Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" -- it owns me. ;-)
They were trying to take Sammy away...
His Daddy had given him Sammy and they were trying to take him away. His Daddy had told him to run. His Daddy had told him to take Sammy.
And they were trying to take Sammy away.
"Come now, let go. You're safe now. Relax."
They were pulling Sammy away. He held on tighter, gripping the blanket, lifting defiant eyes to the young resident.
Daddy had told him to take Sammy.
"Hey? Did you hear me?"
... take Sammy outside.
He'd done that. He'd taken Sammy outside. And it had been dark outside. Only the window. With the fire-- like with s'mores only bigger... too big... and bad... and now they wanted to take Sammy away...
"Christ, Claire, we don't have all night! Just take the baby so we can check them out!"
"Don't pay him any attention kiddo, he's grouchy, just... you know... let go. We just want to make sure you and your brother are okay... "
... okay. He had told Sammy it would be okay.
Sammy wiggled in his arms, his little hands holding onto Dean's pajamas, his soft head against Dean's chin. Dean squished Sammy closer and tried to get away from the lady.
"... there was a lot of smoke. It could make you sick. You don't want to get sick do you?"
The lady put her hand on Sammy again. In between Sammy's blanket and Dean's pajama. The lady wanted to take Sammy away. Dean's breath hitched suddenly.
"Oh for godssake--"
It was a man and he was there so fast; and suddenly Sammy was being pulled, really pulled away.
Crying.
Sammy was crying.
Dean jerked forward with Sammy, not letting go.
Daddy had told him to take Sammy.
"Hey! Kid it's okay! --Slow it down, Luke!"
The man was making Sammy cry. He held tighter. Sammy cried louder.
He scowled at the man.
"What-- ow! He bit me!!"
The man let go.
"Leave him alone then! I have this under control!"
"He bit me!"
Sammy was still crying, wiggling and shifting and kicking and Dean couldn't hold him right. He was going to drop him. Sammy was going to fall and Daddy was going to be mad and Mommy was--
Mommy was--
"Whoa! Careful there!"
And just like that he wasn't holding Sammy any more. The lady was. The lady was holding Sammy and Sammy was crying, and still kicking and all red and Mommy was--
Daddy had given him Sammy.
There was something tight and dry inside and he couldn't breath right and his eyes hurt and he wanted his Mommy--
"Okay, that's better now," the lady holding Sammy said, except it wasn't.
Sammy was crying.
"Here-- give him to me," the man ordered and Dean watched the lady hand him Sammy.
... farther away...
Sammy was getting father away.
He lunged for his brother suddenly, would have fallen off the table if the lady hadn't grabbed him.
"Hold still..."
The man was going to leave-- was taking Sammy-- the man was taking Sammy away...
"... no..." Dean's voice was low, scratchy; his throat hurt.
"It's okay--"
It wasn't okay.
It was getting harder to breathe, the lady was holding him around the middle. He pushed her away, shoved her, pulled away from her, but still-- the man had Sammy. The man was taking Sammy.
No.
Daddy had given Sammy to him.
He shoved the lady-- hard. Her grip on him tightened.
"Calm down, son! It's okay!"
No.
No.
He pushed harder, he shoved and scratched. He wanted his Mommy. He wanted to go home. He didn't like it here.
"Shi- stop it! Hey! stop it!"
"He's getting hysterical."
"I can see that! Get me some nurses."
The man turned around. He had Sammy. Sammy was crying. The man was going to leave--taking Sammy.
He kicked the lady. He kicked her hard, like his soccer ball.
She made a sound and let him go. He jumped off the table and ran out the door. The door the man had taken Sammy through.
He could still hear his little brother-- still hear Sammy crying.
But where was he?
So many people, so many doors...
They stopped to look at him, stopped going places and drinking things and writing things, so they could look at him-- and then they started coming at him.
He turned around and ran. The floor was ice on his bare feet and he still couldn't breathe right. He couldn't swallow and his chest hurt and all there was were hallways and doors and people behind him and fire-- too big, too hot...
They were yelling and he couldn't hear Sammy anymore.
He'd lost Sammy.
He turned the corner, the hallway was so long, so many doors...
Where was Sammy?
Where was Daddy?
Where was Mommy?
He ran past a door, into a room.
It was dark, but he could see a bed. He slid underneath it.
He shut his eyes tight and covered his face. It was just a dream; just a dream. It would go away. If he waited, this would all go away.
The floor was cold.
Just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you. Dreams aren't real. Dreams go away.
Mommy said.
"Is that a kiddo-roony under there?!"
His eyes shot open.
There was face looking at him. A man, big yellowish teeth, round glasses, sagging skin, deep wrinkles, and then a hand...
"Oh there is! Come on out from there!"
Just a dream. Dreams aren't real. Dreams go away.
... a hand reaching out to him...
He squeezed his eyes shut again and pulled in a big breath, even though it hurt, even though everything inside still felt tight and dry, even though all he wanted was to wake up...
The hand touched him, grabbed his arm, started pulling him.
Something inside him felt like it burst, like it broke...
He screamed.
But he didn't wake up.
Author's Note: In my head John is being detained by the police (maybe a psychiatrist) for claiming that his wife was on the ceiling. It's a story I am working on which this ties into.
I hope you liked this. It's kind of a different style from how I usually write.