Sam's reality. A truckstop motel somewhere near Cape Canaveral, Florida. Trying to heal.

[i_salted_dean]

Sam woke to the sound of Petra's 'This Means War' from Rob's room and stared blankly at Leeroy for a few moments before rolling away from him and grabbing her crutches to make her way into the bathroom so that she could run some cold water and rub it on her face. The dreams had filled her sleep again, but she was still too numb to really care.

The days since Mathias' funeral all seemed to blur together; all she really remembered of them was staying close to Leeroy and trying to be supportive at the same time as she sought comfort herself. Her world had become a dark dream, and right now she couldn't see her way out of it.

She frowned at herself in the mirror, then touched the tub and found it cool. Setting aside her crutches, she got into it and settled down to stare at the ceiling, tuning out the old rock song and everything else but Leeroy's sleeping thoughts.

Comments

[i_salted_dean]

"I couldn't... I tried." She shook harder, thoroughly unnerved, then showed him the images that she could remember.

[teh-rest.livejournal.com]

He leaned back and scratched his nose.

"I have no idea what t' tell ye, apart from 'try harder'."

[i_salted_dean]

She curled in a ball and hugged herself.

[teh-rest.livejournal.com]

He found himself unable to handle what was happening, and so left the bathroom and climbed back into bed.

Leeroy knew he should have been comforting Sam, but lately that had no effect. So he figured it was useless to try.

[random_xtras]

"Grandpa?" Rob opened the door and stumbled inside, his shotgun held low against his leg. "Was that Grandma?"

[teh-rest.livejournal.com]

Leeroy looked at Rob, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Yes."

And then he turned away.