shatterverse | (no subject)

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You know how if you repeat a word often enough in your head, it loses all meaning and starts sounding like nonsense? You know the word has a definition and it should mean something to you but at that moment, there's nothing to it. It's blank and empty and just there.

Sokka is standing in front of a small pyre a mile or two down the road from the farm. He wanted to be away from the main house, for attention and to spare anyone else the smoke and smell. It's been burning most of the night and is in the process of dying down, but even that should take a few more hours. At least until after the sun's come up.

The body resting on the wood base is small and slender and wrapped up in a bed sheet.

He has a feeling he should be feeling something.

But if you get your heart broken enough, it stops making the effort to heal and you stop feeling the effects of it.

He's watching the flames more than the body.

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Sokka blinks and frowns at the pyre. It's stupid, but he realizes just a moment too late that the sound didn't come from the flames.

Then he's turning and blinking at the figure approaching him, and again when he recognizes him.

"Hey."

"Problem?"

Dean's too busy looking around warily to register Sokka's expression, or lack of same, at first.

"Need a hand?"

Another blink and Sokka glances at the flames in front of him. He still hates the smell but he doesn't turn green anymore.

It's a new development.

"...there's not much else to do," he points out with a shrug, looking over at Dean again.

Dean turns to look at him properly.

"Who is it?" he asks, voice quieter.

"My sister."

His voice doesn't register any pain - more like confusion. He should be feeling something but it's just... there.

"She came back. Healed herself. It didn't take, though."

"Oh."

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, leans back with his weight on one foot, looking at the flames.

"How'd she do it?" Professional curiousity. "What went wrong?"

"She was a Waterbender, moved water with her mind and special moves. Mostly for combat but she'd used it for healing, too. We got her body and she used, um... kind of like holy water. And she came back.

"I guess it didn't take, she kept falling apart. So she'd killed people here to keep herself alive.

"I was in Metropolis. I didn't find out until yesterday."

He frowns at the flames, thinking.

"A lot of people died."

"Hell," Dean says, glancing over at the younger man and frowning. "That's ... hell. You took care of it?"

For the first time in a while, Sokka turns and stares with an expression, even if it's just a raised eyebrow.

The pyre blazes on in front of them.

Dean grimaces, flinching slightly.

He can picture it all too well. (Sam, blowing things up with his mind --) It's not pretty.

"You did right," he says, eventually. It's such a stupid thing to say, but - maybe the kid needs to hear it.

Sokka and his eyebrow are unimpressed.

(it seems like the right thing to do, like he should be upset or annoyed)

"Yeah, I'm pretty proud of myself," he replies, dry.

Maybe not. Dean shrugs, gaze returning to the fire.

There's quiet for a little longer, except for the crackling of the embers. Not much to say.

"What're you gonna do now?"

This time, the blink isn't about recognition - it's honest surprise, all the irritation disappearing from Sokka's face to stare at him.

"Uh..." He hesitates and then shakes his head, looking at the fire again. "I don't... I don't know."

Dean nods, looking back at the fire so that he doesn't have to look at Sokka's face, doesn't have to see what the kid's thinking with his sister burning in front of him.

"What're your options?"

"...I don't know."

There aren't options. There's living, keep going, don't just lie down and think about what's going on or you'll never get up again.

Dean digs in his pocket for a battered packet of cigarettes and pulls one out. After a moment, he pulls the packet out and offers it to Sokka.

He's back to blinking again but these, at least, he recognizes. It's been a few years since he smoked and that was for Hana and Loo's birth, and before that sneaking into the mens' hut at home.

He takes one anyway, if only for something to do with his hands.

"I don't really..." Sokka looks down at the cigarette, fiddles with it, twisting it between his fingers. "What would I do?"

Dean lights his own and holds out his Zippo, flame hot and bright and flaring blue, nothing like the pyre at all.

"Mmm." Frowny. "Got a car still?"

Sokka lights it with some difficulty. Once the tip glows red, he leans back and takes a breath, but he mostly plays with the cigarette instead of smoking it.

"Yeah."

Of course.

He frowns and glances at Dean, remembering when he'd come for help with his brother and then left him behind in Lawrence to go on adventures of his own.

"...my family's here."

Dean looks at the pyre again. "I dunno, Sokka. I only know what'd make me feel better. I don't know anythin' about how it is with you."

He rubs his nose hard, as if he's trying to push it back into his forehead, searching for the right words. They don't come, and he shrugs helplessly and takes another drag on his cigarette.

"Drivin' works f'me. Takes me back to myself, y'know? Back to who I am."

Who he is. Back to himself. To his roots.

Home.

Sokka looks back at the fire while the flames die down, the linens black and fading on the wind, nothing left on the pile of sparking wood.

He mimics Dean and takes a hit of his cigarette.

"Yeah... yeah, maybe... maybe that's a good idea."

Dean flicks his cigarette, still barely touched, away into the grass and shrugs.

"Easier for me," he says, frowning. "All I need t'go home is m'car and the backroads of America. Don't much matter which world."

His car and the road, and his brother - but that's an addition the kid doesn't need to hear.

Sokka frowns, watches the flames die down, feels the weak paper of the cigarette between his fingers. Something shines in the pyre and he digs in his pocket for a moment.

A little piece of cloth is produced, almost a handkerchief, and he steps toward the pyre to dig out a small circle carved blue stone, shining almost like glass.

He stares at it for a little while.

"...maybe it won't matter for me either."

"Your family?" Dean asks, frowning. If the kid's going to take off and just drive, he'd probably better make sure Mel and the babies are OK.

... he wouldn't much mind that kind of comforting, either.

"They be OK without you?"

"I won't stay gone forever."

Mel won't be happy. Hana and Loo will tell him they hate him until he promises to bring something back. Steph...

Steph won't be happy either.

Sokka lifts the cigarette and takes another drag of it, coughing a little while running his thumb over the cooling pendant. "I'll talk to them first. Mel will take care of everything."