I fall into the embrace of my mother's arms. A lot has happened the past year but she is still my mother and I love her.
Then in the blink of an eye, she's reeking of alcohol and harshly shoving me away from her.
"What happened to my nice little girl?" That question has plagued me for years. It still echoes in my head whenever I find myself being a little less than nice.
"Fuckin' bitch." I roll my glazed over eyes, tears are threatening to spill but I won't let them. Not now. I feel a ball of anger in the bottom of my stomach and before I can stop myself I talk back.
"Oh, is it opposite day?" That was lame. And stupid. Very, very stupid. By the way her eyes are narrowing, I can tell what's about to happen. If I finally got the courage to talk back, why couldn't I have said one of the clever comebacks I always think about when I'm in the shower?
"Don't give me lip." She backs up her sentence by back-handing me in the mouth. Not again. I can't bring this drama to my brother's frontstep anymore. I have to learn how to fight for myself. I can't be weak anymore. I need to grow up.
Before I can even think about it, I lash out and grab my mom's arm. Twisting it in the process so it's pulled behind her back. Her being wasted gives me the advantage of moving faster as she swings at me with her other arm. My knuckles connect with her cheek, then I hear a familiar shuffling sound behind me. My dad's drunken steps stop right as a glass bottle meets with the back of my skull.
-000-
I jump myself awake on the hard mattress of the cheap motel as I try to catch my breath. My labored breaths are the only vivid sound in the room as I press my hand to my pounding chest. I hear pathetic whimpers coming out of my mouth as I try to breathe. My ears start to ring and I'm convinced I'm dying.
If I could compare this to anything, I would say it's as if I were trying to breathe underwater.
"Samantha?" I don't even register the sleepy voice mumbling my name. Footsteps. Stumbling footsteps. I clench my eyes shut, in fear that I'm back at my parents about to get punished again.
Instead of a punch to the face, I feel a hand on my shoulder. It calms me slightly but I still feel my heart beating out of my chest and my inability to breathe.
"Samantha, calm down." I choke out a sob, a sentence trying to form on the tip of my tongue but not being able to spit it out.
"Hey, it's alright. Okay, just focus on me." I blink rapidly, tears spilling over as I clutch to the blankets in panic. I can't breathe! "Focus on my voice, Samantha. Look at my eyes, c'mon. Focus. Focus on me." I look towards the voice, meeting the green eyes through my tear-filled ones.
'We hunt demons.'
'Monsters are real.'
'Well Sam, dad, and I kinda have this job where we gank monsters. Y'know saving people, hunting things. Apparently the Winchester family business.'
Flashes of black eyes and the vibrant red color of blood pop up in my mind. I feel like screaming, if I could.
"Samantha. Look into my eyes, listen to my voice. You are okay. You're here with Sam and I and you are okay." A small sliver of air.
"You're doing great. Now, repeat after me. 'I'm a Winchester. I will beat this.'" I open my mouth to speak, nothing but gasping comes out.
"I'm a Winchester." He looks at me expectantly. More air.
"I-I-I'm a W-Winchest-ter." My breathing slows.
"I will beat this." I cough.
"I w-will beat th-this." I relax completely, my eyes slipping shut in relief of being able to breathe.
"Awesome. Are you okay?" I sniffle and wipe my face with the flannel covering my arms.
"Thank you." I say instead. I look up again, meeting Dean's eyes.
"How'd you know what to do?" He chuckles softly and stands back up before sitting next to me on the bed.
"Sammy used to have them all the time." I look wide-eyed over to the other bed, seeing Sam going back to sleep when he sees Dean taking care of me.
"Really?" I ask with a small chuckle, wondering how Sam Freakin' Winchester used to have panic attacks.
"Yeah. Oh man, they would get mad." He gives another soft chuckle as his eyes go distant, reminiscing in memories.
"Sam would be gasping for air, eventually finding the air to scream 'Do CPR!' over and over again. I'd be trying to calm him down. Counting fingers, saying the alphabet, whatever I could think of. None of it worked. Dad would be getting pissed, yelling at me to calm him down. Sam's gasping for air, saying he's dying. I'm yelling at dad for yelling at me. Sam's hearing all of this so he only panics more," He pauses as I cough again, wiping my nose with the flannel again.
