Hello all. I'm kind of in a dark place and who better to take it out on than Dean Winchester?
I have the feeling there will not be a happy ending. Not a death fic but not really a warm and fuzzy fic either.
So, having said that, reviews are always welcome and encouraged. Thanks to any who decide to take a look.
Of course and as always, I do not own anything SPN.
The nightmares. They have become more vivid, more realistic. As he startles to wakefulness once again he knows something is starting to change. He still wakes up in the same way he has done every single time since Castiel dragged his ass up from the depths of Hell. He has grown accustomed to it. His shirt. It sticks to each part of his body that it covers. He can feel the layers, the pools of sweat as they drip out from every crease and every pore. His breath is fast and ragged. Nothing new about those things.
But the smell. The distinct, invasive odour of sulfur. It is so strong, so potent that he has to work hard not to gag. He never used to wake up to that stench. It doesn't make sense that a smell can travel from the state of a dream into the state of the waking world. At least he has never endured it before.
And the room. It is still alight, still aglow with the fires of the pit. The floor, the walls, even the bed he lays on are still engulfed in a roaring fire. That sensation used to last only a second or two once he joined the world again. But now, over the past little while it lingers, it stays with him longer and longer.
He feels apprehensive and unsure of what it all means. He thinks maybe he is just finally starting to crack up. That maybe he needs a nice, long break at the nearest mental facility. Maybe they can hook him up with some magic pills that will make all the visions go away.
He looks to the bed to the right and his breath is caught in his throat as he gazes on his brother's form. He always looked to his younger brother for confirmation that he has returned from his nightmare. That all is well once again with him and with the world. But the sight that meets his eyes stuns him.
He lays there, his brother, but not in his usual state of rest. Not with a stream of shaggy, sleepy head hair straying out from beneath the blanket that always seems to cover his head. No. Sam. He is burning. Right before his eyes his baby brother is burning.
He can hear the crackle and pop of skin, like bacon sizzling away in the frying pan. He can smell it. The overpowering odour of decay, of rotting and burning flesh.
He is fixated on the macabre scene before him. He can't move and he can't breathe, He can only stare as the features that once made his brother unique slowly dissolve and melt away. Like a painting that has been washed away by the rain. Until finally, nothing is left. Until the only thing that remains is his bones. It is then that he leans over the side of his burning bed and heaves. And heaves.
He closes his eyes and tries to tell himself. This can not be real. This is a nightmare. It is always a nightmare. He just needs to ride it out. As if he has been heard, the red aura that he sees behind his eyelids, the one that had overcome this tiny room starts to fade. He opens his eyes and can see it. The walls. The floors. The flames that had consumed them just moments ago start to fade. No. That's not it. They are being sucked into the floor. As if Hell itself is reclaiming them.
Then the smells lifts. No more sulphur. No more flame. No more Hell.
He glances back to the bed his brother had occupied and feels the tiniest of smiles tug at his mouth. As he looks upon his brother's sleeping form. Once again the two brothers are there. Together. And the room is once again just another motel room.
He feels uneasy because he knows he is right. Something has changed. And it's bad.
TBC... Thanks again :)