a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river but then he's still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he's still left with his hands.
independent sam winchester written by hannah
"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend."
{❦} She’s been sitting at the bar for what feels like hours, though it’s probably only been about half an hour at the most. The glass she’s rolling between her hands in boredom is her first one after all, though it is almost time for a refill. It’s brought to her lips once more as she finishes it off, giving the bartender a smile as she taps her glass for a refill.
This was probably one of the most boring bars she has ever had the misfortune of wandering into, but it had booze so she was content to sit and drink until she was numb enough to go home and face her father. Perhaps he would be sleeping already.
The redhead was so lost in her thoughts that she barely even noticed that the seat beside her was occupied until he spoke to her. A smile tugged at her lips as she faced him, nodding in agreement.
”I was almost positive this place was closed before I walked in. But it looks like every place in town is just as deserted. Maybe it’s some sort of religious holiday I don’t know about? Or maybe this town is just really boring— no offense if you live here.”
so far, sam’s taking the general state of the bar with a grain of salt. sure, it’s a bit empty for what he’d consider normal, but maybe people just aren’t into the whole drinking thing here. he and dean have seen quite a big variety of places through their travels, and in some areas, the churches were more populated than the local pub. this town doesn’t seem like that kind of place, but he’s been wrong before.
besides, the general quiet of the bar means he can talk with the pretty redhead next to him.
❝ no, no, i’m just traveling through. i wonder why everything’s so e m p t y … ❞
he chuckles, cocking his head to the side. hm. if everywhere in the town is deserted, then it’s probably something related to the case. but what would cause a whole town to just up and leave?
❝ —- you know anyone who lives in town? ❞
sam sips at his beer, raising his eyebrows and waiting for her response. he hopes she’ll be able to give him something —- anything. otherwise he’ll leave here with a stomach full of alcohol and an eyeful of a pretty girl and nothing to bring back to dean.
The emptiness that’s no stranger to Dean is vainly filled with the alcohol; for a few moments, the fuzziness and the warmth that the liquid gives him is enough. It’s enough for the loneliness, for the worthlessness, for the fact that he’s completely and utterly useless— and for a moment, he forgets about Sam entirely, only remembering that yes, his little brother is still alive and sound and within his grasp as footsteps interrupt the awful medley Dean had just begun to get a proper grasp on.
He arches a brow, and sage hues follow his little brother’s gaze to the bag at his side. Dean chuckles, and tries to brush the fact that he’s completely inebriated aside; instead, he nurses his bottle with more ease, downing half of the alcohol in nearly one gulp. With satisfaction, he licks his lips, and after a moment, he shrugs.
The obvious answer is ‘too much,’ despite the fact Dean would argue with ‘not enough.’
❝Do you h-ave a problem, Sammy?❞
it’s not that sam approves of dean getting stupid drunk, but he’s been there before, and christmas is as good a reason as any to empty a bottle or two. that being said, he’d rather not have to deal with dean’s b i t c h of a hangover tomorrow, so he eyes the empty bottles distastefully. sam knows that when dean has his mind set on something, he won’t budge, and so he doesn’t even try to convince his brother to swap the beer out for a nice, cold glass of water.
instead, he rolls his eyes at dean’s slurred response and closes the distance between them, turning around so that he’s leaning against the impala’s polished trunk as well. sam is silent for a moment, looking out at the world before them. he’s sure every other average joe is sitting down with his family right about now, having a nice turkey or ham or lasagna and laughing over a glass of mulled wine. there was a time when sam would give anything to have that —- to be done with this hunting thing and to have a normal life. he knows better, now. hunting is in his blood —- in dean’s too. and he wouldn’t trade their messed up excuse of a life for anything.
he turns his attention back to dean, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the cooler.
if I ever stop replying to our rp PLEASE TELL ME BECAUSE TUMBLR ONLY NOTIFIES ME LIKE HALF THE TIME NOW and I keep missing posts I’m so angry about this recent development
[ the loud humming is interrupted as dean pauses to take another sip of his beer. he’s leaning against the trunk of the impala, a cooler at his feet; a bag full of empty bottles resides next to the container, and the moment the bottle’s empty it’s tossed aside; long, bruised fingers take another bottle from the cooler and dean slides down to prop against the bumper, the humming picking back up before he fiddles with the cap. ]
❝——baby it’s cold outside—-❞
[ don’t ask him why he’s singing christmas tunes; it just feels appropriate. he’s a bit bitter about spending the day alone. ]
there’s an inkling of g u i l t that trickles down into sam’s stomach when he thinks about dean, alone in the middle of what should be the most joyous time of the year. christmas is about family and faith, but sam has left dean by himself with his demons and his memories. he manages to work through the coldness in his stomach for a good part of the day, using the time to let cool winds clear his head. hours pass, and sam only feels his uneasiness grow, until he finds he’s doing himself more harm than good and retraces his path back to dean.
the off-tune melody is the first thing to assault his senses. singing? really? granted, the song choice is decent as far as christmas tunes go, but what the hell? sam chuckles and catches sight of the bag of beer bottles, raising his eyebrows incredulously.
"I’ve never been very good at leaving things behind. I tried, but I have always left fragments of myself there too, like seeds awaiting their chance to grow."
[ sam grins and shakes his head, trying to stifle the chuckles that rise in his throat. he fails, and l a u g h t e r bubbles up from someplace deep in his stomach. ]
