He studies Sam for a quite moment, and says quietly, “See you in Detroit, Sam.”
He touches Sam's back, and the world shatters into nothing.
Sam loses himself.
He is pulled through a thick, black current. Violent and aggressive, Sam is ripped away, traveling to an unknown.
And suddenly, he feels a pain in his chest, and there's something wrapped around his body tightly. His chest compulsively coughs painfully and forces air into starved lungs.
Sam gasps, and opens his eyes to see darkness. Well, actually not exactly black, but a faint light filtering through something wrapped around his face.
His whole body trembles, as his muscles twitch to life. The muscles in his back cramp and knot, then release, and cramp again. Sam's stiff, and he hurts. He's wrapped in something that feels like cloth, or a blanket.
It's difficult, but he wiggles his arm free, and pulls the blanket away from his face and gasps a lung full of fresh air.
The light hurts his eyes and Sam takes a moment to adjust before looking around.
He's in the back seat of the impala, legs scrunched uncomfortably up to fit, wrapped in an old stained blanket Dean and him keep for nights they can't afford a hotel.
The car is hot with all the windows rolled up and the sun shining brightly through the windows. He breaths through his nose for the first time and catches the sent of rigor mortis, and shit.
Nothing really makes sense.
I was on a beach, wasn't I? No. I was with Dean, at the old factory... stop a ritual...
Sam lies there in the blanket, staring up at the ceiling of the car, feeling confused. He zones out, thoughts lazy in the heat, and his eyes fall shut. He loses track of time and simply drifts in a way he's become accustom to.
The door of the impala creaks loudly as it's opened, and Sam opens his eyes to see Dean, red eyed, looking away from Sam. He looks old, lines around his mouth and eyes that shouldn't be there, and a week old beard covers his face. He chest shutters and Sam catches the sound of a quiet sob being swallowed down.
Sam blinks. He opens his mouth, but it's just so dry. Like he's swallowed saw dust.
He smacks his lips together and runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to gather moister. He swallows and nearly chokes, but stubbornly refuses to cough.
He forms the words on his lips, feeling foreign, yet so familiar too.
FILLED - Chased by the Devil 5/5
He touches Sam's back, and the world shatters into nothing.
Sam loses himself.
He is pulled through a thick, black current. Violent and aggressive, Sam is ripped away, traveling to an unknown.
And suddenly, he feels a pain in his chest, and there's something wrapped around his body tightly. His chest compulsively coughs painfully and forces air into starved lungs.
Sam gasps, and opens his eyes to see darkness. Well, actually not exactly black, but a faint light filtering through something wrapped around his face.
His whole body trembles, as his muscles twitch to life. The muscles in his back cramp and knot, then release, and cramp again. Sam's stiff, and he hurts. He's wrapped in something that feels like cloth, or a blanket.
It's difficult, but he wiggles his arm free, and pulls the blanket away from his face and gasps a lung full of fresh air.
The light hurts his eyes and Sam takes a moment to adjust before looking around.
He's in the back seat of the impala, legs scrunched uncomfortably up to fit, wrapped in an old stained blanket Dean and him keep for nights they can't afford a hotel.
The car is hot with all the windows rolled up and the sun shining brightly through the windows. He breaths through his nose for the first time and catches the sent of rigor mortis, and shit.
Nothing really makes sense.
I was on a beach, wasn't I? No. I was with Dean, at the old factory... stop a ritual...
Sam lies there in the blanket, staring up at the ceiling of the car, feeling confused. He zones out, thoughts lazy in the heat, and his eyes fall shut. He loses track of time and simply drifts in a way he's become accustom to.
The door of the impala creaks loudly as it's opened, and Sam opens his eyes to see Dean, red eyed, looking away from Sam. He looks old, lines around his mouth and eyes that shouldn't be there, and a week old beard covers his face. He chest shutters and Sam catches the sound of a quiet sob being swallowed down.
Sam blinks. He opens his mouth, but it's just so dry. Like he's swallowed saw dust.
He smacks his lips together and runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to gather moister. He swallows and nearly chokes, but stubbornly refuses to cough.
He forms the words on his lips, feeling foreign, yet so familiar too.
“Dean,” he croaks quietly.
Dean turns his head slowly, and their eyes meet.
“Sam.”
End.