Sam Winchester

itsrorywilliams:

no-longer-waiting:

riversayshellosweetie:

consulting-genius:

consulting-soldier:

to-hell-with-the-raggedy:

“So,” The Doctor began, hands clasped behind his back, as he paced in front of Sherlock’s small fireplace mantle. He had an audience—hopefully an attentive one. “Now that we—well, I—have gathered you all here, how about some tea? John’s great at making tea.”

He looked over Sam and Dean Winchester—hard to miss. The only ones who could challenge their height were Sherlock Holmes and The Doctor himself.

Then he glanced over Sherlock and John, hoping John wasn’t too upset about making tea for everyone, but hot tea was really what he needed to get his synapses firing for a problem like this.

And finally, Amy and Rory. He didn’t want to drag them into this, but he knew it would take all their efforts to figure out what exactly was going on and how to stop it. Demons, angels, all of time falling apart, dragons maybe? Who really knew what would happen next and they needed to be prepared, because it wasn’t just Earth that was in danger. It was everything.

And of course River was there. She would always be there when he needed her. Well, except for that one time with the baby but he couldn’t really blame her. She was there after all, just… well, she was a baby. He would ask her for anything, but he couldn’t ask her to cross her own time stream for him. And he wouldn’t ask her to break a fixed point and ruin the universe. But he would ask her to shoot him, of everyone in this room, because he knew she wouldn’t miss.

He’d probably also ask John though, having been in the army and all.

And those Winchester boys looked pretty knowledgeable about their guns when they were pointed on him in that motel room.

But judging by the poorly aimed bullet holes in Sherlock’s wall, he would never ask Sherlock to shoot him. Might miss and hit Rory. Well, that would be alright, The Doctor supposed. Rory managed to come back every time. He was almost as good at evading death as a timelord. Almost. Or maybe better, since they were all gone.

But not the point. Not now. Too much to do.

All of those thoughts crossed The Doctor’s mind in a matter of seconds as he quickly surveyed his audience and waited patiently—well, he thought he was being patient but the way he continued pacing suggested anything but patience—for a cup of tea.

John was already on the matter of making tea. With both Winchesters, Sherlock, the Ponds, and the Doctor, 221B was incredibly crowded. When the Doctor called out for him, he came out with a tray full of cups. Black tea, since it was simplest and quickest, but he had sugar and milk to go with it. He handed Sherlock’s to him (two sugars) so he wouldn’t get it mixed up with other cups and handed one to the Doctor next.

“Right… Why have you gathered everyone here, in this flat?”

Sherlock sat in his chair, hands together resting under his chin. There was just barely enough room for everyone in the flat among the various papers strategically laid around the place. However, he also wasn’t inclined to move to let anyone else have his seat. Sherlock took his tea from John and set it on the arm of the chair to cool. The doctor seemed to have gathered a very eclectic group in the flat and Sherlock took particular note of men, brothers, in the room.

“As good as your tea may be John, I don’t think the Doctor has hauled Americans all the way to England just to taste it. No, he needs our help.”

River had moved from her place at the window to perch on an arm of the sofa, next to Amy and Rory. Now that everyone was here, she figured it was inappropriate to keep ignoring the conversation. As she accepted a fresh cup of tea from John, River studied the newcomers - Sam and Dean Winchester. American, young, attractive… But they looked battle-hardened, closed off, and she could tell there was no small amount of pain hidden there.

She sipped at her scalding hot tea carefully and wondered if the Doctor had a plan yet.

The letter had come as a surprise. But then again, it had actually been a pretty good method for gathering people together before. Though, there were a lot of people gathered for this one. And Amy was fairly certain that there was a lot more to this problem than she had noticed. Problems around The Doctor tended to work that way; always so much bigger than you see at first.

Amy took her tea carefully and sat back against the sofa just as River sat down on the arm. Then she remembered that she needed to put sugar in the tea so Amy leaned back up so she could get at the sugar. After that, she leaned back again and absently stirred as she looked around the room.

Sitting there was Sherlock Holmes. Of course Amy was a bit excited to be meeting the famous detective, but she was hiding it well. Or, well enough for Amy at least. Well, it’s not everyday you meet a famous detective is it? Then of course John Watson was there. And then two Americans. What part they had to play was yet to be revealed, but Amy was sure they were here for a reason. Otherwise the Doctor would not have trusted them enough to invite them. And River was here. So that was good. River being around was generally a good thing.

Before she knew what had happened, Amy’s hand slipped and her tea went pouring right into Rory’s lap. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. Well that was a perfect way to impress people wasn’t it?

Rory accepted the offered tea with a small smile and took a sip, studying everyone. He had suspected nothing good would come from the Doctor’s letter, and if the number of people currently present was any indication, he had been right. There was that detective whose name he’d heard so frequently the past few days - Sherlock - and Dr. Watson (which was only to be expected, what with it being their flat and everything), as well as the American he’d met the day before, Sam, and another man that was probably the brother he’d mentioned. And then, of course, the Doctor and Amy and River, who was never far behind the Doctor.

His musings were interrupted by a lapful of rather hot tea. Rory jumped, startled, and winced. Amy was clearly distracted. Probably the Doctor. Or the detective. He hoped so, anyway. He had enough to deal with, he thought, without his wife gaining a new interest in young American lawyers, or whatever it was they were. “Um” he stood up, careful not to drip tea on the furniture or floor, “I’m just going to -” He gestured to the kitchen he’d just seen Dr. Watson emerge from and hurried to it. He wanted to clean up and get back quickly so that he didn’t miss anything important.

Although, maybe not too quickly. Rory couldn’t deny he was uncomfortable. Sherlock said that the Doctor needed help, and while the Doctor had not yet confirmed this, Rory had to assume that Sherlock was right based solely on his reputation. Well, that and the fact that the last time he’d seen a blue envelope, he’d also seen the Doctor die.

Rory reminded himself it was best to deal with one thing at a time, and focused on wringing the tea out of his shirt.

Well this was something.

The faces in the room, all of them strangers minus one John Watson and one blue box wielding alien, made Dean so fucking tense he didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. From the looks of everyone, the only one that could be counted as tourists were him and Sam, standing out like a sore thumb in a sea if brits. Sam appeared to know the young guy who had gotten tea spilled over him by the ginger chick, giving her a good look over. Apparently Britain had babes and this was one of them, followed by the curly haired woman who was just as silent as the rest of them.

