The life of a hunter is never an easy one, and for the Winchesters, who had faced a number of obstacles, including the apocalypse a few years back, this was especially true. Sam had found herself back in the vise-like grips of her addiction thanks solely to her older brother, whose taunts and remarks of how he had made her this way, how his blood was better than anything else she could get her paws on, the best rather, still circulating throughout her compunction ridden cerebrum. That night she went off in search of her singular source of sulfuric crimson power, who had decided to apport himself to 'god' knows where. Her needs were so vehement now, dean's blood unlike anything she had ever experienced before - much more potent, more pleasing to her carnal, sinful taste buds. But all thought of the blood and her brother was halted temporarily when she saw the younger female. A frown accompanies a crease in her brow. What happened to this girl? Was she a hunter, too? Had she been an innocent human attacked by the creatures lurking in the dark? It was difficult; nearly impossible to tell. She only wished it had not been Dean's doing that caused this girl's anguish and suffering. ' hey I'm sam - Sam Winchester. What happened? Who did this to you? ' all the while hands blindly traverse to her old plaid shirt she wore, tearing off a piece. It goes to tending to wounds as best as she can here. The bunker would be a better spot, no doubt. But for all sam knew this woman could be in no condition to walk and the impala was several clicks behind them both, left parked on a dirt road. ' can you walk? Can you tell me what y'r name is? '
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