Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
triplelindy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kore_logs2013-08-14 10:47 pm
triplelindy) wrote in kore_logs2013-08-14 10:47 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
no subject
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.