[backdated, Friday 4/24] locked
[ooc: some liberties taken with Dean, please, onahunt, let me know if I need to retcon. But we did talk about doing the virus with S & D for the first two days, as I recall it. If there's anything wrong with this, just consider it Sam's delerium. Also, if you want to RP anything, that we can backdate, let me know.]
After we burned Adam's... our brother's... body, Dean got real quiet, and we just cleaned up and hit the road. There wasn't any discussion about who would drive, he just jumped into the driver's seat, like the old days. Like before.
I didn't think I'd sleep, from the way my arms hurt, and the wound in my side. Dean patched them up but there weren't any pain killers left and I don't like taking them any more.
They fuck with me. My body chemistry is shot to hell. I guess demon blood will do that.
So I didn't think I'd sleep. Dean turned on music, Boston, I think, or Kansas, but he shut it off after the second song and turned the radio dial until he got something that sounded like classic country. Left that on for three minutes and then tuned again until he found classic rock.
I didn't think I would sleep. Finding out that Dad had... that we had a younger half brother, and that he'd gotten the baseball games and the driving lessons in the Impala...
Dean taught me. I think I was twelve or something. You can get away with that on back roads.
I shouldn't have slept, with all the shit that has been going on, and the wounds, and the stoney silence from my brother, that silence that always feels disapproving. It's not that I blame him. He doesn't understand but part of me doesn't want him to, not really. Doesn't want to lay that burden on him. And yeah, I don't want to face what's coming. Because I think one day soon he'd going to grab his keys and slam out the door again only this time, some time soon, he won't be coming back.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up, curled up and cramped up on the seat but my hand had somehow found its way to his knee. And he hadn't knocked it off.
When I pulled it away, not looking at him, I felt this wave of something like vertigo, and I wanted to throw up.
I closed my eyes tight and tried to pretend I was still sleeping.
My arm moved until the back of my hand was resting against his thigh. Only then did the feeling of being sick ease up. My heart stopped pounding, my muscles relaxed.
I almost thought I heard him humming, when I dropped off again. Like he used to, when I was little, and got hurt, and couldn't get comfortable in the back seat.
For a while, things were okay.
Now, it turns out this might be some kind of goddam virus? From this stupid community?
I'm going to lose him, and we're being taunted with how it used to be, shouldn't be, might have been...
If I ever find out who did this?
I'll kill them, with my mind.
After we burned Adam's... our brother's... body, Dean got real quiet, and we just cleaned up and hit the road. There wasn't any discussion about who would drive, he just jumped into the driver's seat, like the old days. Like before.
I didn't think I'd sleep, from the way my arms hurt, and the wound in my side. Dean patched them up but there weren't any pain killers left and I don't like taking them any more.
They fuck with me. My body chemistry is shot to hell. I guess demon blood will do that.
So I didn't think I'd sleep. Dean turned on music, Boston, I think, or Kansas, but he shut it off after the second song and turned the radio dial until he got something that sounded like classic country. Left that on for three minutes and then tuned again until he found classic rock.
I didn't think I would sleep. Finding out that Dad had... that we had a younger half brother, and that he'd gotten the baseball games and the driving lessons in the Impala...
Dean taught me. I think I was twelve or something. You can get away with that on back roads.
I shouldn't have slept, with all the shit that has been going on, and the wounds, and the stoney silence from my brother, that silence that always feels disapproving. It's not that I blame him. He doesn't understand but part of me doesn't want him to, not really. Doesn't want to lay that burden on him. And yeah, I don't want to face what's coming. Because I think one day soon he'd going to grab his keys and slam out the door again only this time, some time soon, he won't be coming back.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up, curled up and cramped up on the seat but my hand had somehow found its way to his knee. And he hadn't knocked it off.
When I pulled it away, not looking at him, I felt this wave of something like vertigo, and I wanted to throw up.
I closed my eyes tight and tried to pretend I was still sleeping.
My arm moved until the back of my hand was resting against his thigh. Only then did the feeling of being sick ease up. My heart stopped pounding, my muscles relaxed.
I almost thought I heard him humming, when I dropped off again. Like he used to, when I was little, and got hurt, and couldn't get comfortable in the back seat.
For a while, things were okay.
Now, it turns out this might be some kind of goddam virus? From this stupid community?
I'm going to lose him, and we're being taunted with how it used to be, shouldn't be, might have been...
If I ever find out who did this?
I'll kill them, with my mind.