Disclaimer: I would like some, please. But in the meantime, I've got nothing!
Word of the Week: Arch
Word Count: 300 (Okay, okay, okay….so it's a triple! I can't control these things…..)
Dean sat on the cold concrete floor, a damp washcloth in his hand. The turbine slowly turned overhead, casting a never-ending, never -stopping shadow on the floor.
He watched Sam, his bloodshot eyes glued to his brother.
He knew that detoxing Sam was going to be more than tough. It would be excruciating.
He watched as Sam again arched off the cot, his arms and legs pulling painfully against the restraints. The pained scream that echoed off the walls brought Bobby into the room with a bottle of whiskey that made its way into Dean's hands.
"You need to get some sleep," Bobby said gently. "I can stay with him. Go hit the couch."
Dean shook his head, but in his own exhaustion, it looked more like his head was just rolling against the concrete wall behind him.
"You can't stay here all night," Bobby argued softly.
"He has too," Dean said with a tired motion towards Sam, a single tear rolling down his cheek, leaving a trail in the dirt on his face. "That means I will too."
Bobby sat down next to Dean, the younger man leaning against him lightly. Not enough to appear in need, but just enough to feel Bobby's presence.
"You're not alone in this," Bobby said aloud as Dean took a long pull from the bottle. Dean choked at his words, a few drops of the amber liquid spattering the floor.
Silence overtook the room, the only occasional sound coming from Sam, a random word here and there slipping from within his fevered dreams.
It took an hour and half a bottle before Bobby finally felt Dean go limp beside him. He drew a blanket around the young man and settled in to keep vigil over his boys.
For tonight, they wouldn't be alone.
Okay, any thoughts? No tears, I hope…..God, I miss Bobby….Please review!