❛  okay,  but  it  ISN’T.  people  .  .  .  humans  .  .  .  have  this  incredible  ability  to  turn  OTHERS  into  less  than  THEM.  once  they  do  that  they  can  justify  a  whole  hell  of  a  lot  of  awfulness.  this  isn’t  ANY  different,  lana.  he’s  starting  to  SCARE  me.  ❜

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pride   is   wounded   ,                     failure   stinging   like   a   sharp   blade.            no   one   is   invulnerable   to   death.            even   vampires   can   be   killed,            but         god   damn         was   klaus   mikaelson   resilient.                  and   as   if   trying   to   kill   an   original   vampire   weren’t   enough   of   a   headache,               dealing   with   his   brother   going   completely   off   of   the   rails   has   driven   damon   to   his   favorite   activity   to   unwind   :         drinking.               this   bar   stool   has   been   frequented   so   much   lately   that   it   has   almost   molded   to   him.         patrons   know   not   to   sit   there   now.         one   guy   tried,         he   greatly   regretted   that   mistake,         and   went   home   with         a   little   less   blood            than   he   arrived   with.         

damon   almost   hopes   for   someone   to   pick   a   fight   tonight.            hopes            for   anything            to   fill   this   void   that   is   beginning   to   build   within   his   chest   again.            drink   number   something            of   the   hour   is   raised   to   eager   lips,         the   alcohol   creating   a   satisfying   burn   on   the   way   down.      he   motions   for   another   even   before   the   last   drop   is   gone.         the   bar   tender   almost   looks   as   if   they’ll   hesitate,         as   if   they’ll   try   to   proceed   to   cut   him   off.         glass   is   brought   down   and   mouth   parts   to   prepare   to   compel   himself   another   drink   if   necessary.            

before   he   can,         the   air   stirs   and   a   familiar   presence   is   by   his   side.               “               if   it   isn’t            lana   banana   ...                  no,         wait                                             “                  brows   scrunch   as   if   he’s   concentrating         really         hard,         then   expression   relaxes   into   a   lopsided   smile.                  “         i’ll   come   up   with   a   better   nickname   later.            sit,         drink.            the   next   round   is   on   me.         actually,            “               head   turns   towards   the   bar   tender,            who   has   proceeded   to   draw   closer.         “            the   next   round   is   on   the   house.         “

                      TEETH GRIT, SALIVA SOURS & SAM ISN'T SURE WHETHER HE'LL SCREAM OR COLLAPSE. It's not her fault-- not really; not at all. It was HIS. It was Sam’s fault he couldn't save his brother, Sam's fault Dean had been put in this situation in the first place ; Sam's fault for having been stupid enough to think there would be a way to stop his brother from biting the big one and ending up on a bullet train to HELL. How could he have been so naive? What chance had they stood against Lilith anyway? Ancient and all powerful ; god only knew how long she'd been piloting Ruby's meat suit-- god, yeah like he had anything to do with this. "..stop." It's a whisper at first, barely audible through the hoarse vocal chords, swollen lids cast once more toward ground; stained and assaulted by the barrage of salted tears the youngest only living Winchester had let slip. "...just fucking stop." More power now, chest heaving; a shudder as he catches himself and raises forest shaded hues to meet her own. She's only trying to help-- but it's her undying compassion and sympathy for the university drop out that's made her such an easy target; something to lash out against-- a vessel for which Sam might take out his loss. He'll regret it in the morning, but grief and guilt are two convincing mistresses and with their haughty tendrils wrapped thick around his heart Sam has no choice but to let loose-- to unleash the beast and relieve some of that tumultuous pressure.

"Nothing I could have done? Really, Lana? Is that your best shot? If it wasn't for me, Dean would still be here! He'd still be alive! I'M the reason my brother is DEAD-- and not just that! But being tortured in hell! Nothing I could have done?! I could have tried harder-- I should have. I should have-- I could have stayed at Stanford, fuck! None of this would have happened if I had! . . . god I bet Dad would still be alive if I had--" Ocean streams pour from moss shaded hues, once upon a time Sam might have tried to hide it-- but not now; not when the wound was so very fresh. Dad, Jess, Dean-- everyone Sam had ever felt close to vanished, erased from his life like a typo in a bad script. Perhaps it was poetic then to cut Lana out-- sever ties once and for all ; punish himself properly for his cardinal sin-- existence.

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