I can't remember anything
Can't tell if this is true or dream
Deep down inside I feel to scream
This terrible silence stops me
Now that the war is through with me
I'm waking up, I cannot see
That there's not much left of me
Nothing is real but pain now
Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh please God, wake me
So much blood...so much pain. Nothing exists anymore but screaming, tearing flesh, the sickening stench of death covering everything. Except that it's not true death. True death would be a blessing in this place and blessings aren't something found down here.
How long has it been?
Time is meaningless. Has it been a day? An hour? A minute? How do I keep count?
Do I mark time by the way my throat feels ravaged from screaming? Or do I count each time I've watched my body come back together, piece by bloody piece?
Sam. Where's Sam? Why isn't he here? Why can't I see him? That has to mean he's safe...right? That I'm the only one trapped down here?
It has to mean that.
Anything else is a nightmare I can't bear to even contemplate.
And this is already a nightmare that I want to wake up from...
Please...please, someone let me wake up?
Dean Winchester was no stranger to pain. All his life he had suffered loss and known the sharp, brutal agony of bullet wounds, claw marks, bite wounds, broken bones.
And right now he would have taken them all, because all of them combined, were still nothing compared to the pain he knew here. Pain that was invasive and intimate. Pain that never let him find time to draw breath or think of everyone he had left behind without tasting blood and screaming for it to stop.
Just stop.
Chains rattled nearby, the sound drawing closer and closer as Dean tried to almost draw into himself, as if his body was merely an outer shell he could hide behind. Never give them an inch, never let the bastards know how scared you are. Dad had taught him that and right now, Dean was clinging to it with everything he had.
It was that? Or Dean would lose his mind. He kept his eyes averted from the sounds near him. Dean didn't want to see them, didn't want to make eye contact. He'd always suspected that demons were ugly sons of bitches, but seeing them in their true form? Gave a whole new meaning to ugly. Long, leathery wings seemed to stretch out from bodies that were nothing but mottled, pustulant skin pulled tightly over mishapen, hunched skeletons. Now Dean knew why gargoyles looked the way they did and he found himself wondering if those stone carved bastards really were for protection, or just to scare the shit of out church goers threatened with hellfire?
The demon was in his face before Dean realised, it's hand snatching at his stomach and slicing through the skin until Dean was shuddering in his chains, sweat pouring down his face as he fought the urge to scream.
"Miss me? You're so much more fun than half the souls we have down here, Dean. Most of them are broken before we even get our hands on them...but you? Man, you're just a chip off the old block huh? What do you think your Dad would say if he could see you right now? Do you think he'd be impressed? Personally? I think he'd be laughing...seeing what a sorry sack of shit you really are." The leering smile on the demon's face was an eerie sight, the skin drawn back around it's mouth, exposing teeth and gums. Lifeless black eyes watched from within hollow, sunken eye sockets that seemed melted and stretched far wider than should have been allowed.
"Fuck...you..." Dean ground out, as he met the demon's gaze at last, his jaw locked so tight against the pain that it was trembling.
With a final, vicious twist inside Dean's gut, the demon slid it's hand free and patted Dean on the cheek, smearing his face with warm, fresh blood. "Keep it up, pretty boy. I've got all of eternity to play with you."
Dean kept his gaze locked defiantly on the demon until it was gone. He sagged in his chains then, wincing at the pull on his wrists where the meat hooks were pushed through the flesh, holding him in place. It was like a fire was burning in his stomach, warm blood still washing down over his waistline. So much blood. Enough that Dean would have bled out anywhere else. But not here. Death was denied him here. His head lowered to his chest, tears filling Dean's eyes as he swallowed down his emotions slowly, hearing his father's voice in his head. Not an inch, Dean. Don't give the sons of bitches the satisfaction.
"The demon is wrong about you..."
Dean lifted his head wearily at the sound of a soft, gravelly voice. A set of blue eyes were watching him and as his watery gaze adjusted in the darkness, Dean saw that there was another soul on the rack near him, hanging by hooks through his wrists and one that had pierced his side. The chains holding him were thicker than any Dean had seen down here, covered in ornate runes.
"Yeah? Dude...no offence, but you don't know me." Dean informed him, trying not to dwell on what the demon had said.
"Believe me when I say you must hold on. Hold on to the thoughts of who you would fight for. Of what matters to you. That will be your shield and shelter for you in here."
"Okay, Yoda...just who the the hell are you?"
The blue eyes lowered their gaze then, the man turning his head away. " I do not know. I no longer remember my name..."
A/N : Well, there you have it...a little teaser of things to come. I'll be posting the next chapter soon...very soon. I just wanted to get this little snippet up so you guys knew that I wasn't kidding about working on the fic already. LOL Huge Thanks to Manda for her help with this...
Bold Italic lyrics at the beginning are from Metallica - One.