TORTURE, SUPERNATURAL

ꜱɪx. ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ

I dream of a man.

I have my face buried in the crook of his neck, my face pressed against his skin. He smells of whiskey and burnt wood. I can feel the roughness of his jacket against my cheek. I pull him closer and tighten my arms around him. He has one arm on the back of my neck, pulling me towards him, and the other runs slowly up my back.

He holds me as if he's afraid he's going to lose me. There is desperation in his grip as he claws me closer and closer until I am completely folded into him. He shows me he loves me with the softest whisper of a kiss on my forehead.

But, I cannot see him. I try to open my eyes, lift my head, and look this man in the eyes, but something is stopping me.

I try to pull away, but I find I can't move. I try to open my mouth and scream, but a wisp of breath comes out. I try to grind my teeth, clench my hands, and cry, but I'm immobile.

Fear chills me. I panic. I try to pull away with more frustration and desperation, but this only makes the man hold on tighter. It is too much. The pressure is hurting me.

Finally, I open my mouth. I scream.

And I wake up. As I catch my breath, a weight drops onto the other side of my bed.

I look across. As my eyes adapt to the darkness of the motel room, I see a pair of sleepy green eyes. They blink at me innocently. Once, twice, before Dean winks.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispers with a smirk, "Mind if we play bunk buddies tonight? "

"I mind. You have your bed," I scowl.

"Not anymore," Dean points a finger over to his bed before he flops down onto the pillows.

I look over, and Sam is thrashing around on the other bed. He groans in pain and holds a sweat-soaked pillow so tight that his knuckles turn white.

Watching him, I'm surprised at the feelings that rush through my mind. Sam, in pain, reminds me of something. I'm surprised that I care for a stranger like this.

My mother would take one look at my face right now and scold me, telling me how dangerous these feelings can be. I would listen to her, always the attentive daughter, and turn away from feeling like this. Pity kills. She would warn me every day, and love tears you apart.

I look back at Dean. "Stay on your side of my bed, okay? "

Dean gives me a sly, seductive smile as he folds his toned arms behind his head. "I should tell you the same thing. I saw the way you looked at me today after I rescued you, not that I blame you, of course. Who could resist such a body as this?" He gestures down his body.

Shocked, I gape at him and then lower my face into a hateful glare. "Me," I say, "I can resist,"

And for good measure, I add, "And I didn't need you to rescue me. I would have been fine."

Dean rolls his eyes but says nothing. He adjusts himself on my bed, tugging the sheets up to his chin, before snatching a pillow from my side. He slides it under his head and looks back up at me.

"I don't know how you and your infamous mother work, but with Sam and I, we say thank you and get over it." Dean shuts his eyes. "Goodnight Aderyn."

I glare at him. In moments, he is asleep and snoring. I'm tempted to put an apple in his mouth.

I lie down again and place a pillow in the middle of the bed. I'm on my side, facing Sam. Every time I close my eyes, he lets out another groan, keeping me from drifting off. I used to have nightmares like his. I can't leave him to suffer as I did. No one came to me when I screamed, no matter how many times I waited for my mother to come into my room and comfort me. She never did.