Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own the characters. But I do thank Eric Kripke and the CW for bringing such wonderful characters to life.

The Night Visitor

By: Vanessa Sgroi

The clock had ticked two seconds past four in the morning when Sam Winchester woke suddenly and with absolute certainty that he and Dean were no longer alone in the motel room. He lay motionless, barely breathing. His eyes strained against the inky darkness. Nothing moved and the only sound he could hear was Dean's measured breathing as he slept. The air remained warm and comfortable. After a few moments, his racing heart slowed, and Sam relaxed.

Nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the red sheet and blanket up around his shoulders. Sam closed his eyes and willed himself to fall back to sleep. He and Dean had only returned from successfully completing their most recent hunt a few of hours ago, and he was tired. The ongoing Halloween party in the room next to theirs certainly hadn't helped any.

A click-swish sound echoed in the room and his eyes snapped open. Again, complete darkness greeted him. Except in the corner of the room, there was a tiny orange glow. Positive that his tired eyes were playing tricks on him, Sam closed them, waited a few heartbeats, and looked again. The glow remained. After hesitating for a second, he quietly reached over and clicked on the light beside his bed. The room appeared empty.

Sam chuckled at his silliness as his eyes roamed around the room. Abruptly, the chuckle died. Across the room, near the door, was a cigarette—a lit cigarette—floating in mid-air. He sucked in a breath.

It's just my imagination. Just my imagination. Maybe I should wake Dean.

"Pardon me . . ."

The young hunter nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the deep voice.

"W-w-who said that?" His gaze slid to the weapons bag sitting over on the table.

"I did."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. He was hearing things. He HAD to be hearing things. Spirits never politely talked to them. They had a disturbing tendency to toss them into walls or into furniture.

A chuckle sounded from the foot of the bed. The dangling cigarette was much closer.

"I'm sorry. I forgot that you can't see me at the moment. I am the Invisible Man."

Sam's tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He remained speechless as he stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette.

"I'm looking for my bandages and . . ."

Suddenly Sam's tongue loosened, and he called, "Dean! Dean, if this is one of your practical jokes, you're a dead man."

The sheets on Dean's bed rustled as he rolled over with a snort. "Wha?"

"Dean," Sam hissed, "do you see him?"

The older Winchester rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. "See who?"

"The Invisible Man."

Dean looked at his brother incredulously. "The Invisi— Sam, did you hit your head earlier tonight?"

"No. Look! Don't you see that cigarette?"

The older man blinked away remaining sleepiness and concentrated on the spot where Sam was staring. He tensed when he saw the object in question. Dean pulled his knife out from under his pillow.

"Gentlemen, I assure you," intoned the Invisible Man, "this isn't a joke. I am looking for my bandages, clothes, hat, and blue eyeglasses."

"Your—your bandages . . . clothes? What?"

"Yes. And my hat and eyeglasses. Blue eyeglasses to be exact." The orange glow winked out, and the boys caught the faint scent of smoke.

"But . . ."

"I was visiting a little party in Room 2F earlier, and I left them behind. I was in a bit of a hurry, you see."

Deciding this was nothing more than some weird dream brought on by questionable food choices and the recently completed hunt, Sam figured it couldn't hurt to answer.

"You're in the wrong place. This is Room 2E."

"Oh, dear. My vision apparently isn't what it used to be. My sincerest apologies."

A few moments later, Sam and Dean saw the motel room door open and close, the lock snicking into place.

"Dean, what the hell was that?"

"I . . . I . . . uh . . . I have no idea. Maybe we're just both overtired and our imaginations are working overtime. Hell, with what we see every day, it's no wonder."

"Should I grab the EMF meter from the car?"

Dean shoved his knife back into its resting place. "No. Let's . . . let's just go back to sleep." He doused the light and lay back down, but his eyes remained open and watchful for the rest of the night.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Early the next morning, Sam woke to a full bladder and a dry mouth. He was surprised to see his brother already up and dressed, and was already pecking away at the computer. He stumbled from bed to head for the bathroom. Just past the end of his bed, Sam's foot landed on something on the floor. Pulling his foot up, he reached down and grabbed the white object. It was the crushed remains of a half-smoked cigarette.

Sam dropped down on the bed.

It can't be. It just can't be.

And yet it was. He and Dean didn't smoke and he knew it hadn't been there when they'd checked in to the room. "Hey, Dean? Did you see this?"

His older brother looked up from the laptop and tensed. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yup."

Dean ran a hand through his short, spiky hair. "Go grab a shower and we'll go grab some breakfast."

Sam nodded and stood. He dropped the crushed cigarette into the tiny trashcan by the nightstand.

"Oh—and Sam—let's not talk it and say we did." Dean grimaced and looked back at the computer screen, taking in the 10,400,000 hits on his Google search for "Invisible Man".

Man, I've got a lot of reading to do.

The End