kat_lair: (GEN: castle with ghosts)
[personal profile] kat_lair
***

Title: it’s in the water baby (it’s between you and me)
Author: [personal profile] kat_lair / Mistress Kat
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R
Word count: 775
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing

Summary: The lake didn’t so much smell of death as it did of dying.

Author notes: Written for a prompt from [personal profile] pushkin666 : SPN & water. Title from ‘Post Blue’ by Placebo.



The surface of the lake was black and still like the top of an ink bottle. Dean imagined that if were stupid enough to dip his hand into the water, it would come out slick and covered in some viscous oil.

“Smells like death,” Sam said.

Dean nodded although he thought Sam wasn’t quite right. The lake didn’t so much smell of death as it did of dying. The difference was subtle but there. Death was a state, of peace if you were lucky, but the rustling reeds, the mud sucking at his boots, the thick depth of the water suggested something more… active. Dying was a process, a progression of pain and maggots and countless regrets, and this place felt – and smelled – like it had been writhing for a long time toward a death that would never come.

“Less sniffing, more purifying.” Dean lowered his backpack to the bank, wincing at the moist sound it made, hitting what could be loosely be described as ground.

Sam was spreading the tarp, weighing it down with rocks and heavy fat candles that took several tries to light, sputtering weakly in the surrounding darkness. Dean got out the bottles of water, filtered and sage infused and thrice blessed. They seemed to shine with a light of their own, though Dean was sure it was just his imagination. Pretty sure, anyway.

“Okay. So.” Sam cleared his throat. “It’s pretty simple. We just… Say the incantation, drink some water,” he pointed at the bottles, “pour some over ourselves. And then… Uh.” He gestured at the lake.

None of this was news to Dean of course, they’d gone over the ritual several times before driving over, but he couldn’t exactly fault Sam for prevaricating. God knew, neither of them was looking forward to the last part. Still, it was his job as the eldest to show example so Dean gritted his teeth and unzipped his jacket.

“Let’s get on with it then,” he said.

They stripped in silence, folding their clothes onto the tarp in a vain hope they’d be even vaguely dry when this was all over. Dean shivered, cold despite it being almost summer. He kept his eyes on Sam’s face and passed him one of the bottles.

“You remember the words or do you need a note?” he snarked, just to get the reward he was seeking: a patented Sammy eye-roll and just a few seconds of feeling like everything was normal.

Then Sam uncorked a bottle, said: “Just try to keep up,” and launched into the spell. Dean was no more than half a syllable behind and at the end of it they both drank deeply. Once the bottles were empty they grabbed new ones – Sam had muttered about the inappropriateness of using empty coke bottles but since there was no actual reason the purified water had to be stored in ancient stone urns or something, Dean wasn’t going to find any for the sake of an aesthetic.

Sam went first, tipping the bottle over Dean’s head slowly. The water was shockingly warm and Dean shuddered under the unexpected sensuality of it, feeling every thick drop roll over his shoulders, down his bare chest and stomach, lower. He wanted to look up to Sam’s eyes.

He didn’t dare.

Once Dean was soaked from head to toe and trembling, though no longer from the cold, he snatched one of the full water bottles by his feet and turned to do the same to Sam. It was even worse from this side because now he got to watch the exact moment the surprised pleasure hit Sam, his face going slack and heavy lidded with it, mouth dropping open just enough for some of the water cling to the inside of his lips, begging Dean to lick it off.

They were both hard. Dean knew it without looking, knew it with the same bone-deep certainty he knew that once they walked into the black waters of the lake it would wash out all the carefully drawn lines between them.

Still, it had to be done. And if he was honest with himself, Dean was glad for the excuse. They took the remaining bottles and walked to the edge. As soon as the purified water hit the lake, the blackness receded, tendrils of light spreading out into the murky depths.

“It’s time.” Sam reached out for Dean. The look in his eyes said he wasn’t’ talking about just the ritual.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean agreed, gripping his brother’s hand.

Together they walked into the lake, now silver with a shimmering light, like a mirror waiting for its first true reflection.
 

***

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