17Un singe en Hiver - Indochine
(A monkey in winter - about coming back from Indochine after the war)
« The Pond »
« A long time ago in a faraway country, there was a Pond; the most beautiful Pond of all, with clear water and trees of many colors bearing delicious fruits. It was the jewel of the whole country, full of buzzing little lives, like bugs and small rodents.
« The white birds, living high in the sky, loved this pond. They would come down and rest their wings under the cool shadows, letting the water's lullaby sooth them to nice reveries. It was such a peaceful place.
« Soon, in their feathery heads, the pond became Their Pond. They loved it so much, made sure it stayed protected and lively.
« All was well and good, the white birds living at peace and visiting the Pond often. Until the fishes came in.
« They weren't too many at first, and weren't too disturbing. But the birds weren't used to changes, and some of them didn't take it kindly to have to share Their Pond. Especially when they discovered how fast the fishes were multiplying, troubling the once clear water and eating the lives around them.
« Soon the birds started bickering about the Ponds newcomers. Some of them liked the fishes, they were amusing to watch, even if as one specie was living in the sky and the other under water, they couldn't understand each other. Others hated the fishes and started to pick on them, even eat them, to make the intruders leave Their Pond.
« The bickering was turning so bad that most of the white birds decided to simply stay up the trees, no longer coming near the surface and mourning the loss of the peaceful times besides the Pond's shore.
« Not many stayed to try to protect the fishes from their siblings prying on them. But the fishes were smart. They quickly learnt to stay deep under water, where the birds couldn't catch them. And a few generations later, they just didn't remember why they didn't go near the surface, but they kept on staying at the bottom. The white birds who had stayed to protect the fishes from their angry siblings then holed up in the trees too.
« Still sometimes, one fish foolish enough to get lured by the angry bird's trills and the reflections of the sun on the water came to the surface, and got eaten.
« One of the white bird, disgusted by its siblings constant bickering had decided to stay near the surface, to keep on watching whatever he could of the fishes while hiding from the angry birds. Simply watching was boring when all on your own, so he took the habit of picking at the fishes that came too close. Not to eat or really maim them, just for fun. Most of the time. And remind them to be scared from going to the surface.
« Until one day, the hiding bird found a fish who wasn't scared of him. No matter how hard he tried to make him go down the pond, the curious fish kept coming back at him, popping bubbles and making figures in the water to get his attention.
« After all this time, the hiding bird had become accustomed to the silent fishes way to communicate. He was pretty surprised to realize the fish was actually ranting after him, not at all cowed by the bird's obvious power.
« It didn't take long for the hiding bird to grow fascinated with the brash fish; then for them to fall in love with each other. But birds live in the air and can't survive under water. And fishes live underwater and can't live in the air.
« Sadly for them, the battle over The Pond flared again; the angry birds trying once again to get rid of all the fishes. Except that no white bird decided to help the vulnerable fishes, they were tired of a fight that had gone too long. They rather let that battle die down for lack of contestant.
« The brave fish then asked his white lover to teach how to speak to the birds. It wasn't easy, since the poor fish had to stand over water to speak the language of the birds and it was slowly killing him.
« It was the first time a fish made the terrible effort of speaking to the white birds; most of them thought the fishes were so dumb they couldn't understand the birds' language, or have any. They stood surprised that a fish could, and dared address them.
« It was a long discussion the fish held with the birds, reminding them that even if the birds were there first, they also had wing to go anywhere else. Fishes were stuck in that Pond. They could never leave. Even then, he had to be held by his lover bird to be able to speak to them. And staying out of water was very tiring for him. His scales, used to the water were drying painfully in the warm air.
« In the end, the poor fish, exhausted, finished with this : "We do no mind sharing the Pond with you white birds. We cannot go elsewhere anyway. So please, if you really feel like you can't bear our sigh, please refrain from ending our existence. There are many Pond within your reach and well beyond ours. I hope you'll find one to suit you."
« Then he died, leaving his lover bird covered with his scales.
« The grieving bird started to speak to his fellow white birds, and it was a much angrier speech he held, facing his brethren still wavering opinion.
« In the end, he didn't give them much of a choice and started to clip the white birds' wings, forcing them to experience the terrible feeling of being stuck on the ground. The others followed quite eagerly toward the pond the fish's lover had chosen. Very far away, so the white birds wouldn't be tempted to come back to The Pond. They did bring with them the poor birds with clipped wings who wanted to leave.
« The new Pond was bigger than the last, with soft red grass and two rising suns. And devoid of any fish, already there or incoming. It was a perfect place to start anew.
« Most of the birds would forget there ever had an old Pound. Some would still pass on the knowledge, and their fondness for the Old Pond.
« The End »
Tristan closed the book and let his arthritic fingers run through his grand child's thick brown hair.
_ Sleepy head, it's time to let me get up and go to bed.
_ Don't wanna. Wan' another story." The child whined through bleary eyes and a huge yawn.
_ Tomorrow, Ross. Now, get down and go to bed.
The kid grumbled a bit more, then relented and climbed down his grand-dad's lap after pecking him good night. He gathered his plushy and toddled toward the long corridor leading to the bedrooms. The huge, black, panther snoozing nearby got up, stretched lazily, then pawed in the toddler's wake. Always watchful, exactly like Tristan remembered from his childhood.
