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.
’—If you have something to add, now would be the time, Sam. I… seem to be having difficulty.’
What he means, but what he’ll never admit to aloud is that he’s tired. His wings feel heavy and there’s a fever in his Grace he won’t be able to ignore much longer.
❝ difficulty? with what? ❞
sam’s brow furrows as he examines cas closer. what does he mean, difficulty? well, actually, it probably doesn’t matter much. anykind of “difficulty” is going to seriously impair them. they’ve already got dean dealing with the mark, and metatron gaining power. if there’s a list of things team free will needs right now, difficulty is definitely not one of them.
And then she’s holding his hand and twirling around him, laughing and smiling as they finally break out into the sunshine.
”It’s beaaaautiful out!”
sam is laughing, really laughing, as autumn spins and twirls around him, her hair dancing around her like a halo of flames, catching the light of the sun.
and she’s right —- it’s a perfect day to be outside. the sun is bright and inviting, and he can feel its warmth prickling on the tops of his arms, seeping through his clothes.
❝ come on, princess, are we gonna go on a hike or are you just gonna stand here in the sun all day? ❞
And so a mind instantaneously shows a mild recognition at the form that lays before sight. There is a remembrance of Sam; recollection shall never leave a tragedy stained mind. Jessica had been making her way back to the grunge’d motel room that served as a temporary roof for she and Dean.Now, however, her back remains pressed against a bricked surface, out of sight. Hunter instincts rise within, bringing a forced grip to a firearm. Her chest is heavy, a cemented sensation tainting lungs. Slowly, gun raised and pointed at the ghost, she maneuvers herself to he, hesitation still plaguing every footfall. The voice catches the tongue, and she places herself a few paces; luckily twilight has fallen, leaving them practically alone.
’ Alright, five seconds to explain what the Hell you are and not a single one to turn around.‘
he’s wandering, trying to figure out where the hell gabriel had sent him this time, when he catches sight of her. his heart falters in his chest and he pauses, frozen in place. this is low, even for the trickster. then again, he did make him relive dean’s death over and over and over again, so maybe sam is just overestimating his capacity for empathy and compassion.
❝ j-jess? ❞
sam is tentative, uncertain. she’s holding a gun [ when the hell did his jess learn how to hold a weapon ] and she looks strong. she looks like a hunter. but that’s not right. that’s so wrong that it physically pains him, like a blow to the chest, and he nearly jolts with the shock of it.
{a simple introduction is offered to the stranger, & without hesitation, the little hawaiian sits herself down beside him. in her hands, she holds two cones of shaved ice, one strawberry and the other blueberry. with a small smile, she nudges his shoulder with hers, holding out the strawberry cone.}
❝You looked really sad and lonely, so I brought you this. I didn’t know which flavor you liked. I just got the one that I thought you might prefer. Strawberry’s pretty good, & over 75% percent of people say that it’s supposed to make you smile. But, I’m not really sure if I believe that. Unless, you can prove me wrong.❞ {within her statement, a small challenge had been offered. whether it was to be accepted was completely up to the stranger. yes, she knew that it was stupid and childish, but, it was the best she could do. as long as it got him to smile, then it didn’t matter how dumb her attempt had been.}
{if there was one thing lilo couldn’t stand, it was sadness. as soon as someone showed the first sign, she made it her own personal mission to cheer that person up, even if she didn’t know them. & to her, this man was no exception.}
he isn’t angry. it’s not that, really. it’s not sorrow either, or fear, or disappointment, but some mangling of the four. everything he feels is twined so tightly together, convoluted and ugly, and he’d rather let it sit balled up in his chest than try to untangle the strings.
it’s not dean, he knows, but no matter how many times he tells himself that it’s the mark speaking, not his brother, he still can’t help but think that it still sounds an awful lot like him. sam wants to dig his knife into dean’s arm and carve the damn thing out, to find cain himself and give him a piece of his mind.
instead, he finds himself sitting on some random bench, god knows where. he had to get away for a while, to remove himself from the situation, no matter how much it hurt. it seems no matter how far away he goes, the pain never lessens.
the small girl startles him, and he shifts over instinctually to give her more room. his hand flits to the gun in the waistband of his jeans, but he lets it fall away when she offers him the shaved ice. a laugh wiggles its way out before he can stop it, a reluctant smile playing on his lips.
❝ is that right? well, it looks like it worked on me at least. ❞
she’s small and confident, and sam immediately likes her. he does spare a moment to wonder what she’s doing out and about alone, approaching strangers, but then he’s not one to speak, since god knows his childhood was exactly the same.
shaking himself from his thoughts, he raises the cone in acknowledgement, shaving some of the ice off the side with his front teeth. it’s chilly and far too sweet, but it tastes like innocence and naivety, and that alone makes him want to devour the entire thing.
her consciousness flickers, fades, revs up in precise points of time; of space.
it’s not death—- not really, anyway. it’s more like a brain-vacation. she’s not even sure if she is dead….
if it was all just a dream.
she can no longer feel her feet, nor anything, for that matter. but she sees; and what a sight it is.
if she had a heart, it’d be thundering right about now.
the solid perfume of death approaching hangs off him in waves.
his shoulders hunched; his body rigid, and weak.
—- and she knows him, somehow.
the face he had so long ago is at the forefront of her losing mind. his name bubbles on her lips, the sound so foreign, so… effortless. slipping out like air, like smoke.
❝sam—-?❞
everything’s too bright. even with the curtains drawn and the room bathed in darkness, light from the hallway sneaks in under the door. sunlight bends around the window and manages to claw its way into his eyes.
he’s just so tired. no matter what he does, the need to lie down, to shut his eyes, is overwhelming.
he has to stave it off, though. finding metatron is more important finishing the trials is more important than a n y t h i n g that’s happening to his own weak body.
body hunched on the edge of one of the sagging motel mattresses, sam rests his head in his hands. things are flickering before his eyes [not visions, thank god, not visions again ] like dean when he was younger, spiders crawling on the wall in front of him, jess sitting down beside him.
sam raises his head, squinting at the figure before him. jo. that’s new. he hesitates, smoothing back his ragged hair with trembling hands. it’s just another vision. he’s feverish, dean said so himself, he just needs to let it pass.
{[ ♛ normally she’d make another joke, but the expression on your face told her not to; even if you’re a psychotic killer, you still learn not to dick around with death. ♛ ]}
couldn’t she at least introduce you to breaking bad instead? mean girls isn’t really my favorite tv-show.❞♛
the silence is somewhat awkward, and he scratches at the back of his neck to fill the time. maybe he wouldn’t still be so distraught over jessica if he hadn’t caused her death, if he hadn’t been thinking about proposing, if azazel hadn’t been the reason they’d been brought together in the first place.
