Morning. Early. It was quieter in the mornings. Sleep, people slept and they dreamed and they weren't so incredibly loud. They weren't pacing in worry, hurt, fear. They relaxed and dreamed and loved. Anything was possible in sleep. But River didn't sleep. She didn't like sleeping. The memories in her head were not her own and they made no sense. Or they made too much sense. River didn't know. They were all streamed together, flashing and dragging her down. People died when they stopped. When they just laid down and never got up. They never woke up and they wasted away and stopped caring and their souls vanished.
They meddled.
Simon was asleep. It was hard to do much with her ever present brother watching her, making sure she didn't do something to get herself or others killed. No more talking to Lucifer. No commenting to the psychotic Irishman, though in her defense she really had only been calling Sam out and had forgotten to filter. She needed to learn to remember that. To think about it and not just respond to things. Though it had been a few weeks since that, and beyond the animal thing when she'd hidden in the library, things were quiet. There were things bristling. Waiting. But quiet.
And then the game of sins. The clues. The pain. The fear and panic and worry. The anger. Everyone was wanting him gone but didn't know how to get rid of him, they couldn't find him. Simon wouldn't let her help. He didn't want her in the front lines, he wanted to protect her. She didn't have to say she could help. He would say no. She could go against him but she didn't want to deal with the faces he would make.
Silently slipping into the kitchen of the complex, River remained in the shadows, watching John. He was hurting and remembering. Not sleeping and drowning in alcohol.
"You think you injured yourself and limp. It hides the mental pain and injury behind a physical one. You're worried."