John Winchester (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} spendsitonammo) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming,@ 2010-09-28 15:57:00 |
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Who: Mary and John
What: John broke their computer. =|
When: Just after his and Sam's conversation
Where:Mary's apartment
Warnings: TBA!
Sam started the apocalypse, Jo hated him, Dean was upset and rightfully so. Things were a mess. When he saw that reply from Sam he lost his cool. Sam was responsible. If he'd only raised them like normal kids they wouldn't be in this mess. As far as he saw it everything was his fault, Ontop of it all he had a broken hand. Or at least it felt broken. He wasn't sure where Mary was, but he was too focused on the shattered screen infront of him. Smoke rose from it. Blood trickled between his fingers. He had a piece of glass stuck between them in the flesh, and he didn't even notice until he tried to straighten out his hand. He couldn't without a stabbing pain. His son had started the apocalypse. John couldn't find words to match what he felt at the moment. He was sad and overwhelmed, but that was only the beginning. Pulling out the piece of glass he cringed. His family felt like it was falling apart more then usual. He had his wife back, it wasn't supposed to go that way.
Sam was a demon blood addict. Recovering or not, it broke something deep inside him. John didn't even bother to clean up the mess. He put his face in his hands and closed his eyes. Why was he brought back? What was the point? Was it to watch his family crumble around him? He pushed himself a little ways away from the demolished computer and lowered his hands, resting them on his thighs. His hand was bloodied and stung, but really that wasn't the part that even hurt the most. The part that hurt was the failure he felt. The total flooding failure.
Part of him missed being dead. At least there it was peaceful. He had moved on finally. He didn't know how to cope with everything Sam had told him, or with Adam being alive. Any of it. The dark room he sat in helped the dull throb of pressure he felt creeping up in his temples. He hadn't had hardly a single moment to stop and adjust to being alive, everything came at him like a wave.
What: John broke their computer. =|
When: Just after his and Sam's conversation
Where:Mary's apartment
Warnings: TBA!
Sam started the apocalypse, Jo hated him, Dean was upset and rightfully so. Things were a mess. When he saw that reply from Sam he lost his cool. Sam was responsible. If he'd only raised them like normal kids they wouldn't be in this mess. As far as he saw it everything was his fault, Ontop of it all he had a broken hand. Or at least it felt broken. He wasn't sure where Mary was, but he was too focused on the shattered screen infront of him. Smoke rose from it. Blood trickled between his fingers. He had a piece of glass stuck between them in the flesh, and he didn't even notice until he tried to straighten out his hand. He couldn't without a stabbing pain. His son had started the apocalypse. John couldn't find words to match what he felt at the moment. He was sad and overwhelmed, but that was only the beginning. Pulling out the piece of glass he cringed. His family felt like it was falling apart more then usual. He had his wife back, it wasn't supposed to go that way.
Sam was a demon blood addict. Recovering or not, it broke something deep inside him. John didn't even bother to clean up the mess. He put his face in his hands and closed his eyes. Why was he brought back? What was the point? Was it to watch his family crumble around him? He pushed himself a little ways away from the demolished computer and lowered his hands, resting them on his thighs. His hand was bloodied and stung, but really that wasn't the part that even hurt the most. The part that hurt was the failure he felt. The total flooding failure.
Part of him missed being dead. At least there it was peaceful. He had moved on finally. He didn't know how to cope with everything Sam had told him, or with Adam being alive. Any of it. The dark room he sat in helped the dull throb of pressure he felt creeping up in his temples. He hadn't had hardly a single moment to stop and adjust to being alive, everything came at him like a wave.