It was far too familiar here. A place of waking in the night with sweat and tears and young spilled seed. Damp then not only in the old quilts piled in the far corner, but also in the air. A dank and cold hung over Sam now just as it had then. His lips dry, he forced them open with his tongue and murmured a familiar word to assure himself of continued existence with the sound of his own voice. "Dean…"
And here the word echoed, gracing Sam with the apparition of multiple existences. He wished one, a different one than that which he whispered seconds ago, would fly back into his slightly open mouth so he could swallow a new truth, a new past, one unsullied by pain, passion, love, confusion, and guilt – all those wonderfully horrible characteristics of multiple or individual existences in the hell called Earth.
But the echoes only packaged themselves in unseen water droplets and hung static in the air far above his open mouth, a teasing taste of all that made him hard in his deepest secret places – it was far too familiar here where Sam's hand instinctively fell and brushed lightly in a chase of pleasure, then – yet also a bitter reminder of the betrayal he suffered now, of all that hardened the liquid casing around his heart into iron armour – then, gripping himself hard, protectively. And as he gripped himself, sweat or tears pouring down the side of his face, the little droplets hanging in the air began to pop. One. By. One.
"Dean!" shrilled the first. How could you leave me here?
"Dean." whispered the second. You'll come back to take care of me…
"Dean!" cried the next in panic. …won't you??
"Dean!" ……
And what Sam wanted more than anything was for Dean to free him from the prison to which he was confined long before Dean and Bobby put him here – to free him from the prison of his body, heart, mind, and soul, the prison which would fail to be a prison if only Dean would acknowledge it, and come back, please come back, please come…