Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Voices echo through the motel room, thin and childlike.

"One, two."

You recognize the tune before you fully understand where it's coming from, familiar in that chilling way old horror movies are, the kind that crawls under your skin even when you know it's supposed to be fake. You can feel yourself lying in bed with your back pressed flat against the mattress, the blanket tangled between your legs, the air in the room stale and too warm from the heater running all night. Some part of you knows you're awake, or close enough to it, but your eyes stay shut, your vision swallowed by darkness.

Something is wrong. You know that much immediately, because no matter how hard you try, your body refuses to listen. Your fingers won't curl, your arms won't lift, and your head stays heavy against the pillow, pinned there by something you can't see. If you concentrate hard enough, you manage to wiggle your toes the slightest bit, just enough to prove you're still inside your own body, but then everything locks up again, stiff and frozen. You try to speak, but nothing coherent comes out, only a muffled, broken sound that even you can't understand.

It feels like forever, lying there in the motel bed, trapped beneath your own skin while those voices keep drifting through the room. You force yourself to breathe slowly, to think your way through it, but panic keeps pressing at the edges of your mind until every shadow feels closer than it should.

The last time something like this happened, someone woke you up. One of the boys had been there. One of them noticed something was wrong before you had to explain it. But you're alone right now because you snapped at them the last time they hovered, because you were tired and stressed and sick of being watched. 

Suddenly, you hate the memory of it.

You hate the sharpness in your voice, the way you told them to leave you alone, the way they actually listened because they were trying to respect you. They gave you what you asked for. Space. Quiet. A room where nobody checked your breathing or watched your hands shake.

And now that you have it, all you can think is that you don't want it anymore.

Your breathing grows heavier when a worse thought settles in. What if this isn't the same thing? What if you're not just caught between sleep and waking? What if something is doing this to you?

"Seven, eight, gonna stay up late. Nine, ten, never gonna sleep again..."

Your eyes fly open when something slams hard next door. The vibration of your neighbor's motel door rattles through the wall, and suddenly you're free. Your body jerks against the mattress as control rushes back all at once, and you suck in a sharp breath, sitting up too quickly. For a second, all you can do is sit there, heart pounding, one hand pressed to your chest as you remind yourself that you can move. You can breathe. Nobody is standing over you. Nobody is trying to kill you.

You let out a shaky breath and push yourself upright, one hand moving to the side of your neck to rub at the sore muscles there. The awkward position you slept in left a dull ache behind, and the whole right side of your body feels stiff from being curled up too long. The TV is still on across the room, volume set at a low but steady hum, and when you look toward it, your eyebrows pull together. The final few minutes of A Nightmare on Elm Street play out before fading into the credits.

That explains the song.

You must've fallen asleep with the television on. You remember giving up on sleep sometime around three in the morning after hours of tossing, turning, and staring at the ceiling. Some cheesy romantic comedy had been playing then, harmless enough to distract you for a while, and you must have drifted off halfway through it. Apparently the station had moved on without you.