On the sixty-third Tuesday, Sam goes for a walk. He knows he has a finite amount of time, a limited number of steps on hot concrete; Dean is a ways behind him, chatting with someone he thinks may be connected to their victim's disappearance.
It's only a matter of time before he dies again, sideswiped by a car or gutted by a passing stranger for no reason other than fate's cruel games and mindlessly set direction.
He walks a little further, past the town's small church and the little playground behind it. The playground is always empty, rusted swings vacant and playset abandoned, uncared for. Weeds grow within the rotting wood barrier, up through the shredded tires meant to cushion falls and cradle skinned knees.
Today, there is someone.
Sam's steps slow as he glances over, watches. It's a kid, maybe ten, eleven, cradled in one of the swings, his hand wrapped around the rusty chain and his feet dragging the ground. Sam glances back at Dean and waves, indicating his direction before slipping into the playground. He pads through the grass and cracked concrete to the swingset. The kid doesn't look up.
"Hey," Sam says softly. Nothing ever changes – but Sam isn't alone here, not anymore. Seeing something else change is… refreshing.
The kid kicks his feet a little, swings back. "Hey."
Sam drops down to sit, hands buried in warm rubber. "What're you doing here?"
"Didn't feel like being home."
"Why not?"
Bright tawny eyes lock on Sam's. "Why're you so nosy?"
Sam quirks a small smile. "Just curious. What's your name?"
Lips pursing in a suspicious glare, Sam's new "friend" swings back and forth, rocking with the breeze. "… Gabriel," he says at length.
"Gabriel." Sam's smile widens. "Like the angel."
"Yeah." Dryly. "Like the angel."
"I'm Sam."
Gabriel nods and drops his eyes to Sam's knees, feet kicking again, ever-restless. "You should go."
Sam slides his gaze over to the sidewalk. He can see Dean approaching. "Yeah. I probably should." He stands, dusts his jeans off, and turns. A small hand grabs his wrist, fisting in his jacket.
"Sam."
"Yeah?" Sam turns, glancing over his shoulder. Gabriel's eyes are trained on him, intent and bright.
"You're not my friend."
Dean screams.
Sam whirls, staring as a semi – all sixteen wheels of it – slams into Dean and rolls over him, his body tripping and sliding under the wheels, crushed in a hundred different ways. Sam's breath hammers out of him, staccato.
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timeasmymeasure
SPN | Gabriel/Sam | I don't want to be your friend
Date: 2010-06-13 08:21 pm (UTC)It's only a matter of time before he dies again, sideswiped by a car or gutted by a passing stranger for no reason other than fate's cruel games and mindlessly set direction.
He walks a little further, past the town's small church and the little playground behind it. The playground is always empty, rusted swings vacant and playset abandoned, uncared for. Weeds grow within the rotting wood barrier, up through the shredded tires meant to cushion falls and cradle skinned knees.
Today, there is someone.
Sam's steps slow as he glances over, watches. It's a kid, maybe ten, eleven, cradled in one of the swings, his hand wrapped around the rusty chain and his feet dragging the ground. Sam glances back at Dean and waves, indicating his direction before slipping into the playground. He pads through the grass and cracked concrete to the swingset. The kid doesn't look up.
"Hey," Sam says softly. Nothing ever changes – but Sam isn't alone here, not anymore. Seeing something else change is… refreshing.
The kid kicks his feet a little, swings back. "Hey."
Sam drops down to sit, hands buried in warm rubber. "What're you doing here?"
"Didn't feel like being home."
"Why not?"
Bright tawny eyes lock on Sam's. "Why're you so nosy?"
Sam quirks a small smile. "Just curious. What's your name?"
Lips pursing in a suspicious glare, Sam's new "friend" swings back and forth, rocking with the breeze. "… Gabriel," he says at length.
"Gabriel." Sam's smile widens. "Like the angel."
"Yeah." Dryly. "Like the angel."
"I'm Sam."
Gabriel nods and drops his eyes to Sam's knees, feet kicking again, ever-restless. "You should go."
Sam slides his gaze over to the sidewalk. He can see Dean approaching. "Yeah. I probably should." He stands, dusts his jeans off, and turns. A small hand grabs his wrist, fisting in his jacket.
"Sam."
"Yeah?" Sam turns, glancing over his shoulder. Gabriel's eyes are trained on him, intent and bright.
"You're not my friend."
Dean screams.
Sam whirls, staring as a semi – all sixteen wheels of it – slams into Dean and rolls over him, his body tripping and sliding under the wheels, crushed in a hundred different ways. Sam's breath hammers out of him, staccato.
He looks back and Gabriel is gone.
And then it's Tuesday again.