REWRITE THE STARS ― doctor who

age of steel ; part one

Chapter Ten: Age of Steel

note: sam's eyes are brown.

♥✰♥

BROWN, PUPPY DOG EYES. That's how she'd always described Sam. Soft, gentle, warm eyes and a dimpled smile. Wavy brown hair and big hugs. That's how Claudia would describe Sam.

And looking at the man in front of her, donning a familiar flannel shirt and jeans, that's exactly how she'd describe him now.

"Claudia?"

Her breath stopped when his voice sounded through the van. The door closed and there were more voices, and someone grabbed her hand. Who was that? She didn't know. She couldn't focus on them.

She could only see Sam, her twin brother. Her very best friend. Her other half. Completely alive, completely fine.

Her hands shook and she could feel pain in one of them, it hurt really badly -- hadn't she broken it? She couldn't remember -- and Sam looked over her face in confusion.

He didn't know why she was crying. How could he? He wasn't dead here. He hadn't given his life for hers and Dean, for the world. He didn't have to make a sacrifice here.

"What are you doing here? You should be at home, resting? Dia, who are these people?"

Dia.

No one had called her that since Sam. Her breathing came out labored, tears gathering in her eyes and falling down her cheeks.

"Dia, hey," he moved forward now, and she felt the van moving. They were in a van. She'd forgotten. He grabbed her hands, taking them from the other person and she let out a light sob. "What's wrong, Claudia? Why're you crying?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. She had to be dreaming. This wasn't real.

She tore her hand from his and pinched her arm. She felt it. But this couldn't be real, could it? She pinched again. And again. And again. He grabbed her hand.

"Dia, hey, shh, stop, don't do that. This is real life. You're in real life, okay. I need you to take deep breaths, okay?" That smile. That soft, sweet, dimpled smile of her sweet brother. He took a deep breath to show her, and let it out slowly. She nodded, doing the same, following his lead. Like she always had.

He'd always been the first to do things. He took their first steps, and she clambered on the floor after him, chasing her brother. He was the one to learn to read first, and liked to read to her when he could. They'd read in the blankets when Dean watched cartoons after the mac and cheese or frozen dinner he'd make. He'd read to her until she learned to read, and she'd start reading to him.

When they went to their first day of school, he'd grabbed her hand and led her into the big, scary building, Dean a few feet ahead of them, smiling encouragingly.

When they went on their first hunt, Sam shot first, smiling at her, and telling her she could do it. He'd salted the body first. She lit the match.

And even now, sat in this van, feeling so strangely out of place from everything else, he was the first to take a breath. He was helping her through this. He would always help her, even if it cost him his life.