(no subject)

Sam Winchester fell asleep at the end of the world, and woke up in the light of a new day. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten out, or why he remembers a burst of light teeming with angry curses, but he's alone, swimming in a white suit and wondering why the world smelled like rotting flesh and dirt and tinny metal. He wanders a little, the silence palpable, and finds slightly dirtied clothing made for boys his age, though he's sort of swimming in that, too, because he's not very big for an eight year old - all stringy and thin and short.

There are people around later. They're terrifying. He tries to talk to a smaller girl and she bites him hard on the arm, tries to wrestle him to the ground and smash his head with a rock; it's only lucky that he's faster to make up for his strength. He runs for a long, long, time, until he's too tired and too hungry and too scared to go any further. It's only by chance and luck does he find the camp, scales it's fences, and sneaks through the area. The forest is thick, and when he sees shadows, he's quick to crawl into a rotted out log and wait out the danger.

Eventually, though, he falls prey to exhaustion right where he lies, arm tucked under his dirt and grime-matted head, and sleeps.

He dreams about carving initials into cars, about playing with airplanes and laughing and eating chips on old, shitty motel furniture, and he dreams of crying himself to sleep sometimes because Dad's not there and the shadows feel so alive. Or that he cries for a mother he doesn't have. Or for a life with friends and a home that he's never even really known but wants more than anything.

He wants Dad.

And Dean.

This is all a nightmare, isn't it? He'll wake up eventually.