The Journal of Sam Winchester

With Chuck in the process of being checked on, Sam went to find Dean Tom next. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd seen in the woods last night, but it matched the description of Tom's ghost, and he wanted to make sure that there'd been no other run-ins that he hadn't been able to stop. His need to watch out for anyone who looked like Dean just fueled him as he went and knocked on the door.

Sam had decided to cook stew again to test his kitchen skills, and since it went over so well last time, he made sure to double the recipe so there was enough for Dean. He knocked on the door, and listened to see if he could hear Dean inside. If he looked happier than he had the last time he'd gone down to Dean's room, well, it had been a good Valentine's Day.

Sam hadn't had a nightmare since the day Dean had disappeared. Of course, he hadn't been getting much sleep either, but what rest he got was blissfully free of dreams. Sam figured that since his nightmare had come true, there was no need for him to have any more.

Which meant that he wasn't quite prepared when he had another one.

It wasn't so much a dream as it was a sea of blending images - a creaking motel sign, a door stained with use and age, and inside the room, a simple bed with worn and faded covers, sticking out awkwardly among the candles and bones and dark cloth that covered every available surface. There was someone else there, just outside of Sam's peripheral vision, and as he turned, he could swear that he saw Dean...

The first few moments after Sam woke up were spent simply trying to catch his breath. It was an odd sensation, to feel like he'd just run five miles when all he'd been doing was lying still, and he couldn't think much beyond that.

[open to saltandammo]