He carefully heaved himself from the armchair. How, getting older wasn't all fun. Standing in front of the bookshelves, the old man let his, thankfully still good, eyes wander on the titles "Mechanic Heart", "The boy who loved too much", "Returning home", all written by Steve Winchester; Tristan's own grandfather. He tucked "The Pond", between two.
Everyone in the Bunker knew the tale of Steve, spouse Winchester, being thrown a hefty punch by Dean Winchester himself upon ringing to his door to ask for his youngest daughter, Marylene, hand on her twenty-first birthday. Few people ever knew that Steve had been one of Dean's oldest friends, before disappearing on the day of Marylene's birth to come back twenty-one years later.
Tristan was the last one.
He was also the last one to have ever known that the Infamous Dean Winchester had been a Hunter his whole life before meeting Henry Winchester, his own grand-father, freshly out of the vortex of time. And that he had another partner before that, his brother Sam Winchester.
There was a reason why the story before History had gotten lost. Humans needed Faith to live on, to go on fighting. And a story where angels were very real, wanted the Apocalypse and where God has bailed on his Creation was doing nothing to help keep that faith.
So since Angels were gone for good and could never meddle with Earth affairs again, the Winchesters had collectively decided to destroy all records about the Heavenly Host, the Apocalypse and Lucifer and Michael being trapped in the deepest depth of Hell.
There was also that little thing about the Canvas of the Universe having been burned to ashes. It had seemed a good thing at the time, Fate no longer existed, Free Will for all. Except that the fabric of the Universe got fragilized in the process and was a threadbare from unraveling, needing constant sewing back and making sure no one would tug too much at the fabric.
It hadn't been a decision Great-Grand-Pa Dean had made with a light heart. As far as Tristan remembered, there had always been a deep bleeding wound in the old man's eyes, even before Great-Grand'ma's death.
Tristan had been barely twenty the day Great-Grand-Pa Dean had passed away, at the canonical age of 109 years old. He still remembered that day like yesterday.
Lately, Dean had been confined to a wheel-chair for a few years already, tired and diminished, barely able to cut his own meat or to stay standing more than a couple minutes. He still had eyes as vivid a green as ever and a sharp mind behind them. He was still the Commander, even if he had passed the title to Lauren, Robbie's daughter, before Tristan was even born.
Robbie being the elder of Dean's three children. The middle one was named William, after Jo's father.
They were in the war room, around the world map, debriefing the week's news. They being the family and closed ones. Dean had claimed the seat facing the main entrance, two floors above the room, as soon as he moved in and never relinquished it. Baby always right next to him. Lately, since Tristan was now a full-fledged Hunter of Letter, he was sitting at his great grandfather's left as the Librarian.
So, when the door opened in the middle of Lauren's speech about the new laws Hunter's should be warned about, and the new judge they could rely on, Tristan was only second to Dean to see the newcomer.
He was tall. Like freakishly tall. Broad shoulders, longs legs and a mop of floppy, brownish hair. He had slight swag to his step and a huge grin on his young face.
_ Took you long enough Bitch!
The tall guy threw his head back and laughed. Light and carefree.
_ Nice welcome! Jerk.
He ambled down the stairs and Tristan looked at his parent. Dean's smile was so wide Tristan almost felt his own zygomatic cry in protest. The wound was healed. Samuel Winchester, the man who could only be named by a very few, was back home.
And was currently leaning against the banister and considering the flock around the table. Baby got up to him, familiarly nuzzling at his large hand.
_ Wow… I did tell you to get your own family. But dude! You went above and beyond there.
Dean blushed a bit, his grin never wavering; glowing with pride.
_ Four generations. The fifth's in the making.
_ Had a great life?
It was eerily strange how no one dared pipe-up despite the overall strangeness of it all. To Tristan's eyes, it was mostly because there was no point. The two men were obviously in their own world.
Dean nodded as answer to the question.
_ I missed you, every day.
_ I know. It's over now.
Dean nodded again, said nothing more.
When Sam Winchester came forward, Tristan was able to see that he was as handsome, albeit in a different way, as the young Dean above the arch. Among the portraits of all the members since the reopening of the Bunker. His golden eyes were sparkling with a bit of mischief and overflowing love for the man he was looking at.
He barely spared a glance at the whole lot. He did stop on Randall, Bill's son, and winked at him: "I like your choice". Except that Randall had no idea what he was meaning.
Dean was looking half his age, basked in the glow of his brother's presence. Their hands holding, Sam knelled before his so much older brother now.
_ I've missed you too. We have…
_ I can see that. Are you… whole there?
_ Yes Dee, all me, and a little more. Well… a lot more. Want to hear something awesome?
Dean nodded, always. Then Sam put both his brother's hands over his chest. Those vivid green eyes widened.
_ Holy shit!
Sam's brows wiggled "Wicked, hey?".
There had been some more exchanges. Private ones. Then Sam left, and took his brother away with him "All the stars in the sky Dean, and all the time in the Universe. You'll love it".
"Not as much as I love you."
Finally. Finished.
Thanks for still being there.