It definitely wasn’t a freak show. These people didn’t look like hunters but they definitely didn’t give off the air of normal people. The lanky man seated in the chair set Dean’s memory off as he recalled a brief meeting with him outside of a bakery when he had first arrived. Seeing John again and the Doctor was definitely not a coincidence and he glanced at Sam as if he has some sort of answer, crossing his arms.

Well this was cozy…

“So roll call. Who the hell are you people?” Dean asks, motioning to the room with a raised eyebrow. “And why would the Doc need our help?”

Sam shifted on his feet, trying not to knock anything over in the process. This flat wasn’t exactly big, and under normal circumstances, he woulds till probably feel like a bull in a china shop. But these weren’t exactly normal circumstances, were they? He was crowded next to Dean, trying to slouch a little, to make his height less noticeable. He couldn’t say it was working. Dean and he were a bit hard to miss and people tended to glance their way more often.

He took a look around the room himself. Eight people were gathered in the flat, including himself and Dean. Sam didn’t know why Rory was here, though. Wasn’t he just a nurse? But, then again, he’d told Rory that he and Dean were lawyers, so maybe the guy had done some fibbing of his own. The red-headed girl sitting next to him suddenly spilled tea into his lap, and Sam winced in sympathy.

Sam directed his focus to the Doctor, the man - or whatever he was, they hadn’t yet figured it out - who had called them together. Was this meeting about the weeping angels he’d spoken of back at the hotel? Or something completely different? Apparently Dean wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Sam could understand his impatience; he shared it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, so did the curly-haired lanky guy. He thought it might be John’s flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, judging by the way he was seated familiarly in his chair, but he could be wrong.

Sam shifted another time, less carefully, and his elbow caught something on the mantel. Luckily, he grabbed it before it fell, but it was fair to say that he was a little surprised to see what it was. He didn’t usually deal with skeletons unless they were still in their graves. Sam smiled sheepishly, muttered “Sorry,” and replaced the skull, wondering who it belonged to. It seemed John’s flatmate was a little crazier than he’d originally thought.

(Noise)

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 18:58:52 -0400

consulting-soldier:

sebastianfuckinmoran:

Seb takes another slow drag before dropping his cigarette and grinding it out beneath the heel of his boot. He grins. They think they’re going to kick his arse, they’ve got another fucking thing coming. The three of them might have had a shot, provided they came at him together and he was unarmed. But Sebastian is never unarmed, and they aren’t that smart. He holds his hands up, palm out, purposefully mirroring the gestures of the other two.

“I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.” It’s a blatant lie if there ever was one, and he smiles. “No need get yourselves all fuckin worked up. Can leave, if you like. I’ve got places to be, as it is.” Part of him is itching for one of them (probably Dean, since he’s the only one of them who looks fucking stupid enough to try it) to make an attempt at fighting him anyway. He’s bored and it’s been too long since he’s had a good excuse to tear into someone.

John snorted at Moran’s words. Somewhat thankful that Dean and Sam weren’t backing him up, but still not in any position to help any of them.

Well, outside of saving them from a brawl in the middle of the street. Christ, Dean looked almost ready to actually try something. That was stirring trouble right there. Part of him also wanted to tackle Moran to the ground, keep him from returning to his boss. But now wasn’t the time. Bastard would be armed, and he didn’t want to drag others into his fight.

“If you hadn’t come here to cause trouble, I would be sincerely and completely surprised. That much hasn’t changed about you, I know.” His eyes flicked over to Sam, then Dean. “Don’t bother. He’s armed, and he’s got no problems with shooting people in a crowd.”

Dean cracks a smirk, taking a step forward but he catches Sam’s face and realizes he’s being a bit weird. It wasn’t ever damn day a potential friend came along and Dean didn’t want to lose the opportunity to have one in this strange ass place.

“Well come on back with us John, I want to talk to you anyway.” he places his hands in his pockets, completely ignoring Seb and motioning for the soldier to follow. He’ll mind his manners for now but the chance to show off and show John that he’s not someone to be messed with is boiling in his blood, realizing that the last talk he had with him must have really made him feel a bit relieved if he was willing to jump a stranger for him. “We need to talk about what we are going to do about your little problem?” he doesn’t want to say what and simply raises an eyebrow, wanting John to take the hint and just go with them.

Sam really didn’t care for all this hostility. People walking by were starting to look at them. A group of tough looking guys tensing for battle was a bit hard to miss, and he didn’t want to be noticed by the cops next. But he didn’t know why the animosity was hanging between Sebastian and John, so there wasn’t much he felt he could do about it. He decided to let Dean take the reigns on this one; at least he knew John. And by the looks of it, he was trying to make friends with him. That certainly wasn’t something Sam was going to get in the way of. Dean needed more friends.

Free Time

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 13:47:05 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

“Nice to meet you, Rory.” The cashier returned with his food, and Sam smiled gratefully. “Are you sure? It’d make me feel better.” He chuckled lightly, but he still felt a little bad. He picked the bag of food off the counter and continued, “Well, if you won’t let me pay for your food, why don’t you join me?” He could certainly use a normal conversation right about now.
But maybe that wasn’t in the cards, because apparently Rory worked at the hospital. It seemed like every Brit he’d met so far had something to do with the medical profession. “Do you work at St. Bart’s?” With luck, he was also working on the case that both John and Molly were. “I was there the other day, and yeah, everybody looked really busy.” He knew there were a lot of different positions in a hospital; he’d already met a doctor and a pathologist. But Sam also knew that some doctors were really touchy when asked prying questions about their job, so he phrased his question more carefully this time. “What do you do there?”

“Alright,” Rory said, nodding. He hadn’t planned on sticking around to eat, had actually thought about going home for a quick nap, but this was probably better. He preferred company, didn’t mind talking, and Sam seemed earnest enough. He lead the way to the few tables that sat outside the café and claimed the closest chair.

“Yeah, I work at Barts,” he confirmed, “I’m a nurse. We actually have been really busy lately. Loads of new patients.” He paused. Sam seemed to ask a lot of questions, which, honestly, made him a little uneasy. There was quite a bit that he couldn’t easily talk about - the adventures he and Amy had with the Doctor, for example - which made conversations sometimes difficult. But it seemed like Sam was harmless enough, so Rory decided that, for now, sticking with the most basic facts would be enough. “Um, why? Have you been by or something?” Sam seemed healthy, but it was always possible - actually, far more probable, because American - that he had been visiting friends or family.

Sam followed Rory to the table and took a seat. “A nurse? That’s cool.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to say about Rory’s profession, because it was the man’s patients he was interested in. But since Sam was used to this sort of thing, he could tell that the man’s suspicions were rising. “Yeah, I’ve been by.”

