[Sam] Lobotomy, please
Who: Sam, Dean
Where: Medical Facility (the Staff)
When: Day 23, morning
Invited: Anyone who can think of a reason to wander into Dean and Sam's room
Status: Incomplete
Sam wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed anymore. He'd been staring at the concrete ceiling of the room he and Dean shared since returning from the jail with Aiden. The headache had started when he was in the jail control room keeping an eye on Aiden -- who'd been less than grateful.
The woman's... womanly behavior was the least of his concerns now. No amount of painkillers would touch this damn headache. It was like the vision was trying to claw its way out of his skull through his eye sockets. Sam almost wished it would happen so he could get it over with.
Almost.
(At least Dean stopped snoring--)
"Why we insure witches I'll never know," Sam sighed as he skimmed the checklist secured to his clipboard. Broken glass and ceramics crunched under his workboots as he paced around the ruined kitchen, marking off every item on the long list as "destroyed." This storm had been particularly violent. It had even drained the color from the walls and what was left of the appliances and cabinets. (I'll be lucky to have a job after corporate pays all of the claims.)
Sam was signing the report when the few wires tenuously suspending the broken light fixture overhead gave way. He batted it aside with a thought, unconcerned when it shattered into smaller pieces against one gray wall. It was already broken, much like the kitchen's owner.
The air in the ruined room suddenly sparked with energy. Sam hurried to the door through which he'd entered and was surprised to find solid wall. (The hell?) He turned around, looking frantically for the other door. The paperwork said that there were two, as well as two windows. Gray light filtered dully through the windows, but the other door was gone.
"Shit," Sam muttered, backing into a dark corner. The hair on his arms stood from static electricity. The witch and her friends were almost there, and he *couldn't* be there when they were. It was against policy! Clutching his clipboard to his chest, Sam folded his lanky frame as far back into the shadows as he could. Maybe if he didn't move they wouldn't realize his presence.
Dozens of fireflies appeared from nothing, swarming into several brightly colored figures: a male Whitelighter, the witch, a flame-haired half-elf, the acrobat, the jester/warrior, the voluptuous Slayer, and the barefoot Reader. Sam tried not to breathe. The Reader might hear him.
Only when the unlikely group began cleaning up the mess did Sam relax, and not much at that. He'd escaped their notice. Then his eyes found the miniature door where the refrigerator had been. Fear rose in his throat. That door hadn't been in the paperwork. And the tiny, corroded knob was turning. Sam stopped breathing.
The door inched open on silent hinges. The witch and her friends were too busy cleaning to notice the ill-shaped shadowy head poke through the threshhold. Although it had no eyes -- only a slightly darker, toothless maw -- Sam knew it was scouting. Reporting to its brethern. God knew how many there were. If he were very, very lucky, they might not notice him, either.
A dozen of the foot-tall vaguely human shadows had flowed through the doorway before the Slayer noticed. She shouted an alarm, yanked a butter knife from the wall, and started slashing at the closest intruder. Its dusky head sloughed off, but the fallen shadow was quickly replaced by another. They poured through the gateway like sooty smoke from a flue. The witch and her friends fought the torrent together, but they wouldn't last long.
(I'm safe. Safe in the shadow,) Sam told himself over and over. He was just starting to believe it when movement outside the window opposite him caught his eye. Sam looked and managed to hold back a sigh of relief. His father approached, grizzled, tired, and leaning heavily on a cane, but determined nonetheless.
Dad stopped at the other side of the window, met Sam's gaze, and smiled. Sam grinned back, grateful to see the tough old bastard for once, until his eyes flickered.
They flickered yellow.
Sam gasped. The witch heard, her friends heard, the unholy shadows heard, and worst of all, the demon who'd possessed his father crossed his arms with satisfaction. It looked on as the creatures inside faced him and took a step toward him in unison.
Where: Medical Facility (the Staff)
When: Day 23, morning
Invited: Anyone who can think of a reason to wander into Dean and Sam's room
Status: Incomplete
Sam wasn't sure if his eyes were open or closed anymore. He'd been staring at the concrete ceiling of the room he and Dean shared since returning from the jail with Aiden. The headache had started when he was in the jail control room keeping an eye on Aiden -- who'd been less than grateful.
The woman's... womanly behavior was the least of his concerns now. No amount of painkillers would touch this damn headache. It was like the vision was trying to claw its way out of his skull through his eye sockets. Sam almost wished it would happen so he could get it over with.
Almost.
(At least Dean stopped snoring--)
"Why we insure witches I'll never know," Sam sighed as he skimmed the checklist secured to his clipboard. Broken glass and ceramics crunched under his workboots as he paced around the ruined kitchen, marking off every item on the long list as "destroyed." This storm had been particularly violent. It had even drained the color from the walls and what was left of the appliances and cabinets. (I'll be lucky to have a job after corporate pays all of the claims.)
Sam was signing the report when the few wires tenuously suspending the broken light fixture overhead gave way. He batted it aside with a thought, unconcerned when it shattered into smaller pieces against one gray wall. It was already broken, much like the kitchen's owner.
The air in the ruined room suddenly sparked with energy. Sam hurried to the door through which he'd entered and was surprised to find solid wall. (The hell?) He turned around, looking frantically for the other door. The paperwork said that there were two, as well as two windows. Gray light filtered dully through the windows, but the other door was gone.
"Shit," Sam muttered, backing into a dark corner. The hair on his arms stood from static electricity. The witch and her friends were almost there, and he *couldn't* be there when they were. It was against policy! Clutching his clipboard to his chest, Sam folded his lanky frame as far back into the shadows as he could. Maybe if he didn't move they wouldn't realize his presence.
Dozens of fireflies appeared from nothing, swarming into several brightly colored figures: a male Whitelighter, the witch, a flame-haired half-elf, the acrobat, the jester/warrior, the voluptuous Slayer, and the barefoot Reader. Sam tried not to breathe. The Reader might hear him.
Only when the unlikely group began cleaning up the mess did Sam relax, and not much at that. He'd escaped their notice. Then his eyes found the miniature door where the refrigerator had been. Fear rose in his throat. That door hadn't been in the paperwork. And the tiny, corroded knob was turning. Sam stopped breathing.
The door inched open on silent hinges. The witch and her friends were too busy cleaning to notice the ill-shaped shadowy head poke through the threshhold. Although it had no eyes -- only a slightly darker, toothless maw -- Sam knew it was scouting. Reporting to its brethern. God knew how many there were. If he were very, very lucky, they might not notice him, either.
A dozen of the foot-tall vaguely human shadows had flowed through the doorway before the Slayer noticed. She shouted an alarm, yanked a butter knife from the wall, and started slashing at the closest intruder. Its dusky head sloughed off, but the fallen shadow was quickly replaced by another. They poured through the gateway like sooty smoke from a flue. The witch and her friends fought the torrent together, but they wouldn't last long.
(I'm safe. Safe in the shadow,) Sam told himself over and over. He was just starting to believe it when movement outside the window opposite him caught his eye. Sam looked and managed to hold back a sigh of relief. His father approached, grizzled, tired, and leaning heavily on a cane, but determined nonetheless.
Dad stopped at the other side of the window, met Sam's gaze, and smiled. Sam grinned back, grateful to see the tough old bastard for once, until his eyes flickered.
They flickered yellow.
Sam gasped. The witch heard, her friends heard, the unholy shadows heard, and worst of all, the demon who'd possessed his father crossed his arms with satisfaction. It looked on as the creatures inside faced him and took a step toward him in unison.