Title: Desolation Road
Author: Speed Cochrane
Rating: PG13 - M (depending on my mood LOL)
Fandom: Supernatural
Spoilers: Major spoilers for 'No Rest for the Wicked' & 'Lazarus Rising' (4.01 premiere) So don't read if you don't want to know any details from the premiere.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer,
Disclaimer: As much as I sincerely wish I owned at least one of these characters, I don't so if you sue, it'll be a waste of time.
Summary: Sam is still dealing with Dean's death two years later. As his nightmares become more and more intense, it's clear that they're not just ordinary nightmares.
A/N: This is Challenge 4 for the FCG.
Criteria
Topic: Summertime.
Must be: 1,000-8,000 words in length (can be multiple chapters).
Must Include: The film "Iron Man" that's still in theatres now.
Must be rated: MA or lower. .
Must Include the line: "I'm really starting to adjust to..."
Desolation Road
Daytime Television does suck.
Sam Winchester picked up the remote and pointed it toward the old 70s style television that was sitting on the dusty motel room dresser. He felt as if his brain was rotting away slowly with each passing day. If only the motels he could afford had more than 3 channels.
He stood from the couch and initiated a long stretch before returning to the large wooden wall opposite his bed. It was filled with newspaper articles, internet printouts and pieces of maps, all tacked together in a disorganized fashion. They reeked of the desperation Sam had begun to feel when traveling to each city looking for someone, anyone who would know how to help him. Whoever told Sam that hunting demons is an art form was sorely mistaken.
Nothing on the wall seemed to instantly call out to him as to where he should go next. He felt utterly lost, completely interrupted with dead ends. Old contacts had little to no information and he hadn't heard from Ruby since Lillith possessed her body. Sam shook his head. Try explaining that one to the neighbors.
The summertime heat of Montana squeezed its way through every crack of the motel room wood, drenching Sam in an uncomfortable state. There was nothing he could do to escape it and his extreme boredom only intensified it. He contemplated renting 'Iron Man' from the local town's video store but then remembered his motel room had no cable, let alone a DVD player.
Sam turned to his bed and stared at the mustard yellow sheets. Sleeping seemed like the next best option as he now did most of his hunting at night but lately, the dreams offered little solace to him. They were nothing short of horror movies night after night, reminding him of what he was constantly up against. However, he ultimately needed rest --his body told him so.
Removing his shirt, he climbed into bed and stared up at the ceiling, silently praying to whoever could hear him that the heat would end and his dreams would offer some kind of peace. After all, he figured he deserved as much.
However, as he began to drift away, images of burning trees, the scent of melted flesh and hoarse screams through an unpalatable land filled his mind. He found himself suddenly awake, unaware of his dreamscape. To him, it became reality. His surroundings were a sickly darkened green and scarlet embers thumped under his feet, like the beating of hearts. Vicious winds danced through his hair, creating more heat than the wretched, stinking air itself. It was a scent he came to recognize easily enough. Sulfur.
The young hunter's eyes darted from side to side. Despite the distant screams, the place seemed eerily silent and abandoned. He stepped gracefully along the dark cracked ground, the crunching resonance making it seem like a violation. And even though he was the one watching the landscape, he felt eyes fixed on his position, like they were watching him back.
As he continued across hills and valleys of dusty, dehydrated earth under a vomit-colored sky, the heat grew more intense to where he could barely endure it. Skin began to flake and curl from his arms but he felt the desperate need to continue his trek. The moans and screams became increasingly riotous as Sam found himself before a grandiose lake. However it was not like any lake he had seen before. No, this one was on fire.
Orange-yellow flames darted upward as if they desired escape. Waves of heat encompassed Sam every time the lake swirled and swayed under the flames. He knelt slowly to the edge of it, the inferno eating away at his flesh, unforgiving . Beneath the fire, Sam could see thousands of plagued figures all reaching frightfully toward him. Were they people?
A strong hand suddenly propelled up and snatched his arm, yanking him into the flames.
Eyes open, sweat gleaming off his face, Sam had awoken panicked. He found himself staring right into a concerned Bobby's face. The older man's tired expression was also wrought with concern.
"Geez kid, were you going to sleep all day?" he asked, letting go of Sam's arm. He turned and walked over to the wall, observing what Sam had tacked to it.
"What are you doing here Bobby?" Sam asked, still reeling from the intense dream.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for three days. You forget how to turn on a phone?"
Sam frowned in response and grabbed his shirt from the edge of the bed.
"It's in the car," he responded as he walked into the bathroom. Mustard colored walls inhabited it as well, only with a more floral theme to it. He turned on the sink and ran the water as hard as he could, placing his hands under the cool temperature.
"I've been talkin' to some contacts," Bobby started, "none of them have seen or heard from Ruby."
Sam tilted his head. He could have told him that.
