A/N: Greetings, y'all! I'm taking the coward's way out and testing the waters with these mini-stories before I get my butt in gear and startone full-out. (Partly because I suspect I suffer from Mary Sue-itis. EEKK!) Some tales will have titles. Some - like this one - will not. As I already have several in the bin, I figure I'm gonna update bi-weekly. Feel free to ask questions, flame, or hose me when something doesn't sit right. :)
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it ain't mine. That 'bout covers it.
Vignettes
They followed the nurse down an almost-cheerful hallway. Sam had taken the initiative, weaseling out whatever information he could. Dean held back, his gaze flitting over everything they passed with a wary distrust.
It didn't matter how friendly they made the atmosphere, he always felt like he was wandering deeper into the cage. And he couldn't help worrying if this was the day the trap would snap closed on him.
He shook his head once. Hard. Then he rolled his shoulders back, trying to regain his usual posture.
Icy claws raked down his spine in retaliation, and he hunched over again.
He hated these places.
The nurse pointed to a door on their left, and Dean took a deep breath.
Time for the plunge.
For most people this would be the moment they had to go down into the creepy basement of an abandoned house, or face an ax murderer. But for a guy who did that and more several times a week, this was infinitely worse . . .
He stopped just inside the doorway, taking it all in.
Sunlight streamed through windows that took up most of the opposite wall, dust motes dancing to a silent tune. It was almost a relief.
Too bad the bars had to ruin the picture.
There were maybe twenty patients in all. Most were sitting to his right, playing games. Reading or being read to. Doing artistic stuff with Play-Do.
"Do you know the muffin man?"
Dean jumped, but somehow managed not to recoil. The man stared at him for a moment, then smiled and gently tapped his own temple. "Ye-es, I know the muffin man . . . Lives on Drury Lane . . ." He wandered off.
Dean wanted to snarl. He wanted to whimper.
He gulped instead.
"Your partner isn't very comfortable around people."
Sam smirked, resisting the urge to look back toward his brother. "He doesn't know what to do with Innocents."
Or Innocence.
"What's up, Jen?" The orderly sent Sam a curious glance.
"How's Anna doing today, Bobby?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not good," he nodded toward the opposite corner, and they turned to see a huddled shape pressing against the wall on the other side of the room. "Y'all probably won't get much out of her today." A patient called to him, and he went back to work.
Sam absently thanked Nurse Jen and started walking to the girl in the corner.
Dean fell into step behind him.
They were maybe two-thirds across the room when she spotted them. Or, rather, spotted Sam.
Her eyes widened. Then slowly crossed and rolled into whites as her head fell back.
She jerked it forward, shook like a wet dog, and grunted something in the negative. But she kept her eyes on Sam.
Her reaction made Dean pause, but Sam didn't seem to notice as he pulled up a chair.
"Anna Sorensson?"
His brusque tone almost made Dean flinch. She only tightened her grip on her knees and shivered harder.
He questioned her for a good twenty minutes, his harshness never easing. She just stared at him, trembling, her knuckles getting whiter. Occasionally she'd shake her head or let out a whimper, but she never answered him. Or really even seemed to hear him.
He finally gave up when she clutched at her ears and tears streaked down her cheeks.
It was almost surreal, seeing Sammy so pissed. They hadn't expected much of a lead when they came, so there was no reason for him to be disappointed.
Dean kept an eye on him, ready to catch the chair if he decided to throw it.
"She doesn't know anything."
"Maybe if you hadn't scared the bejesus out of her . . ."
Sam glared at him.
Imagine that. Me playing the good cop . . .
He moved away from her, and her hands loosened around her ears. Maybe he'd go away, now. Black spots danced in her vision, and she tried to slow her breathing.
No, no. Can't let them take me now . . .
She forced herself to stop shivering, her eardrums still pounding with the voices. The screaming . . .
The black spots grew. She felt her eyes cross again, but was too tired to fight them.
"S-ham . . ."
Dean shifted his weight a little, trying to ignore the ice virtually numbing him inside out. They'd leave after he found out about the burr up Sam's ass.
"Sam, HELP ME!"
The brothers turned back in surprise . . . and saw another face trying to morph onto Anna's as she looked up at Sam, her eyes pleading.
"It won't let me go."
Her head dropped, and the cold fell away.
"Jessica?" Sam knelt and reached for her.
"Jess -?" Dean grabbed his wrist, barely able to ignore the static zing as skin brushed skin.
If he touched her, he'd destroy her.
Anna peeked up between her knees. Sam broke away and left the room.
Understanding the problem now, Dean stepped close to her and offered his hand.
With a questioning look, she slid her hand into his – and gasped, a little fog clearing from her eyes.
He gave her a moment to adjust, then knelt beside her; began whispering just past her ear.
Her eyes rolled closed, something akin to hope settling on her face as her body went almost limp in relief.
By the time he sat back, the voices were little more than a distant murmur in her mind.
He stood. Moved to pull away.
Her hands tightened on his. He froze. She rolled his palm up; kissed the center of his hand. A tear fell next to it.
A silent thanks.
His hand slid out of hers. And he went in search of his brother.
Bobby watched the second cop leave before letting himself relax completely. They always managed to mess up the schedule. And that was always a bad thing in this place.
Movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned, and his jaw dropped in surprise.
Anna stood and stretched, a glowing smile of pure joy emanating from her face. On impulse, she did a couple pirouettes in celebration, laughing like she was six again.
The End
A/N: Well, not the end the end. If this, or any future vingette happens to inspireyour muse, you're welcome to go wherever it wills. Just lemme know so I can read 'n hound you over it. ;)