Fic: Scrambled (Supernatural) 1/3
Title: Scrambled
Prompt: Possession/Mind Control
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, Cas
Pairing(s): Gen
Word Count: 2712
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never has been.
Warnings: None
Summary: A story about witches, brothers, and fire. And maybe a little amnesia thrown in for good measure.
“Hey.”
There was a voice. It was deep and quiet. It was nice.
“Come on. Open your eyes.”
The voice was accompanied by a strong grip. Eyes sounded easy enough. Except they seemed to be glued shut.
“I know you’re awake,” the voice said. “Just open your eyes.”
There. There were the eyelids. The light was almost painful after sleeping so long, but a few blinks brought a room into focus. The man was leaning down, a little close for comfort. His dark hair was a mess and there were dark circles under his eyes.
The small frown of confusion caused a sharp prick as lip skin cracked and split.
The man smiled, seemingly relieved rather than concerned. “Hey,” he said. His tone was warm and happy. “Welcome back. I was worried you weren’t going to wake up.”
His voice was soft. There was a nice cadence to it too. But why had he been worried? Something didn’t quite make sense, but it was too much to figure out. It was easier to slip back into the mindless drifting from before.
“Come on. Stay with me, here. Don’t go back to sleep just yet.”
Eyes. That meant eyes again. With a lot of work they slipped open, barely more than slits this time. The man smiled again.
“Just hang with me for a minute. I need you to answer a couple of questions.”
Blinking threatened to turn into sleep again.
“How’s your head?”
Head? Was something wrong? Nothing felt out of place.
“Are you hurting?”
Hurting? No.
“Okay, okay.” The man said. “But I need you to talk. Can you do that for me?”
Talking was a thing. People spoke. But it seemed alien at that moment.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Another frown irritated the cracked lips from before. A frown meant not quite. There wasn’t anything to remember.
“Words,” the man said with a small frown. “I need words here.”
No.
“Come on, you can do it. If you say something, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
Fine. Breathing in felt like sucking air through a tiny straw and the word was scratchy against the dryness of a parched mouth. “No.”
The man chuckled. “Fair enough. Go back to sleep.”
~~~
Blinking awake came easier this time and the light was different, warmer. The man was reclining in a chair next to the bed, eyes closed, and breathing softly. The small rustle of sheets against skin made him stir. He stretched and leaned forward with an easy smile. “Morning.”
The smile was easy to return. It felt good even. The silence stretched out. The man probably wanted words again, but that would be a lot more work than it’s worth.
The room looked familiar somehow. It should probably have be easy to recognize but it’s mostly foreign. There was a picture on the nightstand of a woman. She was very pretty, but not familiar at all.
“Are you actually awake this time?”
Shifting to look at him was a slow process as stiff muscles made themselves known. This time?
“You’ve been in and out all night.”
Oh. Something happened, didn’t it? That mades sense.
“Been waiting on you to wake up so we could get some food in you. Feel up to eating?”
It was still too early. Everything was too hazy for food. Everything felt too soft around the edges. Here looked like a place, but not any place namable. The man, too, felt safe, but in some indefinable way. He just fit and that’s all that was important.
“Okay,” he said, propping himself on his elbows on the edge of the bed. “I need words. You’ve got to talk. Let me know you’re in there.”
Words. Fine. But there was no question to answer.
The man seemed to understand. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”
“No.” The word came out rough. It hurt to speak.
The man winced and offered up a cup with a straw. The water felt like heaven on dry, parched skin, but it was pulled away too quickly.
“Easy,” the man said, reaching over to the nightstand. “Don’t want to make yourself sick.” He set the cup down and turned back. “How’s your head?”
“Fine?” It was fine. Nothing to report.
The man sighed. “Okay. How ‘bout that breakfast?”
The thought of food might be okay, actually.
“I know you’re still a little scrambled, but you’re worrying me. You’re never this quiet.”
“Food is fine.” There was even enough energy left over for a little smile. Smiles were good. They meant things were okay.
The man beamed back. “Okay. I’ll be back. Don’t go back to sleep on me.”
The man left and was back in a few minutes, carrying a plate of eggs and a fork. “Think you got this?”
Got this? Oh, right. Arms were kind of important for eating. Sitting up took a lot more energy than it should have, but there was enough left for a few clumsy bites. Not that it mattered. The first three bites stirred up a queasy churning that made the rest of the meal look disgusting.
“Done.”
The man frowned, leaning over and to look at the plate. “You barely touched it. Just a few more bites? For me?”