"So then why were you trying to get a hold of me?" he asked, slightly irritated.
Bobby turned his visage to the bathroom with a 'don't you backtalk me boy' look. He'd been getting the edge of Sam's sharp tongue lately and he was getting tired of it.
"I thought you'd like to know what else I found out. Word is there's a new guy in town named Castiel. He claims he knows Ruby and he's also looking for you."
Sam turned his head to Bobby, questioning him with his eyes.
"Why would this Castiel guy be looking for me?" he asked.
Bobby simply shrugged, "Maybe because you knew Ruby."
"Well is he a demon?" Sam asked, angrier this time. He was beginning to grow impatient waiting for Bobby to spit out the information. He needed to quench his thirst for answers.
"Maybe, maybe not. Nobody knows. At least not any of the people I've been talking to. No one's ever heard of him. It's like he just dropped out of the heavens. Or well, maybe the pit."
Sam nodded, remembering his dream. He lowered his head to the sink again, continuingly running his hands under the cool water. Something then caught his attention. His forearm was bruised. Bobby seemed to notice his demeanor because he was staring at Sam's arm as well.
"You get that during a hunt?" he asked.
"Bobby, how hard did you grab me?"
The older hunter seemed shocked that he would imply such a thing.
"I barely touched you," he answered, visibly offended.
Sam twisted his arm around to see the rest of the mark. It was a large bruise, in the shape of someone's hand. A sight he dreaded because that would mean…
"Bobby, I think I should let you know what's been goin' on with me lately."
The older hunter placed his faded green hat onto the small coffee table opposite from the dingy couch. He ran a hand across his head to clear away the sweat and then leaned back into his chair. He looked confused, to say the least.
"So… you're saying your nightmares are real," he managed to voice before releasing a nervous breath.
"Stranger things have happened to me," Sam offered, "I don't know why but maybe it has to do with this new guy that's in town."
Bobby nodded genuinely.
"And you're dreaming about-
"Hell," Sam interrupted, "uh, at least I think I am. That's what it looked like."
"How do you know what Hell looks like? Did they send along a brochure for comparison?"
Sam frowned. "No, but they sent along this bruise and I'm pretty sure it didn't come from anything here."
Bobby contemplated what the younger hunter was saying. He'd known Sam to have visions, but they were caused by a demon hell-bent - for a lack of better words - on playing the human race like a fiddle and even on one occasion, they had investigated a case involving African Dream Root but this was a new one, even for him.
"Maybe it's a message?" Sam proposed.
"Maybe," Bobby answered solemnly. "Tell you what kid, I'll go find out some more information on this Castiel guy and you work on figuring out this…dream nonsense," he finished.
Sam always hated it when people called him 'kid'. He was anything but and he wished the other hunters would recognize that. He was well-seasoned and confident enough to deal with anything thrown his way. Over the two years since Dean's death, he'd grown to trust himself and his abilities to hunt. He was not a kid.
"Sure," Sam answered.
Bobby removed his hat from the table and gingerly placed it atop his head. He positioned a strong hand on Sam's shoulder before exiting the motel room.
He could feel the darkness around his entire being. It was oppressive and unclean. Sam opened his eyes and found himself at the edge of the fire lake which had simmered exponentially from the last time he was there. It seemed quiet. It wasn't a peaceful quiet, but one that indicated to him that there was a nervousness apparent in the very toxic air he breathed. Again, Sam felt a violation. Hell seemed to be wrought with more cerebral sensations than physical manifestations of them. Maybe he just hadn't gotten the full package.
He became increasingly aware that it wasn't a dream and began to recall his conversation with Bobby. It seemed like as good a place as any to investigate the purpose behind the strange phenomena that plagued him.
"Okay!" Sam yelled with outstretched arms to no one in particular. "I'm here! What do you want!"
The land seemed still at first but underneath the bubbling abyss of souls, slight whispers could suddenly be heard. They spoke erratically, imperfect in form and from what Sam could tell, there were hundreds of different languages. He caught bits of French, German, Russian and what seemed to be Latin.
"I'm going to need someone to speak up, I don't understand!" Sam yelled, not exactly sure where he was directing it. He wasn't even sure if they were saying actual words.
"Il vient lui obtenir," some of them whispered.
"Er kommt, ihn zu nehmen," others interjected.
Sam shook his head, obviously not getting through to whoever or whatever they were.
"English would be helpful!" he yelled, almost laughing at himself. It's not every day someone walks into Hell and asks for someone to be more accommodating. He wished he'd paid attention during his language classes in college.
"He's coming to take him," one of the voices hissed.
Sam turned his attention to the familiar language.
"Take who?" he probed.
SLAM. Sam's eyes snapped open. He was suddenly back to Earth, staring at the grungy ceiling fan above his bed.
TBC...Read on.