kore_logs | time for a broment

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time for a broment

Who: Sam and Dean Winchester
What: Winchester greeting time!
When: Day 100 (after running in to Allison and Anita)
Where: The fountain to begin with.

Since he parted ways with Allison and Anita, Sam's been scouting the area.

Or, really, he's been trying to scout the area. In his current state, there's only so much he can do before he has to take a breather. His pattern has turned into five minutes of walking, ten of sitting down and trying to catch his breath. It's frustrating, incredibly so, and more than a little worrying.

Being stuck in a strange place isn't something one actively prepares for, but he has a system. Now he's sure this isn't some kind of murder town, it's time to go down the list of what the hell is actually going on.

He's gotten a run down of the basics, anything specific can wait. Getting a good look around makes sense, even when he knows he should probably be resting. Too bad this just isn't the time, but really, when is the time?

Sam's never felt this god awful before, though, and those damn tablets should come with warnings labels or something. He stumbles a bit near the fountain, catching himself before he flat out lands on his face. Okay, now's the time for a break.

He settles down on the wall, glancing around to get his bearings. It's getting dark out, and he should probably find a place to stay, but he wants to take a minute. Just a minute.

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his thighs, head going down to rest in his hands. He runs through the past couple of hours, making a mental timeline of events. It keeps him there, anchors him to the here and now rather than falling into the haze his body so desperately wants to be in.

Maybe he should just give up, let his body do what it wants. It has to be better than feeling like a semi truck took him out for dinner and then ran him over a time or five.

Sam's still alert, though, and he registers a sound that's just the slightest bit different than what he's been hearing. Footsteps? His head comes up, and he starts looking around, his right hand moving toward his gun.

Just in case.

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It's been a weird day, with the blackout and dredging up all the crap from when he saved Meg from the trap in the bar. Dean wants some fresh air, and maybe also some freaking food that's hot, which is why he's headed to the fire at and maybe to the diner to see what's there that needs to be eaten up, if there's anything still there like that. Just another day in this stupid place, he guesses, and the thing is that it's not even the worse place he's been. Hell and purgatory are pretty far up on the list; this place just sucks, and now doesn't have any air conditioning on top of that.

On his way to the diner, he's scanning where he's walking because, obviously. When his eyes fall on Sam, there's not even a second of doubt in his mind about who he thinks he's seeing. That's Sam, Sam's stupid hair and the curve of his shoulders and his giantness -- it's Sam, and maybe Dean isn't really seeing him, maybe this is another trick, but he can't breathe anyway.

"Sammy?"

Of course, it might not be Sam. Demon, shifter, leviathan. He doesn't have holy water on him here, but he's got his silver knife.

But first he has to know that he's not fucking dreaming.

Immediately, his hand drops and he's staring at his brother, completely taken off guard.

Really, he shouldn't be. At this point, they're pretty much a package deal. If one gets sent or dragged or thrown somewhere, the other will soon follow. Sam has a feeling Dean didn't just arrive like he did - something about the way he's carrying himself, not exactly relaxed but not on high alert like Sam is. Or like he's trying to be.

"Dean." It's not a call, not a shocked response, but just said plain as day, like of course, finally you're here. He knows he shouldn't be as relieved as he is, because there's really no telling if it's Dean at all.

Maybe he's hallucinating, maybe he's fallen into such a deep mental hole with this pain and feeling like shit that he's just seeing what he wants to. If Dean's there, then they'll figure it out together. Just like always, right? He wouldn't put it past his own mind to play tricks on him.

Immediately, he tries to stand up, but his legs aren't working right. Seems like they prefer to keep him right where he is, and he falters a second before slumping back down on the fountain, leaning over with a pained sound as he closes his eyes.

He hears it in Sam's tone that he'd been waiting for Dean, almost, that Dean's what he's been wanting to see because that's one of those tones that cuts straight through him. He's still barely breathing, just quick, short bursts as he tries to figure out if this is real or another of those dreams, the ones that feel so real, but Sam can barely stand up. Real Sam or dream Sam, it's almost impossible for Dean to stand here and watch without helping.

He's not really aware of walking, but he gets to his brother's side and touches his shoulder before he sits next to him, his eyes wide and searching, and he wishes he wasn't also thinking about how fast he can get to his knife, but he is.

"Sammy, what is it? Are you hurt?" He looks like he's fresh from the trials, and it's not helping Dean's worry any.

Hallucination or not, Dean's presence feels like a very real thing. "Gonna be honest. Not feeling my best right now," is his tired reply. He looks over at his brother (his hallucination or whatever, it doesn't matter because it's Dean) and for a second he's right back at that church, being dragged across the ground and propped up against the Impala.

He brings a hand up to shove the hair out of his face, inhaling deeply. Okay, he needs to focus, dammit.