That should have been important. That this man was asking should have prodded whatever reserves of gumption there were. The churning, roiling of the first few bites of egg was enough to overcome that temptation though. “Done.”
The man’s frown deepened. He leaned forward to make eye contact. Something was wrong. That much was obvious. Just from the squinty eyed look, it was obviously time for another round of questions.
“How much do you remember?” The man starts. He’s chosing his words carefully.
“Remember?”
“About what happened.”
“No.” That wasn’t the right word. It can’t have been because the man had started to look worried.
“You don’t remember anything about the shit storm the other day?”
“No?”
He made a little noise in the back of his throat. “Okay, maybe I missed something. Concussion check. What’s your name?”
Name? People had names. That should have been an easy question. It wasn’t. There wasn’t an obvious answer. It wasn’t a question that needed a good answer or a bad answer. It needed an other answer, one with lots of words.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Name…”
“Okay, what about mine?”
“Man.” He was a man. That was something like a name.
The man looked a little stricken, but he pressed on. “Not quite. How about the date? What year is it?”
Years were a measure of time. The man looked like he might be somewhere around forty years. Years were counted from the birth of Jesus. Jesus must have been really old by now.
“Ancient.”
The man froze. Obviously that was a really wrong answer. There was no way to know these questions. It didn’t make sense. Why did he keep asking impossible questions?
“Hey,” the man said gently, reaching out. The touch was grounding, but not particularly comforting. “Hey, it’s alright. You took a pretty nasty blow to the head. Things will sort themselves out soon enough.”
There had to be something in this whole moment that made sense. The man helped rearrange the pillows and the sheet so that lying back was more comforting. He carded his fingers through the hair splayed out on the pillow. They massaged as they worked through tangles. The frustration gave way to exhaustion as the man started humming something slow and half remembered.
~~~
He shot upright from sleep, shocked into awareness by the nightmare filled with screaming and blood and some woman he doesn’t recognize. It was sharp and horrible, but faded nearly as soon as he realized he was awake. A hand landed on his back and he jumped, still jittery from the confusion of the dream. The man is there, looking as wide-eyed, startled as he feels.
“Shit,” the man said. “Are you okay?”
As he sat, panting, the fear and adrenaline began to fade. He blinked when the glow of the bedside lamp clicked on. “Just a nightmare,” he gasps.
A little tension drained out of the man next to him. He remembered how worried the man seemed last time he was awake. It was good to see him relax some.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
That was bad. He knew that was bad. He didn’t mean to scare anyone. He’d been scared himself. “Sorry.”
The man chuckled, rubbing small circles on his back. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. Want to talk about it?”
He really kind of didn’t. He shook his head. “I don’t really remember it.”
The other man sobered a little. “You feel a little more with it?”
He had to think for a minute. A little. Things seemed a little clearer. There were voices bouncing around in his head. He couldn’t quite tell if it was from the nightmare or something else. He nodded anyway.
“Good. Think you can answer some questions?”
He remembered the last round of questions and felt the pinch of frustration. “I doubt it,” he quips.
The man looked like he was biting back a smile. “At least your personality is still intact.”
He figured that must be something at least.
“Alright,” the man said, growing serious again. “Same thing as before. Remember your name?”
He knew lots of names. Bobby, Sam, Dean, Cas, John, Charlie, Mary, Amelia, Lisa, Ben.... Any of them could have belonged to him for all he really knew about them.
He must have hesitated too long. The man said, “It’s fine.” He patted his hand. “Really, it’s okay. But it’s easier if I ask the same questions so I can tell if things start coming back.”
That made sense, even if it was eternally frustrating to never have the right answers.
“My name?”
He frowned, concentrating. It was like the lyrics to a half remembered song. It was there. He knew he should know, but he didn’t.
“Alrighty, do you know what year it is?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know where you are?”
He thought about that. The room was familiar. He should know this one. It felt warm and somehow lived in. There were personal touches. “Home?” he ventured.
“Are you asking or telling?”
He shrugged.
“Yeah, buddy,” the man said with a smile. “You’re home.”
That seemed a strange thought. Somehow being home seemed wrong, though why he couldn’t fathom. Then a thought occurred to him. Someone was missing. “Where’s Carla?”
The man frowned. “Carla?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen her that I remember. Is she around?”
“Dude, we don’t know a Carla.”
“You know Carla. We live with her.”
There was a wariness to the man’s features when he said, “No, we don’t. It’s just the two of us.”
