Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gavemea_45) wrote2007-03-21 12:26 pm
gavemea_45) wrote2007-03-21 12:26 pm
(no subject)
It's not Vegas, where they've ended up-- just another dingy motel by the highway in some town that's barely more a wide spot in the road.
Sam barely notices. He doesn't care, anyway.
He'd spent most of the day in the car studying their father's journal-- looking to avoid talking about it all with Dean as much as he was looking for answers.
Answers that he didn't find. Answers he has to find.
He knows Dean's worried about him; he keeps seeing his brother looking at him, little sideways glances. Would it have made a difference in the end if Max had an older brother? Sam doesn't know, but he can't help wondering.
But he still doesn't want to talk about it, so Sam mutters something about being tired and lies down, closing his eyes and pretending to fall asleep quickly.
A few hours later, he's asleep in truth-- and dreaming.
The moan that comes from his sleeping form is deep and wracked with pain.
Sam barely notices. He doesn't care, anyway.
He'd spent most of the day in the car studying their father's journal-- looking to avoid talking about it all with Dean as much as he was looking for answers.
Answers that he didn't find. Answers he has to find.
He knows Dean's worried about him; he keeps seeing his brother looking at him, little sideways glances. Would it have made a difference in the end if Max had an older brother? Sam doesn't know, but he can't help wondering.
But he still doesn't want to talk about it, so Sam mutters something about being tired and lies down, closing his eyes and pretending to fall asleep quickly.
A few hours later, he's asleep in truth-- and dreaming.
"Sam. Please...Sam... help me--"
"Jess? Jess!"
His eyes are open but he can't move, can't do anything but stare up at the ceiling and the woman pinned there.
"Sam... why? Why?"
He struggles to sit up, to reach her, screaming over and over as she bursts into flame. "No! Jess, no! No!"
The moan that comes from his sleeping form is deep and wracked with pain.
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"... not really, no. But it's not like we were expecting to find it the first time, right? Through the door of that old house?"
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He might be making fun of Sam now.
Hey, older brother prerogative. It comes with the territory.
"Could get lucky that way."
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"What, you think I won't?"
He crosses the room, tossing back over his shoulder as he goes,
"You never know, Dean, this could turn out to be the door to that bar, right here--"
Sam flings the bathroom door open, revealing--
--the bathroom.
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"Yeah, Kreskin. Looks like a bar to me. You keep the tequila under the toilet seat?"
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He slams the door shut.
"Your turn."
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Dean nods toward the door.
"Take your time."
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Bathroom.
"Look, you were the one who found it the first time."
Slam.
"But if you're too tired to get off your lazy ass, old man..."
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Dean is not that easily riled, Sammy-boy.
Well.
Not when he's just made himself comfortable. The pillows at this motel aren't that bad.
If you ignore the happy smiling-faced clams on all the sheets.
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He opens the door again, and slams it shut.
Again.
And again.
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"Yeah, whatever, dude. Wake me when you find it."
Though the door-slamming will probably get old, first.
Hey, at least the all-night diner down the street has good coffee.
Maybe he'll take a field trip later.
But first, naptime.