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His head hurt. A lot. Even before he registered consciousness he registered that fact. It throbbed unrelentingly... moving it didn't help, the pillow brushed against something that hurt and he gasped- breathing hurt too.

He curled tighter, the cushions melding in with him. Cushions? Wha-?

He sat up. Or tried to... every muscle in his body protested and it took a long moment for the room to stop spinning behind his closed eyelids.

What the-?

He opened his eyes... or started too. The lids were stuck together and he felt like he was on a boat again. What the hell had happened?

Eyes finally open revealed a small homey living room that absolutely was too small and homey to belong to a motel. His vision was blurry and the pounding in his head told him he had concussion- one he couldn't remember getting. He took a very slow, almost deep breath and found that something had died in his mouth and might still be in there...

Water would be nice...

"You're awake."

He jumped and then groaned as fire lit and spread from his ribs outwards. He bent forward, wrapping an arm around them, feeling like a baby when an actual whimper escaped his lips.

Christ, thank god Sammy wasn-

Reality slammed into him just as a tiny blond girl moved into his line of vision.

His gaze dropped, pain of a completely different kind engulfing him- Sam wasn't here, wasn't anywhere he was, Sam was gone...

"Hey?" she snapped at him and waved a hand in front of his face. He raised his gaze to hers. Long blond waves, big blue eyes, wide mouth set in as thin a line as it'd ever be- pretty girl, he decided. He let his gaze slip shut again, his head hurt.

"HEY!" She yelled.

And he felt a shove on his shoulder. Instinctively he grabbed her wrist, his hand wrapping all the way around it. He didn't really want to open his eyes again. He didn't want to do anything, he wanted to sink into whatever he was lying on and never come back up for air.

"Leave me 'lone." He ordered, his voice scratchy and dry. Water would be really good.

There was silence for a long moment, so long he forgot he was holding a tiny wrist until fingernails were clawing into his hand and a voice was spitting venom at him so fiercely his eyes snapped open.

"LEAVE YOU ALONE? Do you have any fuckin IDEA where you'd be if I'd LEFT YOU ALONE! You're ORDERING me to LEAVE YOU ALONE? Well, I'm ORDERING you to LET ME GO and to get OUT OF MY HOUSE before I scream so LOUDLY the ENTIRE sheriff's department hears me! You understand me, you jackass! LET ME GO!"

The nails dug into his hand harder and he realized she was gripping his hand with her other one. He released her and watched as she faltered backwards away from him, rubbing her wrist.

"Get out." She hissed, eyes shooting sparks.

Get out of where? He tried to sit up and managed it only partly before he was gasping for breath again and the room was spinning, he was pretty sure his head was trying to detach itself from his body and Sam was gone. Where would he go? What was he supposed to do?

"I'm sorry- I- where-? I don't-" he took stuttering breath, "-I don't know..." he trailed off. She was glaring at him like she was about to take a chunk of his head off- which would be doing him a favor right now.

"You're sorry? I try to be nice to you and come here all ready to help you and you grab me? What kind of person are you? And not just a little grab-" she held her wrist up, "- this is gonna bruise!"

He blinked at her, not certain which part of that to address first. Was she glad he'd apologized? Pissed about it? Was she gonna help him? At least tell him where the hell he was... and water, water would nice...

"m'sorry." He repeated, releasing another breath slowly, "... ca' I have water please?" Polite usually worked with women.

She blinked back at him much the same way he was sure he'd just done to her. So not the right response then?

The glare continued, until finally she rolled her eyes, "FINE. But don't think I'm okay with you grabbing me! DON'T do it again."

He nodded- and regretted it instantly. Pain slashed across his vision, turning it murky as spots danced across his eyes. He lowered his head and groaned and wished he could disappear again.

He was lost in ebbing waves of sleep and pain for a bit before he felt something cool spray across his face. He twitched against it, it was pulling him back from the hazy-pain towards the sharp-throbbing-pain he'd rather not feel.

It happened again. Droplets across his face, cool and annoying. He ignored it, even as the throbbing in his head and the fire in his ribs became more real.

It happened again- wet and annoying now. Again. Insistent and harder- his face was dripping now. He brought a hand up to it, found that there was pain there too. His lip hurt now, his jaw...

