Flashing lights, pulsing words, and her own screams dug deeper and deeper into her skull.
Y/N was back in that cold, gray hell, strapped to the chair, needles dripping slowly into her veins. The drugs burned. The leather pulled. The metal scraped. Voices played tricks on her strained mind, there was no peace, no clarity, no breath she could take that would calm her being. She was trapped.
Y/N woke with a gasp, her body shaking, curled in on itself. She tried to stretch, to release the clenched muscles of her stomach so she could breathe, but she was wound too tightly.
She opened her eyes and focused on the ceiling fan as it spun slowly above the bed. She followed each revolution, the calming turns of the blades acting as a metronome for her heart.
Dean snored lightly beside her, stirring but still out. Y/N spared him a quick look before carefully pulling the sheets from her sweat drenched skin. He looked so peaceful; thick lashes spread out for her to count, freckles lined up across his nose for her to trace. His lips were dry, but relaxed, parted slightly as he drooled onto his pillow. He needed to sleep.
Not wanting to wake him, Y/N gingerly rolled to the edge of the bed and lifted her left leg, ready to bounce and flea. The shift in the sheets woke him, and Y/N was caught, his hand reaching around her chest, pulling her back.
Ellen's Bar and Tab 