But as a patient, or a visiting doctor? If he pretended that he had been a patient, he’d have no reason to ask the questions he planned on asking. Though, he wasn’t sure how well he could pass as a doctor. He knew a little about medical practice, but Rory could decide to ask him some obscure question, and then he’d be screwed. Best to stay in somewhat familiar territory.

Sam picked the wrapper off of his sandwich and spoke, “I’m here with my brother. We’re lawyers, investigating some client’s claims.” Plausible enough, and since Sam had been studying to be a lawyer, he could likely answer any forthcoming questions with ease. And anyway, he could probably pass it off that at least one of his clients was one of the demon-possessed patients.

He snorted to keep up the charade, “Our firm decided to send us overseas to take care of it. Trying to scare off the newbies, I guess. It’s been hectic.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “These clients are nuts, really.” Maybe that would get Rory to ask a question of his own. If not, he’d have to go about this in a different way.

a week's vacation:

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 15:55:00 -0400

pineappledetective:

I’m going up to North Carolina for a week.

I’m leaving this Saturday.

I won’t have any internet access.

That means I won’t be able to be on Tumblr.

So I’ve set up a queue full of Psych-related posts.

If you don’t like Psych, I suggest you stay off my blog for the week.

And blacklist the tag ‘i know queue know’.

But if you do like Psych, you’re in for a treat.

Next Saturday and Sunday aren’t included in the queue, since my queue is being dumb.

So you’ll have to go two days without posts from me.

Also: ROAD TRIP.

and applying to this blog:

I’ll reply to the RP with Rory, Noise, and the RP in 221B before I go.

In A Broken Dream

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 16:50:27 -0400

thatmorningstarguy:

onlydeancancallmesammy:

Sam slid into bed and stowed his gun under his pillow. Dean was out at a local pub, no doubt getting shit-faced and trying to pick up British girls. He’d probably end up finding somebody to go home with. And if not, Sam would hopefully be fast asleep when he stumbled in the room. He flicked off the lamp-light and lay in the dark for a few minutes before turning on his sided and falling asleep.

This time, when he entered dream-land, he knew it wasn’t real. It had the same feeling as the certain one he’d had the other night. And that really only meant one thing. Lucifer.

He looked at his surroundings, noting that it was the same hill as before, only with a few changes. A few feet away, a picnic was laid out. Checkered blanket, straw basket, the works. It didn’t seem like it belonged to anybody, and as it was his dream, Sam shrugged and walked over to the set-up. He sat down, stretching out his long legs and called, “I know you’re here. Why don’t you stop hiding and come enjoy this lovely picnic with me?”

And then he waited.

Lucifer was lurking in a far corner of Sam’s dream-space when he felt the hunter return. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but otherwise didn’t move. ”How about I make you wait,” he muttered bitterly.

Lucifer had been here for some time. Fleeing from Sam in a rage, it had only taken Luci a moment to calm down and come to his senses. He had been about to return when he felt Sam leave the dream. And now, irrational as it was, Lucifer was pissed at being abandoned.

It had given him time to think things over though. He thought eventually that Sam was probably right not to believe him. He thought that maybe he was right in general. Could he really blame it all on Michael? He thought then about his brother - about how he did truly love him, and about how he resented their Father for pitting them against each other… How he resented their Father for a lot of things.

Goddammit, Lucifer thought, rolling his eyes at his own joke. I hate having time to think.

Lucifer wondered then if Sam knew the truth. If he knew what really happened the day they fell together into the pit. Would he have felt the change? Or did it go unnoticed?

It wasn’t like Sam knew how time ran in dreams, but it felt as if he’d been waiting hours for Lucifer to show up. You’d think if it was your own dream, you’d be able to control those devils who only wanted to sulk in a corner. Sam broadcast this thought, wondering if Lucifer would even be able to hear it.

Now he was just sick and tired of waiting for the pouty angel to show his face. Sam sighed, “Great,” stood up from the picnic blanket and looked around. “Guess I’ll just have to go looking for you,” he muttered. He started walking away from the picnic setup, but then looked back to check if the devil was anywhere nearby. No sign of Lucifer, but the picnic had vanished. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, then shouted to his surroundings. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good meal. Hope you’re happy.” Sam shook his head in exaggerated disappointment, just in case the devil was spying on him.

He couldn’t ever really say he was experienced with devil hide and seek. Lucifer could be cheating; he might be turning invisible, or disguising himself as a tree. So looking for him might take a while. Luckily, it seemed that, in his dreams, at least, he had some sort of Lucifer-radar. He’d start in the forest; that was where the ‘signal’ felt the strongest.

“Well, ready or not, here I come.”

Another Library

Mon, 30 Jul 2012 14:40:19 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

Sam chuckled at the incredulous look on Molly’s face. It was refreshing to find somebody who didn’t only accept his story as truth, but found it fascinating. Though, if Molly had to face some of the things he had, she may not think hunting was such a cool job.
“Yeah, I’ve got some great stories; but I doubt anybody would take me seriously.” Except other hunters, of course, but Sam wouldn’t say he was close to many of them.

Molly’s next question made him pause, though. Should he tell her? “It’s sort of the family business. Our mother was a hunter, but she gave up that life. But later, our dad got into it.” He shrugged, “We just came into the job.” Maybe he wasn’t telling the entire truth, but he wasn’t lying, either. He didn’t know Molly well, and even though she seemed very nice and trustworthy, he’d been tricked enough times to be wary when meeting new people.

Molly blushed a little bit when he started laughing. She knew how she must look right now, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She just wanted to keep talking to him. It wasn’t that often that she had someone this interesting to talk to. Well, Sherlock was always interesting but he didn’t really talk to her. More at her. And Jim had seemed like he was interested, but…nevermind. She wasn’t going to go there anymore. Not even in her own mind.

When she heard how vague his answer was, Molly immediately decided not to ask anymore questions. She could tell that whatever had actually happened was painful, and not the type of thing you share with someone you just met. Maybe they would become friends and she could learn more about him, but now certainly wasn’t the right time.

“Well, I’d love to hear some of those stories if you have any that you want to share. Although, I understand if you don’t. I mean, you don’t know me very well at all and I just keep asking you questions about your life. Thank you for being so patient with me.” What about him made her want to babble a little bit every time she opened her mouth? She really needed to work on this. At least that hadn’t been as bad as the previous times.

