A/N: Yes, another tag to "No Rest for the Wicked." I haven't read anyone else's NRFTW tag yet, but hopefully this will be a little different. It contains graphic violence. It's my vision of what Hell will be like for Dean--and why he ultimately can push through it. Oh, and there's a lot of Dean-angst before any real story plot. Sorry. Please review and thanks for reading!
One minute he was watching the Hellhound preparing to pounce, and the next he was looking into his father's eyes from years ago.
"Dean."
It was leaping, it was on his chest and on his legs, its teeth were sharp and its eyes plentiful.
"Always look out for your brother, ok? Always watch out for Sammy."
There was blood spilling everywhere, strips of skin torn off his chest, screams of agony engulfing the night that weren't his own.
"And Dean."
The eyes were back, filling Dean's vision, clouding out the fire engine blood and thousands of sharp, waving claws.
"See you in Hell."
The eyes were black, seeping black, demonic black, and they spread out until all Dean saw was dark, and he was dark, he was empty, he was falling into himself and landing somewhere sharp.
Suddenly something was yanking at his arms and legs, grabbing at them and pulling him upward. They locked around him, tightening, and suspending him in a huge vast web of darkness. Dean blinked, and blinked some more. He felt the strange, crazy desire to laugh. This was Hell. After a year of anticipation and a lifetime of curiosity, he was in Hell. And it was empty.
His wounds reopened. Blood began to sputter and bubble before sliding off him in long slick ribbons. Pain ripped through him. He began to breath faster and faster. He didn't feel like laughing anymore, oh no. This was Hell, and it was agony, and it was empty, oh so empty.
"Dad," he breathed. Nothing. "Dad!"
The panic began to set in. The web was moving slowly, stretching and condensing. He could see strange, twisted faces in it. Dean suddenly felt as if the web was wrapping around him, tighter and tighter until all the air was sucked out of him. But looking around him, the web hadn't gotten any closer to him. It wasn't even moving, or stretching, or condensing. It stood still. Silent.
"Sam!" Dean yelled. "SAM!"
Nothing.
A flash back home. He was lying on the ground, paralyzed. Sam was sobbing above him. The tears hit Dean, fat and hot, searing. Bobby was holding Sam, moving him away, lips moving but no sound coming out. A horrible thought struck Dean--would he be stuck in his body, even as he was lowered into the ground and sealed in a coffin? The panic returned, hot and heavy.
But then he was in Hell again, and the fear retreated to the corners of mind. The urge to laugh again. He was a little relieved.
And then he wasn't again, because he was completely alone, save for the sudden flashes back into his body, where he'd see just a glimpse of the ceiling or Ruby's blonde hair or Sam's tears before being wrenching down to the depths of Hell again. Was he fighting it somehow? Or was this just a part of Hell? He didn't know, and that scared him even more.
"You're not alone."
Dean lifted his head, saw the most terrible creature he ever saw. His eyes began to sting and bleed, but Dean continued to stare straight into it's eyes.
"One day I'll come for you," it whispered. "With the blood from your mother's breast and the irises of your fathers eyes and I'll hold them out to you. And you will accept them. And you will submit."
"To what?" Dean asked. "To what?"
It smiled. "To this," it said simply, and its eyes flashed back. But then it was gone, and Dean couldn't figure out if it was real or not because his mind was clouding over.
"Dean."
No, no, not that voice again, not those eyes.
"Always look out for your brother, ok? Always watch out for Sammy."
His dad was before him, smiling, waving even. "And Dean," he added, but then he vanished.
The Woman in White was next to him. The first ghost he and his brother killed together after reuniting. Her cold, clammy hands were touching his cheeks, his lips, his eyes. "We're all here for you, Dean," she whispered into his ear. "All the things you killed. We're all here, and we're going to be with you for a very long time.
She kissed him, and he felt her blood rush into his mouth and run down his throat. Then she pulled away and was gone, but he could hear some creature laughing in the distance and he knew she was right, there would be others, and soon.
Dean flashed back to his body. He was moving. Sam was carrying him into the cool crisp night. Felt so good. Then he was yanked back to Hell, through the horrible flesh-melting fires and soul-seeking shadows.
"I could carry you, if it would make you feel more at home," said the demon disguised as Sam. The demon came closer, his nails lengthened to claws and his teeth sharpened into fangs. "We could sing some Bon Jovi."
Dean finally screamed, and it tore out of him hard. The demon laughed and shed its mask. "I'm wanted dead or alive," he crooned.
"You're not real," Dean sobbed.
"No," the demon said carefully. "You're not."
Dean blinked and Hell was empty again. Like when he first arrived. It was empty, and unmoving, and silent. Had any of that just happened? Was any of it real?
He continued to sob. Hell was confusion, it was mayhem, it was chaos and agony and different sorts of terrors combined to kill you. "And," murmured an unknown voice in his ear. "Only a minute's passed.","
Flash back to home. He wasn't in his body, but floating above it all. Sam and Bobby sat silently. Sam raised his arms and used his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face.
"We'll get him back."
"I know."
Sam stared at Dean's body. "You think...he's still in there?"
"I don't know."
Suddenly Dean was pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from the stomach, devoured by flames. And even know he knew this was Hell, that he watching life from an alternate dimension of sorts, that he was on a different pane of existence from Sam, Sam looked at the ceiling and screamed.
He had seen him.
Sam had seen him, somehow, for a second, before Dean was ripped back into Hell, sobbing the whole way down.
Dean let lose every emotion he had kept locking inside of him for so long. Fear, depression, longing, dread, hysteria, loneliness...and hope.
Because if Sam had seen him, if their connection was that strong--there was hope. That creature would never force blackness into Dean's eyes because light blocked it. He was different from the others burning in Hell, suddenly, he was different.
He watching a whole new set of images now, a set that was playing only in his head and that had to be of his own doing. Afterall, why would Hell remind him of the time Dean found him a faith healer, or when he saved him from awaiting death by scarecrow?
What was that old saying? For there to be shadow, light had to be cast somewhere?
Oh, Dean was different suddenly. He fought the urge to laugh.
Because until he was saved--and he would be--he had something to hold onto. Sam. In the blackest of nights, he would stay sane. The Woman in White was back, whispering, caressing. He grinned. "You know I don't do that kind of stuff on the first date," he said, and nothing more.