DEAN

"Fuck"

It slid through his lips like breath, it was almost a natural response – he didn't even think he just said it. "God, I could go for a damn burger and a cold beer…" The image of a chilled El Sol appeared behind his eyelids as he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the eroding wall of the motel, his mind torturing him with desires he could not fulfill. His mouth twitched, he could feel the effects of the sedatives wearing off. He had no car. His side was seriously complicated, so walking was definitely out of the question – well it wasn't, just the thought of it was too painful to consider at the moment. The pills where out, there hadn't been too many in the bottle anyway.

It was mid-afternoon and though the sun should've been offensively masking his face with heat waves and his clothes would've been sticky and uncomfortable. The atmosphere was quite the opposite; it was subdued – overcast with a slight chill in the air.

The space between this eyebrows crinkled, his expressive eyebrows furrowed and a half upside down grimace flashed across his face as he pushed himself up. His walk was a tortured crawl as he made himself to the bed; he collapsed into it – fighting the urge to let his pain that caused his exhaustion to evolve into sleep. The bed was so comfortable…

He ignored it. God that will power was evil sometimes. He needed a phone book that was the quickest way to find out where he was and where he needed to go.

He bent down to grab it out from under the nightstand, having momentarily forgotten the wound that had left him stranded in the shit motel.

The pain was hot. Like a metal poker from the fire, it shot through his side, up his arms, over his chest tightening his muscles as it went, making breathing much more difficult, the skin at his side tensed then as if it was happening all over again the pain burst into flame. It felt like something was ripping through his skin, layer by layer. He bit his tongue; metal filled his mouth and dribbled out red, onto his shirt.

His eyes dilated, the green turned almost gray and the whites of his eyes pink and watering, he hit the ground paralyzed, huddling painfully in a fetal position – breathing heavily he pulled himself back trying to push past the pain, squeezing his sides now to try and cancel the pain signals. He moaned a little, and began to feel the effect of his pressure. He rolled over onto his back, now groaning loudly, annoyed. He laid there a minute, glaring at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing and get it back to a slower, more normal rhythm.

"Son of a Bitch!" He half yelled as he tried to sit up, spitting red and wrapping an arm around his middle. Leaning against the bed he then sled an arm over to the bottom shelf of the bedside table, pulling out a tattered phone book.

After a ridiculous amount of minutes, Dean found a Hospital address : "Slightly Way East 125666" He also found he was in Saline, Nebraska – a small county in Nebraska, practically a small town. The hospital was two blocks away, held his breath and stood up, his face turning red.

He stepped out into the refreshingly chilled air. El Sol…

Dean's normally unruly brown hair was flattened to his head, and he had not noticed till he stepped outside but he was sweating.

Maybe I have a fever…Wouldn't be fuck'in surprised…

His side had been bleeding on and off since had fallen off the bed. If he turned the wrong way, he'd pull the skin attempting to heal and it'd begin the bloody process all over again. He made his way down empty streets, the same post apocalyptic scenery, destroyed buildings and trashy streets. It was like downtown Detroit, minus the wholesome hookers that made a night just so much more comfortable…

His luck wasn't looking up as he finally reached the Hospital, it hadn't been an expressively large building but it was big enough for a town like Saline. Or at least it was. The white building, or previously white building was dirty with blacks, browns, and dark reds, it was so unbelievably filthy looking it all looked almost strategically placed. Part of the Building had collapsed earthquake or arson or god knows what. The windows, he noticed as he walked closer, where ghosts of glass – all shattered and jagged, in one of those clichéd horror movie type ways.

The taste in his mouth was intrusive, and made him really want something to wash it down with. A God Damn El Sol…

He stepped into the vacant hospital building, deciding to stay away from the end that was falling apart – his problems were too many as it was.

Gurneys were overturned; fluids spilled everywhere, staining the once white linoleum. It was obvious there had been some sort of struggle or chaos within the place, maybe some sort of riot. Dean tightened his lips and frowned a little, he continued his search for some medical supplies. But it was all just speculation. It was sudden, a rape to his nostrils, making him cough and then making him stop. It smelled awful, like a uni-sex restroom in a gas station on a Florida/Georgia game weekend – owned by a trucker who thought speaking grammatically correct to be a hobby. It just smelled awful. Dean's nose crinkled, he pulled his shirt collar up over his nose in an attempt to filter away the smell.

