into this house we're born
couple scenes and such cut from 'the land of the blind.'
*
Sam woke up in the remains of a church.
He knew that, recognized the broken altar, the splintered pews, the stained glass in his hair. And he knew something was very wrong--he was terrified but he couldn't remember the word.
Sam tried to walk but he had some broken ribs and it didn't really work. He lay on his back panting at the night sky, holding his chest together with one hand and thinking in desperate swatches that there was something wrong, something missing, and he couldn't remember anything, an edgeless white blank in his mind and that couldn't be right. Nothing felt right.
Then Dean found him. First just a ragged voice screaming, echoing through the rubble, and Sam recognized his own name as soon as he heard it. He recognized his brother when Dean came scrambling over the fallen church walls, skidded to his knees beside Sam's body.
Dean, Sam was trying to say, thinking about how this was his brother Dean, filling his head with the idea, the only thing he knew.
"What did you do," Dean demanded, not really a question, hands racing over Sam's body and his face all twisted up, enormous green eyes gaping like Sam was some kind of miracle. "You crazy fuck, I told you not to-"
but Sam didn't remember that, didn't remember anything. He reached for Dean, a wild gibbering sensation climbing his throat because this couldn't be right. Dean was ducking under his arm, leveraging them both to their feet and Sam's empty head spun, helium-light and echoing without end.
Dean got him to the car, drove them away so fast the whole world shivered from it, and all the while he was yelling at Sam, why the fuck and what the fuck and who the fuck do you think you are, fuckin' Rambo, and Sam didn't know who that was. He didn't know the answer to a single question that Dean asked.
Dean didn't let up, badgering at Sam even when Sam covered his ears with his hands. Dean was just scared, Sam could tell, because something really terrible was happening, but that was one thing it didn't seem like Sam wanted to remember.
They got to a dilapidated farmhouse a few hours north and Sam hesitated coming out of the car, eyeing the sagging roof and busted windows and suffering a crippling wave of déjà vu, evil spirits bleeding out at him from the darkness all around. Dean noticed, gave him an impatient look.
"The McCallister house, it's the rendezvous point or can't you fucking remember anything?"
And at long last Sam was able to bug his eyes and shake his head so hard his neck popped, his voice a wrecked little croak as he said, "Only you," and watched Dean's face drop open in shock.
Dean took him inside and they spent twelve hours locked in the root cellar with their father's journal and Dean huddled close to him, shoulders notched together as he tried to get Sam's brain working again. Sam didn't like talking because he didn't recognize his own voice, and it hurt, anyway. He'd screamed himself hoarse a short time ago, and maybe he preferred it this way.
Sam didn't remember any of the stuff in his dad's book, nor his own handwriting in the back of it. Dean said that they were hunters and heroes and Sam had to believe him.
He asked Dean in his agonized scrape of a voice, "What happened to that church?" and Dean looked away, said he didn't know. It was weird--Sam knew Dean was lying but he didn't know how he knew.
Sam didn't really care. If Dean wasn't telling him something, it was probably for his own good.
LEG GOT CRUSHED. don't forget.
why is it there? it's okay.
there was a war. we. we started a war. on accident.
Dean said that they were hunters and heroes and in the middle of a holy war. They'd kind of started it, but it wasn't their fault, Dean said. And they were going to fix it, anyway. Sam had to believe him.
Dean said that Sam had disappeared for three days, during which time forty cities had burned to the ground and the Mississippi ran red from Baton Rouge to the delta. The moon had begun to drift impossibly away from the earth's orbit, dragging out massive tsunamis to drown Southeast Asia and Japan. The angels were in full retreat, gone to wherever angels go.
Dean's face was very still and white in the skewed flashlight light, telling Sam how black clouds amassed over the church, vast and immovable, and Dean had headed in that direction hoping for a fight.
He meets a little kid: there was a war. I don't know why.
sam faced lucifer and it almost killed him (also didn't work) and then dean cut another motherfucking deal. got them both out of the fight in exchange for the colt and ruby's knife, though nobody trusts the demons, there is at least a giant motherfucking wall between the battleground and the last-ditch civilian settlements on the coast of california. the moon was already gone by the time they got there.
