#BUT i want him to be kinda fucked up and traumatized and shellshocked

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Really cool way I think Paul's whole "can't see but uses his second sight as a literal second sight" thing could be portrayed on film is like. Showing him after being blinded doing things just a little bit off. Reacting before there's a reason to react. Reaching for something that isn't there only for it to be there a few seconds later. Even stuff like, layered audio effects where it's like he's also hearing everything twice.

Especially if they were to do a thing where (unhealthily specific prediction incoming) it isn't actually revealed right away that he can still "see". We just see his eyes get fried and then see him reacting in this odd way for a scene or two, until it's revealed (possibly not until the trial scene, which is unlikely but wouldn't that be sick? to just assume he's totally blind and then have him pull that out of his pocket out of nowhere??)

Because it could be so interesting in a visual cinematic way. I have this (again hyper specific) image in my head of him after the attack, either separated from everyone else or trailing uncharacteristically behind, staggering, completely in shock from what's just happened -- and watching him steadily figuring it out. And it's disorienting and weird at first and he keeps like, stepping to avoid pieces of rubble before he has to, turning a corner before it's there and almost hitting a wall. Like, he's injured and dazed and trying to keep it together and also sort out what the hell is going on with his own body because maybe he didn't know he'd be able to do this and it's sort of awkward and clumsy at first? Picturing that scene where he reunites with Stilgar, reaching up to brush away his tears before they've actually fallen.

@fuckyeahisawthat yeah hi

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Gallows Pole

In the midst of the Lawboy shitposting, a Sam-centric chapter to see what he got up to after Dean went to hell. Special thanks to my bro @friedchickenangelwings for keeping me in check forever and always, I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.

Sam sobs. He can’t help it; he can’t do anything else. His big brother’s body is impaled on the post in front of him, the ground is littered with beheaded bodies, and two little boys are crying outside somewhere in the dark. And he can’t stop crying.

“It’s not okay. It’s not!” 

He tries to take back those words that had made his brother leave, but Dean's chest doesn’t shudder back into life, and it won’t. It hangs there, heavy and lifeless, and it always will. Dean is dead. 

And for what?

When Sam’s head starts to pound from the tears, he finally takes breaths to calm himself. Common sense floods back into his head and overtakes his grief, and he pulls Dean’s body off the stupid rusty nail that killed him. He lowers him to the ground and closes his eyes, because he can’t bear to look at his dead stare any longer. 

He doesn’t want to leave the barn. He knows he has to, but he doesn’t want to leave his brother there all alone. That’s what Dean had always been most afraid of: being alone. He stands frozen to the spot for more minutes than he should, trying to reason with his grief. Finally, finally, he wins, and he turns around to see his breath in the air before him. Sam immediately gasps, another desperate sob coming from nowhere, because the night isn’t cold enough for that.

“Dean?” He screams it. “Dean!” It’s gotta be him, Dean’s a ghost, Dean’s here, Dean’s trying to talk to him. “Dean!” 

“No, I’m sorry, Sam.” Kevin Tran flickers to form in front of him, pity and sadness in his eyes. “But Dean’s okay.” 

Sam rubs his eyes. He thinks for a second he’s hallucinating again, that losing Dean for real broke down all the sanity he’d built over the years. “K-Kevin?” Though he didn’t know it was possible, his stomach takes yet another plunge, like a boulder has just been dropped on him. Kevin’s incorporeal form shakes into being the thought once more that he did that, his hands killed Kevin, he’s the reason Kevin is a ghost. He’s in a room with the corpse and untethered soul of two people he loves and two people he watched die.

As if sensing all the ways Sam is shaking apart, Kevin nods and starts to reach out before realizing it would be no use. “Yeah, Sam, it’s me.” 

“But- w-w why?” Sam curses his voice for failing him, curses the shaking that sobbing left him with, curses it because he needs to be strong now. For Dean. “Why didn’t you help us?” A ghost would’ve been a great thing to have in a fight! A ghost could probably, I don’t know, push Dean away from a deadly-sharp hook on the wall? If Kevin has been here, why- “Is Dean in the veil? Can he hear me? Dean!” 

