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A Walking Encyclopedia of Weirdness
that's life on the road

Sam Winchester
Date: 2011-12-09 20:56
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public

Ruby's gone off to recover from her ordeal. He'd asked her to call later; maybe she will, maybe she won't. If she doesn't, he will-- eventually.

Castiel and Uriel are gone. Sam can't say he thinks that's much of a loss.

Anna's gone too, though, and that feels like it may be more of one.

Sam stares out the window at the road ahead of them, then casts a sideways look at Dean, trying to get a feel for how he's doing.

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Sam Winchester
Date: 2011-12-07 21:23
Subject: The waiting game's one of the hardest to play
Security: Public

He hates stitching himself up. He hates it even more when it's after a clusterfuck like this. If they hadn't thrown themselves through the window, the way things were going, that goddamn Alastair would have smashed them like bugs.

And Dean had recognized him.

One thing at a time.

Sam hisses a curse under his breath as he shoves the needle through his flesh, and grimly ties off the next knot.

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Sam Winchester
Date: 2011-11-02 23:01
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
After Uriel vanishes, Sam angrily shoves the rest of his stuff into his duffel bag, trying to ignore the way the angel's vicious words still ring in his ears.

"You so brazenly use the power he gave you."

"You’ve been warned twice now. One word, and I will turn you to dust."

"As for your brother - ask Dean what he remembers from hell."

"Oh, fuck this," Sam mutters, dumps his duffel on the end of the bed, and slams through the bathroom door and into Milliways.

One look at the crowd in the bar is enough to convince him that solitude's the better option. Sam shrugs his jacket closer around him, shoves his hands in his pockets, and heads out the other door in the direction of the lake. There's a path that looks to wind its way into the trees along the shore; he takes that, kicking aimlessly at ground to stir up the fallen leaves in front of him as he walks, brooding over Uriel's words.

"He’s got a point, you know."

Sam's head jerks up at the familiar voice. For a second or two he can't manage a sound; all he can do is stare at Jake Talley, who’s leaning against an oak tree at the edge of the trail ahead of him, idly examining the blade of the knife that he's holding in his hand.

Jake raises his eyebrows. "Cat got your tongue, Winchester?"

Sam's jaw sets, and he meets Jake's eyes with a level stare. "Maybe I just don't have anything to say to you."

"Fair enough, I guess," Jake notes. "After all, I did kill you. 'Course, you turned right around and killed me back, so..."

"You were helping Azazel," Sam snaps at him. "You were gonna shoot Ellen, and oh yeah, you opened the gate, remember?"

Jake sneers at him.

"Look who's talking. How long you been running around with a demon girlfriend, huh? Drinking demon blood? Man, that's just nasty."

"Shut up."

"Why? Can't stand to hear the truth? You been lyin' to yourself, Sam. Guess that's just one more thing we got in common--"

"I said, shut up."

Jake shakes his head, sadly.

"Comes down to it, I think I got the better deal."

Sam's expression tightens further at that.

"Listen. I know how it looks, okay? But I can do this. I've got to do this. I'm making something good out of what that bastard did to us. Someone's got to."

"Whatever, man. You keep telling yourself that." He shoves the knife into the sheath he's got strapped to his thigh and straightens, pushing away from the tree. "Hope it works out for you."

Sam struggles with himself as Jake starts away, walking further down the trail toward the woods. After a short, bitter internal fight, he sighs and calls after him,

"Wait. I don't know how long ago you got here, but there's -- you should probably know that --"

Jake flashes a quick grin over his shoulder at him.

"No problem there, Sam. I was never here in the first place."

"What the--"

Between one step and the next, Jake vanishes. Sam dashes forward, scanning the ground for any sign of his passing; the leaves are undisturbed, without even a single footprint.

There's no trace of Jake Talley.

Or, for that matter, of anyone else at all.
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Sam Winchester
Date: 2011-05-07 14:48
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
The gate's sealed, and there's not a single crossroads demon that'll deal with him. He's tried.

"How long will it take you to realize? You can't save your brother. No matter what."

It looks like the goddamn Trickster was right after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The biggest difference between this time and last time is his lack of hope. Sam goes through the motions, driving from place to place alone the way they'd done together, doing his best to keep on. He owes Dean that much, at least.

The problem is that when it comes to saving people, hunting things-- well, he's already proven to be a failure at the first, and the second was always a family business.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

He's drunk when he stumbles back to the motel room. Like he'd told Andrew once, it doesn't help, but it dulls the pain a little, at least for a while.

He wonders briefly where Andrew is now, if he's okay, if he'd done what Sam had asked him to and told Mac that Sam wasn't coming back. Wonders how she'd taken it; wonders if she's okay.

She will be, though. It's better this way, he tells himself. She's better off without him. Just like Jessica would have been. Anyone would be.

When he finally manages to unlock the door and push his way into the room, he's too slow to react before the two waiting demons grab him. One of them, a woman, takes the knife he's carrying.

