Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, themes, or plotlines.
Note: Setting is Dean's POV for the ending of No Rest For the Wicked.
It was a nightmare. It was Hell embodied. It was a miniature cataclysm, a miniscule apocalypse, and a minor understatement to Satan walking the Earth. It was torture in its most cruel and mocking form, and it left a hole in existence like the death of God. It was terror.
It was Dean Winchester getting ripped to pieces. It was his last year of life drawing to a close after selling his soul. Time to pay up and do his time. Eternity? Hell yeah, if that was what he had to do to keep his Sammy alive. The lesson that had been hammered into his brain for years on end was coming back into effect: Take care of your brother, Dean. Take care of Sammy. And now look where it had gotten him. After all these years of merely patching Sam up and rescuing him from freaking monsters, Dean had never expected to sell his sould to bring Sammy back from the dead. But that was what brothers did for each other, wasn't it?
Lillith was cackling in the background of Dean's senses, and Dean couldn't help but send a mental I told you so to Sam. He'd known that that Ruby bitch would always end up badly. But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was screaming his face off as he watched the massive hellhound on his chest tear and snap at his raw flesh like it was the best filet mignon on the menu of demonic cuisine.
And Dean could only wait for the end.
The world was muted, blurred. It was almost as if Dean couldn't see past himself, if that was any way to put it. The only thing clear in his mind was painpainpain, over and over and over again in his head, his chest, and his soul. Not even the hellhound ripping his chest to shreds was lucid in his senses.
"Stop it! STOP!"
Dean winced as, through the red haze of pain, his baby brother's voice rang out like a bell in his brain. Sam's voice was crackling with tears and anguish, and it made Dean's shredded heart throb with sympathy and worry. But now it was too late.
Dean Winchester was dying, and all he could think past the pain was Oh, God, finally. The hellhound licked its foaming lips and chomped at Dean's ribs one more time before trotting away, disappearing into the black haze that was encroaching on Dean's vision. The end of him was near, and there was nothing that his Sammy could do to stop it. He wished, as he focused his eyes on his brother, that he could say Don't worry, Sammy. You've always been fine without me. But he coughed and choked on the blood that forced its way up from his lungs and slashed chest and couldn't talk if he tried. So he stared at Sam as his brother watched him die. And as he fell through himself, going down, down, down into the deep flames and chains of Perdition, a single thought rang through his damned soul.
Maybe if he'd shouted to Sam to duck instead of to look out, then maybe they'd both be alive.
Please review this! Maybe I'll make this a multi-chapter story, perhaps going into what happened in Hell. What do you think?