Sam’s never taking Lunesta again. Just one of the random pills in his small, personal med kit (his) There was just no way he was going to fall asleep on his own last night after fleeing the scene and ending up here, but he knew he’d need the rest, and he’s still so angry now after sleeping six hours.
The angel is gone now. Sam’s full awareness and agency isn’t the only thing it took; all-consuming rage isn’t the only thing it left behind. He’s sure of that, and he has to identify it more specifically, but can’t quite reach it.
Sam could have gone back . To Kansas, to Cas. He will.
But right now he’s having a hard time with his phone. The maps don’t make any sense. He grabs the TV remote, presses the big button at the top without looking, and the television comes on. News, he thinks, local news. But something’s off with that too, because all the graphics are wrong. Blocks with just weird shapes in the corner and ticking across the bottom of the screen. Like - blurry? Some funky effect that’s clearly not working.
Probably it’s that stupid sleeping pill, fucking with his brain. He doesn’t even clearly remember getting here last night; there’s a flash of throwing cash on a counter, a man telling him last room down that way, slamming the trunk closed on the stolen Camry he’d driven here.
Sam doesn’t feel any other lingering effects from it, though. He’s not tired, not sleepy, not groggy. He’s also not hungry, but reaches for the folded up pamphlet on the nightstand, the one that tells weary travelers where they can get food, or liquor, or a Wal-Mart.
And something’s wrong, definitely, very wrong. Because the paper is covered in random letters, numbers, and symbols. Some are backward, some are upside-down. Sam blinks, shakes his head, blinks again. It looks the same.
Filled 1/2 Taken
The angel is gone now. Sam’s full awareness and agency isn’t the only thing it took; all-consuming rage isn’t the only thing it left behind. He’s sure of that, and he has to identify it more specifically, but can’t quite reach it.
Sam could have gone back . To Kansas, to Cas. He will.
But right now he’s having a hard time with his phone. The maps don’t make any sense. He grabs the TV remote, presses the big button at the top without looking, and the television comes on. News, he thinks, local news. But something’s off with that too, because all the graphics are wrong. Blocks with just weird shapes in the corner and ticking across the bottom of the screen. Like - blurry? Some funky effect that’s clearly not working.
Probably it’s that stupid sleeping pill, fucking with his brain. He doesn’t even clearly remember getting here last night; there’s a flash of throwing cash on a counter, a man telling him last room down that way, slamming the trunk closed on the stolen Camry he’d driven here.
Sam doesn’t feel any other lingering effects from it, though. He’s not tired, not sleepy, not groggy. He’s also not hungry, but reaches for the folded up pamphlet on the nightstand, the one that tells weary travelers where they can get food, or liquor, or a Wal-Mart.
And something’s wrong, definitely, very wrong. Because the paper is covered in random letters, numbers, and symbols. Some are backward, some are upside-down. Sam blinks, shakes his head, blinks again. It looks the same.