ellectrical | (no subject)

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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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"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."

Sam's quiet for a second, thinking that over.

"So it's more like... it's not wanting to be like them, but it's more wanting to be comfortable with who you are. Is that it?"

"Who I am kind of sucks, Sam."

She doesn't sound angry or upset at this. Elle says the words with a kind of wonder, like a switch has flipped in her mind.

"It's not my life, it's me."

He starts to speak, then stops without saying anything, studying her expression.

"Are you saying you want to be someone else? I mean, to be you, but change somehow?"

"I always wanted to be someone else," she answers, quietly.

"The person I - could have been or was - supposed to always seemed real. Like she was close to me and I was - mad that I wasn't her."

"Could you be her now?" he asks, just as quietly.

She looks away, as though she could look over her shoulder and see this unreachable woman just a few feet away.

"No," Elle murmurs.

"So maybe I should stop being mad about it."

"Hey."

He touches her shoulder; a gentle grip, meant to be comforting.

"There's nothing wrong with being upset about wanting something else."

Her head turns, as she glances to his hand, then up to him, then quickly down to the ground.

"Maybe there is with wanting to be someone I'm not."

"I don't know about that. I mean, it's okay to have regrets."

He squeezes her shoulder again, then lets go.

"I don't - think it's that," she answers, looking up again.

"I think it's -"

She says the word carefully, like she's experimenting with it. "- envy."

"Of her? Or people who can live like her?"