Glancing back at Dean, he knows a good way to set his mind at ease. "Got holy water and some silver?"

First things first. It's still so ingrained after all this time, the gamut of tests to prove that neither one of them is some kind of supernatural dick trying to play body swap.

His eyes are still wide, and he blinks at the question. Part of him still hasn't even accepted this as being real, but he needs to snap out of it too. Sam did, and now Dean needs to shake everything off and approach this situation like they have way too many goddamn times. Jesus, they've had to do this too much. But it's what they do, and it's important. The last time they did this, Sam thought it was dumb, but here he is, asking Dean to pass him a knife and he... okay, he can smile a little numbly, if only to himself.

He pulls out his knife and rolls his sleeve up, then drags the blade over his skin. He wipes it clean and passes the knife over to Sam.

He pulls out his flask; it's filled up with the holy water moonshine, and he takes a sip.

"Here," he says, offering it up to Sam. "Take a sip. It's spiked." He should probably warn him that it's mild-grade moonshine, but he's not thinking that far ahead.

There's a small measure of relief as Dean pulls out the knife and gets to work on their typical greeting. Most of the time, Sam finds the whole process ridiculous, though needed, but now it just reassures him. When he takes the knife from his brother, he rolls up his own sleeve, mimicking Dean's movements as he makes a cut over his bicep. The sharp pain helps, too, keeps him a little grounded and that's even better.

As he takes the flask, he hands Dean the knife and takes a drink. It's not just holy water and after Sam swallows it down he coughs violently for a few seconds.

"What the hell is in that thing? Tastes like something even Bobby wouldn't touch."

Bobby's memory is always there, in the back of his mind. Perhaps more than their own father, and Sam's got his own share of guilt when it comes to that.

Oops. Later when he's done having his freak out about Sam being here, Dean's going to find that hilarious.

"Moonshine, sorry. Forgot." He tucks his flask away, but he knows what's coming next. This is Sam right in front of him, and it's not great that he's trapped here too, but fuck if Dean wasn't worried about him, wasn't lonely without him. Even when he has people -- Cas and Jo and everyone -- he'll always miss Sam.

"Alright." He looks up and holds his arms out, his smile slowly becoming brighter as he accepts the situation. Sam's falling apart and maybe they can't fix that and that's worrying as shit, but Dean can help him. Dean would do anything to help him, including grovel to Raphael, but he'll try Balthazar first.

"C'mere. Let's do it. I haven't seen you in months, man."

"Moonshine." He gives Dean a flat look before huffing out a laugh, shaking his head. Spiked holy water (or would that be Moonshine spiked with holy water?) is good enough, and he'll have to remember to at least smell what's given to him to drink in the future.

He may drink a lot of beer, but moonshine is a whole different ballgame.

There's no hesitation when Sam gives his brother a hug. It's not as strong as it should be - his arms feel a little noodley right now - but that doesn't matter. Sam had halfway convinced himself Dean wasn't there, and he was gonna hoof this one on his own. It's a relief to have him there, his family, someone to figure this shit out with, someone he can actually trust.

Of course, there's that voice in the back of his mind, the one he finally gave in to at his weakest moment when Dean burst into the church and begged him to stop going forward. He's been a damn failure in every way to his brother, and now...now he's going to make up for it. He's going to do this right.

Hold up a second.

"Wait, months?" This is said when he pulls back, giving Dean a 'what are you talking about, dude' look that's very clear. It's been only been a few hours for Sam.

Sam's hug is weak, and for once that's not just him being a douche and making fun of him. It worries him, a lot, but he needs to stifle that for now and just appreciate that he's here. He remembers what Sam was saying back there; actually, Dean doesn't think he'll ever forget when Sam looked him dead in the eye and asked him So? like his death wouldn't completely devastate Dean. Like it hasn't already. Dean says shit; he gets angry, he snaps, he knows that. He's just like dad in that way, he guesses, because underneath he still cares, harder than he could ever really show.

Right, right. It's been months for him since Sam said that, and Sam's just now stumbling out of that church, it looks like, or maybe this was back when they were looking for Metatron; it's hard to tell. Sam's been looking like shit for a while.

"Yeah, almost two. This place pulls people in and, I dunno. I guess it sends them back to live their lives a little more and then brings them back. First time I showed up here was after we finished up that Prometheus case. Then eventually I went back and... What's the last thing you remember from home, Sam?"

That doesn't sound too promising. Sam's not exactly here to stay, not if he can help it, but if Dean's been here almost two months it can't be easy to get out.

For once, couldn't it have been simple? Sam should know better by now.

"Ah, last thing I remember is something about the angels." He hand goes up to rub at his face, trying to clear his fogged brain. "They fell? That's what it sounded like, but I can't remember much."

