INITIUM - Supernarural Season One [Dean Winchester x Reader]

XIV - Nightmare

Couches. Simple and, though sparse among motels, comfy. You've come to accept couches, loveseats, daybeds--call it what you will--as your bed, saving the boys a few stolen pennies and sparing them the backaches they'd get the next morning if they slept on the couch.

Motel beds come in a multitude of conditions. Crusty, plush, scratchy sheets, loud springs, old, smelly, soft--but still, it was a bed, and most of the time, the couches were in similar or often worse shape than the beds. The boys agree that sleeping in a bed, even if it's not your own, beats sleeping on a small couch.

"I actually have room to move around and get comfortable in a bed," they say. "I'll sleep more soundly if I'm in a bed," they reply when you offer them the couch (jokingly, of course).

So, then why, you found yourself wondering, had Sam woken up at midnight in a cold sweat, eyes darting around the room frantically and panting like a dog? He ushered you and Dean out of the motel carrying the duffel bags. You walked out of the motel half-awake, a sleeping zombie, and collapsed in the backseat of the Impala.

Now, fully awake, you and Dean listen to Sam call up a police station.

"McReedy, Detective McReedy. Badge number 158," Sam tells the operator. "I've got a signal 480 in progress. I need the registered owner of a two-door sedan, Michigan license plate--Mary-Frank-6-0-3-7... Yeah, okay. Just hurry."

"Sammy, relax. I'm sure it's just a nightmare," Dean tells his bristling brother. Sam's outburst at the operator was out of character for the friendly college boy. Whatever happened in his nightmare clearly upset him.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam replies dryly.

"I mean it. You know, a normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare." Dean adds, "This license plate won't check out, you'll see..."

"It felt different, Dean--real... Like when I dreamt about our old house and Jessica," Sam counters, the other end on the line still silent.

"Well, yeah, that makes sense. You're dreaming about our house, your girlfriend," Dean says. "This guy in your dream, you ever see him before?"

You eyes fall on Sam when he answers defeatedly. "No."

"No," Dean confirms. "Exactly. Why would you have premonitions about some dude in Michigan?"

"I don't know," Sam snaps.

"Me either," Dean replies calmly.

"Yes, I'm here," Sam says into his phone. You and Dean exchange glances as Sammy recites what the operator told him. "Jim Miller--Saginaw, Michigan. Do you have a street address? . . . Got it. Thanks."

"I'm guessing that means the license plate checked out," you quip, cocking a brow.

"Yeah," Sam sighs. "How far are we?"

Dean glances at his brother. "From Saginaw? A couple hours."

Sam looks back out to the road, past the windshield wipers beating away at the rain. "Drive faster."

~~~

The police worked fast, you gave 'em that. Outside the Miller home, a crowd of neighbors gathered at the yellow police tape and watched the emergency team roll out Jim's dead body out on a stretcher. Officers spoke into their radios, others removed their hats at drag a hand down their face. Dean parks the Impala across the street, the engine quieting down to a purr then to nothing.

Sam is silent.

You and the boys quietly join the crowd. "What happened?" you whisper to a nearby neighbor, an older woman who is kind enough to tell you what she knows.