Chapter 3 – Spoken Thoughts & Black Eyes –
This time the bile didn't just rise, Sam had to dart into the bathroom, where he got rid of his dinner along with anything remotely related to food and drinks. Dry heaving, he had the toilet seat in a vice tight grip, struggling to keep himself from losing consciousness and falling over, into his own puke.
"Sam?" The tentative voice of his girlfriend made Sam focus. "Baby? Are you alright?" Wiping his own barf from his mouth he hoarsely said: "Don't come to close, Jess. I probably caught something while being out. Don't want you to get sick too." "Oh… poor darling." Her voice rang with heartfelt sympathy. Sam forced himself to speak again. "Go back to bed, sweetie. I'm goanna take the spare room. "Sure thing." And with that she was gone.
Walking into their guestroom, Sam flopped down on the bed and cried his heart out. The hunter in him ensured it was done in silence. After his eyes had temporarily dried out, questions came flooding in. 'Why tonight?' 'Why didn't they tell me?' and 'is that why John…?" The first could probably never be answered completely. The others were easier. Dean most likely didn't see in the first place and his father, his father had a plot of his own and to the third… maybe it was his punishment?"
All of a sudden a horrifying idea stole its way into his mind. 'What if the blood from Yellow-Eyes – "Azael" his psyche automatically supplied – was the reason?" "Maybe it had done something to him? Or worse turned him into…" Quick as an arrow Sam dashed in front of a mirror and observed his eyes. Still hazel brown. Letting out a huge sigh of relief he bowed his head. Until he heard Jess voice. 'But she's two rooms away! The walls are not that thin!' Sammy listened closely: 'Wonder what's wrong with him tonight? No way he's got the flue and it ain't food poisoning either, we ate the same things.' – Exactly why he hadn't used this particular excuse. – 'Hopefully things will be back to normal tomorrow.'
By this point Sam was way beyond reason and 'calm monologues'. HE COULD HEAR THOUGHTS AND his eyes were PITCH-BLACK. They were eyes of a demon.
His mother's dead, bloodied face flashed before him and his jaw clenched tight enough to make his teeth gnash.
He would not let that bastard win! Only there was nothing to be done about it tonight. 'Sleep.' He thought. At least tonight. Tomorrow there would be a whole lot of research to do.
He was out before his head hit the pillow, fast asleep, and this time no dreams tormented him.