"Thanks for keeping this warm for me, Sam."

"... Ruby."

"It's nice to be back," she tells him, as he tries and fails to break free of the man's grip. "Where I was, it was nasty - even for hell. Guess I really pissed Lilith off." She steps closer, turning the knife in her hand so that it catches the light.

"Imagine my relief when she gave me one last chance. And all I had to do... was find you, and kill you."

It's all Sam can do not to laugh. Is he supposed to care? Death would be a goddamn relief.

At least if I end up in hell, I'll see Dean--

"Fine," he taunts her. "Go ahead! Do it."

The knife flashes, and Sam braces himself for the familiar white-hot shock of pain-- and then stares in an entirely different sort of shock as she buries it into the other demon instead.

"Grab your keys," Ruby snaps. "We've got to go. Now!"

Dazed and lost in stunned confusion, he nevertheless does what she says.

The motel door shuts behind them.
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Sam Winchester
Date: 2011-05-06 20:23
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
He wakes up before the alarm clock. It doesn't matter.

It's just another day.

Sam puts one hand behind his head, under the pillow, and lies still, staring at the ceiling.
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Sam Winchester
Date: 2011-04-24 14:54
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
[From here.]

It's still cool this early in the morning, here in Wyoming in late spring. The eastern sky is only beginning to lighten with the brightness of false dawn, but it's enough to see the dark shape of the Impala a few yards away, parked beside the road.
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Sam Winchester
Date: 2010-10-24 20:31
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
[After this.]

Sam doesn't realize everything that happens in the moment when the Trickster's fingers meet. He can't feel it when space and time both stretch like a rubber band between Milliways and the world he knows for one impossible instant, sending odd ripples both forward and backward along his time stream before something snaps and everything falls into place as the seconds begin to tick forward evenly again in both locations.

All he hears is a familiar sound.


"--gotta get back in time--"

His eyes fly open and he sits straight up in bed as Dean looks at him in surprise.

"You gonna sleep all day?"

Sam stares at him for only a second before bolting across the room to envelop his brother in a hug.

Startled, Dean nevertheless hugs him back. "Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?"

Sam swallows.


He doesn't even come close to relaxing until they leave Broward, Florida, and the sign recedes in the mirror behind them.
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Sam Winchester
Date: 2010-10-22 19:08
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
Some people mark the passing of time by the calendar.

Sam keeps track by how long it's been since that fateful Wednesday when Dean died and time kept going.

"This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die every day, forever?"

"You son-of-a-bitch."

"How long will it take you to realize? You can't save your brother. No matter what."

It's been six months since the Trickster taunted him and disappeared, and Sam's still not giving up. Not now; not ever.

He wears Dean's amulet around his neck, drives the Impala from one place to another, and goes on doing the job to the absolute best of his ability. He draws on every bit of experience he's got from how Dean and Dad had raised and taught him, as well as everything he'd ever noticed about how John Winchester had pursued the yellow-eyed demon while still doing a hunter's work from day to day.

It turns out he's better at it than he ever thought he really could be.

"What, you expect me to go on living and just let you die in my place?"

"Yeah, Sam. Because you and I both know you're the one that can."

* * * * * * *

He tries out Sameth's knife on a demon in Death Valley. While it definitely does something, it doesn't seem to work like either Ruby's knife or the Colt had. Maybe it's because Sameth hadn't really known what to do with holy symbols, like he'd said, maybe it's something else -- Sam doesn't care enough to take any chances, but cracks the demon over the head with an iron bar and follows up with salt water and an exorcism just to be sure.

(It's too damn bad they hadn't still had the Colt when they ended up in Broward. It might have worked, even though the stake hadn't; it might still. God help Bela Talbot if he runs across her now.)

* * * * * * *

He discovers that the number Susannah Toren had given him calls 'Dial-A-Prayer.' Pressing the extension gets him a company operator who's never heard of Tet Security, and who asks him if he's speaking in tongues when he tries the password. Sam hangs up the phone, and channels his frustration into burning out the vampire nest that'd brought him down to Austin in the first place.

* * * * * * *

He'd stopped answering Bobby's calls three months ago. He's not interested in the worry he can hear in the older man's voice, and he doesn't have the time or energy to spare reassuring him, especially when they both know it's a lie anyway. Sam lets his voice mail do the talking for him instead: "It's Sam. Leave me a message." Short and to the point, it says everything that needs saying.

In between jobs he spends his days in his own version of a military routine. He eats a lot of grilled chicken sandwiches without the bread, with steamed vegetables on the side, and cleans his guns every night. He does sit-ups, and pull-ups, and more pushups than he can count, and knows he's in the best physical shape of his life. He keeps each motel room neat and his files ruthlessly organized-- especially the file on the Trickster. That one he puts up on the wall first thing, every time he checks into a new motel. He studies it constantly, even while he's doing everything else, endlessly reviewing every old and new detail and looking for patterns and clues. He'll find the right one eventually. He's sure of it.

