ellectrical | (no subject)

(no subject)

There's been a lull just long enough for Elle to grow restless. If anything good came out of being so exhausted so much of the time, it was that it had kept her occupied.

So to cure this newfound energy, she's turned to practicing. She's had plenty of opportunity to train with her abilities, however – the one thing she doesn't have to do anymore is run away. And as she'd been reminded, she could stand to be faster.

Jogging, it turns out, works to make her physically exhausted. But when collapses, still panting, close to the shoreline of the lake, her mind is still as loud as it was before.

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This actually gets a smile, though it's utterly mirthless.

"I said she's like us. And sometimes we care about people even if - we know - "

Her expression slips, and Elle shakes her head again.

"And I think I - have to help her."

It stops him, because she's right. Absolutely right.

Sam smiles, a little.

"You're a good friend, Elle."

Elle doesn't look comforted at this.

Instead, she looks away, and answers quietly, "It's what she needs me for.

"She has - other people. For normal things."

(This may be one of Elle's more self-centered concerns.)

Edited 2013-08-10 05:11 (UTC)

"Normal things," he repeats, and shakes his head.

"I guess you've got that right. Sometimes it's the abnormal that's harder, though."

"Yeah. I'm good for it."

It's not like she doubts that.

"But it -"

She folds her arms again, though this time with her hands on her shoulders, like an embrace.

" - I try to fix what's wrong because of - what we are. And then she can do - normal things with the others. But I'm done."

After a beat, Elle blinks up to him. Slowly, "You're not the same as me. But you said you were different too. So you - feel different?"

Sam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first.

"Um."

He shifts his weight.

"You mean - do I feel different from other people? With normal lives?"

She nods, her movements just a little shaky.

Quiet, "Sometimes - I see them. I can see them. But it's like I'm - looking through a window. Even if I can see them, I feel like there's this glass and I can't -"

Her eyes fall. "I know I won't be like them. Not really."

He slows his steps further, walking beside her in silence for a few moments.

"Did I ever tell you that I went to Stanford? Or, well, tried to go to Stanford?"

Her steps fall in line with his.

"That's a school..."

She's reasonably certain, anyway.

"Yeah. It's a university, in California." A flicker of a smile appears and is gone in almost the same moment. "I had a scholarship."

"See, the thing is... I didn't want to be a hunter. I was gonna leave it all behind, be a lawyer, live a normal life."

"You could be normal," she answers, though her voice is uncertain, like she's guessing it's what he means to say.

"That was the plan." Sam glances sideways at her. "Except it turned out I couldn't."

"Why not?"

It's apprehensive, as though she were asking for the next part of a ghost story.

"A few reasons."

"For one - what you said before, about it being like looking through a window? That was part of it."

He scuffs up a small rock with his shoe and kicks it ahead of them.

"Some of that was just the thing where the ones who could afford it looked down on the scholarship kids, but that wasn't so bad. When we were growing up, we changed schools a lot, you know? So I got used to getting to know new people, making friends, that kind of thing."

"But it was always like... well, acting, I guess. Playing a part. Making up my history, trying to fit in."

"You're not -"

She's not sure she entirely followed what he said, but it's the question that comes to her mind.

"- you're not trying that, anyway? You're not trying to do it now?"

"... not the way I was then," he says, after an awkward silence.

"I know I can't any more. Not really."

"I don't understand."

She doesn't sound annoyed about it, at least. But -

"Why aren't you - what you are. Right now."

He has to think about that for a few seconds, trying to be sure he understands what she's asking.

"See, the way Dean and I live now -- sure, there are people who know who we are and what we do, but not many, and outside of here, they're pretty much all hunters themselves."

Well, most of them, anyway.

"We go from place to place, doing the job. Usually it's just the two of us. When we get into a town, flash a fake ID, make up a reason for being there in the first place - it doesn't last. We leave it behind as easy as we leave town for the next job. When I was at school, it was different. I couldn't just walk away, and all the pieces of my background had to fit."

Elle has to pointedly try to remember that this is not a totally normal way to live.

Uncertain, "But - now you have a choice. Could you -"

She deliberates on the word. "- change, if you wanted to?"

Sam shakes his head.

"That's the thing. I tried, and it didn't work. I ignored who - what - I am, and people died. I'm not a normal guy; I can't have a normal life."

No matter how much he might have wanted to.

"So yeah, to answer your question - I do feel different. And I get what it's like to be on the outside looking in."

Her arms unfold, shoulders slipping, as though every word were weighing her down, or just making her tired.

But once he's done, Elle raises her hand again, and reaches out to touch his shoulder.

It's probably meant to be something like reassuring, anyway.

Probably. He chooses to take it as such, anyway.

Sam's smile is warm, and he stops walking, turning to face her.

"So. What about you?"

Idly, he reaches out to tuck a lock of blond hair behind her ear.

"Do you want to be like them?"

"I -"

Elle doesn't look over, and her expression doesn't change. But her answer cuts off when he touches her, and for a moment, she can't seem to think long enough to remember what she'd meant to say.

Eventually, she stammers out, " - I don't think I - want to be like them - exactly."

"Okay," he agrees.

"Then what?"

Elle turns, shaking her head a little like she's trying to clear her thoughts.

"I - don't like feeling like I'm - outside. Like I'm just watching them. I always - know what I am, and they always know, unless I'm - pretending to be someone else. It's - not just that I don't want to be like them -"

Elle cuts off just long enough to breathe before she finishes, "- it's that I can't."