Forgive me for such a long time between updates. I had a really rough time with this chapter, and I'm not entirely certainly that I'm happy with it, but I can't bear to fiddle with it anymore. If I did, I'd never get it posted.

Thanks for reading.

V


Dark of Night (A Minute Poem)

Sibilant whispers fill the air,
Invite despair.
One may shiver,
Lips aquiver.

Things lurking in the dark of night
Just out of sight.
Evil prances,
Wicked dances.

Outside this darkness, there lies hope.
Truth, trust elope.
For heroes brave,
Arrive to save.

© Vanessa Sgroi, 2008


Sam fixed his turbulent eyes, heated to a warm whiskey hue, on the large nurse. "I need a minute or two alone with him to make sure he's settled in for the night."

"I'll allow you two minutes, no more."

Nurse Perdue checked Dean's vitals and IV before stomping from the room, stopping only to glare at Sam once more and tap her watch face. Once outside the room, she paused and smiled. It was not a nice smile. Had anyone been there to see it at that moment, they likely would have felt their blood run cold.

Sam turned his glare away from the door and now unseen back of Nurse Perdue. His expression softened and he asked, "Dean, are you sure?"

His elder brother squinted up at him. "Mmm hmm."

The tall, lanky hunter crossed to the room's tiny closet, grabbing the turquoise and white plastic drawstring bag emblazed with "Personal Belongings" in black from inside. He rooted through the contents for a moment before his fingers curled around the object he sought. After shoving the unwieldy bag back into the closet, Sam carried the item over to the bed.

"Okay, listen, here's your cell phone. I know you're not supposed to have it, but no one needs to know. Just lay it by your leg under the covers or something. Call me if you need anything, all right?"

"Uh huh."

Not overly enthused with Dean's barely verbal responses, Sam worried and watched while Dean tucked the cell phone into place then finally nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, I better get out of here before Cruella returns. She might sit on me and pull my hair." He smiled when his silliness elicited a soft chuckle from his big brother.

"Mebbe she'll kiss ya," whispered Dean.

Sam's smile turned to a moue of dismay. "Oh now that's just all kinds of wrong. I'm really outta here now." Casting a final look around the room, he slipped out the door.

The long hallway was deserted; hospital staff likely busy at their varied tasks, patients mostly settled for the night, and family and friends relegated to their homes until visiting hours tomorrow. Housekeeping staff had come and gone, leaving the tile floor—though scuffed and worn by age and the endless passage of countless feet—freshly waxed and buffed to a high shine. His Puma-clad feet squeaked a little as he trudged toward the nearest bank of elevators.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Through half-closed eyes, Dean watched his brother's back as he strode through the door. The door shut with a soft swish, and Dean blinked. A shiver snaked its way down his spine, awakening his injured ribs and pulling his various stitches taut for a second, setting the still-inflamed flesh to throbbing.

Concussion- and pain-fueled exhaustion again nipped away hungrily at his consciousness, and Dean let his eyelids drift closed, dark lashes fluttering a few times as he instinctively fought the encroaching darkness. His fingers tightened around the edge of the blankets as sleep, relentless in its pursuit, claimed him.

He missed Nurse Perdue's arctic smile when she poked her head in minutes later to ensure Sam had departed.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Sam extended an index finger and pushed the circular down arrow button to summon the elevator. Yawning, he rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, jumping slightly when the tinny ding-ding sounded announcing the arrival of an available car. Stepping into the reflective silver interior, Sam joined two white-coated, scrub-clad doctors who were involved in a rather intense conversation in the back corner. Sam offered a nod when they paused and glanced up at him. One tipped his chin in return, the other ignored Sam completely; and they both quickly returned to their conversation.

He pushed the already lit "G" button before leaning against the slippery metal wall and closed his eyes, listening to the swishy, groany sounds of the cables as the elevator descended with a slight rocking motion. Never one to really feel claustrophobic despite the many times he felt hemmed in due to his size, Sam suddenly felt the walls of the lift close in as the last drop of adrenalin in his system fizzled out. The doors slid open with wheezing grunt on the ground floor, and Sam gratefully exited ahead of the two doctors. They passed him as he paused to get oriented, and the taller man fell into step behind them, remaining there until he reached a set of sliding glass doors leading to the outside and subsequently the visitor parking lot. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his brown jacket, Sam shuffled through the door and into the cool night air, lost in thought. It took him seven or so minutes to reach the Impala where she hulked in the far corner covered in a evening gown of shimmery, iridescent dew. Night cloaked her curves, the darkness made denser by the deep purple shadows thrown by a canopy of overhanging trees. Only her headlights and grill coyly peeked through the veil.

