party's over xx mental breakdown / history reveal

[deimos]

// starts off in another lifetime for sam!!

It was starting to drizzle outside when Sam finally managed to exit the clinic. She was leaning against Tyler, her brother giving her something to limp against. He was concerned, but the only thing that Sam could focus on was making it to the van. That stupid, ugly van. They couldn't find Dean's Harley in the end. The drug van was the only thing they could make their escape in from the battle. Sam's eyes twitched as she made it to the van, limping towards the back. The bag slung across her body held her last packet of cigarettes she had packed from Cali.

She pulled the door open. Those two stupid fuckheads lay there, half asleep. Dean was the only one away. Dressed in leather- black leather from head to toe, his sunglasses still plastered to his face, his hair swept back with that stupid fucking gel. He looked up at Sam, offering a grimace, mixed with that stupid shit eating grin. "Oh, hey, Smokey. How you feelin'?" She offered no response for a moment. Her hand fell away from the door, and her green eyes focused on him, eyes narrowed.

"That's all you have to say, you asshole? Tyler and I risked our lives to find your bike- your fucking bike and you're off getting your ass high, with Miles no less-" As soon as she opened her mouth, she knew she shouldn't have. Dean stood up, making Sam stagger back. Tyler didn't intervene, like he normally did with their arguments. His mouth finally turned from that shit eating grin to a straight grimace- a look of anger overtaking his mouth. She still couldn't see his eyes.

"Look, sweetheart, I don't know anythin' about that. But you don't have any backbone enough to keep yelling at me." She flinched as he said that, holding her arm. "I showed concern for your life, just this once, and all I get is some yelling, not a 'oh I'm okay Dean, thanks for worrying'- Nope, just some smartass response from Smokey." He was pissed. Sam wasn't pissed anymore. Her stomach and chest were twisting.

"You can sit back here with light weight. I'm gonna drive so Tyler can rest. Did you even say thanks to him?" Dean walked away at that point, angrily heading for the front seat. Sam was still looking down as he walked away, their shoulders brushing as he did. She bit her cheek deeply, before digging into her bag and pulling out her last pack. She threw it into the ditch on the other side of the cracked, broken road.

That was the last time Sam had willingly thrown out her pack of cigarettes. The doecat labored, in silence, settled inside of her home. She hadn't been out in a while, and it was impressive that she had learned to keep her mouth tied up since them. Her left leg ached, right where the gunshot scar was. She ignored it. The only way the doecat had learned to mute that pain was cigarettes, and she didn't know anymore. 

She was tired. Sam just wanted to sleep, and she couldn't even do that right now. Her chest was causing her to wheeze, the anxiety building up the asthma she had barely fought off before.

She needed him.

He was always too late.

"SPEECH"

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