Adam's Revenge •~Supernatural~•

17. As Time Passes

•~MARIE~•

The electronic clock was starting to annoy me; its flashing and obnoxious red tempo were the only movement and sound in the entire room, tapping out a constant beeping noise that demanded attention. Normally, the irritating noise wouldn't have bothered me -growing up with a twin brother who seemed to specialize in the art of grating on nerves would have been the source of my immunity- but it's incessant chirping and quick-moving numbers was a constant reminder of exactly how long Sam has been down and out.

At the moment the clock flashed 6:23 PM. That meant Sam had been fully unconscious for the better part of sixteen hours. Not only that, he also hasn't moved a single muscle since the moment he collapsed.

Since the moment Sam passed out, we've been constantly checking his pulse and feeling for a fever, but there was no indication anything happened to him besides falling into a deep sleep. On numerous accounts we've tried to wake him; trying everything from splashing cold water on his face to holding Dean's dirty shoe under his nose. All of these attempts either ended with Sam's frustrating silence or Dean cursing under his breath at either himself for not being able to wake his brother or at Sam for not getting his lazy ass out of bed.

As time passed and minutes turned into hours, Dean and I then eventually fell into an uneasy silence that was accented by the irate chiming of the motel clock.

Even though currently there was not a word spoken between Dean and I within the moldy motel room, the silent question that seemed to hang in the air was, what the hell is going on with Sam? Though given Dean's stony and pensive expression while he sat on a hard plastic chair next to Sam's bed, I had a feeling that question was something he frequently had to ask himself. I shuddered when I recalled the memory of Sam's eyes slowly glazing over and then fully rolling up into his head. It was a memory I was sure not to forget anytime soon.

As the numbers on the clock kept flashing and beeping, it was obvious that Dean became more and more restless. It started as a nervous tick that sometimes ate at the edges of his eyes and made the worry lines around his mouth deepen. His agitation only became more plain when he started to quickly tap his foot in cadence with the clock; then progressed into obsessively running a hand through his hair and over his face.

Finally, in one quick flash of movement, he was out of his chair and around the edge of Sam's bed. He yanked the bedside table away from the wall and grasped the electric clock. He pulled until it became unplugged, leaving Dean standing there with a cheap motel clock in one hand. Without sparing a single glance my way, he proceeded to stalk across the room to where a trash can was waiting and promptly dumped the object into the bin without remorse. He stood with his back towards me; his hands on his hips and head tilted up to the ceiling. Tension was radiating off of his shoulders in waves and I could tell he was giving everything he had to compose himself.

Eventually, he turned around and faced me as I stood up from the couch I had been perched on for the last two hours.

Dean let out an exasperated huff, "Damn, that clock got on my last nerve." He chuckled humorously like he was trying to cover up his frustrated panic that I knew was just under the surface. Even though he tried to cover up what he was feeling, I could see it in his eyes that he was barely hanging on.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked hesitantly, taking a step forward. I avoided asking him if he was alright,  because that answer was pretty obvious.

"What is there to talk about?" He muttered distractedly as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and pushed hard, as if trying to shove out his anxiety through the back of his head. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, and I waited patiently. Soon enough, he let his hands fall down to his sides.

"I think it'd be great if we got out for awhile. What d'you say?"He said, deftly changing the subject while glancing over the large figure of Sam peacefully laying on the bed. Even from here I could see Sam's steady and deep breaths. Dean looked back at me, "I swear if I have to stay in this crappy motel room for another minute I'm gonna punch a hole through the wall," he finished. By the look of his shaking hands and stiff shoulders, I felt that could be a very real possibility. Though I didn't think it had much to do with the nasty motel room as much as it had to do with Sam. I myself found it hard to look at Sam's healthy glow and steady breaths and not understand why he couldn't just wake up.

"Alright," I affirmed, making up my mind, "Where do you want to go?" 

Dean gave me a relieved look, "There's a mini-mart ten minutes away from here; I saw it on our way into town. I figured we could just pick up some snacks and bring them back here," he scratched the back of his head and added almost apologetically,  "It doesn't sit right for me to leave him for a long time while he's..." he gestured vaguely in the direction of Sam.

I nodded my head, "Don't worry. I get it."

Dean nodded his head wearily, moving to the table by the door and picking up his car keys. He slipped on his jacket and opened the motel door. I followed him and almost ran into his back when he stopped suddenly. He turned around and moved past me to the nightstand that sat snugly between the two beds and picked up a notepad with the motel's logo on it. He hastily scribbled something down, and left the yellow notepad in plain sight.

"Just in case he wakes up," Dean explained as he turned around and left the room without looking back. I stared after his retreating figure. There was no denying the hope in Dean's voice.

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Hello! Sorry this one was so short. This was a weird in between chapter that I thought was necessary to include. Please let me know what you think!:)