sirenspull_logs | i only want to say: if there is a way,

Who: Chuck Shurley, Sam Winchester
When: 2:30 Thursday morning
Where: the HoA Danger Room
Summary: Sam went dark side and got himself locked up. Now Chuck's going to see just how far gone he is.
Warnings: unpleasant subject matter, talk of blood, language, Winchesters.

After the horrible fiasco earlier, all Chuck wanted to do was crawl into a hole and drink until his liver fell out. But no matter how much he tried He couldn't escape the anger burning an acid hole in his stomach, urging him to act, tingling His fingers with the desire to crush Sam's head like a grape for having the gall to hurt one of His angels.

Still, Chuck's a prophet first, He has to remember that. A prophet of the Winchesters, and he has a responsibility. So when Chuck finds himself wandering sleeplessly to the basement somewhere past two in the morning, haunting the House in the wee Siren hours, it's not out of malice. It's anger, sure, it's restlessness and that horrible helplessness that comes from watching a loved one get hurt when you know you should've been able to protect them (His child, His baby-), but it's also curiosity. A sense of obligation to try to save Sam Winchester. It's everything and maybe it's stress, too.

He stumbles out of the elevator looking like the picture of that same stress, in the same bathrobe-wife beater-boxers ensemble Sam met him in. Chuck gazes across the massive room at Sam and wipes his mouth with the hand holding a half-empty wine bottle, and says nothing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sam is awake, of course. But he's bored. There's nothing to do in the Danger Room and beating against the walls got old pretty fast. It was disappointing to have ended up like this. A prisoner. Caged and furious and unable to finish the job he came here to do.

He didn't see why Castiel was fighting him on this. He had to fight Lucifer and the only way to become strong enough to do that was to consume the angel's life. Grace. Close enough.

But with too much energy and a terribly lack of stimulus, Sam has taken to pacing the room, counting each step and doubling back on himself half way through. That is until he hears the elevator. That's then he freezes in place. And watches. And waits. But it's only Chuck. And judging from the bottle in his hand, the stench of booze, and the lack of pants he isn't going to be particularly helpful, either.

It's that first look that changes everything. Chuck comes in here with the intent to see how Sam is, to see the humanity in him and find it in His heart to be kind. What he expected to find was Sam pacing the room, eyes frantically tracking along the walls, the floor, the ceiling. He expects to be greeted with those hallmark dewy eyes of all-consuming guilt and sorrow when Sam look at him mournfully with the full knowledge of what he's done.

But that's not what he gets. The thing looking at him carefully has nothing in its eyes. Nothing at all. Nothing, just like hours ago when he attacked Cas like a wild animal and tried to kill him brutally. Chuck feels a chill that quickly heats into anger so swift and powerful that all of a sudden he half-snarls and smashes the wine bottle against the wall as hard as he can.

"You son of a bitch."

Well. Chuck just may be entertaining after all.

Sam stays where he is, the tiniest smile twisting at the corner of his lips. He looks from Chuck to the broken bottle and back again before slowly beginning to move from his spot towards his visitor - stalking him with a fluid gate.

"You know, people keep saying that? But It's just not true." There's something sinister in his voice. Playful, but ultimately hollow. "Mary's a sweetheart. It's more like," He thinks, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Son of an asshole."

Oh good, that's not disturbing at all.

It's also offensive for so many reasons that he just grits his teeth, irritated beyond belief by Sam's voice alone. "What happened to wanting to tell him that you understand? Or forgiving him for everything and thinking he did his best?"

Where's that Sam? There's an edge of something genuine and pleading in Chuck's voice, asking what happened to the man he wrote about and followed and rooted for.

Sam shrugged lightly.

"I guess I stopped caring."

He waits for a moment to judge Chuck's reaction before continuing. He knew Chuck wasn't going to let him out of the holodeck so he might as well have a little fun.

"Don't look so surprised, Chuck. You should have known it would end like this."

"No," it bursts out of him before he can stop it. "This isn't supposed to be your story! It never was!" Chuck seethes with a pointed frustration that this, human will and stubbornness, is the one thing He can't do anything about with someone like this. And now it's too late, when Sam needs it the most. Too late and someone could have stopped this. Fuck. "Don't you see? You were always strong enough to rise above it."

"Yeah, at home maybe. Where my story was over. But tell me this. What do you do when you're ready to die and then poof. Find yourself stuck in a city with the very thing you were trying to kill. You don't just rise above, you wait. And plan. And when the time is right, you kill the son of a bitch like you were supposed to."

Sam laughed and stopped where he was about ten feet away. Chuck was just. So. Mad. A shadow crossed his face, but not by any external source, the darkness settling just on the surface of his eyes.

"Think of this as an extended ending. The Director's Cut.."

"Oh fuck you," Chuck snarls, abruptly pushed past his limit both by raw anger at Cas, anger on Lucifer's behalf and panic at seeing his eyes go black. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Do you even hear the raw horse shit coming out of your mouth right now?"

Sam has no right to talk like that. Not anymore. "I thought you were saying fuck destiny, what happened to that? Choosing family and freedom over destiny was the whole goddamn POINT. And by the way, you have no right to talk like that anymore. Try taking a look around some time- Lucifer's putting a hell of a lot more effort into changing himself than you are. You're officially less mature than the emotionally stunted Devil, Sam. I hope that feels good."

i only want to say: if there is a way,

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject