REVOKE ▸ d. winchester [1] ✔

Chapter 27

Jackie's POV

My whole body jerks- my legs kick out, my fists fly out in search of something to grab on to, and my eyes whip open.

"Hey, hey." A hold around my shoulders and under my knees tightens and gravity threatens to pull me to the floor.

"Sam."

"You're okay," he tells me.

I almost say that I'm not back to him. Because I remember everything that happened. And I am one hundred percent not okay.

"Where's Bobby? And Dean? What happened to Cas?"

"We're right here, Jack."

I twist my neck and look around Sam's shoulder to see Dean and Bobby in tow. They both look physically and emotionally drained, but they're alive. I ignore the ache of my whole body and the burning in my neck and replace all those feelings with relief- they're okay, for real.

It was just a dream. A twisted dream.

"Sam, put me down." We had reached the house and were standing on the front porch. Sam was ready to carry me inside, but I insisted he put me down.

Slowly, he sets me down and I don't let go of his arm until my legs regain their strength. But right as they do, I let go and fall into Bobby, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"What'd he do to you," I whisper. Dean, who is standing right over his shoulder, gives me a sad look.

"We're fine, we're all fine, Jack." Bobby pulls me away from him and places a hand on my cheek. "That bastard's gotta do more than knock us all out to do some real damage."

I can't help but laugh in mere relief that he and Dean are alive and that everyone's okay. Even though the tears that brimmed my eyes since I opened them have long since fallen, I've honestly never been happier. They're tears of happiness.

My smile of relief turns into a grimace of pain quickly as Bobby's hand brushes up behind my ear. As I pull my head away from his hand, I see a streak of red on his fingers.

"Let's get you inside and cleaned up," Bobby says a bit reluctantly at the sight of blood.

I nod, and once inside, I immediately head for the downstairs bathroom. I frown at my own reflection in the mirror, sick of seeing myself tore down and bloodied. Sighing, I use a washcloth to wash my face, happy to wipe away any evidence of today. Moving my hair out of the way, I wipe the blood that had somewhat dried off of my neck.

As I move up my neck, the blood is no longer dried, and every time I pull the washcloth from my skin, more and more blood appears on the fabric.

The cool water that had refreshed my skin on my face no longer feels icy cold on my neck. Behind my ear, no matter the amount of cold water I splashed on it, a burning sensation would break out across my whole neck.

"You okay?" I hear from the doorway.

I see Dean's reflection in the mirror but ignore it as I try to relieve my neck of pain.

At the sight of blood on my hands and soaking the washcloth on the counter, Dean steps into the room.

"Where?" He asks simply.

"My neck. I don't know what he did, but I think I need stitches. There's too much blood."

Dean picks up the washcloth and rinses it off, then moves it back to my neck to wash away even more blood. With one hand he moves my hair out of the way, and the other holds the cloth on top of the irritated skin. My own hands brace myself against the sink.