*
Sam woke up in the remains of a church.
He knew that, recognized the broken altar, the splintered pews, the stained glass in his hair. And he knew something was very wrong--he was terrified but he couldn't remember the word.
Sam tried to walk but he had some broken ribs and it didn't really work. He lay on his back panting at the night sky, holding his chest together with one hand and thinking in desperate swatches that there was something wrong, something missing, and he couldn't remember anything, an edgeless white blank in his mind and that couldn't be right. Nothing felt right.
Then Dean found him. First just a ragged voice screaming, echoing through the rubble, and Sam recognized his own name as soon as he heard it. He recognized his brother when Dean came scrambling over the fallen church walls, skidded to his knees beside Sam's body.
Dean, Sam was trying to say, thinking about how this was his brother Dean, filling his head with the idea, the only thing he knew.
"What did you do," Dean demanded, not really a question, hands racing over Sam's body and his face all twisted up, enormous green eyes gaping like Sam was some kind of miracle. "You crazy fuck, I told you not to-"
but Sam didn't remember that, didn't remember anything. He reached for Dean, a wild gibbering sensation climbing his throat because this couldn't be right. Dean was ducking under his arm, leveraging them both to their feet and Sam's empty head spun, helium-light and echoing without end.
Dean got him to the car, drove them away so fast the whole world shivered from it, and all the while he was yelling at Sam, why the fuck and what the fuck and who the fuck do you think you are, fuckin' Rambo, and Sam didn't know who that was. He didn't know the answer to a single question that Dean asked.
Dean didn't let up, badgering at Sam even when Sam covered his ears with his hands. Dean was just scared, Sam could tell, because something really terrible was happening, but that was one thing it didn't seem like Sam wanted to remember.
They got to a dilapidated farmhouse a few hours north and Sam hesitated coming out of the car, eyeing the sagging roof and busted windows and suffering a crippling wave of déjà vu, evil spirits bleeding out at him from the darkness all around. Dean noticed, gave him an impatient look.
"The McCallister house, it's the rendezvous point or can't you fucking remember anything?"
And at long last Sam was able to bug his eyes and shake his head so hard his neck popped, his voice a wrecked little croak as he said, "Only you," and watched Dean's face drop open in shock.
Dean took him inside and they spent twelve hours locked in the root cellar with their father's journal and Dean huddled close to him, shoulders notched together as he tried to get Sam's brain working again. Sam didn't like talking because he didn't recognize his own voice, and it hurt, anyway. He'd screamed himself hoarse a short time ago, and maybe he preferred it this way.
Sam didn't remember any of the stuff in his dad's book, nor his own handwriting in the back of it. Dean said that they were hunters and heroes and Sam had to believe him.
He asked Dean in his agonized scrape of a voice, "What happened to that church?" and Dean looked away, said he didn't know. It was weird--Sam knew Dean was lying but he didn't know how he knew.
Sam didn't really care. If Dean wasn't telling him something, it was probably for his own good.
LEG GOT CRUSHED. don't forget.
why is it there? it's okay.
there was a war. we. we started a war. on accident.
Dean said that they were hunters and heroes and in the middle of a holy war. They'd kind of started it, but it wasn't their fault, Dean said. And they were going to fix it, anyway. Sam had to believe him.
Dean said that Sam had disappeared for three days, during which time forty cities had burned to the ground and the Mississippi ran red from Baton Rouge to the delta. The moon had begun to drift impossibly away from the earth's orbit, dragging out massive tsunamis to drown Southeast Asia and Japan. The angels were in full retreat, gone to wherever angels go.
Dean's face was very still and white in the skewed flashlight light, telling Sam how black clouds amassed over the church, vast and immovable, and Dean had headed in that direction hoping for a fight.
He meets a little kid: there was a war. I don't know why.
sam faced lucifer and it almost killed him (also didn't work) and then dean cut another motherfucking deal. got them both out of the fight in exchange for the colt and ruby's knife, though nobody trusts the demons, there is at least a giant motherfucking wall between the battleground and the last-ditch civilian settlements on the coast of california. the moon was already gone by the time they got there.