Wake

The sour taste on the back of your tongue begs to be brushed away. It’s warm here. Too warm for your comfort.

Where are you?

You open your eyes to darkness. When you were little, you slept completely under your blankets whenever you were afraid of the dark, head and all, and you never fully grew out of that. You push the blanket away from your face as the cool air rushes in, dispersing the trapped heat of your dormant breaths. You’re in your room in the bunker. It’s dark except for the light pouring through the door from the hall.

Your heart deflates. Being here means it’s all real. Jonah’s really gone. You really burned his corpse yesterday after exorcising a freaking demon - the demon that killed your professor and left his body in a freaking toilet.

You need water. You can’t remember the last time your mouth felt so dry.

As you begin to sit up, your head throbs in protest. You remember sitting at the table in the study. You remember a glass and a bottle. “Ugh,” you groan. I’m never drinking again.

The marble floor is cold on your bare feet. You’re still in the same sweatpants and t-shirt as you plod softly toward the bathroom. Your stomach doesn’t seem happy with you right now; you hope you make it to the toilet.

You empty the contents of your stomach (mostly liquid) and brush the rancid tang from your teeth and tongue, then tiptoe to the kitchen. Maybe you can find Sam’s stash of Tylenol. He’s always prepared, so you know he’ll have some somewhere. You find a clean cup and fill it to the brim at the faucet, emptying it down your throat as you stand in front of the sink. Still not sated, you refill the glass, spot the stash of the boys’ “medicine cabinet” on the counter, and grab the bottle of acetaminophen.

Standing up takes too much energy so you make your way back to the study. The room is empty, but evidence of your nightcap is still on the table. Your glass is nearly empty - apparently, you never finished that last drink. The sight of it makes your stomach turn. The laptop is still on the table but closed now. Dean’s glass is empty and upside down beside it as if he’d made his last call.

Pieces of a song play in your head.

What happened here?

You remember Dean laughing so hard he couldn’t keep his head off the table. You remember singing something at the top of your lungs. Funny faces. Dancing. And... butterflies?

No, that must have been a dream. That’s what you get for drinking whiskey on painkillers. So stupid. Dean can barely stand to be around you. Suddenly you don’t want to sit in here anymore.

Where is he now, anyway? Probably passed out in his room. You guzzle half the glass of water and pop three little pills before heading back to your own little sanctuary. You can’t stay here forever, but you can’t go home. Jonah died there. Or his body died there, anyway. You can’t ever go back there. You’ll need to find a new place to go. But you can think about that in the morning. Shit, it is morning. You can think about it later, because right now, you’re crawling back into bed. You catch sight of the prescription bottle on the nightstand and swipe up your phone as you fall back onto the bed. You have a new text message. Rubbing your eyes with your free hand, you unlock the phone and open the message from your roommate, Jenna.

‘Hey. Trying to get a hold of Jonah. Tell him to call me?’

You never go back to sleep. You never answer Jenna’s text, either. When your body can’t stand to lie in bed for another minute, you get up and change your clothes. You could use another glass of water. And you need to get out of this bunker. You need fresh air.

“Morning,” Sam greets you in the kitchen. “How are you?”

You shrug, slightly annoyed at the stupid question. “What do you want me to say?”

His eyebrows lift, creasing his forehead. “I - uh... I didn’t mean...”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You want to talk?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the refrigerator.

‘Can we talk?’ Dean had said when he came into your room last night. You remember following him to the table, and the savory smell of freshly popped popcorn that you never got around to eating. Your stomach growls.

Sam clears his throat.

You realize you are standing at the sink, holding your glass under the faucet, lost in thought as it overflows. You quickly shut off the water and turn around. “Sorry. I...” You don’t know what to say to Sam. You feel a little guilty, but you’re not sure why. You dreamed that you kissed Dean, but it didn’t really happen, right? You tip the glass to spill some of the water down the drain, then set it next to the sink. But Sam’s the one who’s been right there for you from the start. Sam’s the one who kept you close in the motel that night, at the Ramblin’ Inn, after they busted you out of the hospital. Sam’s the one who makes you feel safe. You’re sure it was nothing more than a tripped out dream.

“So, you guys had a little party last night?” he asks you.

You look at him, confused.

He nods toward the glasses, still on the table. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink when you’re on pain meds?”

You turn and look into the study, and suddenly you are standing face to face with Dean as he croons that old Eric Clapton song, looking at you with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen on a man’s face. You clear your throat and shake your head as if you could shake the memory away. “I’ll clean that up. Sorry. I just ... had a little more than I could handle last night, I guess.”

Sam moves quickly to cut you off. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. I don’t care about the mess. I just think it’s good that you were able to let loose a little bit. What you’ve been through... [Y/N], there aren’t words for this. I’m here if you need me. Dean and I... we’ve been through it all. So... if there’s anything I can do... just say so.”

“Mornin’,” mumbles Dean as he walks into the kitchen in a robe, scratching his head. He pours a cup of coffee and sets the pot back on the burner to keep warm. “You sleep okay?” he asks you, sipping his coffee. Then he clears his throat and looks at you, tiny smile lines at the outer corners of his eyes. “You blacked out on me. Had me worried there for a sec.”