Having come to a decision —one he couldn't exactly explain and that would likely annoy his overprotective brother to no end—during the journey from Dean's room to the car, the young hunter bypassed the driver's door, proceeding directly to the trunk. From within its depths, he pulled an old, faded blanket and a well-used travel pillow. Ignoring the crabby grumbling of his stomach reminding him of his lack of recent significant sustenance, Sam crawled into the backseat of Dean's baby, made himself as comfortable as possible on the soft leather, and closed his eyes.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

He was running. Full out running. Legs pumping mercilessly. Muscles bunching and stretching with incredible speed, if not actual grace. Breath bellowing in and out, sawing viciously across the back of his throat.

He straddled a sizeable crack—one populated by an abundance of oil-dark, sinuous shadows—in the ground, fighting to maintain his precarious balance. One side of the fissure was inferno hot; the other arctic cold. Alternately sweat saturated his spiked hair, running in copious, thick rivulets down his sunburned pink face and dripping steadily off his chin then frost whitened his brow, filming his eyes, freeze-drying exhaled moisture and forming a crushed ice coating across his bowed lips.

And still he ran.

For to stop was to die.

With a rumbley growl, the crack widened beneath his filthy bare feet.

Dean's eyes opened with a snap, and a gasp flew from his lips as he jerked awake. He blinked through sleep-blurred eyes and frantically gazed around the room, instinctively searching out his brother in the gathered gloom.

"S-S-Sammy?" he rasped. The room was empty; a vague, whispery memory of telling Sam it was okay to leave slowly bubbled its way to the surface as did the memory of Sam leaving him his cell phone. With his free hand, he patted the covers until he discovered the reassuring rectangular lump.

The darkness of the room beyond the pale oval cast by the dim light fixture above his head suddenly seemed to shift, grow denser, more menacing. A strong sense of disquiet crawled over his skin, raising a smattering of goose bumps from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He swallowed hard against his achy, dry throat and realized he was ravenously thirsty. Dean pushed the call button.

Minutes later, a young nurse with carrot orange hair, a dust of freckles, and amazingly intense green eyes hurried into the room.

"Perfect timing, Mr. Stanley. I was just getting ready to come in and check on you. Did you need something?"

Dean felt the tension ease from his battered and bruised body with the woman's presence. "Water…um…please?"

"Certainly. I'll fill your little pitcher. Let me just check your vitals first." The nurse actually went about her task even as she spoke; finishing only moments after her words came to an end. She left the room with the pitcher, returning seconds later with it full of ice water. Pouring a small amount into a cup, she raised the bed slightly and offered it to him to drink.

"I'll just leave this here if you want more later on. Did you need anything else, Mr. Stanley?"

Dean barely had time to cautiously shake his head before the whirlwind redhead was gone, leaving him slightly dizzy in her wake. With her absence, his sense of unease returned two-fold. Without really thinking, he pushed the call button again. When the door swung open some long minutes later, Dean started to sigh in relief. However, it was short-lived for it was Nurse Perdue who answered the summons this time and any sense of relief that had accompanied the red-haired nurse was markedly absent.

"Did you need something, Mr. Stanley?"

"Um…I…guess I—" Temporarily lacking his quick thought processes and wit, Dean let his stuttering taper off.

Nurse Perdue looked down her nose, mouth twisted as if in disgust. "You should only use the call button when absolutely necessary. This is not a country club for womanizers, Mr. Stanley. We nurses are NOT here for your amusement—despite what you might think."

"But—"

She was gone before Dean could utter another word of protest.

He shifted restlessly in the bed, stifling a moan. The throbbing in his head had picked up its pace, keeping time with each and every heartbeat. Despite his bone-deep weariness, Dean couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Not now. Burning traces of heat and snaps of cold chased their way up and down his spine. After long minutes of staring into the gloom, certain now that something was staring back, Dean reached under the covers and closed his fingers around his cell phone.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

The blare of his latest ringtone startled Sam, mid-snore, from a surprisingly restful sleep despite the cramped conditions. With his eyes still closed, he groped around for the location of his phone, finally finding it inexplicably down near his knee. He keyed the talk button from memory before it even reached his ear.

" 'lo."

"Sam."

His eyes snapped open when he heard his brother's low-pitched voice. "Dean?"

"Sammy…"

"What's goin' on, man?"

"There's…I think…there's…something…after me…more than one maybe…I dunno. Shit, my head hurts, Sam." A soft moan followed.

His brother sounded odd, confused. "Dean, what're you talking about? You're in the hospital. You have a concussion, remember?"

"Something's after me. Woke up 'lone and it's happy. I should go 'way."

"Hey, hey. Take it easy, bro. It's probably just the concussion and the pain meds playing with your mind."

A hitched sigh echoed across the line. "Nevermind. They're here."

TBC…