Sam shook his head at Molly’s thanks. “It’s no trouble, really. It’s been a long time since I’ve just sat and talked about all this.” In fact, he should be the one thanking her. He missed having conversations like these. Dean wasn’t really available for them anymore.

“I’d love to tell you some stories,” he said, smiling. But the grin dropped from his face when he felt one of his phones buzz. Dean was the only one with the number, and if he was calling that phone, it must be important. He didn’t answer the call, but instead sent a text: On my way. – Sam Dean would know that there were others around and he couldn’t talk openly right now. Sure, Molly now knew of the hunting business, but Sam felt that he should keep their current case under wraps until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

Sam looked at Molly, noting her young appearance, and wondered if it would be best for him to just leave her out of all this. Let her forget she even met him. But he couldn’t. There was something about the girl that seemed different. She’d be able to handle this, though it might be hard for her to adjust.

He sighed, and faintly smiled. “Sorry that was my brother. I’ve got to go, but I’d like to see you again. This was nice.” He grabbed a nearby piece of paper that the library had supplied for note-taking and scribbled one of his phone numbers on it. Sam slid the paper across to her and stood up. “Call me sometime,” he said, knowing he sounded rather cliché. “I’ll see you later, Molly.” And with that, he left, waving goodbye over his shoulder.

Free Time

Wed, 25 Jul 2012 12:42:04 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

The guy looked a little surprised to see him. Apparently his height didn’t only weird out Americans. Sam smiled at the suggestion the man gave. “Well, then, I guess that’s what I’ll have.” Odd name for a sandwich, though. “You mind if I order ahead of you?” It was more of a statement than a question, really, and he ordered his food and water, still curious about the name. He asked the man taking his order, “Why’s it called a Sherlock wrap?”
The cashier answered cheerfully, “After the detective, of course. The great Sherlock Holmes. He’s the reason Speedy’s is so successful. Helped us out of a tight spot once. He lives next door, actually.” Sam raised an eyebrow and handed the man money for his food, “Keep the change. Next door? You mean 221B?” The cashier nodded, “With his flatmate, Doctor Watson. They’re famous at solving crimes together.” The man took the money and went to fetch Sam’s meal.

Dr. Watson? Must be John. Didn’t that Sebastian mention his annoying flatmate? That must be Sherlock, then. And now Dean and Sam had been invited to the place via a mysterious blue letter. This was an interesting development, though. He’d have to text Dean later.

Sam turned around to see the same customer waiting behind him. He frowned, realizing he had been a jerk about cutting in front of him. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t eaten today.” Maybe this guy hadn’t either, though; so that didn’t really excuse Sam’s dick move. “Sorry again. Name’s Sam. Look, why don’t I pay for your food to make up for that?”

Rory’s smile slipped away and he started to politely protest, but the other man ignored him and stepped ahead of him anyway. So, rude and not entirely unlike the other Americans he’d met. Great. He sighed (no point in arguing) and waited for his turn, taking the opportunity to listen in on the American’s conversation. He was not only ordering the meal Rory had suggested, but also asking questions about that Sherlock person. It occurred to Rory, as the server answered, where he had heard the name before: Dr. Watson’s blog. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that. Then again, Amy tended to keep up with it more than he did, updating him as new cases and entries were posted.

The other thing that stood out to Rory was the very specific address the American mentioned. The Doctor had sent a letter to him - well, and Amy, too, of course - instructing him - them - to go there, to 221B. Amy would be thrilled to meet Sherlock, probably. He thought it would maybe not be so much fun meeting a man that could figure out everything about you just by looking, but, then, he’d been wrong before. Anyway, he had a feeling that the Doctor had come (was coming) for the strange patients at Barts. It seemed his sort of thing, and it would be a relief to finally know how to treat them.

Rory’s thoughts were interrupted by the American and any ill will he might have felt toward the man - Sam, apparently - for his behaviour mostly dissipated with the apology. “I’m Rory,” he said, introducing himself, “and it’s fine, really. I’m in no hurry.” He gave Sam a small smile and ordered his food. “I know what that’s like,” he added. He was used to missing meals on a semi-regular basis. “I work at a hospital and the shifts can be rough, especially when they’re close together.”

“Nice to meet you, Rory.” The cashier returned with his food, and Sam smiled gratefully. “Are you sure? It’d make me feel better.” He chuckled lightly, but he still felt a little bad. He picked the bag of food off the counter and continued, “Well, if you won’t let me pay for your food, why don’t you join me?” He could certainly use a normal conversation right about now.

But maybe that wasn’t in the cards, because apparently Rory worked at the hospital. It seemed like every Brit he’d met so far had something to do with the medical profession. “Do you work at St. Bart’s?” With luck, he was also working on the case that both John and Molly were. “I was there the other day, and yeah, everybody looked really busy.” He knew there were a lot of different positions in a hospital; he’d already met a doctor and a pathologist. But Sam also knew that some doctors were really touchy when asked prying questions about their job, so he phrased his question more carefully this time. “What do you do there?”

Another Library

Wed, 25 Jul 2012 12:40:30 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

Sam made a face at the notes Molly was jotting down. Maybe he should stop her from writing, what if somebody found it? Then again, if anybody ever did find it; they probably wouldn’t take it seriously. Besides, he wasn’t telling her anything incriminating. Most people, if they did some research, could find this information in a Bible or some old books. So he let her write.
“No, it’s fine, that’s not too personal. I work with my brother. Our hunting isn’t the same as usual hunting. We don’t go out in the woods, shoot bucks, get drunk and drive around in our pick-ups.” Sam snorted at the thought of him and Dean doing that. He was sure there were some Brits that had the preconceived notion that all Americans were rednecks, but he didn’t think Molly would be one of them. “We hunt the supernatural. Demons, ghosts, a few vampires and werewolves here and there. That stuff really exists; and somebody has to take care of all that. That’s what we hunters do. And it isn’t just Dean and I that do it.”

Molly had one of those kind faces that made you want to trust in her and tell her your entire life story. She was obviously a sweet girl and that was why Sam didn’t really want to trouble her with all of this. But she was the one asking the questions, so it apparently didn’t matter to her.

As she listened she slowly stopped taking, too fascinated by what he was talking about to focus on writing. The fact that ghosts, vampires, and other fantasy creatures were real was amazing. She had survived her childhood by reading stories about the creatures that inhabited ‘another world’, and she had always loved the dark hope buried in all of them. Every time he spoke, thousands more questions tumbled into her mind. But she didn’t want to seem like she was prying too much. Telling her this much had been a huge act of trust.

