Nowhere to Hide

“Tell Jojo he can meet us here,” Dean tells you as he dumps sugar into his coffee. The waitress wasn’t all that pleasant, but she looked a bit flustered. You can relate.

“Jonah,” you say. You look across the table at him as he halts the sugar and freezes a moment before returning it to the side of the table.

His pretty eyes finally meet yours. “Jonah. My apologies.”

Sam huffs and picks up his coffee. You’re next to the window on the inside of the booth, which is good because you can watch for Jonah. You really want to put on some real clothes... not that you want to give up Sam’s hoodie, but you feel really awkward being out in the clothes you slept in, especially clothes that aren’t yours. If that doesn’t scream “walk of shame,” nothing does.

Your cheeks burn and you duck your head to scratch the back of your neck, hoping the guys don’t notice.

“I still think it’s a werewolf.” Dean slurps his coffee, cringes at the heat, and plops the cup back down on the table.

“What about her hand? What about the beds and the lamp?” Sam asks.

The scabs on the back of your hand sting as you flex it and tear them open. You stare at it, waiting for the blood to bead, but it doesn’t. D W S W

“Fine. It’s a party, then,” Dean says, checking out the line of customers sitting up at the bar. He’s constantly observing. Sam’s constantly thinking. They make a good team. “Whatever it is, we need to figure it out fast. Amara’s been quiet and I don’t like it.”

Jonah shows up with your denim duffel bag and you’ve never been more relieved to see him. Sam reluctantly lets you out of the booth. “Are you sure you want to change right now? I don’t know if you should be alone for even a minute until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Dean clears his throat as you look up into Sam’s warm, puppy-dog eyes. You nod. “I’ll be really fast. Jonah can wait right outside the door.”

You see Sam’s jaw clench as he glances at Dean. Reluctantly, he nods. “Alright.” He gives Jonah an unspoken order to watch over you.

It’s a single bathroom, so you bolt the door and tear into your bag. It takes you minutes to switch into the jeans he brought for you - your favorite pair. They have never felt more comfortable than they do right now. You slip on the black tank top and pull the purple flannel shirt on, and when you look at yourself in the mirror, you smirk. Sam and Dean wear flannel, and now you match them. Dean’s going to love that. There’s something about him. Something about his dark, brooding tendency that resonates with you. Maybe it’s his eyes... whenever he looks at you, you can see the trials and troubles he’s had to endure over his lifetime. Dean has to have a hard shell; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to protect Sam.

You’re astonished at yourself for putting that together. You’ve never tried to analyze anyone like that before, but with them, it seems plain as day.

The knock on the door makes you jump. “You okay in there?” Jonah asks.

You breathe out, relieved. “Yes. I’m coming,” you say, as you slip your Converse shoes on. “Did you pick this stuff out? Or did Jenna?”

“Uh, she did,” he confesses. “You don’t want my taste in clothes.”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your shorts,” you say as you zip up your duffel. “I’ll wash them for you.” You toss Sam’s hoodie over your shoulder and hook the duffel bag over your arm, but when you grab the doorknob, it doesn’t budge. Normally, you would be annoyed, frustrated with the crappy utilities, but today, you know better. “Jonah?” You try to control the tremor in your voice.

“What?”

“Please get Sam. Now.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Jonah, go! Please!” You back against the door and eye everything in turn. The toilet is running as toilets run, the faucet is dripping. The mirror is dirty, and warm air is blowing through a dusty vent. You clutch the silver pendant around your neck.

“[Y/N]!” Sam calls out just before he slams the door.

“Sam, it- it locked. I can’t unlock it.”

Sam body slams the door again, jiggling the doorknob. “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing,” you say, but you don’t trust it.

“I need you to move away from the door. I’m going to kick it down,” he says.

You take a deep breath and slide to the wall, inching your way toward the toilet.

The first kick scares the bejeezus out of you. Then the room goes black. “SAM!”

“[Y/N]?”

“I can’t see!”

“Hold on!” More body slamming.

The pressure is light at first, so light that you momentarily question whether you really feel it at all. But then it increases; something has you by the neck. “Sa-!” You try to cry out, but it presses harder against your throat. You drop everything and grasp wildly for whatever it is, but you scrape at your own skin. Slowly, you feel yourself rise as you are pushed up the wall. Your feet scramble to keep contact with the floor, but it’s futile. You’re starting to feel woozy in your head, and you can’t breathe. You think this is it: whatever has been stalking you has finally found you. You wish you had called your mom and dad. You wish you had told Jonah how much you appreciate him.

The last thing you remember is a burst of light as the door splinters in half.