A/N Hi guys! Welcome to my first-ever supernatural fanfic, so please read and review! I am really excited about where I see this going – it is inspired by a song called "Throw Your Arms Around Me" by Hunters and Collectors. I know there is a rule on here about songfics, but I've done this a bit differently to most songfics, so hopefully I haven't broken any rules. Anyway, read and (hopefully enjoy)!
P.S. anyone want to be my beta?
I will come to you at nighttime
I will raise you from your sleep
I will kiss you in four places
As I go running down your street
Sam couldn't sleep.
It didn't surprise him of course. When had he ever got a good night's sleep in the last few months? The prospect of reliving Jessica's death over and over was hardly appealing. The memory of the blood dripping and the fire still remained as clear as the day it happened.
And Sam's sense of guilt only intensified.
Sam felt guilty for not warning her. Guilty that he hadn't died too. Guilty for ever coming into her life and at the same time, Sam felt guilty that he was secretly glad he had.
No… it was better to stay awake.
Then of course, there were the other dreams… visions. Of people he needed to save, events that must be prevented from happening. Sam hated the feeling of responsibility that came with these dreams, the knowledge that unless he did something, people would die and only he had the knowledge to stop it.
Well, him and Dean.
Sam rolled over to look at his brother, sleeping peacefully in the other bed. Dean had never been one prone to insomnia, and this night he had dozed off as soon as his head hit the pillow. Not that Sam blamed him. Even in the dark, he could see the dark scratches livid on Dean's face, remnants of their last hunt. Dean had definitely taken a beating this time around. Sam's shuddered slightly at the memory, of finding Dean bleeding and unconscious, attacked while Sam went to the car for more weapons. Sam had killed the werewolf responsible, but then there had been an anxious few minutes, when Sam didn't know if Dean would wake up, if Dean had been bitten, and he was tormented by the knowledge that this was all his fault….
In the darkness, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the memories from his thoughts. But he knew it was no good. It was moments like these that lead to the worst dreams, the dreams Sam had never, ever told Dean about… the dreams where Dean died, impaled on a stake, slashed by a headless horseman, drowned by a water nymph. Or worse, the dreams where Sam couldn't get out of the closet in time to stop a bullet, where Dean was crushed by a truck, where Sam didn't find the faith healer…
Where the pistol in the asylum was loaded, and Sam shot Dean.
The truth and possibility behind all these dreams left Sam jumping awake, drenched in cold sweat, mouth open in a silent scream.
But this night, Sam forced these thoughts ruthlessly from his mind; instead focusing on the crack he could see dimly etched on the dingy ceiling. The sound of trucks rushing by on the highway. He kept his thoughts blank, tracing the crack over and over. It was meant to be a mechanism to keep his mind blank, keep unwanted memories from his mind, but this also had an undesired effect.
Sam fell asleep.
It wasn't a sudden thing, more a gradual realisation, but Sam found himself standing in the motel room. He vaguely thought, this is a weird dream, and looked at his surroundings. He was standing beside one of the motel beds, and as he looked down he realised with a shock that he was staring at himself, sleeping. He turned and looked behind him, seeing Dean in the other bed exactly as before, before returning his gaze to his own sleeping form.
What the hell is going on?
Then, like a cold chill, something materialised in the room with him, on the other side of the bed. Sam couldn't see more than a shadowy outline, but the sense of radiating menace was a force that left Sam literally breathless. He looked into the face of the thing, and was almost blinded by the darkness, but dimly he perceived a faint smile, before the thing placed his hand on sleeping Sam's forehead
Immediately, an icy sensation swept over Sam from his head downwards, and he shivered involuntarily as he watched the thing, transfixed. Almost tenderly, it bent forwards, kissing the sleeping Sam once on each closed eyelid and once on each ear. Four in all.
Repulsed, Sam took a rapid step back and shuddered, feeling the hot breath of the thing in his ear even as it bent over his sleeping form. As the thing stood up he stared at it in disgust, and he thought he dimly heard a low, haunting laugh before he suddenly –
Sam awoke with a gasp, lurching upright. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, and the hairs on the back of his arms prickled as he shook his head in the absolute darkness, trying to clear the lingering feeling of dread. Resolving to get a glass of water Sam swung his feet over the edge of the bed, noting, without really caring, how dark it was. Lurching unsteadily to his feet, he felt his way along the wall, treading carefully to avoid waking Dean. He had made it, he guessed, halfway across the room when suddenly something grabbed his shoulder. Yelling in shock, Sam kicked his attacker away from him, backing only a couple of steps towards the light switch before a horrible thought dawned on him.
Sam hadn't heard the sound of his own voice when he yelled.
Suddenly, the silence surrounding him became deafening, as Sam realised he couldn't hear anything. No trucks on the highway. No crickets chirping. No wind blowing through the cracks in the door. And no Dean snoring heavily in the other bed.
Sam immediately felt a suffocating panic, but into the swirling terror cut another, more ominous thought. Why is it still so dark? And the horrible truth began to dawn on Sam. He tried once more, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that maybe he had lost his voice somehow, and that it was a really quiet night…
Nothing. Sam could feel his mouth and lips move, the vibrations created in his voice box carry along his jaw, but he could hear nothing. And a tentative hand he knew was Dean's coming to rest on his shoulder told him everything he needed to know. Dean would have answered him.
Sam was deaf.
Sam stood frozen, Dean's hand like an anchor mooring him to reality, before he felt Dean grip both his shoulders hard and give him a little shake. Sam would have laughed if he hadn't been so terrified. Whatever Dean was saying, he wasn't liking Sam not answering.
"I can't hear you, Dean." It was a very strange sensation, to speak and hear nothing.
The hands suddenly relaxed their grip, and panicked, Sam made a grab for Dean's retreating arm, catching his forearm. Alone in the darkness and silence, Sam couldn't bear to lose his only connection to the outside world. Almost immediately, Dean took Sam's hand again, gentle this time, and imagining the look of worry on Dean's face made Sam feel like crying. There was only one thing left to ask, and Sam could barely bring himself to speak. To not hear the sound of his own voice. But he had to know.
"Dean… are the lights on? Squeeze my hand for yes."
There was a pause, and Sam's heart lifted suddenly as he felt a twinge of hope, before plummeting as he felt Dean grip the fingers of his right hand.
Blind and deaf.
The shock overcame him and he felt Dean catch his arm as Sam fell to his knees, his mind, for now, a merciful blank