I'm sorry for all and any grammar/spelling mistakes you are gonna find! I own nothing… nothing!
Ummm yeah… so… you know… heh… erm… enjoy?
"Is it hot in here?"
Three quick steps from the front door to the kitchen counter; barely avoiding a chair, his hands gripping the collar of his T-shirt, pulling it away from his sweaty neck, feeling like he's breathing through a straw… a very chewed on straw, but a straw.
"Dean..."
Four quick steps from the kitchen counter to the bathroom door; barely avoiding knocking over a coffee cup still full of cold coffee, ignoring Sam; so fucking much ignoring his little brother's worried eyes and soft calmthefuckdownnow voice.
"I think it's hot in here. I'm hot in here. It's really hot in here!"
Six quick steps from the bathroom door to the front door; barely avoiding Sam's outstretched arm, fuck if he'll let his brother touch him… he'd burn alive if he touches anything right now… burnburnrburn… feels like he's being swallowed up by flames already.
"Dean..."
There has got to be hot coal stuck under his skin, there just has to be, because it sure feels like it, or maybe someone injected his veins with molten lava when he wasn't watching, because seriously… he's burning up, he's gonna fry extra crispy for crying out loud.
But no… it's just a stupid thorn a stupid witch placed inside his body somewhere… fuckin' witches, man.
Fuckin' witches.
"'s hot, man… 's freakin' hot in here, man."
His hand is already on the door knob – one twist and he'd be out the door stumbling into fresh, cool air but sure, baby brother has to screw that plan up, because Sam's heavy hand on his shoulder… feels like someone put a hot pan there and spilled some hot oil just because it's apparently cool to be sadistic like that nowadays.
"Fuck!"
He yells, drops his hand away from the door knob, twists away from his brother's hothothot hand, drops down to all four and almost throws up on the awesomely green carpet.
"Okay, okay, man… Dean… 'm sorry, sorry, alright… hey."
Dean doesn't hear a word his brother is saying, because all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, all he can feel is the skin on his shoulder still burning where Sam touched him but really… all he's trying to do is swallow down the bile already raising up his throat.
"Get up, man."
Get up?
No, he'll not get up because he's nice and cozy here on the floor on all fours, loosing his fingers in the carpet, breathing in the mold and dust, thank you very much.
He's very, very cozy.
Until there's a drop of blood… right there on the carpet. Right fuckin' there; between two yellow triangles that the carpet is full off - what a fucked up design. Yellow triangles on a green carpet. Jesus Christ.
He'd roll his eyes, but that drop of blood keeps on multiplying until there are onetwothreefour five drops already. Six to be exact. Okay, seven. Now stop. Okay eight, but that's all. Screw you, nine.
"Shit, Sam," 's all he can say before he feels Sam's body heat covering his back and wants to scream to his brother to 'get the hell away from me', but he can't say anything, because he's freakin' bleeding right there on the green carpet and blood really doesn't look great on green or yellow… red and green and yellow don't mix well and yeah… he's gonna puke.
"Dean…"
"Sammy…"
And he's scared, he can taste the fear on his tongue… can hear it in the way he says his brother's name. All fear.
"You're bleeding…"
No shit, Sherlock, what gave you that idea?
"Sammy…"
There's this awkward amount of silence there that stretches dangerously into eternity before Sam's nervous: "'s just a nose bleed, 's just that. We can fix that." breaks it.
"Yeah, yeah…"
Yeah, yeah 's just a nose bleed, 's not like his brain is melting or anything, 's not like it ain't cooking itself inside his skull.
Because really… it sure feels like it is.
Today's specialty… cooked brain ala Dean Winchester style.
He gags.
-:-
"Dean, come on now."
His little brother can be such a bitch sometimes, but then sometimes, he's right, which is just so freakin' annoying, but the carpet digging into his palms and knees feels like he's kneeling in acid that's trying to eat away his flesh. And all those drops of blood there… maybe having your head hanging down ain't such a good thing.
"Yeah, yeah… 'm up, 'm up."
He pushes himself up, slowly, breathing in and out, stuffing that bile back into his stomach where it came from and when he's standing on his feet again… he still feels like someone stuck him into an oven and turned it on to full capacity.
He turns around and sees Sam standing by the table, looking kinda pissed off and kinda scared and then maybe kinda amused too and Dean just kinda wants to punch his brother in the face, but that would require contact and that… that would hurt him more then it would hurt Sam.
Fuck.
"Dean…"
And fuck Sam for using that tone of voice on him. He isn't a victim, he isn't a scared, hurt little animal, he isn't a chick scared out of her mind, he isn't… he doesn't deserve Sam talking to him with that tone… that soft 'everything's gonna be okay, Dean' fucked up tone.
Hell no.
But then again… Sam is the only one who can help him now.
If you think something sucks… well, some other thing always comes up and sucks just that tiny little bit more.
He wipes away the blood underneath his nose with his hand, coz yeah… he had a nose bleed or maybe his brain had cooked enough and decided to seep out… who knows… and looks at the back of his hand.
