'How to deal with being the only live brother after metadouche slaughtered your only living biological family member and his boyfriend is nowhere to be seen' a topless man angrily slammed the keyboard keys.
Google search not found please try again.
Calm yourself Sam, his conscience uttered. Perhaps the search was invalid because he forgot to add a question mark at the end. Picking up his slim, silver laptop he considered throwing it out of the window until...
'Silly Sammy' unfortunately for him, Sam recognized all too clearly whom the voice belonged to.
'Hello?' the Sam exclaimed, instantly regretting it.
'I'm proud of us'
Sam flinched. It had only been a week after he found his own brother Dean had been massacred.
'Is this some kind of sick joke' Sam yelled disturbed.
'Woah, easy there tiger' the voice now replaced by a much younger, higher-pitched one.
Our first case. Sam tried to hold back the tears.
'rirrom eht OT emoc' the voice instantly going back to the deep, husky voice he knew all too well. Sam had heard that statement far too many times that he covered his ears with his hands hoping the voice would leave him alone and allow him to grieve.
Nope.
'rirrom eht OT emoc' it repeated mockingly.
'STOP!' To the public he may have looked like the biggest baby, lying in fetal position, hands clenched to his locks, trying his utmost to fight away the waterworks.
'I'm 32. This is all in my head.' Sam chanted under his breath as he as he sat up and began to meditate. After what seemed like hours there was finally silence.
NOPE.
'I'm proud of us.' Deans voice, those words once comforting now mockingly replay over and over like a broken record clouding his thoughts. Sam got up from the cool wooden floorboards, headed over to the mahogany cupboard meters away from where he was sulking. Opening it he was slightly relieved he had extra room as horrid as the notion sounded.
'Need to distract mys-' Sam whispered.
One corner of the decently sized cupboard contained similar plaid shirts arranged from red to violet. It was a good feeling that he was able to keep his secret hidden for so long. Not just the plaid but the sexuality preference too.
Rustling his mid-length brunette locks he promptly puts on and buttons a red plaid shirt. At the corner of his eye he notices a large rectangular mirror. But it only takes a moment before his mind is diverted, slipping on his boots by the bedside, grabbing the room key, placing it into the pocket of his jeans and heading out of the enclosure. Maybe some fresh air will do some good.