okay, so just finished writing this...hopefully i'm doing okay with it!! and hopefully i'm portraying drug addicted Sammy okay!! let me know!! thanks for stick with the story so far!! extra special cookies fr those who review!! bambers;)
Chapter Four
A groan of pain escaped Sam's lips as he shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He blinked hard against the bright sunlight streaming through the sheer window curtains and realized his left eye was swollen shut. Gently prodding the area around it, Sam winced. Why don't I remember getting this?
Every bone in his body seemed to scream as he rolled over and reached for the pills on the bedside table. Christ, what the hell were we hunting last night. Sam yanked off the cap, took two, replaced the lid, and swallowed the pills.
Bracing against the mattress, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, sore muscles straining with the effort. Sam wobbled precariously on shaky legs, grabbing hold of the bedframe to steady himself as the room shifted in and out of focus. A pain-filled hiss escaped from his lips. Oh God, two is definitely not gonna be enough. Sam hastily flipped the cap off the bottle, shook three more into his hand, swallowed them, replaced the lid, and set them down on the table.
Sam plodded to the bathroom door, and hearing the shower running, he knocked. "Hey, Dean, you almost finished in there, cause I really need a hot shower."
He jiggled the handle when Dean didn't respond and was surprised the door opened with a slight creak. "Since when haven't you locked the door when you're taking a shower, dude?"
A beautiful brunette woman with dark blue eyes, pulled back the shower curtain, and stared at him. "Didn't think you'd mind if I took a shower, Sam. You could join me if you'd like." She smiled seductively at him.
Who the hell is she? Sam stared incredulously at her, taking in her long sexy legs, trim physique, and firm breasts. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and gave her an awkward smile. "Um . . . naw — " What the heck is her name — God, I should at least know her name? "I'll wait till you're finished."
"Sammy, get your boxers off and get in here with me. I'll wash your back and you can wash mine." She licked her lush, full lips, a sexy grin on her face. "And then we can start on the front and see where it leads."
Sam pursed his lips and gave a slight shake of his head as he jerked his thumb toward the bedroom. "Uhhh . . . yeah — just gonna — I gotta — I'll be right back." He scurried out of the bathroom before he could make a complete ass out of himself.
Searching the room, he found her purse, rummaged through it, and found a license. Chelsea Rivendale . . . good to know, seeing as how we've — Scrubbing his hand across his face, Sam stared at his bed, noticing for the first time how rumpled the sheets were. Um, yeah, this is definitely not good. How could I not remember her or what we did?
And where the hell is Dean?
Stalking to the dresser, Sam snatched his cell and jabbed the button to call Dean. After three rings, his brother finally answered.
"Dean?"
"Sammy?" Dean replied, a definite hint of irritation in his tone.
"Where are you, dude? I mean I wake up and I got — " He hitched a thumb toward the bathroom, then brusquely raked his fingers through his hair. "Just where are you?"
"Same place I was four days ago, Sam, seeing as how someone stole my car."
"What? Someone stole your car?" Sam pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment and stared at in disbelief. "How the hell did that happen?"
Dean was quiet for several seconds before responding. "Not quite sure. Maybe it happened when I was unconscious from the deep gash on my head."
Sam's stomach churned, his heading swimming as the pills took effect. He staggered to the bed, dropped onto it and leaned against the backboard. "S-someone knocked ya on the head, Deanie?"
"Deanie?"
"Maybe it was the purple men. They are always hitting people on the head . . . they're known for that, you know? I read it in a book somewhere." Sam chuckled. "Gotta watch out for them, dude, they're tricky."
"Yeah, Sammy . . . purple men . . . why the hell didn't I think of them."
"Although, it could've been the globsnatchers . . . although I don't think they like shiny black things." Sam laughed hysterically. "I'll do some research."
"You do that, Sam." Sam could hear Dean's deep aggravated sigh, and then his brother continued. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?"
"Right now, I'm lying in bed." He pointed to the bathroom. "But, in a second, I think I'm gonna go join that hot chick in the shower."
"I mean it, Sam, where are you? I need to find you before anything else happens."
"Why . . . you think the purple men are after me?" Sam leapt out of bed and rushed to the window, peeled back the curtains and peered out, squinting against the bright sunlight. "I don't see anything, Deanie . . . not sure if they can tolerate the sunlight."
"No, I don't think the purple men are after you . . . and if you call me Deanie one more time, I swear to God, I'm so gonna kick your ass when I finally get a hold of you."
"Why the hell are you getting all pissy with me, dude, it's not like I took y-your car — "
Before he could finish, Dean cut him off. "Naw, you'd never steal my car . . . but I gotta tell you, when I get it back, it better not have even the tiniest scratch on it or I'm so gonna be kicking some serious ass." He was quiet again for a moment, only his deep, steady breathing could be heard. "Look, I'm not gonna ask again, where the hell are you?"
Sam blinked hard, strobes of bright flashing gold and red light warring with the glistening specks of silver, hurt his eyes. "Gotta go . . . think they're here, Dean — think they're trying to burrow into my skull. Have to stop them — have to save what's-her-name in the shower before they get her to."
