#markofakiller

                     the deranged version of castiel told him which tent he could find his brother in. they told him not to go. there were too many excuses to count——— he’s running and errand, he’s busy, he’s got some GIRL in there. sam did not want to listen. there was much that cas wasn’t telling him. mostly, he assumed, because cas was preoccupied with smiling too wide, and smelled like a frat house. all he did was tell cheap lies about his brother, and finally———  to keep his head DOWN. not to let anyone here see him, especially dean. but it was not what sam wanted to hear. and so, he did not listen. he marched through the empty camp in the morning light, determined. he’d come here to find his brother, mostly because, when he found himself dropped in the wrong year, it was the only thing he could think to do. dean MUST have some sort of plan; so long as dean was alive, he’d have an idea of what to do. and according to cas, he was very much alive. so regardless of whether or not dean was really on an errand, or whether he was with a woman, he found the right tent and let himself in. 

❝   THAT’S THE GETAWAY car?    it’s not even a car.     ❞  

                     the nights were rarely ever quiet; rarely easy. even now. even when they were spent in a place that was shielded by every sigil known to man. they have no enemy just around the corner, no SALT needed––– there are no windows, anyway. there are guns under their pillows regardless. the monsters are not the only reason eyes stay peeled all night long. 

                     they fear themselves. each other. their minds. a conscience is never something to be silenced–––– but one might turn the volume when one has things that must be done. in the night, there is no control. it speaks up loud enough to keep either of them awake. sam himself feels guilty for a whole list of excellent reasons––– for sins he cannot even absolve in his own peace of mind. or at least, he won’t. he gets… cold, when he doesn’t want to be. there’s a feeling that comes when you crawl too DEEP inside yourself–––– you begin to crawl out, so that you look at your body as an object that can be tossed away. as if his skin prickles and ROTS; as if he’s a perishable fruit. not at all like a human being. 

                 he wonders idly is this is another year in which he has forgotten his birthday. he wakes up on a rainy morning and the air smells like bacon and coffee, and dean is smiling at him. teeth and everything. maybe they finally won the lottery, or something. or maybe this is that dream about the cabin and the countryside, again. but the room is cramped, and it looks a hell of a lot like the bunker. 

                                 ❛ good, then come here. ❜

               there’s a tang in sam’s mouth like vinegar––– the bitter sarcasm begging to be spit out. dean has no problem lying to him, either. that much is understood. dean spat out lies more often than anything, these days, to the both of them. it makes sam’s bone tissue itch. it makes him weary. 

                it makes him want to give up. 

his brow furrows, CONFUSION taking precedence before all else, as if they were speaking to him in japanese. 

                               ‘ what’re you talking about? ’

dean isn’t dead. of course dean isn’t dead. he was just right here, for god’s sake–––– three hours ago, at at most. not that he had been the one to bring him here, or anything… but he had come when sam woke up here and wanted him. and the staff had to know that. he had just gone to find a FAITH HEALER that some other hunters told him about. he wasn’t dead. a breath leaves him like a PUNCH in the gut, and he manages a smile. 

                              ‘ no–––– I think you have me confused with someone else. my                                 brother will be back soon. ’

behind him, deep in his ear, there’s a click of a tongue. sam FLINCHES before he can stop himself. the tick in his neck tells him lucifer is snickering. there’s a sympathetic glance from the orderly, followed by doubt––– reluctantly, she hands him his chart. 

                                                                                      SMITH, SAM L.                                                                                       TYPE: A POS                                                                                      PAIN SCORE: 6                                                                                       FAMILY MED Hx: NO FAMILY

the voice in his head hisses–––- how do you know that your brother is real? how do you know you’re really out of H E L L ? he swallows; throat so dry that it’s painful. ‘ this is a mistake. ’ it’s got to be a mistake––– dean was just here. he spoke to the nurses, to the doctor––– they all knew that he was sam’s family. he’s so tired. much too tired to keep his knees steady when his head starts to spin.