence firing snot, saliva and what looks like bits of bark over his knees and onto the carpet.

"Jeez!" Sam grabs the towel and wipes his brother's face. Dean manages to lift a hand in objection.

"Oh, come on, Dean," he snorts. "We can sit on a bed together half naked, have one of us massage the other with warm towels but nobody gets to wipe Dean Winchester's nose..?"

Slowly, Dean lifts his bruised face and looks at Sam.

Not with defiance or any kind of anger, but with pain and …and sadness almost.

It takes the smile off Sam's face in a matter of seconds.

On the other bed, he pulls Dean up into a semi sitting position – spends time stuffing the pillows behind him.

Pulls the blankets up under his chin and around his shoulders. Offers him the warmed water.

Dean frowns. Pale lips not yielding.

"You're too cold. You could get colder if we don't nip this in the bud. Drink the water. It'll help."

Dean's head starts to fall forward. Sam takes his chin and gently tips his head up.

He sips. But just a little.

"'Nuff…" he croaks but Sam persists.

They lock eyes for a beat. Sam swallows.

"The Impala…she's…"

He knows.

Like he knows they've hardly any money left.

Like he knows he has to practically sit up to sleep tonight.

Like he knows he's out of commission for the next few days or so.

Like he knows how hard their life sucks right now.

Sam gets up – pulls a pillow from the muddy bed and places it down on the other bed.

Without hesitating, he slides in beside his brother and purposely presses himself up against Dean's too cold skin. It makes him shiver…and so does Dean.

He grabs the remote and starts to surf the channels on mute.

Dean clears his throat.

It's obvious he wants to speak…but Sam's ready. Dean has to get warmer. And not too quickly either. And body heat is the best way.

Well, he can screw his macho posturing and stow the innuendo, he's exhausted and emotional, and just…not in the mood.

If he says one word…

"D'did you see the lights, Sam?" he whispers. "Under…under the water."

Sam looks up at his brother's shivering lips.

"Yeah, I saw them " he says gently. "Get some rest. "

End