A/N: I've discussed with a few people what the long-term ramifications of the events of TTBOTDD would be for Dean, and he would undoubtedly be left with PTSD and some emotional and psychological issues from what he went through. I would like to try to address some of that, if anybody is down for more Dean whumpage and some brotherly moments. I've also had some readers express interest in nightmare!fic, which I think makes perfect sense in this context.
As if the Silent Hill influences weren't apparent enough in the original fic, I think they become more apparent than ever here. Therefore, in homage to the excellent playable teaser for the sadly abandoned Silent Hills, I think a title of PT is fitting in more ways than one.
Dean's heart is pounding.
That's bad. He knows it's bad, but there's no way to get it to slow. Not when he's running, footsteps thundering in time with his pulse, adrenaline pumping through his veins like gasoline to an engine. Something's chasing him, something without a face, and Sam…where is Sam?
He doesn't know, and the fear turns his blood cold.
His feet pummel the dirt, carrying him through a maze of alleyways that seem never ending and lead to nowhere, but he has to keep running. All around him, a cold voice pierces the air. "Did you think you could escape me, Dean?"
His heart hammers harder.
He turns a corner, runs past the carousel – why is there a carousel? – and hears the haunting jingle of a music box as the ride turns. Its bright lights and glossy candy stripes of pink and gold are almost blinding in the darkness.
On the far side, beyond the blur of gold poles and galloping horses, Dean thinks he sees a figure. His heart stutters as his feet halt. It's found me. But wait…no, that's not right. He knows that shape. Broad shoulders, tall frame, mane of hair… "Sammy!"
Dean cries out and runs forward, clambering onto the carousel – because that makes sense. Immediately, his world begins to spin faster as he stumbles on, hands grasping at moving poles for support. He sees the shape again, this time on the carousel, standing between a black coach and a white horse. Its back is turned. "Sam!" Why won't his brother look at him?
The world around him turns to a blur of orange and white lights, ground spinning fast beneath him. He'd almost be sick were he not so focused on reaching Sam up ahead. Only when he's finally just a couple of feet away, hand reaching for his brother's shoulder, does Sam turn. Dean's heart stops.
Blood coats the left side of Sam's face, crusting over deathly pale skin where it had seeped from a deep gash in his head. In his chest, a gaping hole opens between his ribs to reveal a dark, empty space. Dean's hand freezes just as Sam's rises towards him, clutching a bloody, quivering mass in his upturned palm. The look in his eyes is angry; accusatory. "You didn't find me in time, Dean," he says. "She couldn't take your heart, so she took mine."
"No…" the word slips from Dean's lips as a whisper, almost a prayer that somehow by denying it, he can make it not so. Sam continues to look at him coldly as Dean pleads. "Sammy, no..."
It's not enough. It won't be enough to undo it.
Sam says nothing more, but the look in his eyes pierces Dean to the core. It's the last thing he sees before he notices the blade rising behind Sam, a curved goliath of a sword grafted onto a metal arm, swinging down to cleave right through them both.
There's no point now in running. He's already lost.
Just before Dean's world cuts to black, the last thing he hears is a voice calling his name.
"Dean! Dean, wake up!"