Nighttime Country Sidewalk Winchesters
I went to bed at a relatively decent hour last night, and because that hour was earlier than usual I didn't fall asleep quickly and had a bit of time for thinking and I dedicated that thinking to Sam and Dean and that was SO NICE because I haven't had some good Sam and Dean think time in a while and I'd missed them.
And then I had a Supernatural dream. A gift! Happy birthday to me!
In this dream, it was night, and Sam was walking along a country sidewalk, which doesn't make sense (especially as there was no discernable road) but that's apparently what it was. It was night, like deep night, and there were very occasional trees or residences but mostly lots of open empty field and stretches of long grasses all greyed out in the darkness, Sam visible almost as if via night vision. Brown hoodie, his hands deep in its pockets. Young Sam, no older than 22, but more hardened than Stanford life should allow. Going toward something he didn't want, and doing it with resentment but also with grim purpose, radiating this terrible sardonic humor about it.
It was so dark that he literally didn't see the other person on the sidewalk until they half-collided as they crossed paths. Sam barely stopped, acknowledged the accident with a grunt and kept going, and the man-hefty guy, short beard, jacket in some dull olive color (or was that just the lack of light?)-paused and demanded, "Seriously?"
Sam said it was an accident, sorry. Didn't stop walking.
"Seriously?" the guy said again, halfway to yelling now, aggression born of panic born of the paranoia that comes with a secret that requires walking weird paths at night and avoiding people who are also walking weird paths at night, people who shoulder check you and then laugh, people like this kid in the hoodie.
"Yeah, seriously," Sam said in a laugh, and the laugh had genuine humor to it, the kind that makes you squirm because it says, Come at me if you want; I don't give a shit, and the joke isn't about you but the world at large. (I can still hear that laugh, and it haunts me.)
Sam kept walking. The man didn't seem to follow.
Later, it was Sam and Dean walking on the path together. A voice came from behind them, and a flashlight beam. A man who claimed to be a cop followed them at a short distance and spoke to them in thinly veiled threats: Silas was his friend, and Leonard, and you know too much, don't you, I won't let you two just walk away. (Silas, or Leonard, must have been the name of olive-jacket guy, I assume.) Sam and Dean said nothing, expressions stoic, and kept walking.
I don't remember how exactly it escalated, but the three got into a truly brutal and poorly lit fistfight. I didn't see how the fight ended, but last I knew, the fake/crooked cop was on his knees while one Winchester held him and the other delivered double punches.
And then I had a Supernatural dream. A gift! Happy birthday to me!
In this dream, it was night, and Sam was walking along a country sidewalk, which doesn't make sense (especially as there was no discernable road) but that's apparently what it was. It was night, like deep night, and there were very occasional trees or residences but mostly lots of open empty field and stretches of long grasses all greyed out in the darkness, Sam visible almost as if via night vision. Brown hoodie, his hands deep in its pockets. Young Sam, no older than 22, but more hardened than Stanford life should allow. Going toward something he didn't want, and doing it with resentment but also with grim purpose, radiating this terrible sardonic humor about it.
It was so dark that he literally didn't see the other person on the sidewalk until they half-collided as they crossed paths. Sam barely stopped, acknowledged the accident with a grunt and kept going, and the man-hefty guy, short beard, jacket in some dull olive color (or was that just the lack of light?)-paused and demanded, "Seriously?"
Sam said it was an accident, sorry. Didn't stop walking.
"Seriously?" the guy said again, halfway to yelling now, aggression born of panic born of the paranoia that comes with a secret that requires walking weird paths at night and avoiding people who are also walking weird paths at night, people who shoulder check you and then laugh, people like this kid in the hoodie.
"Yeah, seriously," Sam said in a laugh, and the laugh had genuine humor to it, the kind that makes you squirm because it says, Come at me if you want; I don't give a shit, and the joke isn't about you but the world at large. (I can still hear that laugh, and it haunts me.)
Sam kept walking. The man didn't seem to follow.
Later, it was Sam and Dean walking on the path together. A voice came from behind them, and a flashlight beam. A man who claimed to be a cop followed them at a short distance and spoke to them in thinly veiled threats: Silas was his friend, and Leonard, and you know too much, don't you, I won't let you two just walk away. (Silas, or Leonard, must have been the name of olive-jacket guy, I assume.) Sam and Dean said nothing, expressions stoic, and kept walking.
I don't remember how exactly it escalated, but the three got into a truly brutal and poorly lit fistfight. I didn't see how the fight ended, but last I knew, the fake/crooked cop was on his knees while one Winchester held him and the other delivered double punches.