Supernatural... But Better (Vol. I)

Chapter Twenty Six

Tired of lying around doing nothing, and not being able to sleep, I sat up and slung my legs over the edge of the bed. The carpet of the motel was rough underneath my bare feet, as I walked over to the door, wanting fresh air. My hand was on the doorknob before I recalled what had happened the last time I'd done that. Maybe... maybe it was better that I stayed inside, instead, even if going out might've helped me sleep.

Sighing softly, I turned to go back to my bed, instantly flinching back against the door at what I saw. Both Dean and Sam were lying there, dead— their bodies— they were very clearly mutilated, and covered in their own— their own blood, and so much of it—

A loud scratching noise filled the room, and I looked up to see the Hook Man himself standing over me, just having torn straight through the wall. I slid down to the ground in fear, my eyes wide.

"Your fault," he whispered. "They're dead, and it's your fault."

He slowly stalked towards me, reaching down and grabbing my arm to aggressively haul me to my feet and hold me still. I couldn't move as he raised his hook, then slashed it down, driving it through my chest—

I sat up abruptly, my fight or flight instinct very much activated, even if it had been just a dream. My pulse was racing, my entire body trembling, my breath coming in short gasps as if I'd just run a marathon. I pushed my hair back from my face, my hands visibly shaking as I did so.

I was so caught up in the world of my unconscious mind that I didn't register how bright the room was. Somehow, I'd actually managed to make it through the night before I was woken up by nightmares. Not only that, but I seemed to have outlasted both Sam and Dean, as the former was no longer on the couch, and the latter was standing just across the room.

He walked towards me, noticing my state. "Are you okay?"

Swallowing, I nodded, a jerky movement. "I'm fine." I moved to stand up, but the moment I put any sort of weight on my legs, they became so weak and shaky that they buckled underneath me.

Dean caught me by my arms before I hit the floor. "Woah, hey, be careful."

He helped me to my feet, and I ran a hand through my hair. "S-Sorry, I—"

The image of his torn up, tortured body flashed unwittingly in my head. I flinched at it, causing him to lose his grip on me, and I went down, falling on the ground next to the bed. I rubbed my face with my hands, as if I could physically remove the nightmare from my head.

Sam peeked out of the bathroom. "What's going on?"

His brother gestured to me. "Annabeth—"

"I'm fine," I insisted, trying to force my pulse to return to a normal rate.

"Like hell you are," he protested.

Looking up at him, I sighed. "Well, if you give me a second, I will be fine."

Sam walked towards me, extending a hand. It was then that I realized he was, yet again, shirtless. Reluctantly, I took it, letting him pull me off of the ground and to my feet, then gently lower me back on the edge of the bed.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at me with a kind look. "Was it the bad one?"

I took a deep breath, shaking my head. "No. No, it— it wasn't that bad."

Raising his eyebrows, he glanced at his brother. "Well, if there's anything worse than this, I certainly don't want to be around to see it," he half-joked.

"You and me both," I muttered, with sincerity.

Sam's demeanor softened, and he sat down next to me. "What was it about?"

I looked down at the ground, unable to look him in his eyes without seeing— without remembering my dream. "Nothing."

He took a deep breath. "Do you remember what you told me about how you don't like being lied to?"

Sufficiently chastised, I amended my statement. "Nothing that I want to talk about."

"Well, that's not good enough for me," Dean interrupted, taking a step towards me. My gaze instinctively went to his face, the memory of my nightmare coming back yet again, forcing me to quickly look anywhere else. "What did you dream about?" When I made no move to respond, he continued. "Was it about me?"

Sam scoffed. "Why would you think it was about you?"

He raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Because she can't even look at me."

The vast majority of my shakiness gone, I stood, trying to walk away from the whole conversation. But Dean wasn't finished. He reached out, trying to hold me back, stop me from leaving, by grabbing my arm — in the exact same place the Hook Man had in my dream.

Immediately, my mind conjured up the memory of myself being murdered, and I quickly yanked my arm out of his grip. I immediately realized my mistake when a flash of hurt crossed his face, before he adopted a stony, cold expression.

"What did I do to you?"

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I shook my head. "You didn't do anything—"

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. "Well, clearly, I did, otherwise you wouldn't be acting like this—"

His misplaced anger frustrated me, so I gave up. "You died. Okay? That's what you did. Both of you... died. And it was a really vivid dream, so I can't look at you because every time I do, I see your— your— your dead body," I explained. They were both silent as they took that in. "Okay? So, if you— if you give me a little while, then I'll forget about it, and I'll be fine, and neither of you will ever have to worry about it again, but the longer we stand here talking about it, the less likely that is. So, can you just— can you just forget about it? Please?"

After a moment, Dean took a small step forward. "Sorry."

I softened a bit. "It's fine—"

He shook his head, cutting me off. "No, I shouldn't have gotten so upset. It's really none of my business, either way—"

"I should've just told you, then we could've avoided all of this—"

"But you shouldn't feel like you have to tell me anything," he responded with a tone of finality that invited no disagreement. "At least, not unless it's important. This... I didn't need to know this, and I'm sorry for pressuring you to answer."

I gave him a small smile. "I appreciate that."

Sam stood then, walking over to us and wrapping an arm around each of our shoulders. "Look at you, getting along, breaking down barriers. This is good."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You can play therapist with all the victims, but trust me, I don't need you to be my shrink."

Dean gave me a look. "You noticed it too?"

"What, his therapist voice? The voice Sam uses with all of the people he's trying to talk to in order to gain their trust?" I clarified.

He smiled broadly at me. "Exactly, his therapist voice! He doesn't believe he has one, thinks I'm full of shit."

I gave Sam a sympathetic look. "Sorry, man, but... you have a therapist voice, and it's pretty obvious."

Dean pumped his fist, then gave me a high five. "Annabeth and Dean, calling Sam out on his bullshit since 2005."

He rolled his eyes, pulling back from us. "Ha ha, very funny."

Suddenly, I heard a faint sound coming from the distance, one I was all too familiar with. "Do you guys hear that?"

Sam hooked a thumb in his brother's direction. "What, Dean celebrating?"

I shook my head, the sound getting louder. "No. Listen."

After a few moments, recognition flashed across their faces, and all three of us shared a look.

Police sirens.