This is where it starts, this is where it will end
WHO: Sam Winchester, Leia Organa (CLOSED)
LOCATION: His office. And then running to find peoples. And then talking elsewhere.
WEEK: 64
TIME: Just before sunset.
WHAT: Sam has a vision! Of bad stuff. He panics and goes to find certain people and warn them of bad stuff.
RATING: PG
It was impossible to tell when a vision would hit. They rarely waited for Sam to be ready; in fact, they seemed to take delight in catching him as off-guard as possible. Truth be told, Sam had not had one in quite awhile-- not since arriving at Hogwarts, in fact, freshly reunited with his brother and on track to fix his life and resolve some measure of goodness that might be left to him.
But recently he'd regressed in that quest, somewhat. Dean had left, and Sam had thrown himself into his work as if that could make him forget that the people he loved most were lost to him again, of their own violation this time. Sam had gone back to wondering, again, if it was himself who was at fault. Because he lacked the inherent strength his father and his brother had always found so abundant. Before he'd known it, his supply of blood was dwindling again.
It probably should not have shocked him when the uncomfortable, pressurized feeling began to prickle behind his eyes, but he chose to ignore it. He was hunched over the desk in his office, grading paperwork, and the onset of a headache was a normal occurrence when trying to weed through teenage grammar.
Then it got worse. The low throbbing became sharp stabs of pain, and Sam dropped his quill, wincing and hissing out breath between his teeth. He pushed back his chair and stood, with half an intent to head towards the nurse's office, before he suddenly realized why this all felt so familiar.
In mid-step, the pain seared straight through his cranium, spiraling from a tight point between his eyes to strike the back of his neck. It was lightning-quick and tormenting, dropping him to his knees as all his consciousness focused on simply fighting to breathe under the onslaught. Sam knew now exactly what this pain was and exactly what it would lead to, and it was too late to try and fight it-- waking up this morning had been too late to fight it-- and all he could manage was a struggle to just contain it. His hands covered the sides of his head, as if they alone could keep the agony from exploding outward. Regardless, the pressure contained inside his skull continued to build as he bowed over his knees, tightly-packed anguish threatening to shatter through the bone. His mind was gone already. His eyes squeezed shut and a figure began to move in the darkness behind his eyelids.
A long stretch of hallway shimmered into place, old picture frames lining the cold stone walls. Their contents were fuzzy and indistinct, but Sam thought the passage still looked
familiar, one of many hallways Hogwarts contained. Soft afternoon sunlight filtered in through high windows, and Sam had a moment to wonder why the vision came complete with cold chills and a terrorized feeling before the sound of frantic footsteps filled the background. There was a distant shout, a burst of magic nearby, and suddenly Leia was there.
She tore down the corridor, the bright light of her saber cutting through the sun's lazy rays again and again, striking jagged blue hues across the way. She had her wand held out in one hand, while her other carried her lightsaber in an iron grip. The shoulder of her white dress had been torn at the hem, her hair was in fringed disarray, and there was a line of dark red scratched down the side of her cheekbone. She looked angry and determined and scared.
The illumination of her sword's soft blue light was foreboding, the dancing light reflecting off the walls haphazard and broken, frantically following Leia's footsteps.
And something else was following her.
A dark shadow nipped at her legs and threatened to overcome her, and in a move so graceful it seemed to require no more effort than breathing, Leia swung around in mid-step, whirling on one ankle and striking across her body at the thing behind her, the violent hum of her saber ripping through something solid.
She completed the turn in that same movement and resumed her escape, as even that did not seem to put a stop her pursuer. It slowed it down, though, giving her enough time to make it around the corner and pause for the barest moment.
There was a slight catch to her breath that she seemed to ignore, and she whipped her wand up in a complex casting, her mouth moving with the words of a spell. The cut on her cheek suddenly closed as the skin knit itself back together, and she turned to face the way she had come. Something violent and dark exploded around the corner and came straight for her, but Leia merely lifted her arm and pointed her wand directly at it, eyes narrowing with a fierce concentration. Her lips moved again, and the magic flared forward.
