Sam started awake, heart pounding. He took a deep breath and stared at the glowing digital face of the clock near his bed.
3:17am.
He looked around the room as he tried to shake the cold fingers of terror. The shadows warped into ghostly shapes reminiscent of his time in Hell.
He stretched his long limbs, legs hanging off the bed's edge. He'd gotten used to the fact that most beds couldn't fit his long frame, so he didn't even notice anymore. He hugged his pillow and sighed. There's no way he was going back to sleep.
'Guess it's time to get up.' He knew it was just a dream but in that moment it felt too close to reality. He needed to distance himself from the truths it whispered.
He sat on the edge of his bed and ran an absent hand through his disheveled hair.
'I can start cataloging that book on Mayan sacrificial magics.' It was as good a place to start as any.
He padded down the hall to the library, barely noticing the cold floor as he lost himself in his plans for the day. Their sole aim, distract him from the demons clawing at the corners for his attention.
Sam refocused his attention on his surroundings when a steaming cup appeared in his periphery. Immediately the scent of a rich dark roast stole his attention and his stomach clenched in hunger.
"Dude. How long you been here?" Dean asked, looking at all the scattered books on the wooden table.
Sam shrugged. In truth he really didn't know what time it was. He'd forgotten to take his phone with him.
Dean gave him a brief considering look when he took another sip of his coffee before shrugging himself. The kid was weird.
"Hungry?"
Sam nodded absently. His book had already recaptured his attention.
"What you feel like?"
"Whatever you make is fine." he said distractedly.
"Really." His tone was heavy with disbelief in the way only Dean Winchester could pull of.
"You're not gonna ask for something douchey like a Kale salad? You feeling alright?"
Sam smiled to himself. Dean had a habit of making him seem more picky than he actually was. Most people would probably find this annoying but Sam loved it when they teased each other like that. He usually won anyway.
He pushed his book away and gave Dean his attention. He could already feel his features moving into what Dean liked to call his bitch face but he couldn't help it. It came from being the little brother for 34 years.
"Well, Dean," he said smugly. "Do you know how to make a kale salad?"
"Sam, it's a salad. What's to know?"
"Actually unlike the other leafy greens, kale needs spec-"
"You would know this," interrupted Dean.
"Fine." Sam said, getting annoyed. He settled into a more relaxed pose in his chair, his body fully turning to Dean. "Do we have kale?"
"Well. No but..." Dean trailed off.
"So whatever you make is fine," he answered with a self satisfied smug smile.
"So whatever you make is fine," Dean mocked over exaggeratedly but Sam could hear the smile in his voice so he refocused on his book knowing that breakfast would be delicious.
In the corner of his mind he registered the brief squeeze Dean gave his shoulder as he left.
Gasping, Sam fought his way to wakefulness as the remnants of his dream struggled to keep its hold on him. He could feel the panic trying to take over. The dark walls of his room closing in around him.
He forced himself to sit up. The thin covers sliding off his chest unchecked. He took deep calming breaths, hoping that that would stave off what could be a massive attack.
"It's not real."
Deep breath in.
"It's just a dream."
Exhale.
"Everything is fine."
It had been a week since the first nightmare. He'd had one every night since and they kept getting worse.
Taking a few more breaths he got up, ready to face the day.
Sam's eyes flew open, his pupils dilating as they desperately searched to identify his surroundings. He could feel the mounting panic as his eyes darted around the dark and unfamiliar room.
He heard a deep breath and rustling to his right and immediately settled.
Dean.
The memories came pouring back in. He was on a hunt with Dean. They were in Louisiana, dealing with a simple salt and burn. So simple in fact that they arrived yesterday night and were able to dispatch the ghost last night.
Barely worth the drive really. He turned over to look at Dean and immediately regretted the action. It was like his brain refocused its full attention on his shoulder and throbbing pain started to radiate through his body.
Clenching his eyes shut, he froze as the waves of nauseating pain pulsated. All he could do was breathe through it until it passed. Eventually he was able to focus on other things as the pain lessened to a maddening pulse.
The case had been an easy one but for one complication. He was distracting the ghost while Dean applied the salt and accelerator when he'd miscalculated and the ghost had thrown him into a headstone.
Luckily, he blocked his fall with his shoulder. He was so filled with adrenaline at the time that he'd simply gotten up and kept running. A hurt shoulder was definitely better than a dead one.
He had taken a really good pain killer when they were done, figuring it was just a minor injury but he was starting to think it might be worse than he originally thought.
He gingerly reached for the bottle of pills near his bed and swallowed one dry. There was no way he was going to be able to get up fr water at that point.
'If it still hurts this badly in the morning,' He thought, 'I'll tell Dean.'
Already he could feel the waves of pain ebbing and sleep soothing through him.
Dean firmly in his sights, his eyes drifted closed, nightmare completely forgotten.
Sitting against the headboard, Sam stared into the empty void that was the darkness of his bedroom.
He had not slept for four nights now and was starting to feel like a zombie.
The morning after their hunt in Louisiana, he woke up in so much pain that Dean had rushed him to the hospital.
Luckily his shoulder was not broken but it was bad enough.
The doctor, all five foot three inches of her, gave him such a quelling look when he tried to throw bullshit at her about how he got hurt, that he was more than willing to follow her instructions of sick leave and light or no activity for three weeks.
His job was fighting monsters and completely voluntary so it wasn't really a hardship. And the way Dean was nodding raptly at the doctor's instructions told him that he wouldn't be doing anything much anyway.
For the first week it was fine. He was completely drugged and Dean was at his beck and call. The second week though was a little more strained.
Sam was an addict. He knew it and so did Dean. So that second week, Dean cut him off from the pain meds. Only allowing him one before bed.
He became more irritable because of the pain and as a result they were getting on each others nerves to the point that Sam found Dean a case and chased him out the bunker.
Dean's been gone almost six days now. This is the fourth night that Sam has been awake in his bed.
The first week back, he'd been so drugged and loopy that he didn't remember dreaming. The second week he was so busy being annoyed with Dean, so focused on Dean that he'd forgotten completely about his nightmares.
The first night Dean left is when it all came crashing down. It's been years since they'd gone on separate or solo hunts. One was always with the other to watch his back.
Sam was always there to save Dean and vice versa. But he wasn't there this time.
As he laid in his bed that first night his brother, thousands of miles away, the stray thought, what if something happens and I'm not there, wiggled its way into his mind and wouldn't go away.
He'd had the worst nightmare yet. To the point where he ended up calling Dean at 2am in the morning just to make sure he was still alive.
Turns out Dean hadn't even arrived yet. He was still driving. He was only able to relax slightly when Dean promised to call him again in the day time but sleep was definitely out of the question.
Dean did call the next day and of course teased him mercilessly.
This had led him into a false sense of security and if he thought the nightmare before was bad the one he had that night rocked him to his foundations. And that was the last straw.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Dean continued to call him everyday despite his earlier teasing but Sam knew that he wasn't going to be safe from the nightmares until he could see for himself that Dean was indeed alive and well.
It's been four sleepless nights. The first two nights he spent working in the library but by the third night he lost the ability to retain any of the information he was trying to absorb. He could feel just how tired he was but his mind refused to shut down.
Dean was driving back right this moment and would be home sometime in the afternoon . He could wait a few more hours to sleep. Besides this was getting ridiculous. He needed to solve the problem once and for all.
And so he stared into the darkness waiting, thinking.