Dream Three

## Drabble

Emily walked a little behind the boys on the way to the job they’d picked up. She carried the duffel bag of weapons on her shoulder and kept a hand on her gun in the inside pocket of her jacket.

She was exhausted, though she may not have looked it. She covered the bruised bags under her eyes with a concealer she’d stolen from a convenience store earlier that week. She kept herself conscious by the use of dangerous amounts of Red Bull, but there was no getting rid of the weight of exhaustion that she carried with her constantly. Emily hadn’t told the boys she was keeping herself awake. If she did, they were sure to keep her in a motel room until she slept, but she couldn’t just sit around, couldn’t just wait for the nightmares to take her again. It took every fiber of her being to keep her feet moving, her mind from shutting down, and now it was starting to get difficult. She let her mind drift off for less than a second and she stumbled, dropping the bag.

Sam turned around and reached out an arm to help her. “Em! You okay?”

She slapped it away. “I’m fine, Sam. Leave me alone.” The exhaustion had corrupted her communication skills; her words came out like a barely concealed threat.

Sam raised his arms defensively. He turned back around and muttered, “Jesus, sorry.”

And so she picked the bag back up and kept walking. Dean looked back at her questioningly, but she ignored him, just walked, one foot after another after another after another. Soon though, the monotony of it all took her again. She collapsed on the ground, landing on her hands and knees.

Her brothers dropped everything and rushed to her side. Dean gathered her up in his arms, sending a wave of revulsion up her spine. She didn’t have the energy to move away, so she just rested her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“I knew something was up…” said Dean. After Sam gave him an inquisitive look, he explained, “I had CCR on in the car earlier and she didn’t sing obnoxiously loud.”

“Oh god.”

“I know. Now help me get her back…”

All the while, Emily drifted in and out of consciousness, fighting the sleep she so desperately needed. She felt herself go weightless as Dean picked her up. Unwillingly, her cheek handed on his chest… The transition from wake to sleep was so flawless, she lost track of when exactly reality ended and the nightmare began.

--

She could still feel her body being cradled when she awoke in the dreamscape. She cracked open her eyes just enough to see that she was in a familiar white room. She took a breath and opened her eyes the rest of the way.

She was strapped down to an observation table just like she’d been in the one good memory from Hell she remembered. All around her on stainless steel trays laid several torture implements, all of which she recognized and instinctively cringed at.

The door directly across from her opened, revealing the number to be 313.

A large man dressed in a tight black shirt and jeans stepped in and shut it.

She sighed with relief. “Dean! Thank god, I was really--”

He grabbed a knife and launched toward her, hovering it just above her jugular. How do you know my name,” Dean demanded.

She let out a nervous laugh. “Uh, you’re my twin brother, jackass. I hope I know your name.”

Dean took the knife and dragged it from the bottom of her eye socket to her jaw. Emily chirped in pain. “Do not speak to me like that. Now, shut up.” While he did the same to her other cheek, Dean’s face broke into a sadistic smile. “I’m gonna really enjoy this.”

Emily’s eyes widened in horror. “Wh-what--”

He took another sharp instrument and drove it into her open palm. She screamed and tried to flinch away, but Dean held on tight. He ran his fingers up and down her forearm. “Now what should I do here, hey? What do you think?” He smiled even wider as he walked back to the trays and picked up a fire poker that suddenly turned red-hot and steaming. He held it just above her forearm and chuckled darkly.

Emily screamed so fiercely, the lights in the room and hallway shook, flickered, and died.

--

The Impala was parked in a dark alley with a tarp covering the windshield. Emily shot awake screaming as usual. She looked around for a friendly face as she always had before, but after a moment she knew she was completely alone.

She whimpered and sobbed in the shadows of the back seat, folding further and further into herself. Though she had technically slept, she could feel exhaustion still seeping into her bones.

Never in her whole life had she ever felt so utterly weak and alone.