DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately not mine, save the OC
Sequel to Gone Again, it could stand alone but pieces may be missing without the prep. This story is multi chapter and will be updated quickly. Thanks so much to all the reviewers. You make me smile :D
Molten fire surrounded him, the smell of burning flesh and despair floated heavy in the air. The demon leaned over him taunting, tangling around him. He felt the bite of a blade. It dug just below the skin before twisting, burrowing deeper and carving hunks of muscle and skin from his body. The wail of a thousand tormented souls pressed on his consciousness. So loud, it was like a physical blow. The blade came down again, lower, carving patterns across his ribs. He felt the blood flow. He was wet, soaked in blood. It was on his face, ran down him and pooled behind his back. He fought the demon's hands but they wrapped around him, suffocating him. His chest was crushed, he couldn't breathe.
"SAAAAAMMMM" he screamed, but it came out as a whisper. He heard someone begging, pleading for the pain to stop. Hell, he was in hell. He had been in hell forever, burning for his sins.
The ground shook and he heard his name whispered, then spoken, then shouted.
The knife came down again but his scream was a whimper. He saw Alistair's face hover over him with malicious glee in his eyes.
"Sing me a song Dean. Let's hear it!" he cooed, as the blade danced down his side to burrow into his leg.
He was spinning and shaking, parts of him were flying off. Where was Sam? He had to find Sam! Sam had to find him. He could remember his voice, his face, but his eyes were burned away. He would never see his brother again and tore at him more than the knife hacking his leg off, the teeth tearing at his shoulder.
"STOP, NO MORE, PLEASE SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!"
The heat was eating away at what was left of his flesh, he felt himself incinerate, he was lava, he was hellfire, he burned and burned and there was no end.
Sam woke to the sound of his brother's desperate moans.
"Dean?" he said, shaking himself awake and rushing to his bed. "Dean, its OK. Wake up."
He watched his brother struggled in the tangled sheets, sweat pouring from him. The dressing on his shoulder was saturated with blood. His thrashing must have torn the stitches. The wound on his bicep sluggishly leaked through the scabbing. Sam threw the light on and considered the best way to wake his brother without making things worse.
He remembered when Dean was first back from hell. The nightmares were like this, fierce and debilitating. More than once he had tried to wake him, and had found himself on the floor with his brother trying to strangle the life out of him. It had been two years since he had seen him this bad, but he was hurting himself and it had to stop.
"Dean, man, its OK, you gotta wake up." When he heard his brother calling for him, begging for relief, he reached over to restrain his flailing arms. That is when he felt the fever. His brother was burning up.
Sam shook him and Dean fought harder. Horrible noises escaped his dry throat. All at once he arched his back and stiffened. His head twisted and his body convulsed. Sam threw himself across his chest trying to keep him on the bed. It seemed like forever before he felt his brother relax and lapse into unconsciousness.
Sam ran to the medical kit and grabbed the thermometer. He pushed it to Deans ear and pressed the button. 105.2. Sam tried it again, that couldn't be right. It read 105.1.
He flew into the bathroom and turned the shower on cold, then ran to untangle his brother from the sheets. He quickly pulled him into a sitting position before dead lifting him and carrying him into the bathroom. He dragged him into the shower and stood there holding his brother under the cold water.
His chest burned from the contact. He turned his brother around and held him below the arms, cold spray in Deans face and chest.
"Oh my God, Shit, Oh my God Dean please wake up!" he said, trying to feel his brother's breathing.
Was he breathing? Oh please he had to be breathing. They had just been asleep a few hours. He had been feeding Dean antibiotics he scammed out of an urgent care by faking a dental abscess. The hot young doctor had given him a nice supply of pain pills to go with the Z-Pac and get him through the weekend. It was supposed to work. What the hell.
Dean started to shiver so hard he slid from Sam's grasp and ended up in a heap on the shower floor. Sam propped him up in the spray and headed back to the med kit. He dragged out three tylenol and crushed them onto powder with the butt of his gun, then threw them in a shot of whiskey.
Sam knelt next to his brother and tipped the man's head back. He pushed a bottle of water to his lips and tried to make him swallow. Dean choked and most of the water ran out the edge of his mouth but he began to rouse.
He pressed the bottle to him again and he managed to take a tiny sip, swallowing clumsily. He opened his eyes and stared at Sam. "Cold." he said, before his head lolled to the left.
Sam smacked him on the cheeks to rouse him again, then pressed the whiskey to his brother's mouth. He poured the medication filled shot in and covered Dean's mouth with his hand until he swallowed it all, choking and sputtering.
Dean curled away from the cold water. He tried to roll out of the shower but grabbed his hip and shouted in pain. Sam reached for him.
"GET AWAY!" he yelled, pushing at Sam, beginning to fight him in earnest. Sam hauled him to his feet and dragged him to the bed, tossing him down on his stomach and placing a knee to his lower back. He pulled down the edge of Dean's boxers with dread, seeing the saturated dressing over the healing stab wound. He pulled the dressing off and saw the gash was bright red and oozing. Sam pressed his hand to the edge of it and a mountain of yellow oozed out between the stitches.
They were in trouble.