Feverish Sammy sometimes hallucinates.
Familiar sounds pulled Sam from sleep; duffle zipper being zipped, gun magazine being checked, keys clinking, light breathing, heavy footsteps.
Dean was getting ready to go out.
Sam tried to open to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut. He tried to turn over but every single muscle ached liked he'd been hit by a truck. Again. He tried to say Dean's name, but the stiffened shoe leather masquerading as his tongue only let out a dull moan.
"Sammy?"
The heavy footsteps came closer and a hand settled on his shoulder.
"Sammy, you finally awake?"
He tried to answer, yes or no or I guess, but could only produce that moaning sound again. He heard Dean laugh.
"I'll take that as a 'wish I was still unconscious.' I'm going to hit that convenience store down the street. We need more Gatorade and painkillers. And mouthwash, I'm guessing. You need anything before I get going?"
Sam's eyelids finally unglued themselves and he tried to look up at Dean, but vertigo hit him like a hammer. Instead of trying to talk at all this time, he shook his head.
"Okay, I won't be long. Try and get some more sleep."
"Mmmmm…"
Dean walked away, the motel room door snicked shut and Sam drifted off again.
The sound of breathing brought him awake again. Dean must've come back already. Sam forced his eyes open.
And saw a clown.
There off the close edge of his bed, visible from the top lip up, there was a clown. Bald crown, green hair, red lip, red nose, white face, yellow eye sockets outlined in black, red eyes.
Staring at Sam.
~it isn't real – it isn't real – it isn't real ~ Sam told himself. He had a fever, he was hallucinating, it wasn't real.
Then it started to move.
The clown head started to rise. It started to rise up at the edge of the mattress and the red lips gave way to white fangs dripping with red blood and its foul breath breathed hot and thick on Sam's face and Sam pushed himself away and off the bed and into the corner of the room next to the bathroom door.
~it isn't real – it isn't real – it isn't real ~
The clown head continued to rise up. The white neck stretched and twisted, creaking and cracking and corkscrewing over the bed, until the head stopped an inch away from Sam.
Upside down.
"Why, what'sssss the matter, Ssssam?" It creaked and croaked and fouled into Sam's face with its hot, dank, breath. "Aren't you happy to ssssee me?"
Desperately, Sam ducked under and away from the bobbing head. He crawled to the next corner, past the foot of the bed, as his brain heaved and his stomach sloshed. The hissing, grinning, bobbing head untwisted back the way it had come, the neck uncorkscrewing back to normal length, back to the other side of the bed. Where it bobbed and grinned and licked its tongue along its red, dripping fangs.
"Doesn't Ssssssammy want to plaaaaaaaaay?"
"You're not real." Sam told it. Told himself. "You're not. I'm hallucinating. I'm – I'm - " He had to gulp down the feeling of nausea crawling up his sandpaper throat. "You're not real."
The clown face pouted, its red bottom lip pushed out under its dripping red fangs.
"Oh, Ssssssammy, that hurtssss my feeeelingsssssssss."
The head dropped out of sight on the far side of the bed and Sam felt a second's relief, just a second. And then, slowly, sinuously, scarily, around the end of the bed, across the carpet, towards Sam, the clown slithered.
Slithered.
Sam gasped in a breath that was half squeak, half whimper, and all liquid fire pouring down his stomach-acid-ravaged throat. He pushed himself into the corner as hard as he could and tried to get his brain to think of something other than shattering panic.
An evil, ugly, smelly clown was slithering across the motel room floor towards him.
The air turned suddenly hot and foul around Sam and his vision started to pulse black around the edges.
Dean, he thought. It was his only thought. Dean.
The clown stopped its slitherous slide and grinned its bloody grin at Sam.
"Sssssssssorrrrry, Ssssssssssammy. Big Brother can't ssssssave you. He'ssssss been dissssssspatched already…"
"NO!" The command, the plea, forced itself out of Sam. The clown only laughed at him.
"Ha, ha. Ssssssssammy. Ha. Ha. HA. HA." It kept its jaw pressed to the floor and, with every deliberate laugh, only bounced the top of its head up and down. "HA. HA. HA. HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Sam couldn't take it anymore. The pain and panic and breathlessness overrode his fear. He pushed up from the floor and made a break back to his bed, dodging the hissing, twitching clown head as it made a sidewise dash to take a bite out of Sam's ankle. It kept laughing.
"SsssssAAAAmmmYYYY…."
Sam made it to the bed. His phone was on the bedside table. He'd grab it and call Dean. Because Dean was okay. Dean was all right. Dean had to be all right.
He got his hand, his shaking hand, around his phone. He'd push two buttons and be talking to Dean. Two buttons. That's all it would take.
But his hands, his shaking hands, weren't steady enough. His fingers, his trembling fingers, weren't sure enough. The phone fumbled and tumbled in his grip, and when the bedside drawer popped open, and "BOO!"the clown head popped out, Sam jerked back and the phone went flying back off the bed, towards the wall, and Sam followed it.
He grabbed the phone again and all but dove into the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself. Two buttons. If he could only get his fingers to work the buttons, Dean would be here before Sam could hang up the phone.
But the phone dropped out of his sweaty hands as he pressed the buttons. It bounced on the floor and when he tried to grab it again, it slid farther away.
"Ssssammy…" The clown voice followed him into the bathroom. "Sss-sss-sss-AAAAA-mmmyyyy."
"You're not real." He panted. "You're not real."
"Ohhh booo hooooooooo."
The voice came under the door. It was followed by a red bulge pushing under the door, pushing through to the other side, to the bathroom. The clown's nose. The clown's nose was pushing under the door. Then fingers, his grimy gloved fingers pushed under too, stretching and curling and scraping gouges in the tile.
"Ssssaaammmmeeeeeeeeeeeee."
Sam fell backwards onto the floor. His left elbow slammed against the tub, his right shoulder cracked against the toilet. He pulled himself back and farther back until his back hit the wall. He looked on in growing horror as the clown's full head popped up from under the door, pulling his shoulders along behind it. The fingers stretched toward Sam, long and gummy.
"You're not real. I'm hallucinating. You're not real."
"Ssssaaammmy. Sam-Sam-Sammeeeeeeeeeeeee."
The voice echoed all around the room. Under the door, up the sink drain, down from the ceiling, it rained down on Sam.
"Sssssaaaammmmyyyyyyy. Are you in there, Sssssaaaaammmyyyy?"
The shower turned on and showered bits of bits of clown down into the tub. Clown-colored slime bubbled up over the edge of the sink and dripped onto the floor. The toilet seat started bouncing frenetically, and red angry eyes glowed and glowered at Sam from behind the rim.
"Sssssaaaammmmyyyyyyy. I'm coming for you, Sssssaaaaammmyyyy…"
The hot air and black edges threatened Sam's vision again. He managed one last gasp, before he blacked out.
"No. No. You're not real."
.
Up next: Sammy hallucinating is hard on a big brother