River Tam (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
river_meimei) wrote2010-06-09 04:39 am
river_meimei) wrote2010-06-09 04:39 am
Entry tags:
SPN AU some more
Nothing in room 919 is something Tig will have seen before. Everything that's here comes from Milliways; River brought nothing here but the (ghost of the) clothes on her back, and she got rid of those a few days into her stay.
But the style of it -- the framed posters on the walls, the duvet in swirls of blue and purple, the heap of semi-matching pillows on the papasan chair and the dance bag tossed in a corner -- will be wholly familiar. River picked these decorations, and she picked them to make this room hers.
Of course, there are a few new touches. The salt line surrounding the room, for instance. (The holy water in Poland Springs bottles, the iron horseshoe on the door, the devil's trap painted under the rug -- but only the salt is an obvious anomaly.)
But the style of it -- the framed posters on the walls, the duvet in swirls of blue and purple, the heap of semi-matching pillows on the papasan chair and the dance bag tossed in a corner -- will be wholly familiar. River picked these decorations, and she picked them to make this room hers.
Of course, there are a few new touches. The salt line surrounding the room, for instance. (The holy water in Poland Springs bottles, the iron horseshoe on the door, the devil's trap painted under the rug -- but only the salt is an obvious anomaly.)
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River stops for a second. Just that second.
And rephrases, to the ceiling, soft and matter-of-fact. "He had this grand scheme. The demon. We were all special, he said, and he had this whole vague grand prize thing. The last one would win it. The last one alive."
"He'd talk at you in your dreams. Try to persuade us to fight each other, to, to compete. Some people listened."
I killed three people.
I killed people. With my bare hands.
I didn't want to but they came at me and I didn't want to die--
She says, low and steady, "And then I died."
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I always knew you were special. She's not sure who the past tense is for-- it fits either way.
She also knows she can't protect River in her dreams. She can't even protect her own.
"River." It's soft, and grieving, and full of love.
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"That's all.
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She whispers,
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She just feels numb. It's only facts; she can keep them at a distance, and think about the right words to say, and not let herself feel a thing. It's what she's been doing this whole conversation. It's not so hard.
But somehow, her eyes are wet.
"I got you killed," she whispers back, and her voice cracks up into something high and crumbling at the end. It's not what she meant to say.
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"River-- no-- I was sticking my nose where I shouldn't, in exactly the wrong place. I wanted to find you but it wasn't your fault--"
She shakes her head firmly, though the sound in River's voice is bringing tears to her own eyes.
"How could it have been your fault?"
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The tears are overflowing now, soaking chilly tracks into the hair at her temples, and she can't make them stop.
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"River--"
And now she's crying too, soft quiet tears she can't stop, and she's hugging River and laying her forehead against her shoulder to try to disguise that she's crying.
"Shh ... shhh." She can be steady in her embrace and the touch of her hands, even if she can't in her voice, or in her heart.
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She just holds River close.
She'll hold her as long as she needs her to.
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It's been months since River had anyone to hold her when she cried, months in which she never told this story to anyone; this has been building a while. And it's the middle of the night, when defenses are low.
(And River hasn't been sleeping so well. It wears you down.)
But there's only so many tears you have in you. Eventually, gradually, River's sobs quiet to exhausted sniffles.
She's twisted even closer to Tig now, cradled in a tangle of limbs and sheets and hair. Her cheek rests against a thoroughly wet patch of pillow, and she desperately needs a tissue -- but not quite enough to move away to reach for one, just yet.
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If she does, this dream could crumble.
(Maybe you can't fall asleep in a dream; that ought to make her feel better.
She's already done it once, and is drifting towards a second time.)
She can't really tell if it's morning, but it feels like morning. Tig takes in her surroundings, of which the most notable feature is River.
She woke up next to River.
And it's because of that, and despite the dried up tear-tracks streaking her cheeks, that Tig begins to smile.
In a very soft, very firm voice-- the tone she usually reserves for serious points of geopolitical import-- she says:
"If they do pancakes around here ... I'm really going to think this is heaven."
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"Bananas and everything," she promises, that suppressed laughter bubbling under her voice, and pulls Tig in for a kiss, just because she can.
It's Tig, and she's here, and in spite of why she's here and in spite of everything, right now, River almost feels like everything's really going to be all right.