He took a minute to process that. He knew Carla. She was sweet, if a little klutzy, but he couldn’t quite picture her in his mind. “I…”
“I know. It’s fine. You’re going to be a little scrambled. I promise I’ll explain soon. But I need to know that your head’s all in working order before I do.”
There the man went again, talking about his. His head was fine. Or maybe not. He couldn’t remember the names. That was weird.
“Look, it’s three in the morning,” the man said. “Think you can go back to bed for a little while?”
The nightmare had all but slipped from his mind and now that he thought about it, he could feel sleep tugging at him again. He could sleep. He lay back down and drifted off.
~~~
When he finally woke again, he glanced at the clock and realized it was past ten in the morning. He stretched feeling the pull of stiff muscles. He was alone in the room, but only for a moment. He glanced up at the click of the latch just as Dean walked in carrying mugs of coffee. They smelled delicious.
He propped up, realizing for the first time he was sore. Not just sleep stiff, but sore like he’d run all night. He groaned a little, but smiled. “I hope one of those is for me.”
Dean, who’d been concentrating on getting in the door without spilling the mugs jerk up and met his eye. “Well look who’s up. Thought you were going to sleep all morning. Again.”
Dean offered a mug and he took it. It was warm in his hands and the smell was intoxicating. He took a sip off the top, careful not to burn his tongue on the scalding coffee. It was heaven.
He set the mug down on the nightstand and sat up properly so he could look Dean in the eye. “I needed that. Thanks.”
Dean shrugged. “Was hoping you might wake up for caffeine.”
“Mmm.”
“You sound better this morning.”
“I feel better this morning.”
“No more nightmares?”
He hadn’t had any more nightmares, but the rest of his dreams had been bizarre. He kept dreaming about a woman and her kids. She kept screaming and screaming, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Not really.”
“Remember who Carla was?”
He frowned. “I don’t really know. I’d know her though. I can’t believe…”
“It’s fine. Remember. You’re just unscrambling. Speaking of, remember that name yet?”
Couldn’t they just forget about names? He hated feeling like it was slipping around in the back of his brain just out of reach. “Do we have to do this, Dean?”
Dean froze. “Well, I guess that answers two questions. And yes. We do. You know we do.”
He huffed, but leaned back against his headboard.
“Alright, question number three, what year is it?”
“2016.” He paused. He hadn’t had to think about that one.
“Good. Remember where you are yet?”
He glanced around the room. It was his room. “My room.”
Dean snorted. “Two out four is better than we’ve been doing. You had me worried. I was afraid you’d actually managed to fry your brain this time around.”
He frowned at that. “What actually happened?”
“Nuh-uh. Give it a couple of days. If you don’t remember on your own, I’ll tell you.”
He huffed. He just wanted a clear answer for one of these questions that didn’t make any sense.
“It’s okay. I guess you could say you were in an accident at work. Looks like there won’t be any lasting effects, but I want to be sure.”
“Fine.”
“Awe, there’s the little bitch we know and love.”
“I…”
“Just relax. I’ve got it all taken care of.”
He felt the niggling of something. Some thought he couldn’t quite place. It was like he was having two thoughts at once. It was simultaneously the weirdest and most unsettling feeling he’d ever had.
Dean caught the hand that was holding his coffee just before the mug slipped from his fingers. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I feel weird.”
“Weird how,” Dean asked, taking the mug from him and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Dunno.”
“That’s helpful.”
He sat there, feeling Dean’s eyes on him and struggling to place what was going on. It felt urgent or like he’d left the stove on.
Dean nudged him in the side. “Are you hurting?”
“No, just a little sore.”
“Headache?”
“No. It’s more like I’m worried about something that I’m not worried about.”
Dean was staring at him. “That was about as clear as mud,” he said finally.
He frowned. “I don’t know. It’s like someone’s whispering in my head.”
Dean paled a little. “You’re not hearing people talk to you? Or seeing anyone?”
He frowned confused. “It’s just us in the room. Who would I be seeing?”
Dean relaxed a fraction. “I don’t know man. Just covering all our bases.”
He wracked his brain for anything that might be amiss. He had been in this room for the past day at least. He hadn’t been anywhere or done anything to forget.
“Hey, come on. Let’s get you out of this room. Change of scenery and all that.” Dean rose from the bed and collected his coffee mug. “We’ll go for a walk or something if you’re up for it.”
He pushed himself to his feet. Aside from being sore, he was fine.