"Dad would finally walk out, claiming he has a hunt to get to. So I would finally be able to start calming Sam down. Only, I had no idea what else to do. But then, this one thing Bobby said to me when I was about nine or ten popped up in my head." Dean pauses again, frowning slightly.
"It was one of the hunts where dad left both Sam and I at Bobby's. I was going through a hard time that month, one of my friends from the last hunt got caught in the crossfire of the monster. So, Sam's sleeping and Bobby and I are outside, fixing up a car. And then, I just stop. I stop moving and breathing. I stop everything. I collapse and Bobby rushes to me, calling an ambulance as I break down. I wouldn't calm down, it got so bad that I stopped breathing for a few minutes because of how much I was crying. And right before I black out Bobby just says, 'Dammit, Dean. You are a Winchester. You will beat this.'"
Tears trickle down my cheeks again when I hear that.
"What?" Dean pauses in his story, watching me cry.
"I'm a very empathic crier, sorry." He chuckles again before continuing.
"So that's what I say to Sam. Well not the 'Dammit, Dean' part of course. He calms down instantly. Literally, he goes from near blacking out from oxygen deprivation to completely calm. From then on out, he would immediately calm down after he repeated those words." I smile again, wondering how my head got to leaning on Dean's shoulder.
"So yeah. I've been around people who had attacks…anyways. Bobby wanted to meet us at Denny's at seven so we should probably go to sleep." Dean goes to get up but I grab his arm, not wanting to sleep alone right now.
"Wait." I wince at myself. I don't want to sound like a child.
"I mean, it's not fair you have to sleep on the uncomfortable chair. This…this bed is big enough for-" I hear Dean sigh dramatically before the mattress bounces from him falling onto it. I wince again as the bed squeaks loudly and Sam groans.
"I swear to god if you're having sex…"
"Ew!"
"You have no faith in me, Sammy!" We both yell, causing Sam to snort before rolling over and trying to go back to sleep. Dean tugs the blanket over both of us. It's silent for several minutes as I try to fall back asleep, staring at the back of Dean's head in the meantime. Eventually, I hear the soft snores from Sam. I close my eyes.
"Fuckin' bitch." A whiskey bottle connects with the back of my skull.
My eyes pop back open. Another loud sigh before Dean rolls over.
"Do you want to talk about it?" No…it couldn't hurt to try.
"Maybe." I whisper in response. I've never really got to talk about my feelings or problems to anyone before.
"Alright, get to talking." I snicker slightly. It's the little things that makes me being with the Winchesters, putting my life in danger for others every day, worth it. Like Dean helping me with a panic attack. Sam making sure I get enough food and sleep each day. Bobby making sure I call every few weeks to let him know I'm not dead.
"I miss my parents." I finally admit. I feel Dean's burning stare on me, probably wondering how crazy I have to be to miss them.
"You know it's like I hate them for what they did to me but at the same time they were-are- my parents and deep down I still love them."
"Which only hurts you more." Dean finishes my thoughts. I nod, wondering if Dean knows exactly what I'm talking about.
"I'd like to say that if they walked into this room right now and said they're sorry and to please come home, I'd go tell them to screw themselves but I'm certain I'd walk right out with them." I absentmindedly trace the new scar on my leg from Ava.
"No. I know you wouldn't leave with them." I'm about to tell him he has a big opinion on me before he continues.
"I wouldn't let you. And neither would Sam or Bobby, Ellen, Jo. Hell, even Ash would keep you here." I choke down the tears, thinking I've cried enough for an entire lifetime before flipping back over onto my side.
"Thank you." I whisper and I doubt he can ever hear me. But as we finally close our eyes again, no nightmare in mind, I hear another whisper.
"Anytime."
Before any of you say 'It's not like that!'. I suffer greatly from anxiety. I get many attacks. I've had too many to count and this is how panic attacks are for me. They're not the same for everyone but this is how I would describe it. I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long, I'm trash. What do you want to happen next?
What do you hate?
What do you love?
What do you think I can improve?