A wall of fire filled the corridor and swallowed the corner, and an unholy howl was quickly burnt out by the all-consuming flames. Leia glared after it, a glimmer of relief set in her eyes, when suddenly those brown orbs widened with a new fear.
A darker shadow suddenly loomed over her shoulders just behind her, tall and terrible, and she spun around too late, mouth opening and wand raising as she frantically tried to--
But then the darkness swallowed her whole, and there was cold terror and a flash of blood and the crunch of bones and Leia was gone--
Sam's eyes jerked open.
He fell backwards, the force of the vision somehow knocking him right off his knees and cracking his head hard against the ground. This new headache was a fleabite compared to the gaping wound he had been suffering not seconds earlier, and he could not bring himself to care. Gasping, he struggled to get his bearings and remember who he was, where he was, and that he was not actually in that corridor and Leia was not dead-- it was just a vision, and he was Sam Winchester, and he was safe in his office and it was just a vision and nothing to--
Oh God.
Oh God. He scrambled to his feet before his body was ready and nearly face-planted into his carpet again. A hand went out to catch the edge of his desk, saving his knees from buckling, but his mind was already a thousand miles ahead. He had to warn her, he had to find her... His visions had a nasty habit of coming true, and this one felt particularly deadly and liable to occur all-too soon. It was impossible to know how soon, and it was possible he was already late, that this was already happening somewhere.
An ice-cold chill touched his heart at the thought that Leia might at that very moment be dying.
His eyes went to the window, and his death-grip on the wood of his desk relaxed by a hair. Out there the sun was setting, rather than being high in the sky. He had seen bright sunlight pouring through those windows in his vision, so that gave him at least some margin of time to act before it could come true.
He headed immediately for the door, paused, then turned around to snatch his journal off his desk. He flipped it open to the first blank page and scribbled as he walked, hoping that he would find her faster by multitasking. The door to his office slammed shut behind him, but he hardly heard it.
His heart was still beating like a drum and his mind was still freshly panicked, but there was no time to waste.
LOCATION: His office. And then running to find peoples. And then talking elsewhere.
WEEK: 64
TIME: Just before sunset.
WHAT: Sam has a vision! Of bad stuff. He panics and goes to find certain people and warn them of bad stuff.
RATING: PG
It was impossible to tell when a vision would hit. They rarely waited for Sam to be ready; in fact, they seemed to take delight in catching him as off-guard as possible. Truth be told, Sam had not had one in quite awhile-- not since arriving at Hogwarts, in fact, freshly reunited with his brother and on track to fix his life and resolve some measure of goodness that might be left to him.
But recently he'd regressed in that quest, somewhat. Dean had left, and Sam had thrown himself into his work as if that could make him forget that the people he loved most were lost to him again, of their own violation this time. Sam had gone back to wondering, again, if it was himself who was at fault. Because he lacked the inherent strength his father and his brother had always found so abundant. Before he'd known it, his supply of blood was dwindling again.
It probably should not have shocked him when the uncomfortable, pressurized feeling began to prickle behind his eyes, but he chose to ignore it. He was hunched over the desk in his office, grading paperwork, and the onset of a headache was a normal occurrence when trying to weed through teenage grammar.
Then it got worse. The low throbbing became sharp stabs of pain, and Sam dropped his quill, wincing and hissing out breath between his teeth. He pushed back his chair and stood, with half an intent to head towards the nurse's office, before he suddenly realized why this all felt so familiar.
In mid-step, the pain seared straight through his cranium, spiraling from a tight point between his eyes to strike the back of his neck. It was lightning-quick and tormenting, dropping him to his knees as all his consciousness focused on simply fighting to breathe under the onslaught. Sam knew now exactly what this pain was and exactly what it would lead to, and it was too late to try and fight it-- waking up this morning had been too late to fight it-- and all he could manage was a struggle to just contain it. His hands covered the sides of his head, as if they alone could keep the agony from exploding outward. Regardless, the pressure contained inside his skull continued to build as he bowed over his knees, tightly-packed anguish threatening to shatter through the bone. His mind was gone already. His eyes squeezed shut and a figure began to move in the darkness behind his eyelids.
