Sam's breath catches in his throat and his hands shake violently as he brushes back the hair which sweat has plastered to his forehead. It's just a dream, he attempts to convince himself as he tries again -and fails- to catch his breath. This dream had actually knocked the wind out of him. Sam tries to ignore the low grumble that starts to fill his mind. He makes an effort to grasp onto something real, but everything seems hazy and exaggerated. Then again, doesn't everything take on a surreal quality in the dead of night, when no one is there to hear you scream? Sam's breath hitches again, whatever resolve he has to gain control vanishes with the thought. Something tears into his shoulders, immobilizing his shaky frame. Meat hooks. Yes, Sam thinks. They've come back for him. They've come to drag him back into the terrible abyss where he felt nothing and everything at the same time. The strange numbness and oppression lay like a blanket over him, but at the same time every nerve ending in his body is alight with exquisite pain. Hell pain. The grumble grows louder, more like a roar threatening to take over his mind.
"NO!" Sam finds his fight, ripping out the meat hooks which tear into his flesh. He can't do this again. He can't survive Hell again. He'd given everything he had and more the first time. Sam twists and falls off of the bed. The bed. Confusion masks his face as his fingers grasps the threadbare sheets, damp with his blood. No, that's not right... they are damp with his... sweat? His trembling hands move to his shoulders, aching from the thick metal hooks. He brings his hand back, nothing but a thin sheen of sweat cover it. The frightening roar has diminished, ebbing and flowing now. It's almost a whisper...
"Sammy? Sammy please, I'm here." Sam's eyelids droop with exhaustion, his half lidded gaze drawn to the source of the sound, which is almost comforting now. He finds a blurred figure which crouches and approaches him like he's a wild animal. Slowly. Steadily.
"Sam, it's not real. Just focus on my voice. I'm real. I'm your flesh and blood brother, remember?" Sam slumps against the nightstand. He can feel the adrenaline waning from his body, taking with it his strength and leaving with him the aftermath of his terrifying ordeal. The figure inches closer, and Sam tries in vain to blink away the haze. Sam holds out his hand, limp now as he is too spent to even tremble, to stop this form from getting any closer. His fingers land on something solid. He gasps, his lungs taking in his first full breath in what seems like forever. Solid. He presses his hand against the form harder now, the haze creeps back a bit and his eyes dart up to take in this solid being. He feels so real!
"I'm here, Sammy. I'm real. And I'm not going anywhere." Sam reaches out his other hand, grasping the arm of this other man. His voice so comforting.
"Dean!" Sam's shout comes out as more of a strangled whisper. He slumps forward, leaning into his older brother's strength. He feels pressure on his shoulders and stiffens. No, he thinks, not meat hooks. It's my brother.. it's my brother's hands, Sam realizes. He tries not to sob.
"It's going to be alright, Sammy. I know it doesn't seem like it right now. That's right Sam, just breath. You're doing so well. You're coming out of this twice as fast as last time." Dean's voice is a balm to Sam and his tortured soul. He can feel each hole the devil punched in his soul now, each tear Lucifer ripped though it. He also feels his brother's words, shoring up the damage, even if it's just for the night. He relaxes further into his brother.
"I-I can't do this. I c-can't do this." Sam throat clenches and he tries and fails to hold back tears and weakness.
"I know, Sammy. It's too much to ask, but you're strong. And I'm here. Old Lucy has nothing on your big brother. I can kick that son-of-a-bitch's ass any day, alright?" A ghost of a smile passes across Sam's face as he hears Dean's words. He knows that Dean can't take this unbearable load from him. He wouldn't want him to anyway. He closes his eyes and drinks in the comforting silence, leaning against his brother.
They stay like that until the inky black night fades to gray, and the sun begins to banish some of the madness of the night before. Sam comes back to himself slowly in the comfort of his brother's strength. He rises, pale but determined.
"I'm gonna go take a shower. Wasn't there a case or something?" Sam's voice is raspier than he thought it would be. Probably from the screaming.
"We don't have to work the case today. We can just-"
"I want to. I want to feel like-I want everything to be normal. I need everything to be normal." He can't help but let out a small laugh. Hunting the demon that's killing young men in the next town over is getting back to normal for him and his brother. Normal was always a relative term for them.
Sam lets the hot water wash over him, pouring over the peaks and valleys of his body. He stands like this for longer than he should, letting the scalding water wear away the strain of the night before. His thoughts travel to the countless nights like the one he'd just experienced. Who knew that his escape from the torture would bring with it it's own unique torment? Was it too much to hope that he could come back from this? It seems insurmountable in this moment. His mind flashes to the previous night. The sheer, unadulterated terror. The horror. He'd been through too much horror to come back from. Who was he kidding? A flash of memory, when his brother approached him slowly but with determination. When his brother reminded Sam of who he was. Reminded Sam of what he'd do for his younger brother, which in the end, is anything. Sam clenches his fists, the water washing over them in torrents. He'd walk his path, step by step, and his brother would always be there, taking each step with him. Sam has to believe that is enough.
Sam steps the shower and throws some clothes on. Exiting the bathroom, he's greeted by an intoxicating scent. Coffee. He looks up and smiles as he takes in Dean's eager form.
"Here, take your medicine Sam." Dean hands Sam the biggest coffee he'd ever seen. Sam laughs, a sound so welcome after the night's events that Dean can't help but join in.
Sam and Dean make their way down the steps of the run down motel, and towards the gleaming Impala, sitting ever ready to take the brothers to another adventure, for good or ill. Sam folds himself into the passenger's seat as Dean turns the ignition, the ensuing rumble's soothing powers over the brothers is almost miraculous.
"Alright, Sammy... let's go kick some demon ass!" Dean peels out of the driveway and onto the open road.