His eyes flickered open more easily this time, didn't stick together. She was kneeling a good distance away from him, a glass of water in her hands, fingers dipped into as she prepared to flick more of it at him.

"Good. I was about to just dump the glass on you." She stated, "Here." She extended the glass to him.

He looked at it. It might as well be a 1000 miles away. He just hurt.

"I'd help you," he heard her say and realized that his eyes had slipped shut, he forced them open again, "But dude. You're like... covered in... just... gross..." she wrinkled her nose at him.

He had no idea what she was talking about aside from the fact that she wasn't going to help him bridge the thousand miles to the glass of water.

An eternity later he had the glass in his hand. He'd spilled about half of it, but that wasn't important. Water, was what was important. He brought to his lips, ignoring the shaking hand that could only belong to him- what the hell had happened to him?

He drained what was left of the glass in one long swallow, relishing the coolness against his dry, aching throat. When he'd finished he held the glass out to her, trying to keep his hand steady and failing miserably. She took it and stared at him.

"Thanks." He offered, his voice was hoarse still, but not scratchy- it didn't hurt to talk as much anymore.

"You look really bad." His Good Samaritan replied pragmatically, "Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance or something-"

"NO!" He yelled it before he could stop himself and then braced himself for the fall-out. He'd known this girl for ten seconds, but he knew she wouldn't take to being yelled at. The room was silent again and he shifted, pushing himself up further, levering himself up with the armrest so he was sitting completely vertical. The room was spinning again and it felt like his ribs slid and slipped with each motion, but he kept his eyes on her and his groans to minimum. "Please," he added, a little breathlessly, but mostly steady, "I just... I can leave... I need a minute, but I can... I'll be gone... just don't- please don't call anyone... I can leave..." He finished, fear slicing through him. Irrational, but real; so very real. He couldn't remember last night- hell, what day was it?

"Fine," she was saying on a huff and then she was standing and moving away.

He meant to call after her, but realized he didn't know her name and lowered his head into his hands instead. Moments later- or hours, he felt something soft drop across his shoulders.

"Come on. You need a shower- and then probably food and then I'll drop you off at a bus station or something..." she said, pulling his arm. He vaguely remember pulling like this. He let her do it, let her tug him up as he shakily stood; she pointed him in the direction of a small hallway.

"First door on your right. I'll drop some clothes in for ya. Use a lot of water and all the soap if you have to." She ordered and he wondered for the first time what he looked like. He staggered in the direction she'd pointed him in and hazily opened the door. The bathroom was small and mostly pink, he was starting to feel like he was in the twilight zone. Thoughts kept slipping in and out before he could actually register them. Where was he? What the hell had he done after Sam- he swallowed hard and started stripping his clothes off. Ending that train of thought.

She was right, he was covered in... stuff. Sand and gunk and... was that...? Vomit?

-oh gross.

He finished tearing them off more quickly and gingerly stepped into the shower. The entire right side of his ribs was an array of colorful bruises that spread up towards his chest. The faintest touch made him gasp and staring at them he hazily remembered a pool hall and a few guys he'd known better than to hustle...

He barely fit in the shower, but the water pressure was strong and the water was hot and when he stepped out he felt relatively more human. His head might hurt less, but it still pounded and if he turned it too quickly the room spun. He leaned back against the shower stall for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to relax his breathing, to make the pain fade a little.

Time slipped away and when a shiver slid through him he opened his eyes in surprise. The steam from the shower was gone and the small room was chilly. There was a pile of clothes on the floor by the door and he briefly wondered how he was supposed to bend down to get them. Instead he turned and took a step so he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and took stock.

Three badly bruised ribs, one maybe more than mild concussion, bruised jaw, split lip, and torn up knuckles- not so bad considering. The hang-over was what was killing him. He recognized it now, the taste in his mouth, the hazy, disoriented feeling... the vomit.

He had about three day's worth of beard on his face, so as close as he could figure it must be Thursday, maybe Friday. Last day he clearly remembered was Tuesday. Monday he wished he didn't remember. Sunday he knew he'd never forget. As long as he lived he'd never forget the words Dad and Sam had hurled at each other.

He swallowed hard and turned back to the pile of clothes by the door. He put a hand lightly against his ribs, flinching at even that light touch. Slowly, walked over to it and stared.

... getting dressed promised to be fun. Yeah.


.tbc.