Red.
Bloody.
But it seemed to stop. Hallelujah, praise the miracles.
He breathes in and out. Fast. Trying to calm down, trying to get some air into his lungs, trying to not think about how…
"'s hot in here, Sammy... 's too hot in here, man…"
He doesn't exactly know how those words came out, but by the way his brother looks at him… they were probably said as a plea with the side of some frustrated tears in them.
Crap.
He starts to claw at his T-shirt that is completely soaking wet with his sweat, sticking to his skin and making him feel trapped. Hot. Trapped in a hot, hot place. Freakin' feels like someone pushed him into a volcano and sealed the top of. Freakin' maniacs.
And then… he takes off the T-shirt, saying screwyoupal and throws it into the corner. It's an impulse kinda thing… he's surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier… but then again, he was kinda busy freaking out and bleeding and trying not to puke earlier. So… yeah.
The air in the room hits his skin; drying the sweat on his chest and back, arms and neck… it feels good. Feels amazing, feels almost as good as sex. Oh yeah…
But that feeling lasts for just a little while, because then… he starts to sweat again starts to feel hot again.
Sweat's running down his face, down his neck, his hair's wet as if someone poured a bucked full of water on him – and oh that would feel so awesome right about now - his chest's wet, his jeans are wet, soaked all the way through to his boxers... and he thinks that sweating this much's probably a really, really awesome thing… body trying to cool down or something like that, right?
Yeah… yeah… this is good.
Maybe, maybe some cool water would be even more awesome. Some cool water on his overheated skin… yeah, yeah… that would be so awesome.
"Dean... come on, now..."
He ignores Sam's words and stumbles to the bathroom to stick his head under the cool water running into the sink.
"Fuuuuuck!" but it feels good. Feels so good that it starts to feel kinda… painful.
And then the water stops running and Sam's annoyingly calm voice startles him: "Dean…" makes him raise his head up too soon and he knocks the water pipe with the crown of his head.
It hurts. He'll have a bump in the morning… if he'll survive until then.
"Sam…"
"No, come on… we have to…"
The cold water running down his hair, his neck, cheeks, chest, back, spine is starting to get hot; like someone dumped boiling water on him.
He reaches his hands for the towel that was there on the toilet lid in the morning, he knows it was, because he dropped it there, but isn't there now. He needs to get this water off of him, he needs to get this boiling hot water off of his skin before he gets blisters, before he gets burns of the n-th degree…
And there it is. The towel drying his hair, getting rid of the water from every surface it's on.
"Sam…" he sighs. Doesn't care anymore.
Strong hands start to guide him towards the beds, towel still running wildly all over his hair, head, neck, back.
It's starting to suffocate him. The towel making friction on his overheated skin, friction that hurts, burns, itches…
He starts to fight it off… hands flying wildly in all directions, like he's swatting at a fly and not doing a very good job at it, because hands are still there, the towel is still there…
"Dean!"
He fights harder, because the hands on his biceps squeeze harder… fucking scorching him.
"Okay, okay…"
And then he's left alone to stand in the middle of the green room; towel gone, Sam's hands gone, everything gone. Everything, but the heat underneath his skin.
And then that heat moves, freakin' moves like a snake, slowly travelling up and down his spine to end at his lungs.
"I can't breathe, can't breathe..." he places his right hand on his throat and his left one on his chest, wanting so hard to feel himself breathe, "I need air, I really need some air, dude... there's no air in here."
"Dean, hey, hey, hey... 's okay..."
Sam's walking towards Dean…
"Sam, there's no air in here... can't breathe, I can't..."
"Dean, calm down... Dean, come on... hey, hey... Dean..."
… then after him when his brother successfully avoids him…
"'s hot... I need to... I can't... breathe..."
"Whoah, whoah, hey... Dean... come on, sit down... come on... that's it... just... calm down, all right?"
… then beside his brother…
"No, no... I can't... I can't..."
"Yes you can... come on, just calm down... you know what will happen if you don't, okay! You need to calm yourself down right now..."
… and then he finally meets him in the middle of the room, hands raised up, trying to seem as nonthreatening as possible.
"Yeah, yeah, you're right, I need to... I need air... I can't..."
"Dean, you can... just breathe… alright?"
Dean nods, but doesn't do anything... he's still gulping down air, like it's due to disappear any second.
"That's it, that's it… now listen to me… are you listening to me?"
He nods. Yeah he's listening… listening to his blood boiling in his veins, his skin sizzling, his muscles turning into mush… the sweat burning him everywhere on his body…
"Dean!"
Whoah, Sam has a set of lungs on him.
"Yeah… yeah."
"Listen to me! You're gonna sit your ass down on that bed, so that we can find that thorn, you hear me? And you're not gonna get up from the bed or panic anymore, you got it? You're not really hot, you can breathe, everything you're feeling is not real, 's not true, 's not there, you hear me?"
"Uh… yeah…"
"Good, now sit down, alright? And let's find this damn thorn."
TBC…