If you want to get out alive...

Chapter 5

C͞͞h͞͞a͞͞p͞͞t͞͞e͞͞r͞͞ 5

When he wakes up, it's still dark. He kind of likes it, too. It's silent, but. . . it's a good kind of quiet.
His eyes are half lidded, but it's the same as if he's closing them, because all he can see is the black.
It was calm. He didn't remember anything bad. Or good. Maybe he was dreaming. He forgot what it was like to do that.

He comes to realize that this isn't a dream, though. Everything still felt real. He was awake. And there was light now, pouring in like artificial sunlight from the door as it opened.
And then the sun is gone, the door has closed it off.
Foot steps echo around the room.
The lights above him turn on; Sam squeezes his eyes shut, so tight so tight he doesn't have to know the switch has been flicked.
He pretends it has never been flicked.

Something thumps softly to the ground, like a pile of clothes maybe.
Someone scoffs.
"How'd you break the lamp?"

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, pretends the light has not been turned on, and pretends his silence has not been broken. He liked the quiet.

Something touches his shoulder gently, nudges at him. "Hey? Sam."
Letting out the a large sigh, he slowly blinks open his eyes, cringing at the harsh light and the blurry face in front of his own. He hums softly, tucking his face back in his arms, his makeshift pillow.
"Okay, pal. Let's get you back in bed, alright?"
". . . I don't want to. I'm sleeping here."

Wes audibly huffs, muttering under his breath. The mattress groans with his weight when he sits on it. "If you're not sleeping on the bed, then I will."
Sam's lips twitch in a sleepy smile. He wants to dream. "M'kay. . ."

It's quiet for a while, and he loves it. It's just like it was before, dark and silent, and he didn't remember much at the moment. Or at least, he was glad he didn't remember much. Which was something new, at this point.
"Why're you here," Sam mumbles.
"You called me."

It was a good enough answer, he supposed. He didn't know if it was true or not, though. Perhaps if he thought about it he'd figure that out. But he didn't want to think, not when he was finally . . . not thinking. About anything.
The bed creaks when Wes lays down. Blankets shuffle against each other.

"How'd you break the lamp?"
Sam doesn't answer for a while. And then; "I'was scared."

Wes doesn't laugh at him, and he doesn't respond either.

They both fall asleep.

* * * *

This time when Sam wakes up, his cheek is pressed to the cheap wood of the table, a small pool of saliva resting next to him. His black hair sticks up in all sorts of different directions. Not sure how that happened.
He groans, sitting up and pawing at his face, frowning when he realized where he was and what had gone on earlier in the night.
He turns around to make sure, and thoughts are affirmed when he sees Wes's sleeping frame on the bed. An emergency wasn't supposed to happen.

He winces at his sore stomach when standing up, and makes his way across the area to the door.
Hand on the door knob though, he pauses, but only because the other in the room just tossed a pillow at him - well, more like next to him.
The boy raises his eyebrows, turning to look back at Wes, who was apparently not sleeping as originally thought to be.

"Where are you going?"
Sam presses his lips together at the question asked, shoulders rising and falling in mimic of a shrug. "I'm gonna get ice. Do you want some?"
Wes laughs, running a hand through his bed head, blonde hair. "What for?"
The younger narrows his green eyes then, confused as to why he was being questioned. "To eat. I'm hungry," he points out, gaze flicking to the side almost uncertain.