Chapter Three: Darkest Night

Oscar awoke to the all too familiar feeling of pain. He lay crumpled on the kitchen floor, splinters of broken wood digging into his back. As the memory of the previous night returned to him, he forced his tired eyes open. There was no one there. The room was dark and cold, lit only by the distance sprinkling of stars he saw out of the window. He grimaced at the metallic taste filling his mouth. Blood.

His rapid, shallow breaths echoed through the dark room as he struggled to raise his head. Panting from the exertion, Oscar rolled onto his side. His throat burned. He gritted his teeth as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, making the room spin.

"Are you alright, Oscar?" The voice was back.

"Oh, great." Oscar whispered, his throat aching. "You know, for a moment I thought getting knocked out would get rid of you."

"I'm sorry. I understand this must be difficult for you."

Oscar let out a short, sharp breath. "You don't care though." He muttered bitterly.

Lifting an aching arm, he checked himself for serious injuries. He was shaking violently.

"I think I'm okay." Oscar rasped. "It hurts to breathe, but..." He broke off, hacking coughs shaking his body. Pain flared up in his torso and he gently ran a hand across his chest. "Ow..." Through the dim light, he spotted dark bruises around his wrist and upper arms.

"He strangled you." Not a question. Oscar chose to ignore the voice. Hissing with pain, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He leant against the wall. Carefully, he touched his neck. His bandage was gone. In its place, red ringed his throat, a swollen handprint covering an old, jagged scar. Oscar felt the raised outline, old memories springing up unbidden.

"For how long has this been happening to you?" The voice was infuriatingly calm.

"Dean didn't give me my scar!" Oscar hissed angrily. "He saved me!" His hands balled into fists and he closed his eyes. "Anyway, I thought you could read my mind. You should know."

"I want you to say it yourself."

"There's nothing to say!" Oscar blinked back unwanted tears from his eyes. His shoulders shook.

"You know that's not true."

"He's given me everything, I'd be dead without him!" At his outburst, the pain in his throat intensified and he slumped back, hissing through gritted teeth.

"He'll kill you one day." The voice stated. "I've seen this before. I've..." He paused, and something like compassion entered his voice. "I've lived through this before. "

"Dean's not like that." Oscar said quietly. "He always feels bad afterwards, he always makes up." Bringing his knees up to his chest, he searched for a good example.

"Who are you trying to convince?"

Oscar hung his head. His neck hurt like all hell. Where's the bandage? He thought, looking around the dimly lit room. His eyes fell on the drawer that usually contained a first aid kit. Gotcha.

Hands shaking, he pushed himself up onto his knees. Broken pieces of wood lay scattered around the table. That used to be a chair... Oscar realised.

Swaying slightly, he placed a hand on the table to steady himself. It creaked as he used it to pull himself to his feet. His legs shook.

"Easy." The voice cautioned. "I've done what I can to heal you but you need more time to recover."

Oscar straightened up in shock and promptly felt a wave of nausea. "What do you mean, you've done what you can?"

"I'm helping you heal. I do share this body with you, you know."

"Oh, I know." Using the wall for support, Oscar slowly walked towards the cabinet. He stumbled when he reached it. Pulling the bottom draw open he spotted the cloth bag nestled in it. He laid it on the floor. A roll of bandages and a small flick knife lay curled at the bottom and he pulled them out. Using the knife, he cut a length of bandage and replaced the excess in the bag. As an afterthought, he slipped the knife into his pocket. The bandage joined it.

"You ought to have a better weapon." The voice said.

"Shut up," muttered Oscar. "I'm not going to use it." He kept the knife in his pocket anyway. Standing up, he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"I know where you can get one."

"I'm not going to Haven." His voice was hoarse and scratchy. He raised a hand to his throat to check how the injury was. "I'm going to sleep, I'm exhausted."

"You can't stay here forever. I can't stay here forever." The voice grew angry. He sounded painfully loud.

Oscar ignored him, gathering the strength to walk out of the kitchen. Using various walls and bits of furniture for support he stumbled towards the back of the barn. He leant against the ladder that led up to his room, breathing heavily.

"I'm just gonna sit here for a bit..." He trailed off, blinking sleepily.

"Oscar?" The voice sounded worried.

"I'm gonna..." Oscar pitched forward, falling silent. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the straw covered ground.

"Oscar! Don't go to sleep!" The voice sounded panicked.

Why are... you... worried...? You're... immortal... Oscar thought vaguely.

"Oscar!" Yelled the voice.

Oscar's eyes closed, and he thought no more.