Master Post ~~~ Part 2 >>
Prompt: Possession/Mind Control
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam, Dean, Cas
Pairing(s): Gen
Word Count: 2712
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never has been.
Warnings: None
Summary: A story about witches, brothers, and fire. And maybe a little amnesia thrown in for good measure.
“Hey.”
There was a voice. It was deep and quiet. It was nice.
“Come on. Open your eyes.”
The voice was accompanied by a strong grip. Eyes sounded easy enough. Except they seemed to be glued shut.
“I know you’re awake,” the voice said. “Just open your eyes.”
There. There were the eyelids. The light was almost painful after sleeping so long, but a few blinks brought a room into focus. The man was leaning down, a little close for comfort. His dark hair was a mess and there were dark circles under his eyes.
The small frown of confusion caused a sharp prick as lip skin cracked and split.
The man smiled, seemingly relieved rather than concerned. “Hey,” he said. His tone was warm and happy. “Welcome back. I was worried you weren’t going to wake up.”
His voice was soft. There was a nice cadence to it too. But why had he been worried? Something didn’t quite make sense, but it was too much to figure out. It was easier to slip back into the mindless drifting from before.
“Come on. Stay with me, here. Don’t go back to sleep just yet.”
Eyes. That meant eyes again. With a lot of work they slipped open, barely more than slits this time. The man smiled again.
“Just hang with me for a minute. I need you to answer a couple of questions.”
Blinking threatened to turn into sleep again.
“How’s your head?”
Head? Was something wrong? Nothing felt out of place.
“Are you hurting?”
Hurting? No.
“Okay, okay.” The man said. “But I need you to talk. Can you do that for me?”
Talking was a thing. People spoke. But it seemed alien at that moment.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Another frown irritated the cracked lips from before. A frown meant not quite. There wasn’t anything to remember.
“Words,” the man said with a small frown. “I need words here.”
No.
“Come on, you can do it. If you say something, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
Fine. Breathing in felt like sucking air through a tiny straw and the word was scratchy against the dryness of a parched mouth. “No.”
The man chuckled. “Fair enough. Go back to sleep.”
~~~
Blinking awake came easier this time and the light was different, warmer. The man was reclining in a chair next to the bed, eyes closed, and breathing softly. The small rustle of sheets against skin made him stir. He stretched and leaned forward with an easy smile. “Morning.”
The smile was easy to return. It felt good even. The silence stretched out. The man probably wanted words again, but that would be a lot more work than it’s worth.
The room looked familiar somehow. It should probably have be easy to recognize but it’s mostly foreign. There was a picture on the nightstand of a woman. She was very pretty, but not familiar at all.
“Are you actually awake this time?”
Shifting to look at him was a slow process as stiff muscles made themselves known. This time?
“You’ve been in and out all night.”
Oh. Something happened, didn’t it? That mades sense.
“Been waiting on you to wake up so we could get some food in you. Feel up to eating?”
It was still too early. Everything was too hazy for food. Everything felt too soft around the edges. Here looked like a place, but not any place namable. The man, too, felt safe, but in some indefinable way. He just fit and that’s all that was important.
“Okay,” he said, propping himself on his elbows on the edge of the bed. “I need words. You’ve got to talk. Let me know you’re in there.”
Words. Fine. But there was no question to answer.
The man seemed to understand. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”
“No.” The word came out rough. It hurt to speak.
The man winced and offered up a cup with a straw. The water felt like heaven on dry, parched skin, but it was pulled away too quickly.
“Easy,” the man said, reaching over to the nightstand. “Don’t want to make yourself sick.” He set the cup down and turned back. “How’s your head?”
“Fine?” It was fine. Nothing to report.
The man sighed. “Okay. How ‘bout that breakfast?”
The thought of food might be okay, actually.
“I know you’re still a little scrambled, but you’re worrying me. You’re never this quiet.”
“Food is fine.” There was even enough energy left over for a little smile. Smiles were good. They meant things were okay.
The man beamed back. “Okay. I’ll be back. Don’t go back to sleep on me.”
The man left and was back in a few minutes, carrying a plate of eggs and a fork. “Think you got this?”
Got this? Oh, right. Arms were kind of important for eating. Sitting up took a lot more energy than it should have, but there was enough left for a few clumsy bites. Not that it mattered. The first three bites stirred up a queasy churning that made the rest of the meal look disgusting.
“Done.”
The man frowned, leaning over and to look at the plate. “You barely touched it. Just a few more bites? For me?”
