Back To Reality
10x3 missing scene after Dean is cured. I wanted some angst, so I wrote some.
A/N: I myself have been 'MIA for quite some time now.' This story will have another chapter, will be working on it this week. Thanks to any and all who have a look.
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
"Welcome back, Dean."
Wide green eyes roam their surroundings, not stopping long enough to over analyze things but certainly aware enough to home in on Sam, his brother sporting a not so fashionable sling around his shoulder and a haggard appearance that screams out lack of food and sleep. Then there's Cas; it's hard not to notice the angel blade he still wields in his grip. A glance down at his immediate location and he blows out a gust of air; he is expertly bound to the same chair none other than the King of Hell once occupied, one which has him securely shackled and situated in the middle of a damn devil's trap.
Shaking his head to try and dislodge his confusion, he knows even as foggy as things may be at the moment the scene has all the makings of a major crap fest, with him as the main attraction.
"Dean? You with us, man?"
The words drift around in his head; he's pretty sure the voice, Sam's voice, is waiting patiently for him to say something, and he wants to erase the unease that seems to have infiltrated his brother's words but he's still trying to figure out exactly what happened and how he got here. He opens then closes his mouth, his usual bravado and instinct to satiate his brother's worry dying on his lips as he becomes more than acutely aware of the crippling fatigue rolling through his frame, feeling like his body is rapidly approaching the point of giving it up and slipping off to oblivion.
"Come on, dude. Please, I just need to know you're okay. Can you hear me? Dean?"
The pleading tone in his brother's voice slams him right in the gut; the sudden vision of holding a hammer and nonchalantly roaming the darkened halls while goading and stalking his own brother has him pulling at the binds with a strength only adrenaline can provide. His arm throbs in a delayed reaction, his mind replaying the moment he splintered the two inch thick door like it was constructed of toothpicks so he could get to Sam; to kill him.
It all clicks into place in agonizing, crystal clear clarity.
Demon.
"It's alright, Dean, it's over. Whatever is going through your head right now just remember that, it's over."
Lifting his gaze to take a glance towards his brother there is a flash of genuine worry and concern in the landscape of Sam's face. His brother smirks lightly and it almost undoes him right then and there; some things you cannot be forgiven for, and his little trip down demon alley is the mother of them all. He almost killed his brother without batting a damn eyelash; knowing instinctively his black eyes shone darkly at the then tantalizing thought of ending Sam for good.
"Well, uh, let's get you out of those to start. Cas, give me a hand?"
"Of course, Sam."
His gaze drops and he starts to yank harder, desperate to get away; run as far and fast as he can from the sickly sweet voice of Sam; not deserved when his brother's skull was mere inches away from being skewered by the damn hammer held by his own hand.
Eyes flick to his right arm, a groan escaping unfettered as they land on raised flesh, the brand mocking him, still standing to attention across his skin. His breathing ramps up and his vision starts to blur, the onset of a panic attack eating away his tenuous hold on keeping some facade of composure as the unmistakable presence of tears flood his eyes. His head takes it as a cue and joins in the party; starts to pound an unrelenting rhythm against his skull while his stomach jumps into the fray to gurgle in his throat.
He closes his eyes tightly against the barrage; the guilt and sickening feeling that attaches to it creeping along his veins and heading straight for his heart, amplifying his physical weakness tenfold.
A gentle touch on his wrist has him trying to shrink back in the chair, trying to escape the comfort that is unspoken but felt through the digits of his brother's hand; the knowledge that he doesn't deserve an iota of kindness effectively ceases any lingering need to connect, to feel the warmth that only an embrace from Sam can provide. A sigh is heard before the soft, calming voice of his brother coaxes gently in his ear.
"Try to relax, Dean. You're okay and I'm okay, I promise. Cas and I are going to get you out of these now, alright?"
His throat feels like sandpaper as he swallows in response; knows since his nerves are pretty much shot he can't trust that he won't spew all over the place if he opens his mouth so nods in affirmation of the question and to let Sam know his words registered.
"Good, that's good. Just take some deep breaths and let us do the rest."
As the binds on his left wrist are released he unconsciously stretches the digits of his hand before wiping it across his face with a sigh.
"Almost got it."
Sam's arm is shaking, he can feel it as it grazes his shoulder and he knows he is struggling, wishing the tremors were due only to having one arm less than 100%, but knowing it stems so much deeper than that. He chances a look at his brother's efforts, taking in the way his clothes seem to fit too loosely and noticing a light sheen of perspiration coating his skin. Sam has been through the wringer and he swears then and there it's for the very last time.
With that final reflection still echoing in his mind his right arm is suddenly freed and he launches himself from the suffocating shroud of guilt and remorse only to stagger a few feet until his seemingly useless legs give out under his weight and he plunges unceremoniously to his knees, his brain threatening to explode as it pulsates through his skull. He can feel Sam's movement behind him before he hears it and quickly shifts a hand behind him in a stopping motion to halt his brother's progress.
"Dean?"
"Don't, Sam... just... stop... please..."
He clears his throat, the razor blades that cut a swath of pain across it in earnest making him groan softly at the unexpected discomfort. He fights to keep it together, his body revolting against him from head to toe making his grand escape plan slowly dissolve into dust. He stays where he is until there is a soft touch on his shoulder and he turns sharply, the movement making him lose his already wavering balance and landing him squarely on his ass.
Sam backs up a couple of steps with his arms held out in a placating posture and he almost loses it; sees what he equates as fear lance across his brother's features. Sam shares a look with Cas who is standing to his left and slightly shakes his head at the angel before turning his full attention back to him.
"Hey, Dean. I need you to listen to me okay? I know you're not feeling too hot and are probably confused as hell, so why don't we get you out of here so you can get some rest? I mean, no offense dude, but you look like warmed over crap."
And then Sam lets out an honest chuckle as a genuine smile emerges from his face, and is looking at him with such relief in his eyes that his resolve to get the hell out of dodge starts to waver.
"Sammy?"
The second the nickname is uttered through his lips he is plunged into another memory; hears a distorted version of his own voice calling out to his brother with that name; sarcasm, hate and loathing dripping from each syllable.
"Yeah. Yeah, man, it's me. It's Sammy."
His brother inches closer and he's on autopilot now; he scrambles back on his rear, barely registering the matching looks of shock on the other men's faces. He doesn't stop his backward migration until he hits the table behind with such force that the tray it holds loses its purchase to clatter noisily to the floor, dispelling its contents in close proximity. He stares hard at the syringe that seems to clack against the ground in slow motion, the dried blood still coating the glass inside serving to ignite a swell of nausea that claws its way to the surface and has him struggling to breathe.
TBC. Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed.