By Parisindy

All current episode spoilers apply

Words: as many as I darn well fell like

Authors notes: the last line of this story was actually stolen, from my dear Seamus Harper. From season 1 of Andromeda, one of my fav quotes from the show.

E/O CHALLENGE: Drabble Word: Dean has a fever Special edition: In honor of Mad Server's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!


Wings of Desire

Dean had a fever.

Of course that was really the state of his existence.

Despite the old saying...hell had yet to freeze over.

He felt quivery and sick, and pain … everywhere pain. But even worse was the

Sheer lack of hope, which was what hell, truly was.

Screaming, for his mom, for his dad, for his Sammy, for decades. He was never tempted to get off the wrack and free as time passed and the memory of all things good and beautiful faded, he began to be visited by a demon named Alistair.

He fought, refused. Though he couldn't remember he knew there was a reason to hang on. That bastard would not turn him in to one of them… there was a reason…. there was a reason….

Then when he no longer could even remember there was a reason, he agreed.

Not that he wanted to be like them, but he needed to survive. For some reason that felt important.

So he killed and he tortured and maybe he enjoyed it just a little, as much as anything could be enjoyed in Hell.

But then there was light and not just like someone had turned on the fluorescents, but a pure and righteous light. Then pain, worse then anything in hell, as he remembered all the reasons and all the shame and he remembered love.

A single unknown voice filled the light, and the soft flutter of dove's wings. 'Awaken, and serve.'

And then it was gone, bringing a new darkness, and he gasped, in air and soil, shame, and fear and life.

A hand burned on his shoulder…

'Dean, wake up dude. Come on.'

'Sammy,' he croaked then winched at the sound of his own voice.

'Yeah, its me, you've been sick.'

Dean opened his eyes blinking in the dim lamplight of the hotel, his brother smiling softly down at him. 'Hey, there.' Sam started again.

'Was I dreaming?'

Sam shrugged not really answering, 'You need to drink something.' And Dean watched him pull a bottle of water from a plain paper bag.

'Rather that was whiskey.'

Sam snorted. 'You wish.'

Silence filmed the dingy hotel room as Dean struggle to take a sip from the bottle.

Sam picked at a loose thread at the growing hole in his jeans. 'Did you want to talk about it?'

'About what?"

Silence, Sam wouldn't look up, he couldn't seem to meet Dean's eyes. Could he see, the horrible things he had done? Could he read it on his face? 'Dammit, Sammy.'

'What?' his brother looked up then, seeming all of ten years old again, lost and alone.

'You, now, I remember a of lot things, and there are even more that would forget if I could. Demons, …angels with questionable motives. But there is one thing I will always remember.'

'What's that?' Sam seemed almost to perk up, needing so badly to make things better.

Dean gripped the pillow at his side, and sighed. 'No, chick flick moments, Dufus,' and he whacked his brother upside the head.

Sam, yelled with indignation, and then laughed.

And then there it was. Hope, faint, infinitesimal, minuscule, microscopic, virtually undetectable hope, but hope nonetheless.


The end