That should have been important. That this man was asking should have prodded whatever reserves of gumption there were. The churning, roiling of the first few bites of egg was enough to overcome that temptation though. “Done.”
The man’s frown deepened. He leaned forward to make eye contact. Something was wrong. That much was obvious. Just from the squinty eyed look, it was obviously time for another round of questions.
“How much do you remember?” The man starts. He’s chosing his words carefully.
“Remember?”
“About what happened.”
“No.” That wasn’t the right word. It can’t have been because the man had started to look worried.
“You don’t remember anything about the shit storm the other day?”
“No?”
He made a little noise in the back of his throat. “Okay, maybe I missed something. Concussion check. What’s your name?”
Name? People had names. That should have been an easy question. It wasn’t. There wasn’t an obvious answer. It wasn’t a question that needed a good answer or a bad answer. It needed an other answer, one with lots of words.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Name…”
“Okay, what about mine?”
“Man.” He was a man. That was something like a name.
The man looked a little stricken, but he pressed on. “Not quite. How about the date? What year is it?”
Years were a measure of time. The man looked like he might be somewhere around forty years. Years were counted from the birth of Jesus. Jesus must have been really old by now.
“Ancient.”
The man froze. Obviously that was a really wrong answer. There was no way to know these questions. It didn’t make sense. Why did he keep asking impossible questions?
“Hey,” the man said gently, reaching out. The touch was grounding, but not particularly comforting. “Hey, it’s alright. You took a pretty nasty blow to the head. Things will sort themselves out soon enough.”
There had to be something in this whole moment that made sense. The man helped rearrange the pillows and the sheet so that lying back was more comforting. He carded his fingers through the hair splayed out on the pillow. They massaged as they worked through tangles. The frustration gave way to exhaustion as the man started humming something slow and half remembered.
~~~
He shot upright from sleep, shocked into awareness by the nightmare filled with screaming and blood and some woman he doesn’t recognize. It was sharp and horrible, but faded nearly as soon as he realized he was awake. A hand landed on his back and he jumped, still jittery from the confusion of the dream. The man is there, looking as wide-eyed, startled as he feels.
“Shit,” the man said. “Are you okay?”
As he sat, panting, the fear and adrenaline began to fade. He blinked when the glow of the bedside lamp clicked on. “Just a nightmare,” he gasps.
A little tension drained out of the man next to him. He remembered how worried the man seemed last time he was awake. It was good to see him relax some.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
That was bad. He knew that was bad. He didn’t mean to scare anyone. He’d been scared himself. “Sorry.”
The man chuckled, rubbing small circles on his back. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. Want to talk about it?”
He really kind of didn’t. He shook his head. “I don’t really remember it.”
The other man sobered a little. “You feel a little more with it?”
He had to think for a minute. A little. Things seemed a little clearer. There were voices bouncing around in his head. He couldn’t quite tell if it was from the nightmare or something else. He nodded anyway.
“Good. Think you can answer some questions?”
He remembered the last round of questions and felt the pinch of frustration. “I doubt it,” he quips.
The man looked like he was biting back a smile. “At least your personality is still intact.”
He figured that must be something at least.
“Alright,” the man said, growing serious again. “Same thing as before. Remember your name?”
He knew lots of names. Bobby, Sam, Dean, Cas, John, Charlie, Mary, Amelia, Lisa, Ben.... Any of them could have belonged to him for all he really knew about them.
He must have hesitated too long. The man said, “It’s fine.” He patted his hand. “Really, it’s okay. But it’s easier if I ask the same questions so I can tell if things start coming back.”
That made sense, even if it was eternally frustrating to never have the right answers.
“My name?”
He frowned, concentrating. It was like the lyrics to a half remembered song. It was there. He knew he should know, but he didn’t.
“Alrighty, do you know what year it is?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know where you are?”
He thought about that. The room was familiar. He should know this one. It felt warm and somehow lived in. There were personal touches. “Home?” he ventured.
“Are you asking or telling?”
He shrugged.
“Yeah, buddy,” the man said with a smile. “You’re home.”
That seemed a strange thought. Somehow being home seemed wrong, though why he couldn’t fathom. Then a thought occurred to him. Someone was missing. “Where’s Carla?”
The man frowned. “Carla?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen her that I remember. Is she around?”
“Dude, we don’t know a Carla.”
“You know Carla. We live with her.”
There was a wariness to the man’s features when he said, “No, we don’t. It’s just the two of us.”
