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An Unexpected Consequence pt4
Sam sat up bolt straight in bed, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to be asleep in the first place. He looked around at the room, sunlight filtering through the ugly curtains. It was morning. Sam sighed, he’d slept all night and hadn’t dreamed a thing. He grinned, wait ‘til Dean heard. Sam turned to Dean’s bed to tell him the good news, but Dean wasn’t there. Hell, the bed was so clean tidy it looked like he hadn’t been there all night.
Sam slowly got up, wary in case of an intruder. The salt lines were still in front of the door, no sulfur smell, but that didn’t mean that some junkie hadn’t broken in in the middle of the night.
“Dean?” Sam called. “Dean, you there?”
Nothing.
Sam went to Dean’s bed and checked under the pillow, no knife. Shit, he was un-armed. He grimaced and glanced around. Only three doors in the place, the one leading outside, the bathroom, and a small closet. All were closed.
The closet was too small to hold anything dangerous, unless it was a bomb.
If the intruder was outside, Sam didn’t have to worry quite as much.
That left the bathroom.
Biting his lip, Sam walked over to the bathroom door, trying to make his giant feet soft and quiet. He grasped the handle and braced himself against the door, prepared for a fight. On more deep breath and - SLAM!-
The door banged off the wall and bounced back a few inches, and Sam took a fighting stance.
“AH!” Yelled someone. Dean. “Jesus, Sammy, don’t scare me like that.”
“What are you doing?” Sam asked. It was a valid question, seeing as Dean was huddled in the bathtub, in the dark, cradling a shotgun to his chest. “Dean, why didn’t you answer me?”
Dean grinned apologetically. “Wasn’t sure it was you Sam. Glad it was though.” Sam flicked on the lights.
“Uh.” Dean grunted, flinching away from the sudden brightness. Dean looked like shit in the light, tired and worried and scared. There were deep purple smudges under his eyes.
“Dean…” Sam started. “You didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?” Dean asked. Not sarcastically, like usual. Like he really didn’t know what Sam was talking about.
“Dean, did you sleep? At all?” Dean made a face and tried to stand, leaning heavily on the wall behind him.
“ ‘Corse I did, just ‘cause I didn’t sleep until lunchtime…” Sam cut him off.
“Dean, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t do this again.”
“This?” Dean said, waking up with the force of his sudden anger. “By ‘this’ do you mean saving your ungrateful ass again?” Sam’s heart rose up in his throat. “ ‘Cause if that’s what you mean, then yeah, I did it again.”
“Dean…” Sam said. “How could you do that? Why?”
“WHY?” Dean yelled back.
“We could have figured out some other way-”
“No, we couldn’t have.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes I do!” Dean yelled, stopping Sam’s rebuttal. “Cas told me the only way to get rid of this might have killed you!”
“So you decided it should kill you instead?!” Sam screamed, Dean sighed, passing a hand over his eyes.
“It won’t kill me Sam. All I had to do was take on your nightmares, and after Hell, they’re not that bad.”
Sam exploded.
“Not that bad! Dean, you didn’t sleep last night! And I bet you’re hallucinating too!” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam had had enough. He turned and headed for the door of the motel room, preparing to storm off angrily-when he couldn’t. Sam tried to step past the threshold of the doorframe, and just couldn’t.
The part of his foot that came closest to it, the tip of his big toe, felt tingly, then painful.
“What the…” Sam said, drawing his foot away. Nothing seemed different. Just a normal, badly made, motel door, with a thin layer of salt scattered over the bottom of it.
Was it the salt?
Sam knelt down, and picked up a handful. Or tried too anyway, because the second his skin touched the white powder, it burned like fire. He pulled his hand back in a flash and made a soft grunt.
There was a click behind him.
He turned and saw Dean, now looking more pissed then tired, pointing the shotgun at his head.
“Dean…” Sam said, slowly rising to his feet.
“Don’t move.” Dean said, staring at him down the barrel of the shotgun..
Sam slowly got up, wary in case of an intruder. The salt lines were still in front of the door, no sulfur smell, but that didn’t mean that some junkie hadn’t broken in in the middle of the night.
“Dean?” Sam called. “Dean, you there?”
Nothing.
Sam went to Dean’s bed and checked under the pillow, no knife. Shit, he was un-armed. He grimaced and glanced around. Only three doors in the place, the one leading outside, the bathroom, and a small closet. All were closed.
The closet was too small to hold anything dangerous, unless it was a bomb.
If the intruder was outside, Sam didn’t have to worry quite as much.
That left the bathroom.
Biting his lip, Sam walked over to the bathroom door, trying to make his giant feet soft and quiet. He grasped the handle and braced himself against the door, prepared for a fight. On more deep breath and - SLAM!-
The door banged off the wall and bounced back a few inches, and Sam took a fighting stance.
“AH!” Yelled someone. Dean. “Jesus, Sammy, don’t scare me like that.”
“What are you doing?” Sam asked. It was a valid question, seeing as Dean was huddled in the bathtub, in the dark, cradling a shotgun to his chest. “Dean, why didn’t you answer me?”
Dean grinned apologetically. “Wasn’t sure it was you Sam. Glad it was though.” Sam flicked on the lights.
“Uh.” Dean grunted, flinching away from the sudden brightness. Dean looked like shit in the light, tired and worried and scared. There were deep purple smudges under his eyes.
“Dean…” Sam started. “You didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?” Dean asked. Not sarcastically, like usual. Like he really didn’t know what Sam was talking about.
“Dean, did you sleep? At all?” Dean made a face and tried to stand, leaning heavily on the wall behind him.
“ ‘Corse I did, just ‘cause I didn’t sleep until lunchtime…” Sam cut him off.
“Dean, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t do this again.”
“This?” Dean said, waking up with the force of his sudden anger. “By ‘this’ do you mean saving your ungrateful ass again?” Sam’s heart rose up in his throat. “ ‘Cause if that’s what you mean, then yeah, I did it again.”
“Dean…” Sam said. “How could you do that? Why?”
“WHY?” Dean yelled back.
“We could have figured out some other way-”
“No, we couldn’t have.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes I do!” Dean yelled, stopping Sam’s rebuttal. “Cas told me the only way to get rid of this might have killed you!”
“So you decided it should kill you instead?!” Sam screamed, Dean sighed, passing a hand over his eyes.
“It won’t kill me Sam. All I had to do was take on your nightmares, and after Hell, they’re not that bad.”
Sam exploded.
“Not that bad! Dean, you didn’t sleep last night! And I bet you’re hallucinating too!” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam had had enough. He turned and headed for the door of the motel room, preparing to storm off angrily-when he couldn’t. Sam tried to step past the threshold of the doorframe, and just couldn’t.
The part of his foot that came closest to it, the tip of his big toe, felt tingly, then painful.
“What the…” Sam said, drawing his foot away. Nothing seemed different. Just a normal, badly made, motel door, with a thin layer of salt scattered over the bottom of it.
Was it the salt?
Sam knelt down, and picked up a handful. Or tried too anyway, because the second his skin touched the white powder, it burned like fire. He pulled his hand back in a flash and made a soft grunt.
There was a click behind him.
He turned and saw Dean, now looking more pissed then tired, pointing the shotgun at his head.
“Dean…” Sam said, slowly rising to his feet.
“Don’t move.” Dean said, staring at him down the barrel of the shotgun..