She couldn’t suppress the “Wow” that she breathed out. She leaned a little closer. “Working with your brother on something like that…you must have incredible stories. And obviously you are pretty good since you are here. How did you get involved?”

Sam chuckled at the incredulous look on Molly’s face. It was refreshing to find somebody who didn’t only accept his story as truth, but found it fascinating. Though, if Molly had to face some of the things he had, she may not think hunting was such a cool job.

“Yeah, I’ve got some great stories; but I doubt anybody would take me seriously.” Except other hunters, of course, but Sam wouldn’t say he was close to many of them.

Molly’s next question made him pause, though. Should he tell her? “It’s sort of the family business. Our mother was a hunter, but she gave up that life. But later, our dad got into it.” He shrugged, “We just came into the job.” Maybe he wasn’t telling the entire truth, but he wasn’t lying, either. He didn’t know Molly well, and even though she seemed very nice and trustworthy, he’d been tricked enough times to be wary when meeting new people.

Another Library

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 20:31:53 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

Molly certainly liked asking questions. With her attitude, she was probably very good at her job. Which was why this case seemed to be bothering her so much. “Well, demons don’t always have a reason to be around other than creating havoc. But so many in once place.. I think they’re gathering for something. Something big.” Sam was silent for a moment, wondering if this was Crowley’s doing, like so many things were. Then he realized Molly still had questions that needed answered.
“I’m not really sure. I’m not really experienced with medical side of this. We do the hunting, the exorcising, and the killing, but we try to leave the science to the professionals. My best guess, though? The demons are probably still riding their hosts, so that’s why the sulfur is still there.

“And demons? Demons were created by the ang- well, devil, actually, Lucifer after he was banished from heaven. They’re corrupted human souls after their torture in Hell; evil beings. Demons then go on torture and destroy things because they think it’s fun. Or otherwise, they want to avoid more torture for themselves. They only seek destruction.” And no matter what he thought before, there was no way they could be trusted.

Now Molly was sketching something out, and talking about something else that was in their blood. “A virus?” Sam moved his chair closer to Molly so he could get a better look at the drawing. He didn’t recognize it, but he probably couldn’t have identified a picture of the common cold, either. “Could be Croatoan.. But then it would be spreading faster. No, whatever this is, it seems to be more contained. I don’t know it, though.” Maybe he should call Dean. But he was busy with the weeping angels, and he had been too worried about Sam anyway. Dean needed a break from his younger brother’s delusions.

Molly listened carefully to his explanation, taking notes the whole time. So these demons are sort of like the ones from the church stories. She was sure that she had a Bible somewhere in her house, so tonight she would have to reread those sections of the Bible. She would probably want to check with him on what he learned, but Molly hated only having one source of information. Although he did say ‘we’. He must work with someone else.

She smiled a little when he finished. “I understand that you don’t know everything. I’m sure even something like demon hunting requires specialties like any other job. Who do you work with? And what exactly does hunting mean?” She paused a minute. “I’m sorry if those questions are too personal. This is just so new. I do really appreciate everything you’ve told me so far.”

He seemed so kind, although he was really guarded. That would make sense though, since he was expecting her to call him crazy and walk away when he gave her information. The story was too impossible to actually be false. No one traveled to another country just to make things up to strangers. At least she didn’t think so. Maybe some mean spirited person would, but he knew how serious this was for her. And he didn’t come across as that awful. Not that she necessarily completely trusted him, but he deserved a little of it.

Sam made a face at the notes Molly was jotting down. Maybe he should stop her from writing, what if somebody found it? Then again, if anybody ever did find it; they probably wouldn’t take it seriously. Besides, he wasn’t telling her anything incriminating. Most people, if they did some research, could find this information in a Bible or some old books. So he let her write.

“No, it’s fine, that’s not too personal. I work with my brother. Our hunting isn’t the same as usual hunting. We don’t go out in the woods, shoot bucks, get drunk and drive around in our pick-ups.” Sam snorted at the thought of him and Dean doing that. He was sure there were some Brits that had the preconceived notion that all Americans were rednecks, but he didn’t think Molly would be one of them. “We hunt the supernatural. Demons, ghosts, a few vampires and werewolves here and there. That stuff really exists; and somebody has to take care of all that. That’s what we hunters do. And it isn’t just Dean and I that do it.”

Molly had one of those kind faces that made you want to trust in her and tell her your entire life story. She was obviously a sweet girl and that was why Sam didn’t really want to trouble her with all of this. But she was the one asking the questions, so it apparently didn’t matter to her.

Free Time

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 16:38:27 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

He’d been sitting on the bench for a few hours now, and there’d been no real progress yet. An elderly lady – he’d heard one of her neighbors refer to her as Mrs. Hudson – had left and entered the flat during the past hour, but other than that, he hadn’t found out much about 221B Baker Street. And now he was starting to get hungry. The lovely smells wafting from the nearby café did nothing to help ease this hunger.
Sam knew it was unwise to leave for food during a stake-out, because the suspect always shows up once you’ve turned your back. But, they didn’t even have a suspect yet, and besides, Dean had only told Sam to keep an eye on the place for a couple of hours. The opening of the café door sent another wave of delicious smells his way, and Sam’s mind was made up.

He folded up his decoy newspaper, set it on the bench, and carefully crossed the busy street. It wouldn’t do to get run over by a care when he faced ghosts, demons, and a hallucinated devil on a daily basis. Sam entered Speedy’s Café with a small smile on his face. The food here was bound to be healthier than the crap Dean ate at diners all over America.

Because Sam wasn’t exactly familiar with everything on the menu, he walked up behind a customer who was standing in line. “What would you suggest for a healthy lunch?”

Rory turned around to answer and found himself looking at a chin. He blinked and looked up. The man standing behind him was quite tall. Actually, to be fair, he was generally rather large, Rory thought, and very American, if his accent was anything to go by. That was interesting. He hadn’t run into many Americans before. Unless that time in ‘69 counted, and he didn’t think it did, what with being wibbly-wobbly and all.

“Um, I’m not sure, sorry” he said. “I’ve not been in before. Personally, I think I might try the…” He glanced back at the menu, searching for the sandwich he’d been considering. “‘Sherlock’ wrap.” It took him a second to remember why that name sounded familiar, then he remembered. When he and Amy had done their bit of investigating in the hospital, they’d run into Molly who’d been talking with Dr. Watson about a Sherlock. Specifically, he remembered thinking that he’d have to ask Amy about it, because as unusual as the name was, it had to be the same man. He hadn’t, in the end, but he really would have to.

