Author's Note: I actually attempted to write something really cheery but... um... well, this isn't it :P

Disclaimer: Kripke and a bunch of other well-paid people own all things Supernatural. I am but a wee fangirl!

Spoilers: Season 2 finale.

The subway can be a confusing place when you can't remember which train to catch. Worse still, Dean knows he's late. But what for?

Subway

The subway station was crowded and loud, the night far above wet and miserable. Dean frowned, out of his comfort zone and not just because he was soaked to the skin. Public transport in a heaving city, ugh. Sam's idea of cost cutting involved leaving the car in an out-of-town lot where the all day parking prices weren't insane. It was a good theory but being forced to travel by the city's unpleasantly people-clogged metro system did not make Dean happy. Also, thanks to the crappy weather, the ticket he had was no longer legible and Dean wasn't sure he could remember which train he was supposed to get on. Sam had probably told him something like 'take the L to 130th Street and then switch to the V line...', but when did Dean listen to the small details of the proper usage of public transport? Exactly. And that left him lost, confused, wet and pissed. (Pissed, something smugly questioned, Is that what you're calling this?)

Dean struggled against the crowd as they pushed past him, a stampeding herd of high heels and business shoes, all their wearers heedless to his existence as they bumped into him before moving on without apologising. Where was he supposed to go? Which way had he come from before? Dean knew the last trains were leaving, knew he had to find his before it was too late (too late for what? That same voice demanded and Dean realized he couldn't answer it), but he couldn't see the signs telling him which way to go, which platform he needed, not when he was being bumped and shoved by the tidal crowd.

It was pushing at him more and more, a nasty wrench in his stomach, leaving him breathless, telling him he was going to be late, so late, run before it's too late to...

Call. Shit. All he had to do was call Sam and... Dean ran a hand over his wet brow, sliding it back through his hair. What did he have to talk about? (directions, directions, you need to know where to go). He fumbled for his phone, damp fingers struggling to reach into his sodden pocket. There was something he needed to ask Sam but it was so hard to think when so many people were distracting him and...

Got it! He had it! His fingers shook as he flipped it open and slipped over the keys. No signal. There was no signal. And the screen... the letters were all messed up, either overloaded with extra blocks or entirely absent. He couldn't make sense of the readout at all. Great, the water had gotten into it, damaged it beyond use. Dean shoved it back into a pocket, frustrated with just how lost and late he was. He couldn't call Sam and he was stuck in this damn subway, memory failing to recall which train he needed and time was running out, time was...

Wait. Over there. Tall guy, taller than everyone and he was...

“Sam! Wait!”

Dean started pushing through the crowd, forcing the people aside, calling out to his brother who kept walking away, never stopping, never turning. Not such a big surprise; Dean could barely hear himself think over the crowd.

And yet...

He told himself it wasn't fear breaking his voice. He knew he had to calm down but it was hard, too hard, when everything in him was screaming run damn you RUN and CATCH HIM, every single cell in his body vibrating as if to make the whole walk faster, sprint, run, fly, fucking move! Shaking, he was shaking and hurry damnit hurryhurryHURRY something was after him and he had to get to Sam now!

Dean kept forcing himself through the unyielding crowd. He was slow, his body burning with the need to go faster but every step just exhaustingly hard when it took more and more energy to shove people out of his way. “Move!” He tried to yell but it was breathless, a pathetic wheeze and no one heard him. They smashed into him, each impact leaving him trembling but he had to keep moving, his body wouldn't have it any other way and if he stopped he'd be late, so late, too late. He was going to be too late...

Dean looked up, spotted his brother again. “Sam!” But his voice was pitifully quiet, childish in its inability to cry out past his fear, his mounting terror.