"Sammy, don't you hang up on me," Dean shouted into the phone.
Clutching the sides of his head, Sam cried out in pain. "Th-think they try and eat your brains, Dean — oh, God, it hurts. Help me, Dean . . . pl-please."
"I'm coming, Sammy." Dean's voice filled with concern. "Just give me something to look for . . . a street sign, a name of the motel you're staying at . . . anything, dude."
Sam peered out the window again, the blazing light nearly blinding him, and saw a neon sign. "Th-think it says the Barringer's Inn. Oh Christ, h-hurry, Dean . . . th-think there's a wendigo in my shower."
Drawing in a staggering breath, Sam's grip on the phone tightened as he stalked to the dresser and grabbed his knife. "I-it's tryin' to tr-trick me . . . pretendin' ta be a girl . . . I gotta kill it."
"Listen to me, Sammy," came Dean's voice in a breathy rush. "If someone's there with you, you have to let them go."
"It's gonna kill me . . . it's gonna kill me if I-I don't stop it. The purple men said so."
"She's not gonna hurt you, dude . . . I promise. The purple men are lying to you . . . just let her go."
It's not really Dean on the phone, Sam. A soft voice echoed through Sam's mind. The wendigo is trying to make you think it is. You have to kill it before it gets to Dean.
"Y-you're not Dean." Sam trembled as he slowly edged his way to the bathroom door."Dean would say kill first ask questions later," he whispered.
"Sam, when you were five, you fell off your bike and broke out your front tooth. You came crying to me cause you were so afraid Dad would be mad and wouldn't let you ride it anymore, remember? It's me . . . you gotta believe it's me."
The wendigo knows everything about you, Sam. It's a smart hunter. Kill it before it kills you.
"The wendigo would know th-that . . . they know everything."
"Christ, Sammy! Ask me something only I would know."
Sam squinched his eyes shut as the pain inside his head increased. "H-how many dots," he asked in a shaky voice.
"What?"
"H-how many were there . . . tryin' to remember . . . lost count . . . how many were there?"
"Ten thousand-eighty, then you had to start over."
Sam's grip on the knife slackened. He groaned as the white-hot pain rippled through his spine. "Tha's right. D-did have to start over, didn't I?"
"Yeah, now let her go." Dean's voice soft and coaxing.
He wants the wendigo to kill you . . . he thinks you're evil. The voice inside Sam's mind warned. Don't trust him. He's gonna try and kill you himself if the wendigo fails.
"Not evil, Dean . . . I-I swear I'm not." Tears sprang to Sam's eyes as he thought of his brother hating him enough to want him dead. "Wh-why do you want to kill me?" He leaned against the wall, and slid down to rest on his haunches, the tip of the blade resting on his throbbing temple.
"I'm not. It's those pills you're takin'. They're messing with your mind."
"No, they help. Th-they're the only things that make the pain go away."
"Please, Sammy, I'm beggin' ya to stop takin' 'em. Can't you see what they're doin' to you?"
"The purple men said you would say that. Said, you were against me."
"Damn it, dude, there's no such thing as purple men . . . a wendigo is not taking a shower in your bathroom, and if you see a banshee sitting at your table, guess what . . . she's not real either."
Sam glanced nervously in the direction of the table, and drew his legs up closer to his chest. "Oh, God, Dean, do you really think there's a banshee in here as well?"
"No, I don't . . . look, just go sit in the Impala and wait for me. I promise I'll be there as fast as I can."
"Th-thought you said, your car was stolen?"
Dean groaned and Sam could tell without even having to see him that his brother was nearing the end of his patience.
"Yeah, I'm thinkin' the purple men stole it, picked up the wendigo and banshee somewhere along the way and now my car is parked somewhere outside your motel."
"Huh . . . I didn't even know, they knew how to drive, dude."
"Yeah, pretty freakin' amazing seein' as how they are only three inches tall. Now go get in the car."
"You have seen them . . . thought you said they weren't real?"
Sam heard a noise coming from the bathroom and then the door swung open. A hideous wendigo glared at him. Its jagged yellowed teeth gnashed together as it growled at Sam.
"Oh God, Dean, it's comin' for me an' I don't have a flare gun."
"Sam — just get in the car." Dean hesitated for a second, then hurriedly added, "I placed a damn charm on it to ward off wendigos."
"Not gonna work . . . the purple men said to stab it in the heart . . . said it's the only way." Sam dropped the phone and leapt to his feet, his knife raised toward the wendigo.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean could hear the sound of a woman screaming for several minutes and then the line went dead.
Oh God, Sammy, please, just go to the car — please tell me you're not killing that girl.
A knock came at Dean's motel room door.
That damn well better be Bobby.
Dean grabbed his coat and Sam's laptop, and strode to answer it. He threw the door wide open and glared at the old hunter.
"Bout freakin time you got here, Bobby."
Bobby adjusted his baseball cap so it was low over his brow. "Got here as fast as I could, damn truck broke down, an' I had ta fix the engine." He scrubbed a hand through his beard as he continued to stare at Dean. "What's the matter anyhow? You were pretty damn cryptic on the phone."
"I think Sammy may have just killed someone."