A long stretch of hallway shimmered into place, old picture frames lining the cold stone walls. Their contents were fuzzy and indistinct, but Sam thought the passage still looked
familiar, one of many hallways Hogwarts contained. Soft afternoon sunlight filtered in through high windows, and Sam had a moment to wonder why the vision came complete with cold chills and a terrorized feeling before the sound of frantic footsteps filled the background. There was a distant shout, a burst of magic nearby, and suddenly Leia was there.
She tore down the corridor, the bright light of her saber cutting through the sun's lazy rays again and again, striking jagged blue hues across the way. She had her wand held out in one hand, while her other carried her lightsaber in an iron grip. The shoulder of her white dress had been torn at the hem, her hair was in fringed disarray, and there was a line of dark red scratched down the side of her cheekbone. She looked angry and determined and scared.
The illumination of her sword's soft blue light was foreboding, the dancing light reflecting off the walls haphazard and broken, frantically following Leia's footsteps.
And something else was following her.
A dark shadow nipped at her legs and threatened to overcome her, and in a move so graceful it seemed to require no more effort than breathing, Leia swung around in mid-step, whirling on one ankle and striking across her body at the thing behind her, the violent hum of her saber ripping through something solid.
She completed the turn in that same movement and resumed her escape, as even that did not seem to put a stop her pursuer. It slowed it down, though, giving her enough time to make it around the corner and pause for the barest moment.
There was a slight catch to her breath that she seemed to ignore, and she whipped her wand up in a complex casting, her mouth moving with the words of a spell. The cut on her cheek suddenly closed as the skin knit itself back together, and she turned to face the way she had come. Something violent and dark exploded around the corner and came straight for her, but Leia merely lifted her arm and pointed her wand directly at it, eyes narrowing with a fierce concentration. Her lips moved again, and the magic flared forward.
A wall of fire filled the corridor and swallowed the corner, and an unholy howl was quickly burnt out by the all-consuming flames. Leia glared after it, a glimmer of relief set in her eyes, when suddenly those brown orbs widened with a new fear.
A darker shadow suddenly loomed over her shoulders just behind her, tall and terrible, and she spun around too late, mouth opening and wand raising as she frantically tried to--
But then the darkness swallowed her whole, and there was cold terror and a flash of blood and the crunch of bones and Leia was gone--
Sam's eyes jerked open.
He fell backwards, the force of the vision somehow knocking him right off his knees and cracking his head hard against the ground. This new headache was a fleabite compared to the gaping wound he had been suffering not seconds earlier, and he could not bring himself to care. Gasping, he struggled to get his bearings and remember who he was, where he was, and that he was not actually in that corridor and Leia was not dead-- it was just a vision, and he was Sam Winchester, and he was safe in his office and it was just a vision and nothing to--
Oh God.
Oh God. He scrambled to his feet before his body was ready and nearly face-planted into his carpet again. A hand went out to catch the edge of his desk, saving his knees from buckling, but his mind was already a thousand miles ahead. He had to warn her, he had to find her... His visions had a nasty habit of coming true, and this one felt particularly deadly and liable to occur all-too soon. It was impossible to know how soon, and it was possible he was already late, that this was already happening somewhere.
An ice-cold chill touched his heart at the thought that Leia might at that very moment be dying.
His eyes went to the window, and his death-grip on the wood of his desk relaxed by a hair. Out there the sun was setting, rather than being high in the sky. He had seen bright sunlight pouring through those windows in his vision, so that gave him at least some margin of time to act before it could come true.
He headed immediately for the door, paused, then turned around to snatch his journal off his desk. He flipped it open to the first blank page and scribbled as he walked, hoping that he would find her faster by multitasking. The door to his office slammed shut behind him, but he hardly heard it.
His heart was still beating like a drum and his mind was still freshly panicked, but there was no time to waste.