Kevin throws a gust of air in his face to get his attention, and it hits Sam like a slap. He looks back at the ghost, wideyed. Kevin looks apologetic. “I don’t have a lot of time, but you need to calm down. Seriously.”

“I can’t calm down-”

“No, Sam, you need to calm down.” Kevin looks upward nervously, as if he’s expecting to see some big figure raise the roof of the barnhouse up and peek down at them. “I’ll explain, but first thing you need to know is: Dean’s dead. He’s in heaven, and he’s in trouble.” 

---------------------------

Sam drives the Impala at exactly the speed limit, eyes dried to the point of aching. Dean’s wrapped body is sprawled out in the back seat, and if Sam just glances in the rearview mirror he can almost pretend he’s just passed out. Just had one too many shots of Cuervo and conked out so his little brother can drive. Sure. Whatever gets you through the night. 

Dropping off the kids was easy. Traumatized kids don’t say much, don’t ask too many questions, and they’ll forget the shellshocked stranger that saved them soon enough. Either that or he will haunt their nightmares, but Sam can’t help that. He can’t help anyone at this point, covered in dirt and blood and exhausted. He drives out to the middle of the forest anyway, Kevin’s words on a loop in his head. 

“You have to be normal. Chuck can’t want to watch you at all. So just play into his game. Pretend to only care about Dean, get out of the life, settle down.”

Sam had frowned, Eileen instantly springing to his mind. Surely he can care about her, right? “But-” 

“No, Sam, I’m sorry. Dean told me to tell you that Eileen… it’s just too dangerous. He likes you two. He’s gotta hate your life so much he doesn’t want to see it. It’s gotta bore him.” 

So Sam burns his brother's body in a forest alone, with only Miracle for company. There’s a dagger in his chest that tells him he’s betraying everyone he cares about, including Dean. Dean wanted a big funeral. He wanted his whole family there, not just his brother and a dog. And Eileen. There are three unread texts and a missed video call from Eileen already. Apparently Kevin hadn’t visited her yet. To let her know. 

It doesn’t take Sam long to leave the bunker. It just feels like a punch to the gut at this point. That table over there, carved with their family’s names, that’s where he and Dean swore they’d be free. They swore they’d get everything they wanted and everything they deserved. And now Sam has one pillow on his bed and an empty bunker full of the possessions of dead people. 

He knows there is a plan. He knows that. And it should comfort him, but it doesn’t, because he still has to live his long, boring, lonely life without the woman he loves or the family he misses or the brother he mourns. Time on Earth is torturously slow. 

The small things make the ache in his heart just a little lighter. He finds a job he likes, teaching history and the classics to teenagers. He remembers his old English teacher, and he tries to be that to kids that need it, kids that remind him of Claire or Jack. He gets to see Jody and the girls once every few years, a risk that he knows is worth it because it keeps him going. He can’t see Eileen. It would hurt too much. They both agreed the one time they called. He keeps learning ASL anyway, and he tells the story of him and Eileen meeting (slightly modified) to the kids in his class. 

He finds a wife. It was one of the things he put off, but after three years he knows he has to get on with it or he’ll get depressed. He needs someone, even if she is boring and too-nice and entirely too gullible. She’s nice and he’s good to her, but he can’t love her because she’s not real. Not in the way that Eileen is. She might as well be a blurred out mother figure action doll, for all she knows. And he hates himself for marrying her, when she deserves someone who finds her boringness interesting, but he knows this is what Chuck expects. He expects Sam to marry a nice woman and have a kid named Dean and grow old always hurting for the old times. Oh, and Sam does. 

He’d rather be back in the pit with Lucifer than this domestic djinn dream, but he reminds himself every day that someday they’re going to get rid of Chuck and then he’ll be able to live. Dean too. Cas too. And Jack. Sam’s going to kill that son of a bitch if it’s the last thing he does, living or dead. And it looks like it’ll be dead.

His fiftieth birthday has come and gone when Kevin finally comes back. The lights in Sam’s classroom flicker and go out, and then Kevin is there, chest heaving. He runs to the chalkboard and picks up a piece of chalk, and Sam’s talking as he writes. 

“Kevin, how’s Dean? Any updates on what’s happening in heaven? Is Chu-Jack okay?”

