Supernatural: The Long Night

Issue #19: Night's hell...a Supernatural TLN Series

We drove back to the hotel that night. I dozed off in the car, images that flipped through my mind, but never really stuck. I knew every image had meaning, but I didn’t understand it.  Groggily I opened the door with our card while Dean went to go raid the vending machine. I went to the bed and buried myself under the covers. Sam said something to me, but I didn’t hear him. I was asleep soon as my head hit the pillow.

I rolled over in the bed, almost colliding with Dean, which was propped up on some pillows watching the news.

“Hey, there.” Dean said, “Sleeping good, Hopeless?”

“Sure,” I grumbled. I rubbed my head, it was pounding, “Oh what hell is this?” I muttered; knowing it was a migraine in the making.

I sat up next to Dean and forced myself to look at the blinding screen. I looked over to Sam’s bed, his back was to me, the covers shrouded over his body.

All the lights in the room were out, minus the TV. On the news they showed the morgue, smoke rolling out one of the windows.

“Least they didn’t get any video of us.” Dean said bitterly.

I nodded, “Thankfully,” I rubbed my temple, and “I don’t suppose you have a Tylenol or something?”

“We have to go get some in the morning. Is your shoulder bothering you?”

“Yes,” I whined, “And my legs, and my head.”

He smirked. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that’s it.” I said grumpily.

He said down the remote. “Alright, come on.” He stood up.

“Where are we going?” I asked, throwing my feet off the bed, standing up. He grabbed my arm gently.

“To the bathroom,”

I paused, “Whoa there Dean, I don’t want to get to know you that well,”

He chuckled, “No, we are going to look at your shoulder.”

“Okay,”

When we had the door closed Dean had flipped the light on, not wanting to wake Sammy. “Well, come on.”

I looked at him, “What?”

“Take off your shirt so we can look at your shoulder.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like that wouldn’t you?” I smirked, but already I had begun taking it off. The left shoulder stitches caught on the seam of my shirt. Tears sprung into my eyes, but finally my shirt was off. Around my shoulder was bandages but that hadn’t stopped it from catching on the shirt.

Dean took the bandages and began unwrapping them. Blood stained wrappings fell on the floor. He paused, looking at my shoulder.

“Well, damn, no wonder it hurts. You tore your stitches.”

He touched where it was torn and I could feel a gap that wasn’t there before. I hissed in pain, “Well, should we wake Sam?”

Dean shook his head, “No, he gets little sleep these days.”

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“He dreams about hell.” He responded, that reminded me that Sam had actually been to hell and back.

I replied uneasily, “So…are you doing my stitches?”

“Yeah,” He answered, “I would have you do it, but it’s probably hard to reach.

So I sat on the tub ledge, in nothing but my bra and shorts as Dean began threading the needle.

“You know, by telling me that you sucked at stitches yesterday you did very little in comforting me.”

He put the needle through the skin, I gritted my teeth, “Well,” Dean said, “I’m still better at this than you are.”

“You know that’s an unfair argument,” I growled.

He nodded, “Yeah, it might be an unfair argument Hopeless, but I’m still winning.”

“B*tch,” I grumbled, “If you weren’t stitching me back together I might have punched you.”

He chuckled; knowing I was kidding, and continued stitching. I thought of Sam out sleeping, “Yeah,” I mused, “He was much better at this than you.”

With that measure, there was a scream. It was Sam.

Dean completely forgot he was stitching, he dropped the needle attached to my shoulders.

“Sammy!” He shouted and ran out of the room.

I followed hot on his heels.

The light of the bathroom fell onto Sam’s bed. Sweat beaded his body, his eyes wide with terror. Dean was right at his side.

“Sam…” He paused worriedly, “Sammy, are you all right?”

Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean. His arms, which had been tightly gripping the covers relaxed slightly.

“Yeah,” He choked out, “I’m okay,” He took a deep breath, “I’m not there anymore, I’m here.”

I stood in the doorway of the bathroom watching; the needle dangling from side to side on the string.  I don’t think I realized how bad it must have been for Sam, up until this moment. He was having dreams of hell, and it took everything he had to remember he wasn’t there anymore.

“Remember that Sam,” Dean pleaded, “You’re here, you’re not in hell anymore.” Sam nodded and his eyes fell on mine as he attempted to collect himself.

I blushed, realizing I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I was just standing there, in a bra and shorts. I felt the blood trickle down from my shoulder.

“Do you want help with that?” He asked. I wanted to tell him “no,” but I realized that what he might need would be some distraction.

“Only if you want to,” Sam stood and went into the bathroom, washing the sweat from his face and hands.

Dean went and flicked all of the lights on, I realized now that I would be up the rest of the night, either in pain or worrying about Sam. Or both.