Except the church. His confessions. Going through the process of curing Crowley. If that hadn't been unsettling enough, Dean's sudden appearance and pleas for him to stop had him reeling. He's had some time to calm down and take a breather, but he's still feeling pretty raw from it.

"Is what what you remember? What happened, man?"

"That's where I left off too." Dammit; why couldn't Sam have been from sooner, so he's not all trial sick or whatever this shit is?

"The angels fell -- I don't know much more than that. Cas is from around that time, but just before Metatron had a chance to take his grace, so he's okay, just... You know." The reason all the angels fell, and all his brothers are here -- way too many of his freaking dumbass brothers are here -- and things are awkward in general. Dean's problems lie in their past, though, and he's not sure how to break the Jo and Ellen and Meg problem.

They'll work up to it.

"Metatron wanted to punish all the angels or something, I don't know. Angels are douchebags."

"Metatron." Sam frowns as he closes his eyes, picturing the angel in his mind. "Should have known something was up with that guy."

Though, in a way, he reminded Sam of himself. Running from his family, hiding out from them in order to avoid their fate. Sam had been a little abrasive with the angel when they met him due to feeling like absolute shit, but there was also frustration at his complete lack of contact with his family, his happiness with being so out of touch.

Once upon a time, Sam would have been in the same position. While a normal life is his dream, he doesn't think he could abandon his brother like that. Not again.

"Can't say I'm surprised --" and Sam inhales sharply, a hand going to his head as pain slices through him. Now isn't the damn time for a headache, but it looks like his body doesn't agree. "Dammit."

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Take it easy, okay?" Dean's hovering now; he's aware he's hovering, but he can't help it, and he also can't help that he doesn't care. He touches Sam's back, and then rubs it a little absently while he thinks about what he should do. Take him to Cas and see if Cas'll fix him? See if there's anything at all Cas can do?

"Okay... Come on. We need to get you in somewhere, get you settled." Sam needs rest at least, and Dean won't feel okay until he knows Sam is taken care of.

"We got room at our house."

"Yeah, I'll just..." He rubs at his forehead for a second before focusing on Dean. "It's just a headache now, but I don't know how long I'm gonna be vertical."

Usually, he'd try to brush off the concern but damn he's tired. And really, it's Dean. When has that ever worked? At this point, Sam's done putting up a front of how okay he's doing, no really he's just fine. Because he isn't. He knows it.

"Okay, a room is good." And he catches that 'our' and he gives his brother a confused look. "Who else lives there?"

"Me and Cas." He leaves it at that while he hooks an arm around Sam and helps him to stand up, steadying him and letting Sam put as much weight on him as he needs. It isn't until they're upright that Dean clears his throat, interrupting whatever Sam might have been wanting or trying to say.

"And Meg. Come on, it's kind of a walk, so..."

So let's move and ignore the fact that Dean just casually dropped that into conversation.

Sam hesitates a moment before putting some weight on Dean. He knows his brother can handle it, but that years old stubbornness of how he can take care of himself always rears its head. It might not be something he gives in to often, but oftentimes it is his first reaction.

The mention of Meg earns a questioning look from Sam, but he doesn't have much to say on it right then. It takes too much concentration to move forward, careful not to topple over on his brother entirely no matter how badly he wants to. It would just be so much easier.

He makes a note to ask about it later, though. When he's conscious again, because he has a feeling he will be dropping into a coma state once he stops moving again.

"Living with a demon and an angel, huh?" His voice is strained, and he's not really concentrating so much on his words as he is the ground, making sure it sounds down there. "A demon, an angel and a hunter walk into a bar....and decide to shack up."

And he'll laugh at this, a bit obnoxiously. Because he's reached the point of no return - his brain is fried, his legs feel heavy and dammit he is tired. That's when he gets loopy, but right now he doesn't care.

"Well, Cas is sweet on her." And she's sweet on Cas. And it's more of a mess than he'd like to get into right now, especially with Sam spouting off that goofy babbling shit like he did back in that hotel where they found Metatron. Dean's even more concerned now; he'd thought that maybe Sam would have gotten through that for good, but apparently not.

"Doesn't matter; there's a room for you, and you're going right to bed, at least until you stop with those lame jokes."

It's good Dean doesn't have to answer to much right now, but the reason for that is pretty shitty; he's worried about Sam and what the hell he's going to do for him now, here. He wouldn't have even known where to start with that back home.

"Not as lame as your pickup lines." Sam's feeling proud of that comeback, or as proud as he can while he's stumbling alongside his brother. Okay, it's not one of his best, but he's still talking and that's something.

In the back of his mind, Sam has a million questions. His mouth and brain, however, aren't connected exactly as they should be at the moment so instead he concentrates on moving. He does end up resting most of his weight on Dean, but he knows his brother can handle it. Earlier, he tried to keep it light with Anita and Allison but now his guard can be down. It's a little bit of a relief.

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time for a broment

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