@inpavidvs
“I think I have a problem.” It was the very first thing past his lips upon seeing her, hands twisting together as his thumb pressed firmly into the center of his palm, a habit from which he was still recovering. “And I haven’t told Dean . . . so I hate to bring you into this, but I think I have to . . . to, you know, just in case? No, alright, hear me out.” Before Lana even had the opportunity to respond. he thrust an open notebook between them, its pages open to show a mess of scribbles and crudely drawn scenery. Neither sides were particularly detailed nor remarkable; just a farm house on one page, a for-sale sign resting in front of it, and on the other, an open field circled by pine trees, flanked on either side by a pair of street lamps, and in the center, something tall and humanoid he’d drawn with wide saucers for eyes, looking straight ahead at the reader. He was almost tempted to wait for a response again, but the buzzing in his veins wasn’t letting him slow—he’d been having nightmares for the better part of a month now—and the lack of sleep had finally pushed him toward his breaking point. He knew it was either tell Lana now or let her and Dean draw their own conclusions on their own, the latter of which he had feared too much to let happen. And given Dean’s reaction to the very first time his visions manifested, Sam wasn’t about to take any more chances. Lana, though, was a far different story; she had always had faith in him, even when she shouldn’t have. It was something he would have felt guilty for if he wasn’t so selfishly relieved by it.
“I think I’m . . . I’m having visions again. Of people dying.”