He took a minute to process that. He knew Carla. She was sweet, if a little klutzy, but he couldn’t quite picture her in his mind. “I…”
“I know. It’s fine. You’re going to be a little scrambled. I promise I’ll explain soon. But I need to know that your head’s all in working order before I do.”
There the man went again, talking about his. His head was fine. Or maybe not. He couldn’t remember the names. That was weird.
“Look, it’s three in the morning,” the man said. “Think you can go back to bed for a little while?”
The nightmare had all but slipped from his mind and now that he thought about it, he could feel sleep tugging at him again. He could sleep. He lay back down and drifted off.
~~~
When he finally woke again, he glanced at the clock and realized it was past ten in the morning. He stretched feeling the pull of stiff muscles. He was alone in the room, but only for a moment. He glanced up at the click of the latch just as Dean walked in carrying mugs of coffee. They smelled delicious.
He propped up, realizing for the first time he was sore. Not just sleep stiff, but sore like he’d run all night. He groaned a little, but smiled. “I hope one of those is for me.”
Dean, who’d been concentrating on getting in the door without spilling the mugs jerk up and met his eye. “Well look who’s up. Thought you were going to sleep all morning. Again.”
Dean offered a mug and he took it. It was warm in his hands and the smell was intoxicating. He took a sip off the top, careful not to burn his tongue on the scalding coffee. It was heaven.
He set the mug down on the nightstand and sat up properly so he could look Dean in the eye. “I needed that. Thanks.”
Dean shrugged. “Was hoping you might wake up for caffeine.”
“Mmm.”
“You sound better this morning.”
“I feel better this morning.”
“No more nightmares?”
He hadn’t had any more nightmares, but the rest of his dreams had been bizarre. He kept dreaming about a woman and her kids. She kept screaming and screaming, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. “Not really.”
“Remember who Carla was?”
He frowned. “I don’t really know. I’d know her though. I can’t believe…”
“It’s fine. Remember. You’re just unscrambling. Speaking of, remember that name yet?”
Couldn’t they just forget about names? He hated feeling like it was slipping around in the back of his brain just out of reach. “Do we have to do this, Dean?”
Dean froze. “Well, I guess that answers two questions. And yes. We do. You know we do.”
He huffed, but leaned back against his headboard.
“Alright, question number three, what year is it?”
“2016.” He paused. He hadn’t had to think about that one.
“Good. Remember where you are yet?”
He glanced around the room. It was his room. “My room.”
Dean snorted. “Two out four is better than we’ve been doing. You had me worried. I was afraid you’d actually managed to fry your brain this time around.”
He frowned at that. “What actually happened?”
“Nuh-uh. Give it a couple of days. If you don’t remember on your own, I’ll tell you.”
He huffed. He just wanted a clear answer for one of these questions that didn’t make any sense.
“It’s okay. I guess you could say you were in an accident at work. Looks like there won’t be any lasting effects, but I want to be sure.”
“Fine.”
“Awe, there’s the little bitch we know and love.”
“I…”
“Just relax. I’ve got it all taken care of.”
He felt the niggling of something. Some thought he couldn’t quite place. It was like he was having two thoughts at once. It was simultaneously the weirdest and most unsettling feeling he’d ever had.
Dean caught the hand that was holding his coffee just before the mug slipped from his fingers. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I feel weird.”
“Weird how,” Dean asked, taking the mug from him and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Dunno.”
“That’s helpful.”
He sat there, feeling Dean’s eyes on him and struggling to place what was going on. It felt urgent or like he’d left the stove on.
Dean nudged him in the side. “Are you hurting?”
“No, just a little sore.”
“Headache?”
“No. It’s more like I’m worried about something that I’m not worried about.”
Dean was staring at him. “That was about as clear as mud,” he said finally.
He frowned. “I don’t know. It’s like someone’s whispering in my head.”
Dean paled a little. “You’re not hearing people talk to you? Or seeing anyone?”
He frowned confused. “It’s just us in the room. Who would I be seeing?”
Dean relaxed a fraction. “I don’t know man. Just covering all our bases.”
He wracked his brain for anything that might be amiss. He had been in this room for the past day at least. He hadn’t been anywhere or done anything to forget.
“Hey, come on. Let’s get you out of this room. Change of scenery and all that.” Dean rose from the bed and collected his coffee mug. “We’ll go for a walk or something if you’re up for it.”
He pushed himself to his feet. Aside from being sore, he was fine.
Master Post ~~~ Part 2 >>