Eventually, his nose becoming accustomed to the stench he found a cabinet of undisturbed medical supplies. He slid off his jacket and placed it onto a nearby table,. Gingerly, he peeled off the white shirt to reveal, what would've been a usually tanned lean torso, but the mysterious wound was there and his middle was haphazardly wrapped around him in an attempt to stop the bleeding or maybe just to hold in all his insides from falling out. He pulled off the last of the bandage, not really glancing at it he pulled off a bottle of antiseptic and some peroxide – Dean decided to just go with a fast approach to this wound. He went to pour the peroxide and almost dropped it, he placed it back on the shelf. He was almost afraid to move or touch himself.

It was his wound.

It was circular and deep, just shy of the width of a teacup. The skin was pulled outward like something had pushed out from underneath it. Most of the blood had dried now but the skin pulled out was tough and black at the ends. The center of the whole, or rather the inside of it still looked squishy – the tissue was dark red, almost black The surrounding skin, the little adipose tissue that he had was turning black as well. Like it was spreading. Now the 'what' that was spreading, he didn't know. And it smelled. It smelled like it was dead, decomposing tissue. There was no conceivable way for Dean to stitch or clean this, he didn't even know how nor did he have the tools to do so or the energy to find anything. He grabbed some antiseptic spray and sprayed it, wincing. He quickly put on the bandages, and pulled back on the disgusting shirt and his jacket.

He left the Hospital. Now that he had dealt to his wound, he had to focus on finding out why he was here. The last thing he remembered was…was…

The last thing...I was with Sam..no..wait, maybe…fuck man I don't know…

He headed to the quick mart across the street, deciding to self-medicate himself into oblivion.

SAM

Bobby gave him one of those annoyed looks, he always graced Sam with.

"Now your sure Dean isn't dead, Sam?" He pulled his baseball cap down further onto his forehead. Same clenched his jaw, huffing, and tightening his lips in irritation. "Look, Bobby I know okay, I mean.." Sam breathed in quickly and quickly shifted his position here and there, as if his feet hurt, and he furrowed his eyebrows. "I'd…I'd…just know, okay?! I mean, I'd feel it, I can't explain it, but I just know. He can't be dead." He was embarrassed, and would not look at Bobby in the face. Bobby stared at him silently through slitted eyes as if he was listening intently to something. "Alright."

That was all he said. Sam was grateful; he was awkward sharing emotions with his hard ass brother, it was harder with Bobby. It was just a guy-thing, expressing emotions was like trying to pass a kidney stone.

"So Sam, Do you have any idea where Dean might even be?"

"Well no I don't. But maybe we can pull up some information, strange weather occurrences within the last few weeks or strange deaths. When I disappeared a Demon had taken me. If he's in the same position maybe the Demon left a trail."

"You mean like dead cows or something?"

"Well no, not exactly that. But yes. Like weather unusual for the time of year or constant types of weather. And if this Demon has managed to keep Dean somewhere for over two weeks, it's a badass, which means there'd definitely be a trail, Sulfur."

Bobby wasn't looking at him, but past him.

"I think we have a bigger problem than just some Demon, Sam."

Same turned recognizing the familiar monotone, Castiel stood in his usual garb of dress pants, white button up, striped tie, and tan overcoat.

Sam mirrored a Dean expression, raising his eyebrows in interest.

"We're not just dealing with some demon. But THE Demon, remember the last seal you broke? Yeah well Lucifer is out and he's after your brother."

"What!?" Sam yelled. "That doesn't make any sense, Dean isn't even the vessel of Lucifer, and I am." Sam looked like he was about to punch something.

"Dean is in a small town called Saline; it's located in the middle of Nebraska. The town's been deserted, No one really knows why, but about two months ago – yes two months ago right around the time you broke the seal – the entire town went missing, completely over night."

The room was quiet. Sam's eyes where wide, filled with guilt and apprehension. "So Dean, is he okay?"

"I don't know. For obvious reasons I can't even get near the area. So that is why I've come here." He stepped closer to same his dark eyes intense. "You have to go. I don't know what Lucifer wants with Dean, but it obviously cannot be good."

Castiel stared at him; he knew the possible results of sending Sam into Lucifer's nest, so to speak. He was the Vessel, and all he had to say was yes and the world would plummet to its unstoppable end. "You must not say yes, though, regardless of the circumstances."