Land of Monsters

.the fallout. | .sam.

Sam Winchester lifted himself from the hard mattress with a groan. He cracked his neck and yawned, squinting to avoid the nuisance of morning light. This would be the last time he'd let his older brother, Dean, convince him that Dad's method of choosing lodging was the best method. It was time to splurge for one of those swanky hotel rooms. I'm probably just used to the bunker, he thought.

His body gave into his brain's desire to wake-the-hell-up and, upon his second yawn, he opened his eyes.

This was not the room he fell asleep in.

Dean, who was also sitting upright on a disgusting mattress, stared back at him. "You have a creepy yawn."

Sam ignored Dean's attempt at dark humor and checked the room. It had that unpleasant post-apocalyptic decor to it, with the cracked walls, peeling wallpaper, and dust-covered floors. The smell was unlike anything he'd ever smelled, like fresh air, but somehow permanently burnt by a soldering iron. It was a squatter's nightmare, and anyway, not even where they fell asleep. "Where the hell are we?"

"No clue, but I came to in that corner." Dean pointed to a corner of debris, made up largely of papers and dirty cloth. The pile sported a nice, person-sized depression. "You were on the floor next to me. I set you over there so you could finish your beauty rest."

"I didn't wake up?"

"Nope, you were sleeping like a baby." Dean shot him that smile that blended sarcasm and disappointment. Dirt had already settled into the creases near his green eyes, and there was a smear of dust atop the freckles on his fair peach skin. The black tee he wore the day before-was it tomorrow already?-also had a layer of brown and gray Pollocked atop it.

Looking at him, Sam suddenly had the feeling of dust and dirt and possibly bugs all over his own skin, although he'd worn a long-sleeved plaid shirt to bed. He was thankful for the habit; he and his brother had been attacked or called to action so many times during sleep that they'd grown accustomed to falling asleep in their clothes, sometimes even their shoes, and this time, it'd kept him clothed in a place he really didn't want to be wearing just boxers in. He patted down his clothes, holding his breath so as not to breathe in whatever covered him, then stood to stretch before shaking out the motel blanket that seemed to have traveled with him.

"Did you ever go to sleep?" he asked Dean.

"No, well, not until we got here. Nodded off for a bit after moving you, but it wasn't more than an hour." He pulled out his phone. "By the way, this thing's a piece of junk here."

Sam checked his pockets. That's one thing he didn't fall asleep with, because the phone would crack. He was missing his wallet too; actually, just about everything in his pockets was gone but a folded bandana he'd picked up at one of those dollar stores in town, and an article he'd found on the case were working. "Mine's back at the motel."

"Lots of stuff is back in the motel."

Sam searched the room, in case anything else had traveled with them.

"I already did that."

"So we just teleported here?"

"Yeah." Dean rubbed his face, making it even more dirty than before, and making the paleness of his skin where it was clean even more apparent.

"You okay, Dean?"

"Just a little nauseous, probably from the spell. You?"

"I mean, a little, but you look like you're about to turn green."

"Look outside, Sammy."

"There're no windows." In fact, now that Sam was starting to clean up the room in his mind, and make sense of some of the broken furniture, it looked like an office, one that people would be happy to take because of its medium size, but one that they would also be happy to upgrade out of on account of the closeted feeling. No windows even looked out into the hallway, unless you counted the Shining-sized hole in the wooden door.