(no subject)
Who: Sam Winchester, Six
Where: Outside/the road/building near the motel
When: After Sam and Dean settled into the motel
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, violence, and pages of religious discussion. ;D
Status: Complete
Sam stepped out the door and immediately remembered why he'd never really liked the desert. It was all about extremes. Scorching heat during the day and a chill down your spine at night. Still, he didn't feel like heading back in for a jacket, knowing his brother would call him a wuss, so he just trudged on up the road towards an abandoned seeming building.
It wasn't that he was up for a hunt - he wasn't, but ... there weren't many other landmarks for him to head towards or even away from and it seemed best to give his walk some kind of structure, so he wouldn't just wander off into the distance inexplicably. Truth was ... he could almost do it, right now. Walk and just keep on walking until he exhausted himself and crashed into a heap on the side of the road. It would be easy enough to wander out into the desert and spin around until he was so lost that even Dean wouldn't find him before he died of dehydration.
He didn't want to die, though. No, he wanted to live. It was just that it seemed like fate had fucked up all his chances for any kind of real life and it used to bug him, but now? Now it felt like someone was coating his heart with dry ice, round and round until it was too big for his chest and started to burn its way out. And no one seemed to understand.
He found himself on the building's grounds in no time at all and started to walk around the outside, unsure if the inside was too dilapidated to be safe. There were many easy ins, though, doors that could be shoved open and windows already half broken. He caught his reflection in one, backlit by moonlight, and he frowned a little, verbalizing his thoughts.
"I know what I am. They know what I am. So why am I the only one willing to take this seriously?" His frustrated huff of air fogged a patch of the glass for a moment before clearing. "This isn't something I can just ... forget ... or overlook ... or sweep under the rug or something. I have to deal with this shit ... even if everyone else pretends like all we've got is breezy living."
Where: Outside/the road/building near the motel
When: After Sam and Dean settled into the motel
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, violence, and pages of religious discussion. ;D
Status: Complete
Sam stepped out the door and immediately remembered why he'd never really liked the desert. It was all about extremes. Scorching heat during the day and a chill down your spine at night. Still, he didn't feel like heading back in for a jacket, knowing his brother would call him a wuss, so he just trudged on up the road towards an abandoned seeming building.
It wasn't that he was up for a hunt - he wasn't, but ... there weren't many other landmarks for him to head towards or even away from and it seemed best to give his walk some kind of structure, so he wouldn't just wander off into the distance inexplicably. Truth was ... he could almost do it, right now. Walk and just keep on walking until he exhausted himself and crashed into a heap on the side of the road. It would be easy enough to wander out into the desert and spin around until he was so lost that even Dean wouldn't find him before he died of dehydration.
He didn't want to die, though. No, he wanted to live. It was just that it seemed like fate had fucked up all his chances for any kind of real life and it used to bug him, but now? Now it felt like someone was coating his heart with dry ice, round and round until it was too big for his chest and started to burn its way out. And no one seemed to understand.
He found himself on the building's grounds in no time at all and started to walk around the outside, unsure if the inside was too dilapidated to be safe. There were many easy ins, though, doors that could be shoved open and windows already half broken. He caught his reflection in one, backlit by moonlight, and he frowned a little, verbalizing his thoughts.
"I know what I am. They know what I am. So why am I the only one willing to take this seriously?" His frustrated huff of air fogged a patch of the glass for a moment before clearing. "This isn't something I can just ... forget ... or overlook ... or sweep under the rug or something. I have to deal with this shit ... even if everyone else pretends like all we've got is breezy living."