“Don’t know how healthy it really is,” Rory admitted, smiling amicably, “but it looks pretty good.”

The guy looked a little surprised to see him. Apparently his height didn’t only weird out Americans. Sam smiled at the suggestion the man gave. “Well, then, I guess that’s what I’ll have.” Odd name for a sandwich, though. “You mind if I order ahead of you?” It was more of a statement than a question, really, and he ordered his food and water, still curious about the name. He asked the man taking his order, “Why’s it called a Sherlock wrap?”

The cashier answered cheerfully, “After the detective, of course. The great Sherlock Holmes. He’s the reason Speedy’s is so successful. Helped us out of a tight spot once. He lives next door, actually.” Sam raised an eyebrow and handed the man money for his food, “Keep the change. Next door? You mean 221B?” The cashier nodded, “With his flatmate, Doctor Watson. They’re famous at solving crimes together.” The man took the money and went to fetch Sam’s meal.

Dr. Watson? Must be John. Didn’t that Sebastian mention his annoying flatmate? That must be Sherlock, then. And now Dean and Sam had been invited to the place via a mysterious blue letter. This was an interesting development, though. He’d have to text Dean later.

Sam turned around to see the same customer waiting behind him. He frowned, realizing he had been a jerk about cutting in front of him. “I’m sorry, that was rude.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t eaten today.” Maybe this guy hadn’t either, though; so that didn’t really excuse Sam’s dick move. “Sorry again. Name’s Sam. Look, why don’t I pay for your food to make up for that?”

Another Library

Sun, 22 Jul 2012 11:45:16 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

Sam couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face when he saw the bewildered look on Molly’s. Yeah, she definitely thought he was crazy. She excused herself, and he nodded, not actually expecting her to return, no matter what she promised. Maybe he could find out more about her patients through John; although, so far the doctor hadn’t been too cooperative when it came to volunteering information about hospital patients.
Sam was just pushing his chair out when Molly sat down again. Interesting. He’d misjudged her, apparently. He pulled his chair back in and leaned against the table, thinking about her new question carefully. “Well.. demons aren’t very picky about the people they choose. As ong a s they’re alive and able to move, they’re a candidate.” And sometimes they didn’t even take the healthy ones, he thought, recalling when Ruby had inhabited a coma patient.

“We think they just choose at random, really. Whoever happens to be around. It looks like your patients were all at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But why would demons be here? Does the sulfur stay in the blood after the demon leaves? Why is the sulfur still visible even after the blood has gone through multiple tests? What exactly are demons?” Molly took a deep breath. She’d never believed that she knew everything about the world. But this was a lot more than she had guessed. She had never been very religious, but her parents had taken her to church a few times when she was a child. However, all the stories involving demons were really fuzzy in her mind. Anyway, she was pretty sure no one in the Bible did blood tests.

“Also, there is this other thing in their blood stream. Is that part of it?” Molly quickly sketched out the not virus. “It seems like they work together to affect each other, but they are so different. I’ve never seen sulfur in the blood, but I couldn’t tell you even what elements make up this second thing.”

Molly certainly liked asking questions. With her attitude, she was probably very good at her job. Which was why this case seemed to be bothering her so much. “Well, demons don’t always have a reason to be around other than creating havoc. But so many in once place.. I think they’re gathering for something. Something big.” Sam was silent for a moment, wondering if this was Crowley’s doing, like so many things were. Then he realized Molly still had questions that needed answered.

“I’m not really sure. I’m not really experienced with medical side of this. We do the hunting, the exorcising, and the killing, but we try to leave the science to the professionals. My best guess, though? The demons are probably still riding their hosts, so that’s why the sulfur is still there.

“And demons? Demons were created by the ang- well, devil, actually, Lucifer after he was banished from heaven. They’re corrupted human souls after their torture in Hell; evil beings. Demons then go on torture and destroy things because they think it’s fun. Or otherwise, they want to avoid more torture for themselves. They only seek destruction.” And no matter what he thought before, there was no way they could be trusted.

Now Molly was sketching something out, and talking about something else that was in their blood. “A virus?” Sam moved his chair closer to Molly so he could get a better look at the drawing. He didn’t recognize it, but he probably couldn’t have identified a picture of the common cold, either. “Could be Croatoan.. But then it would be spreading faster. No, whatever this is, it seems to be more contained. I don’t know it, though.” Maybe he should call Dean. But he was busy with the weeping angels, and he had been too worried about Sam anyway. Dean needed a break from his younger brother’s delusions.

Free Time

Thu, 19 Jul 2012 17:50:06 -0400

Rory stood outside of the hospital, stretching and yawning and watching the general activity of the city around him. Officially, it was his day off, and after dealing with the strange, not-quite-right patients at Barts his last two shifts, he was relieved to have a break. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the free time. The friends with whom he would ordinarily have spent his time were, for the most part, still working, and Amy was busy with whatever it was she got up to when she left the flat. He thought that he should perhaps go home and sleep - he’d been up for an interminably long time - but instead found himself going to Regent’s Park.

Which was fine too.

He liked Regent’s Park. It was bright and sunny and a very good place to play rugby, although he hadn’t played in at least two weeks, more preoccupied with the goings-on at work which he and Amy suspected were probably timey-wimey. He hoped, if they were right and this was the Doctor’s sort of thing, that he would soon show up and set things right. Rory hated being unable to help his patients, but there was nothing he could do without knowing the exact nature of the problem. It was maddening.

It took him nearly an hour to reach the park. By that time, he’d turned his thoughts to happier things. He had a decent job that afforded him the opportunity to help people. He was happily married to the girl of his dreams. They had a lovely flat. The skies were clear for the first time in days. Plenty of people strolled through the park and played and laughed around him.

It was easy to lose track of time and he did. When he felt his stomach growling at him, however, he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since he’d been on-call, and took it as a sign that it was time to leave.

Rory wandered down the street, peering into windows and store fronts with mild interest. He didn’t feel compelled to buy anything, really, but food would certainly not be amiss if he stumbled across something that looked good. A few blocks later, and an inviting little café not far from the park seemed to be exactly what he was looking for. He ducked inside, wrapped pleasantly in the scent of baking bread and fresh coffee, and glanced over the menu.

He’d been sitting on the bench for a few hours now, and there’d been no real progress yet. An elderly lady – he’d heard one of her neighbors refer to her as Mrs. Hudson – had left and entered the flat during the past hour, but other than that, he hadn’t found out much about 221B Baker Street. And now he was starting to get hungry. The lovely smells wafting from the nearby café did nothing to help ease this hunger.

