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Dean Winchester

“Sammy!”

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I woke with a start, kicking out and throwing a punch that only made my fist collide with the roof of the car. Baby. My baby. I looked around, blinking the fog of whatever sleep I’d just awoke from, the dream still lingering at the very edges of my consciousness. Sammy had been falling, away from me and into an abyss where I couldn’t reach him. I still felt the brush of his fingertips against mine, that spark of heat like a connection lost, drawing my attention. Pulling my hand down from where it still pressed against the roof of the car, I forced my fingers to relax enough to open and stared at my fingertips. The tingling in them slowly faded with each passing heartbeat, leaving a cold spot growing deep within.

“No,” I shook my head, unwilling to even think about what that could possibly mean. “He’s not gone. Can’t be.”

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I sat up, shifting and sliding on the leather seat until I could swing my legs around and plant my feet on the floorboard. Leaning back against the seatback, I looked around me, staring out filthy windows to a world that didn’t quite feel real to me. At first, the film of dirt and grime on the windows didn’t register with me, but soon enough I realized I wasn’t seeing anything outside because of the obstructed view. I reached for the door handle and pushed it open, the loud squeak of hit hitting me right in the heart.

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“The hell?”

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Baby was sick and I let it get this bad? Where the hell had I been? What had I been preoccupied with? Stepping out of the car, I turned when I heard the sound of… disgusting. Was someone trying to throw up or something? The hand that locked onto my shoulder felt completely wrong. I turned to see who it was and immediately fell back against the side of Baby, trying to get away however I could. Dead eyes, beyond white and reaching a sickly grayish color gaped out of a face that was obviously sunken in and dead, mouth hanging open with a broken jaw, lips and cheek torn with it. It didn’t seem to stop whatever it was from leaning in, trying to sink it’s awkwardly working teeth into my arm. I’m pretty sure if it hadn’t been for my leather jacket, fingers would have torn my flesh. I shoved the creep away with my other hand, nose wrinkling and lips curling back in disgust at the slimy feel of dead flesh easily tearing under my own fingers. Its skin peeling back didn’t slow the thing down, though, which had every warning bell in my head screaming at me to get away.

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Stuck in the opening of the car door, I leaned my shoulders back against the frame and lifted a booted foot up, planting it squarely against the sunken chest of the creep and kicked it back. It staggered and fell, the sounds it made echoing all around me. I moved quickly, grabbing the closest thing at hand to defend myself. Nothing more than a heavy branch that had fallen on the hood of Baby, I picked it up and held it like a baseball bat. I heard the creep behind me scramble and struggle to regain its feet and I swung away, knocking it across its back with a powerful hit that probably would’ve sent anyone else flying to the ground. This creep, though, fell only to start trying to get up again, not even a loss of consciousness making an appearance.

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I frowned, staring at the back of the creep, mind racing through all the stories I knew of and even trying to pull fragments of stuff Sammy always droned on about. From out of nowhere, I thought I heard Sammy’s voice.

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“Head.”

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Like it was instinct, I swung the heavy branch around again and crushed it through the back of the creep’s skull, the sickening wet crunch it made not quite lost with my own grunt of effort. I stood back, sucking in a deep breath, hands still wrapped around the branch as it stuck in the mess that I’d just sent spewing from the head of the creep.

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“Aww, that’s gross. That’s so gross.  I’m going…”

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I dropped the branch and rushed to the back of Baby, leaning down just in time to spew what little contents was in my stomach on the pavement. My shoulder on the rear fender of the car, I stood there stooped over as I tried to take slow, controlled breaths before finally straightening up.

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“Where the hell am I?”

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