Kevin turns around, irritated, until he sees the look on Sam’s face. “Yeah, listen, everything is… fine. We’re working on it. Look, the important thing is that you get these ingredients-” he points to the chalkboard, “and perform the spell. But listen, it’s gotta be next week. Friday. There’s a full moon, it’s… you gotta make it happen.” 

Sam’s eyes bulge. “Friday? Kevin, what the hell, a little notice would be nice! How am I supposed to get-” he looks past him to the hastily written ingredients. “These ingredients are insane! It’lll take me weeks just to fly around the fucking world to grab them!” 

Kevin throws his hands up, looking almost as stressed as Sam. “Listen, man, we’re doing our best up there! Time is fucked up and we’re trying to be sneaky and it is a lot of pressure!” he finally takes a deep breath, which seems to help. “I’m sorry, I know it’s too much to ask, but we have no choice. Call a witch friend for the ingredients, summon Rowena and let her in on the plan. It’s Friday or never.” 

He flickers out before Sam can even reply. Apparently the stress and talking like that took too much out of him. Sam’s left alone to say “Sorry,” to an empty classroom. He sits down heavily at his desk and runs a hand through his graying hair. 

He copies down the ingredients and the spell and it’s then that he knows he definitely needs help. Luckily, he knows who to call. 

The phone rings so long Sam thinks about hanging up, but he picks up just before he can. “Sam!” Max sounds winded, and the first thought that enters Sam’s head is not appropriate for the occasion. 

“Hey Max, you got a second? You’re not…” busy? Jesus, Sam is blushing.

Max laughs. “Nah, you’re good, man. What’s up?” 

God, to speak to someone who understands his life again. To really get to talk to them. “Uh, it’s kinda not the kind of thing to talk about over the phone. Can I drive to you?” 

---------------------------------------

“Hey, Rowena,” 

Sam’s natural state is apparently social awkwardness now. Dean would say that had always been true… No, not the time to get sidetracked with that sad shit. He shuffles his feet again and adjusts a candle, waiting for Rowena to appear. He’s fifty fucking years old. He’s fine.

“Hello, dearie.” 

Sam grins at her, but is once again met with the sad eyes Kevin always gives him. “Fuck, can everybody stop with the dead brother horrible life shit?” She doesn’t look taken aback, no that’s not Rowena. She looks more like a school principal that just got told off by an 8th grader, surprised and a little offended. Sam softens a little bit. “Sorry, I just- listen, I get it, okay? My life is fucked up and it’s all a lie to beat God, I know. Can we move past that and get back to the saving the world stuff?” 

A slow smile spreads across Rowena’s face, and she pats him on the cheek. “There she is. Hello, Samuel.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hi Rowena, how are you?” 

“Oh, just dandy. Tamped down a few ne’er-do-wells, not a problem. Being worshipped every day is hard work, but I manage, somehow.” 

“I’m sure. ‘Jack’ giving you any trouble?” 

She waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve barely seen the boy since he took over. Apparently he’s much more interested in watching his little short films in heaven than anything down below…” Sam’s got a question on his lips but she waves that away too. Too little time to explain the intricacies of eternal family drama that heaven is currently. “It doesn’t matter. I have free reign, which means I can pop in for our little soirees.” 

Sam nods, grateful that that’s true at least. He hands her the list of ingredients and the spell and watches as she studies it. “Problem?” 

“Hm. No, I can do that.” She looks up brightly at him. “I’m the greatest witch of all time, Samuel. I’m more worried about how you will accomplish it.” She looks down at his summoning ritual and bends down to correct a chalk mark with her finger. “You’re a wee bit rusty.” 

Sam scoffs. He’s missed this. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I called up my friend Max, Max Banes. He’s going to help me out.” 

“Max Banes? Hm.” For a second, Sam thought he saw something flash across Rowena’s face.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” She shrugs it off. “I’ve heard of the witch, that’s all. He’ll be good help for you, I’m sure. Now, Samuel, if you’ll excuse me… Underworlds to run and all that.” She steps away, but Sam stops her before she can disappear again.

“Wait!” He hugs her tightly. She only resists for a moment before she returns the hug, a light tap on his shoulder. “Thank you, Rowena.” 

“Of course, Samuel. Until next time.” 

She’s gone with a puff of smoke and Sam is left hugging air.

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