Sam knew it was unwise to leave for food during a stake-out, because the suspect always shows up once you’ve turned your back. But, they didn’t even have a suspect yet, and besides, Dean had only told Sam to keep an eye on the place for a couple of hours. The opening of the café door sent another wave of delicious smells his way, and Sam’s mind was made up.

He folded up his decoy newspaper, set it on the bench, and carefully crossed the busy street. It wouldn’t do to get run over by a care when he faced ghosts, demons, and a hallucinated devil on a daily basis. Sam entered Speedy’s Café with a small smile on his face. The food here was bound to be healthier than the crap Dean ate at diners all over America.

Because Sam wasn’t exactly familiar with everything on the menu, he walked up behind a customer who was standing in line. “What would you suggest for a healthy lunch?”

(Noise)

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 16:37:04 -0400

consulting-soldier:

sebastianfuckinmoran:

Seb raises the cigarette to his lips, still smirking, and inhales slowly. “Perfectly fuckin calm.” He looks back to John. “Now, Johnny. That’s no way to greet an old friend. Thought it’d be nice if we had a chance to catch up. For old time’s sake.” Johnny’s so tense he looks like his spine might snap if you bend him the wrong way, and Seb is having entirely too much fun just standing here. So much better than the shit he’d had planned for today.

He can feel the Winchesters trying to size him up, attempting to guess what kind of trouble they’ve accidentally invited in. He turns himself so that he can see all three of them clearly, but keeps his posture deliberately relaxed and open. “You haven’t even introduced me to your friend.” He looks at the bulk of the man standing next to John. “Name’s Sebastian. Johnny and I were in the service together.”

“Old friends are the kind you call up for a drink or two after not seeing them for a bit. We didn’t exactly part on amicable terms last we met.” John shook his head. He didn’t know who to glare at more, at the moment, so he kept his gaze on Moran. “The hell are you playing at?”

His habit of closing his hands into fists was acting up. This situation wasn’t exactly the best. Understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit how bad he felt the day was going. He couldn’t leave without turning his back on any of them.

“Alright, look.”

Dean wasn’t going to have this end in trouble and he was in no position to want to lose a new friend. he would never admit it out loud, but John had a spunk in him he admired and he was starting to realize that the lack of relationships he had back in America had soley been because Dean was too afraid to form any. Now that he was in Europe, he was starting to realize just how much he craved them.

John knew trouble within seconds of it’s arrival— he wasn’t a fool. He was a soldier with a heart.

This Sebastian guy was a problem.

“John,” he wanted to distract him, to get his mind away from any type of suspicion, holding his hands out at his sides for John to see. he had no weapon, nothing harmful. He just wanted to get this done with fast. “I just ran in to him. If you want us to kick his ass, we can. He’s nothing compared to what Sam and I deal with.” Dean threw in, wanting to relate back to the night he had spent in the pub. He knew how this looked and he didn’t blame John one bit for being suspicious…

These two had some bad history between them, that much was clear. Seeing as John was the angrier one, Sam would guess that it was Sebastian who had caused the original damage. He didn’t much like the looks of the guy, anyway. Plus, he smoked.

So they were in the army together. And obviously some crap had happened.

At Dean’s offer to kick the new guy’s ass, Sam raised an eyebrow. That was unusual. It wasn’t really in their nature to go around beating up people just because some guy they barely knew hated him. And they tried to fight humans as little as possible; preferring to focus their energy on those supernatural nuisances.

Since he didn’t really have much to contribute to this conversation, Sam just let his arms hang against his, and held his palms face out like Dean. Hopefully they could allay some suspicions this doctor had apparently formed of them.

Another Library

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 15:48:44 -0400

onlydeancancallmesammy:

Sam liked this girl. She was curious, no matter whether he was a crazy person or not. At his next words, though, she may be more inclined to run off and leave him to his insanity. He nodded and spoke, “Sulfur in the blood is something I deal with somewhat regularly in my line of work.” Hunting, but he didn’t say it yet. First he had to see whether she’d stay for the entire explanation.
“Sulfur always means demons are involved.”

Sam took a breath and waited for her reaction. Maybe she’d think he was some sort of religious fanatic.

“Demons?” Molly looked at Sam for a second. “Give me a minute. I’ll be back I promise.” She wasn’t sure what the expression on his face meant, but she decided to ignore it. She walked into the nearest row and began to pace. As she walked, she argued with herself about what she heard.

‘He doesn’t look that crazy. I can’t find anything about this in the medical journals and I said that I was willing to hear a crazy explanation. But demons? I know in my old church classes they said something about fire and brimstone and hell and demons which usually means sulfur but I didn’t know that was real. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to hear everything else he has to say though. I really do need help. And it would be nice to have someone else to talk to about this. Fine.’

She walked back over to where he was sitting. “Ok, demons. Why would they be involved with my patients?”

Sam couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face when he saw the bewildered look on Molly’s. Yeah, she definitely thought he was crazy. She excused herself, and he nodded, not actually expecting her to return, no matter what she promised. Maybe he could find out more about her patients through John; although, so far the doctor hadn’t been too cooperative when it came to volunteering information about hospital patients.

Sam was just pushing his chair out when Molly sat down again. Interesting. He’d misjudged her, apparently. He pulled his chair back in and leaned against the table, thinking about her new question carefully. “Well.. demons aren’t very picky about the people they choose. As ong a s they’re alive and able to move, they’re a candidate.” And sometimes they didn’t even take the healthy ones, he thought, recalling when Ruby had inhabited a coma patient.

“We think they just choose at random, really. Whoever happens to be around. It looks like your patients were all at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Another Trip to Luci-Land

Wed, 18 Jul 2012 15:40:31 -0400

Sam slid into bed and stowed his gun under his pillow. Dean was out at a local pub, no doubt getting shit-faced and trying to pick up British girls. He’d probably end up finding somebody to go home with. And if not, Sam would hopefully be fast asleep when he stumbled in the room. He flicked off the lamp-light and lay in the dark for a few minutes before turning on his sided and falling asleep.

This time, when he entered dream-land, he knew it wasn’t real. It had the same feeling as the certain one he’d had the other night. And that really only meant one thing. Lucifer.

