Disclaimer: Not mine. The usual.

This story was written for blueeyedliz. She wanted a story based on the poem of Edgar Allan Poe "The Raven".

Wind and Whispers

Tic Tock, it echoed.

Tic Tock.

Tiiiic Tooock.

The clicking sounds stretching and drawing like time itself was slowly falling asleep.

The nights were the worst. No annoying brother to keep him occupied.

Sam moved around under his covers, trying to find a comfortable position only to turn back after a few seconds, his eyes back on the old fashioned grandfather clock next to the door, which kept ticking... ticking... ticking...

He shut his eyes, willing his mind to go still but everything he managed was to make the picture of her get clearer and clearer until he had to open his eyes again, just to make sure she wasn't really floating above, pinned against the ceiling by something dark. Her blood dripping on his forehead and mingling with tears and soot and ashes.

A loud snort came from the bed next to his and in an instant he was wide awake again. After a few attempts of shaking off the tension that was gripping his body he managed to uncurl his fingers, that were grasping the sheets like his life depended on it.

It was no use. After three weeks of insomnia he should know better than to force his mind into something it wasn't yet prepared for. Slowly, and without making any noise, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the laptop, logging into the internet to find something to keep his mind busy.

The stillness of the night soon made his eyes droopy and he had problems concentrating on the words, the blueish glow of the computer the only source of light in the room. Dean was sleeping undisturbed and Sam was torn between feeling jealous and amused by his brother's ability to sleep with a such a naughty grin on his face. He was pretty sure, he didn't want to know what his brother was dreaming about. Mumbling something in his sleep, Dean rolled over, hugging his pillow closer to his body, and sighed contentedly.

"You're such a girl", Sam murmured. Maybe he should take a picture of his sleeping brother and tease him with it for the rest of his life.

His hand was already fumbling for his phone when a sound made him freeze. The wind outside the motel, a small bed&breakfast near the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, increased and howled angrily. The windows rattled in the wooden frames, the once green paint long faded into a unidentifiable brown. Greasy fingerprints from uncounted guests all over the half-blind glass.

He stepped closer to the window, trying to make out the word he was sure he had heard in the howling of the storm.

Jess... Jess... Jesssss

The wind was singing him a morbid lullaby, indeed. He could hear the one word, over and over again, as if the tops of the trees were calling out for a lost child. His fingers trembled and he stepped away from the window, the back of his knees soon against the edge of the bed.

Wake up, Dean! He wanted to say. Wake up and raise me out of this nightmare!

But his brother slept on, untroubled in his blissful slumber. Sam's heart raced, sending the blood pumping through his veins so fast he could have sworn it was bursting out of its vessels any second now. The rushing filled his ears, muffling all the other sounds until the wind was nothing more than a vibration against the naked soles of his feet. That's when he almost missed another sound. A knocking, a hesitant rapping against the door.

Knock... Knock... Knock

And then, again, nothing but the everlasting Tic Tock.

Sam stood unmoving until the cold had crept under his t-shirt, turning his perspiration to ice on his shivering skin.

And again: Knock... Knock... Knock

Slowly, his feet moved, carrying him nearer to the door until he realized his hand was lying on the handle. When had that happened?

Sam knew enough – more than enough – about the darkness in the world outside. Clearly, this was something evil, some malicious trick to get him to open the door, a deceiving attempt to lure him into a trap.

Because Jess was dead. Jess was dead and death was infinite.

The smell still lingered in his nostrils, the heat still unbearable on his skin, the sight of her burning body still engraved on the insides of his eyelids.

So, it was against all reason, when he opened the door and held his breath, hoping against hope that somehow, she was there. Standing in front of him, smiling and kissing him like everything was right in the world. He would feel her body pressed against his, feel the tickling of her hair and he'd say sorry. He'd say Sorry until his tongue was numb. He'd say Sorry, until his brain was unable to register the word any more. He'd say Sorry until the day he died.

But the hallway was dark and empty.

His fingers curled around the door knob until he was afraid he'd break them if he only gripped a little tighter. Still he didn't let go of the sterile coldness beneath. He had to press the other hand against his lips to drown the sob that threatened to burst out like the eruption of a vulcano.

"Jess?" He asked into the darkness, his eyes roaming to pick up something, anything. A strand of blond hair, a soft giggle or the slapping sound of small feet against parquet. "Jess, are you...?"

Until something swooshed into the room with such speed, that its shape was merely a blur in the corner of Sam's eye. Spooked, he closed the door in a rush, his melancholy forgotten, and stepped into the room. Staying near his brothers bed – just in case the visitor was trying to attack Dean – he listened intently for something. But everything was quiet again except for the incoherent mumbling of Dean.

A bat, Sam thought and took a deep breath to calm his nerves again. Must be a bat.

To make sure that he hadn't let in anything evil, Sam walked back to the table, switched on the table lamp and the dingy light drove away the night. Still, the corners of the room were hidden in darkness and Sam efficiently searched every shadow until dawn was driving away the night and the trees in front of the house were bathed in a misty twilight.

Nothing, there was nothing in the room. Only two brothers. One of them exhausted and clearly paranoid.

Rubbing his hands over his eyes to dispel the gritty feeling Sam sat down on his bed, the fatigue wearing him down and gravity doing the rest. Maybe he really should get a few minutes of shut eye before they would be leaving in the morning.

Just a few minutes would be okay.

Tic Tock... Tic Tock... Tiiiic Toooock

Like before, time seemed to stretch though now it took Sam's alertness with it. His eyes closed, his limbs got heavier and heavier until he sank into a deep sleep. Deep enough to shut out his thoughts and memories, deep enough to let his mind rest. Though not deep enough to ignore the resentful whispering in his ear.

"Nevermore..."

OoOoO

The next morning found him awake but disorientated.

"You okay?" Dean asked after they had gotten over the morning routine and shouldered his backpack. "You look awful."

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean only shrugged his shoulders and without looking back he vanished into the hallway, leaving Sam alone in the now empty room. Even though this night's adventure seemed a little blurry he couldn't shake off the feeling of being observed. Shuddering, he shook his head, angry at himself for being such a wuss.

"Just a bat," he murmured and let his gaze wander the room to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything.

His brother already waited in the car and looked his usual self, waiting anxiously to get going.

"I don't like it here", Sam finally said, when he let himself fall into the passenger seat.

"Okay," Dean answered, throwing a concerned gaze at his little brother who felt himself blush. "Then what do you say, we won't come back?"

"Thanks, Dean."

"Anything, dude."

And if Sam had bothered to take a look at the house one last time, he probably wouldn't even have thought something was odd, when there was a black raven on the window sill of their room, shaking its dark feather coat and croaking maliciously.

End

P.S. You know what this "submit review" thingy is for, right? So do me a favour and click it. Humour me.