Sam turned, disappeared down the stairs to one of the platforms. Dean finally broke free of the crowd, stumbling out of their hold. He made it to the stairs in time to see Sam make a left turn. Dean hit the stairs, trying to find a burst of speed now that he was free but his feet couldn't find a grip when the concrete was so slick with the rainwater people had dripped all over. He grabbed the handrail, his feet skidding, legs flailing uselessly. He leaned on the warm rail, gripped it as though his life depended on it, hunched and trembling like an old man hobbling around with a cane. His feet slipped away from under him, the ground worse than ice, his body under less control than he had ever known. It took only one shrieking thought (you'll be TOO LATE) to force himself to let go and fall down the last few steps.

He hit the cold ground hard, rattling a few essential bones as the smooth concrete pulsed beneath him. Dean could hear trains leaving, the loud humming of the engines, the wheels clattering and shrieking as the trains pulled out of the station and howled into the tunnels. Dean pushed himself off the throbbing floor, took the left turn Sam had made.

Dean burst onto the silent platform, legs barely holding him, arms thrown out for desperate balance. The last of the hot wind tugged stray candy wrappers and coffee cups on a meaningless circuit of the tracks. Then, silence. The trains were gone and so were the people and no, it's too late, too late now for everything.

But Sam was there, there on the station, waiting for his brother.

“Sam,” Dean said, breathless with relief. He told himself it was relief making his body tremble, relief at (notbeingalonenotbeingtoolate) finding Sam. “Thought I'd never...”

Sam didn't turn around. He stood with his back to Dean. He was dry, untouched by the rain.

“Sam?”

A slight twitch of the head.

“Sammy?” Dean reached out. His hand landed on his brother's shoulder.

Sam turned, body listless. Their eyes met, and Dean fell to his knees, Sam going down with him, slumping against Dean's body. Dean didn't make a sound, could hardly breathe.

Again. Not again! But again... Too late. You were too late.

“No Dean.” Sam's head snapped up, eyes black as tar, the leer in place of the smile such a terrible, horrible, wrong thing. “You broke the rules.”

Sam (too LATE) pushed and Dean fell back, balance gone. No. Not that. He was falling off the platform, falling onto the tracks, his head turned to see the yawning black tunnel. Abyss it's an abyss your gonna fall... His eyes went wide, hardly believing what he was seeing, what he was hearing. That hum, the throbbing, the pull of the hot air...

Howlin' engines comin' outta the darkness... Trainzcomin'gonnahitchergonnadierighthereyergunna...

“Dean!”

He turned, saw Sam with his eyes (normal, not black, but what if it's hiding?) wide and his hand thrown out. Dean reached back, tried to grab on but he was too far, so far, and the train was coming, rushing out of the darkness but...

He threw himself forward, one arm reaching out as far as it could. No one caught his hand. Dean nearly threw himself out of Bobby's couch. Breathless and shaking, hand like a claw grabbing at air, Dean's senses took a moment to wake up with him.

Bobby approached, the concern clear in the older man's eyes. “Dean?”

“Sam.” It came out too loud, jittery, shot through with utter terror that made him want to stand right up and run until he stopped shaking. “Where's Sam?” Dean dropped his hand onto his blanketed legs, the chilled damp skin sending shivers through him. “Where is he?”

“He just went to the store. We're outta coffee. Guess that lack've caffeine musta done a real number on you.” Bobby paused, taking in a deep breath. He moved as if to approach but aborted at the last moment. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“No.” Dean squeezed sweaty palms into fists, nails digging into his skin. The panic had to be gone. “Nothin' special. Just the case I guess...” What case? Working a case? You remember anything like that? “Must've got to me.”

“A case involvin' an old nuke bunker's got you that disturbed?” The disbelief rang in each word. Bobby placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and damn, it was disarmingly comforting. “Dean...”

Move. He had to move before he gave it all up. “It's fine. I'm fine.” He stood up on legs that weren't quite feeling it but had no other choice. “I'm just gonna...” And he disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and all but falling over the sink, running the cold tap to chill the stubborn sweat away.

He looked into the mirror, stared into his own sweaty face, peered at his eyes and tried to pretend he didn't see that black abyss staring straight back out at him.