He looked at his surroundings, noting that it was the same hill as before, only with a few changes. A few feet away, a picnic was laid out. Checkered blanket, straw basket, the works. It didn’t seem like it belonged to anybody, and as it was his dream, Sam shrugged and walked over to the set-up. He sat down, stretching out his long legs and called, “I know you’re here. Why don’t you stop hiding and come enjoy this lovely picnic with me?”

And then he waited.

(Noise)

Thu, 12 Jul 2012 14:13:41 -0400

consulting-soldier:

sebastianfuckinmoran:

consulting-soldier:

“I don’t see how you could know.” John sighed. It’d been far too interesting of a week. “But tell me what you think you know, then. If you already know what’s…” Dean had walked up at that point. Sam turned around to greet him, but John was going to back away cautiously. Of all the times for him not to have his gun on him.
Of all the times for Sebastian Moran to show up, rather. Were they working together? John couldn’t help but be suspicious. He crossed his arms, and braced himself for whatever might happen next. He damn well wasn’t going to get kidnapped again this week. Hell no.

Seb sees Johnny standing with a tall bloke who’s yelling something at Dean. He smirks, shark-like, and jogs across the street, hand holding the cigarette raised in greeting. He ignores both Winchesters in favor of focusing on John. “Johnny!” His smirk grows wider and he stops in front of John, a scant meter away. He takes a drag from his cigarette. “Been looking fucking everywhere for you. Was going to drop by your flat, check on you and your mad detective, but.” He pauses to let that sink in. He’d had no real plans to drop by Baker Street, but it’d likely piss John off to think that he did. “…Lucky for me, I ran into fuckin Dean, here. He was able to tell me right where you were.”

“Lucky’s one way to word it.” John glared up at Sebastian. “What the hell do you want, Moran.” He mentally locked up. He wouldn’t let any of them get any more information out of him. There was no way he was helping Moriarty, even marginally, in getting information.

“This here is ah, Sebastian.” Dean raised his eyebrows with a smile, giving Sam a small nod. Explaining that he had met the guy on the street was a bit uncommon for Dean, not really set on picking people up in strange lands. Still, he gave a nod of greeting to John, smirking a bit as he recalled their last meeting. The time at the pub had been memorable— anyone who had been kidnapped by Crowley was destined to show up in his life again. Dean wasn’t even surprised at this point. But before he could even blink, his new companion had jogged across the street, suddenly putting the hunters nerves on edge.

“Hey, whoah!”

Dean caught up with them, looking from John’s face to Seb’s catching half the conversation. Apparently this wasn’t a joyful meeting…

“He ran in to me,” Dean pointed at Seb, looking to Sam for backup. “Almost broke my damn cell phone… said he knew you so I saved him the trouble of having to fight it out.” a smirk slid on to his lips, holding his head slightly higher. John had his full trust after one night of drinks, he wasn’t going to back out on him if this guy was actually trouble.

If John was defensive when Sam was questioning him, it was nothing compared to how he reacted when Dean’s new companion – Sebastian, apparently – showed up. John seemed to know him; but he didn’t appear to be on friendly terms with the guy. Sebastian appeared to think otherwise, and greeted him like an old friend. Also, he swore a lot.

Sam looked at the two, and judging by the tension hanging between them – emanating largely from the doctor – a fight might break out. They couldn’t let that happen on a busy London street. Well, this day had turned into a major mess.

Sam came over to stand behind Dean. He gestured at John and this Sebastian guy, “Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here, because I just met you. But I think we need to calm down.” He still wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation; but he should at least try to stop anybody from getting hurt.

Dream Walking

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 21:53:57 -0400

thatmorningstarguy:

onlydeancancallmesammy:

And now Lucifer needed to talk to him about something else. Something.. sensitive? The angel seemed rather uncertain about himself, which was more than odd, it was downright disconcerting. This was the devil. He didn’t get unsure about things. Sam raised an eyebrow, willing Lucifer to continue. He needed to hear whatever it was he wanted to say.
And while he needed to hear it, he didn’t care for what was said. So that’s how it was? Sam was sure Lucifer was lying. Although he didn’t remember any of his time in the Cage, the angel before him couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. Sam gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm, or at least maintain a semblance of calmness. “What you’re saying is, Michael made you do it? You realize that sounds like a load of crap, right?”

Sure, Michael and Lucifer were brothers. Sam could understand that. He had a brother, and he and Dean didn’t always agree on things. But when one was in the wrong, the other always made his opinion on the matter clear. They wouldn’t let their brother go through with it, or if there was nothing they could do, they did their best to stop them. Apparently that wasn’t how the angel’s relationship worked. The one brother bossed the other one around.

“Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t want to hurt me, but because your brother told you to, you went ahead and did it anyway? That’s not how it works. If you really don’t want to hurt somebody, you do your best not to.”

Sam didn’t really understand why he was so angered. It wasn’t as if he could remember the tortures he had no doubt been put through. And yet.. there was something about Lucifer’s apology that personally riled his emotions.

Lucifer’s expression changed in a split second to anger. He should’ve known Sam wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t even bother to try. This was why he didn’t apologize. Nobody listened to apologies from the Devil.

“I’m telling the truth,” he snarled. “If you don’t want to believe it, that’s your problem.”

Lucifer could no longer concentrate through the hot anger welling up inside him. It was such a contrast to his usual cold. Sam was just sitting there, and his presence became increasingly claustrophobic. As an indefinable weight pressed in on him, Lucifer snapped. He needed to get out of there.

He threw one last angry look at Sam, and disappeared.

Sam was a little surprised by how quickly Lucifer’s emotions shifted from nervous anxiety to that of anger. Maybe getting the devil worked up wasn’t such a great idea. Who knew what he could do to him, even locked up in the pit? Remember, you’re just dreaming. But he could still probably cause some disturbing images in his head. Though, Lucifer’s next words weren’t what Sam was expecting. He had taken on a defensive edge, and he looked like he was regretting his earlier words. Sam opened his mouth to utter what would probably be a lame retort, but Lucifer chose that moment to disappear.

Sam was left there, mouth agape. He snapped his jaw shut and fumed silently for a moment. Fine. If he wants to go off and sulk like the big baby devil he is..

Though, truth be told, Sam felt a little guilty. I shouldn’t feel guilty. He tried to destroy the world. He tortured me in the pit. And then he thinks he can get off on saying sorry, like that will solve everything? And yet.

Sam sighed, and shut his eyes. When he opened them, he was lying in his bed, wide awake, and heart unfathomably sore. Dean’s snoring filled the room.

(Noise)

Wed, 04 Jul 2012 10:30:08 -0400