It's a beautiful, beautiful thought- that Ericka Jane had- in the fic entitled "Dismantle Repair" which I'm sorry...but it's a fucking legend, :) Go and read that now!
This fic- badly written takes place from Ericka's in that after Sam died in 'The Song Remains The Same' he went to hell, it's a freakin beautiful fic.
Ahem. So, Sam went to hell...- here's where my thoughts prowl, and the ending also takes place when the brothers fall asleep, both of them having nightmares, Dean's of Sam dying and Sam's of being in hell.
Mine's got a bit of a twisted, like the twister author. Dark.
Summary- Ya'll know.
Warning: Language, bad writing.
Disclaimer: Oh whoa whoah...I ain't touching this with a ten foot pole. Me -own?...haha er no.
Sam was withdrawn, pale, shaking if you counted the fine tremours under Dean's hand.
"Did they hurt you?"
Dean looked at his fierce, supposed anti-christ of a brother, shaking...and eyes so unseeing he didn't know if Sam was having a vision or not. Yeah- real scary Demon King.
Sam blinked, his eyes darting down as he took a deep breath and Dean watched him, his heart in his throat.
He'd seen Anna, the pipe she ripped from the wall, the way she ran it through him like he was butter and he felt the ground shift, the blood choke its way up his throat and how calling out to Dean, how it was so hard...so painful.
When you died, especially leading into the fourth and fifth time, you didn't see a white goddamn light, there wasn't a fucking tunnel. Or as Sam said himself once hellfire. There wasn't even that.
It was dark, blinding flashes of pain and blood filled skies that screamed endlessly.
When Sam first opened his eyes in hell, the first thing he saw was blood red miles of agonies unimaginable, and when the first form hovered near him Sam felt sparks rage in his body, hate and anger to this thing, this demon- and all the pain it brought to Dean. What it had done to his entire life, how he'd been twisted and manipulated.
"You-" Sam spat, cut off when smoky arms extended and his jaw snapped shut, his teeth smashing.
He heard the links of chain pull, like a reel and his arms were strung, tight and taught, his legs and deep gouges started through his wrists as he screamed in his throat, his eyes streaming tears.
"Sam...Winchester?" The black form cocked it's head, feeling strangely female to Sam.
His eyes widened as he breathed deeply through his nose.
"My boy, what are you doing here?...You're all booked in with the en-suite." It giggled, and the chains loosened, the hook that was going to ride its way through his wrist was gone.
"The big boss needs to know about this Sammy, I'm about to get my big pay bonus!" She dragged Sam carelessly behind her, over what felt like hot coal and broken glass. Her feet sloshed on the path and Sam gagged at the reflection of dark red in the flamelight, its thickness sticking to Sam.
"Oh Sammy, don't worry. Our Lord is going to make this all better, you just have to say one little word." The demon stroked it's whispy hands down Sam's face as he pulled away.
"No..." Sam strained. "No...I'll never." He glared at her with fear in his eyes.
The demons form seemed to grow darker, thicker, as if it was angered.
"NO!" She screamed. "You're going to say no! Do you have any idea the things he could give you...you couldn't even imagine, no mortal can!"
"Well Sam, if you don't agree and start this damn war...I'm going to have to persuade you."
The chains suddenly clinked back, the hooks tore into his flesh, through his arms, chest, shoulder and side and tugged him tight, hovering above the rack.
"Y-you can't hurt me...he promised!" Sam pulled against his binds but it was useless.
Blood rushed for the second time up Sam's throat, the tearing, burning, ripping sensation in his chest made him scream and choke on the bubbling blood.
"We've just got started kid-NO!"
Suddenly, there seemed like a sonic boom and hot fresh air and Sam heaved and gasped in long lungfuls of clean air, his eyes sliding shut as he sagged, his forehead creased in pain at the throbbing in his head.
The breath left Sam's lungs in a rush and a blinding blur of sickening colour, black into red and then...beige?
Sam blinked. The carpet was pale at his feet.
"Sam?" Dean urged, his eyes wide. Hands locked into fists on Sam's shirt. "Hey!?"
Sam licked his lips, swallowed on his suddenly dry throat, he thought absently he could still taste the blood.
"No." Sam ansered finally, and Dean sagged next to Sam on the bed.
"Good. That's good." Dean's hold grew painfully tight but even spaced, Sam felt the tremour under his brother's skin, the nervous movements. "You're talkin' you're alive Sammy." Dean patted Sam, feeling for a wound the size of a pipe or just being brotherly and worried Sam didn't know.
When Sam was finally cleaned up and he wasn't shaking like he was catatonic, Dean pushed him down on the bed, they both officially needed a rest, and now.
The motion of lying down was making Sam's heart race, but he was so tired, so exhausted he couldn't fight the fatigue and soon his eyes slipped shut, and as Dean watched Sam lying next to him he wondered about the nightmares they'd have tonight.
Himself seeing Sam die another bloody death...and Sam, of what he'd seen in hell. Dean smelt the damn sulphur and felt the heat when Sam appeared in the room with him, nearly faceplanting.
Sam jerked, middle of the night, hands clutched at his stomach in frantic fright. There was no blood, he was okay. He was okay.
A sob bubbled like the blood up his throat and he bit his lip, Dean was still beside him and he reached over to their duffles, pulled out the many bottles of Jack Dean had stashed and took a long drink.
"I'm sorry I ever sent you there Dean." Sam whispered, taking another gulp.
The end. Ah. Needed to get this out.