One other thing he does is a methodical check of each motel room's doors to see if any of them open to Milliways. Not a door in Broward had, and he'd tried every one of them more than once, every single Tuesday. None of them have since, either, but Sam's not inclined to quit trying that or anything else.

When one of them finally does, he already knows exactly what he's going to do next.
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Sam Winchester
Date: 2010-10-22 01:18
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public

"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"

As the clock radio blares in his ear, Sam jerks awake and sits bolt upright. Dean looks over from where he sits on the other bed, tying his shoe.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam transfers his bemused stare from the radio to his brother.

"Dude. Asia?"

Dean just grins and turns up the volume.

"--cause it's the heat of the moment, the HEAT OF THE MOMENT, THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT SHOWED IN YOUR EYES--"

* * * * * * *

It's obviously going to be one of those days, the kind where every little thing gets on his nerves. By the time Sam's dealt with the disgustingly messy toothpaste tube, pointedly ignored Dean's extended gargling session, and waited impatiently at the door of the motel room while Dean searched for his gun, he's about ready to strangle his brother, and they haven't even had breakfast yet.

As they enter the diner, Sam ducks to the side out of the way of the oldster who's meandering toward the door and follows Dean to a booth, trying not to pay attention to the scrawny-looking guy at the counter or the waitress who's telling him he has to order something if he wants to stay. Once they get settled and order breakfast -- the Tuesday special for Dean, pancakes for himself -- Sam pulls out the newspaper clipping about the missing Professor Hasselback and the brochure about the site that the guy'd been investigating when he disappeared.

"The Broward County Mystery Spot," Dean reads. "Where the laws of physics have no meaning." A beat. "You know these places are a joke, right?"

"A lot of them, sure, but you've got to admit the lore's pretty friggin' weird," Sam insists. "The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex -- they say that in some of these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend space and time. And since this Hasselback guy did vanish, maybe there's something to this one."

"Two coffees," the waitress ('Doris,' Sam reads from her nametag) interrupts, leaning over to set the cups down on the table between them, not noticing that her tray's beginning to tilt. "And some hot sauce for the -- "

That's as far as she gets before the bottle overbalances and crashes to the floor, spattering hot sauce all over Sam's shoes.

Yeah. It's one of those days.

* * * * * * *

By the time they actually break in to the Mystery Spot that night after hours, Sam's more than ready to get the hell out of Broward, Florida, case or no case. It doesn't help that the place looks exactly like Dean had said it would -- filled with crappy paint, cheap tricks, and furniture nailed to the ceiling.

The worst part of the whole damn day turns out to be when the owner turns out to live in the upstairs apartment and comes down to investigate.

"Are you robbing me? Hands up!"

It's obvious that the guy doesn't know how to handle the shotgun he's pointing back and forth between them, and sure enough, it goes off. Sam ducks instinctively, then glances over to make sure Dean's okay--

--but Dean's on the floor, and there's blood everywhere.

"Call 911!" Sam yells, and dives to the ground beside his brother, frantically trying to stop the bleeding with his bare hands. "No. No. Dean, no, come on, look at me, you're not gonna die, you can't die, not like this--"


"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"

Sam jerks awake and sits bolt upright. Dean looks over from where he sits on the other bed, tying his shoe.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

"... Dean." Sam stares at him. He can almost still see the blood, can still feel the slack weight of his brother's dead body in his arms.

As nightmares go, that's got to be one of the worst he's ever had, and that's saying something.

* * * * * * *

He's still trying to shake it off when they get to the diner, and the weird surreal feeling of déjà vu isn't helping any. Sam dodges the old guy ('Mr. Pickett,' the cashier calls him) on his way to the door and follows Dean to the booth.

"Hey, Tuesday," Dean observes, reading the specials listed on the wall. "Pig 'n a poke."

"...It's Tuesday?"

* * * * * * *

"-- listen to me! Yesterday was Tuesday, and today's Tuesday too. I don't know what happened! We were at the Mystery Spot, and then... "

"Then what?"

"Then I woke up," Sam evades. "Look, we have to check that place out."

Dean heaves a sigh. "All right, fine. We'll go tonight, after closing, get a long look--"

"No!" Sam interrupts. "No. Not tonight. Let's go now. Right this minute. Business hours, nice and crowded."

"Okay, whatever. We'll go now." Dean rolls his eyes and steps into the crosswalk. He doesn't even see the car coming as Mr. Pickett slams into him.



"--heat of the moment, telling me what my heart meant--"

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam buries his face in his pillow and pulls the covers over his head.

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Sam Winchester
Date: 2010-07-10 21:15
Subject: (no subject)
Security: Public
Not more than half an hour after they'd gotten settled for the evening, Dean snaps off the TV and tosses the remote aside.

Sam looks up from the computer screen. "Dean?"

"I've got some beer, and this motel room sucks even for our motel rooms. I'm going outside," Dean tells him. "You can bring the corn chips."

"Suits me," Sam agrees, and shuts his laptop.
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December 2011