The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was a smell he was familiar with. But not something he'd smelled in a long while. Not this particular one.
Burning flesh, blood, sulfur. And something else. Something that was distinctly...Hell.
Dean opened his eyes. It was dark. Quiet. But slowly the sound faded in, as if someone had gradually turned the volume back up. Screaming. Laughter. But not the kind of laughter you would hear at a friendly poker game. Mostly though, it was the screaming.
A series of flashes above him revealed rows of chains and hooks...millions of them. And bodies...people, or rather souls, hanging in them; screaming out, though no one they wanted to hear them could.
Dean scrambled up from where he realized he was lying on the ground, if only to make sure that he wasn't one of them; that he wasn't on one of those hooks. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before...and inevitably the day before that. Other than that, there was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't bloody or battered, and it seemed no one was interested in his sudden appearance there.
That's when he heard another scream. There was something familiar about it, so he paused and listened again.
"Dean!" the voice cried out.
Sam...
The screams continued, though he'd only heard his name that one time. Dean followed the voice frantically. "Sam?" he shouted. "Sam, where are you?" That's when he'd almost stumbled, but gained his balance thanks to years of training...or maybe just flat-out luck.
He looked down at the ground where he'd nearly toppled over, and then a bit ahead of it to see the beginning of a large crevice. There was a sort of orange glow emanating from it, and he took a step forward to get a look. Dean realized, as he quickly dropped to his hands and knees to avoid detection, that it was the cage... The actual CAGE. The pit... It was maybe thirty feet deep, and not quite that in diameter around.
Right now, it was hard to see anything besides smoke and the orange glow. Dean leaned over to try and see past it, his hand taking purchase on the tough iron fencing that sealed the cage from the rest of Hell. He heard quiet weeping and his eyes sought out the origin of the sound. Against the wall, right under where Dean hovered, was a huddled body, recognizable to Dean only because of the clothing he wore.
"Adam?" Dean said softly but theoretically loud enough for him to hear. But Adam didn't respond. It was likely he hadn't heard him. The poor kid was obviously frightened; doing his best not to draw attention to himself. But he wasn't restrained, and Dean wasn't sure what that meant exactly.
The smoke began to clear and Dean was able to see two other forms. They both seemed to be sleeping; their backs facing him where they lay on what he could only guess were some kind of cots. Some slight movement at the left side of the pit drew Dean's attention. The smoke seemed to clear completely as he looked over.
Sam...
He was strapped down on a table; the kind of table that Dean was all-too familiar with. One you couldn't find anywhere else. His body was bloody and destroyed where clothing had been stripped away. His flesh was burned in different places. He looked like he was just starting to stir from unconsciousness.
Dean could taste bile at the back of his throat.
"Sam," he called out, glancing at the sleeping figures to make sure he hadn't caused them to wake up, before looking back at his brother. "Sammy?" he called again. Sam's eyes opened slowly, and his head began to turn. "Sammy..." he said once more, and Sam's eyes met his. Confusion crossed his face, then fear.
"Dean?" he rasped out.
"Sam..." came out as a broken whisper. Then, out of nowhere, Sam started hyperventilating. Dean panicked as he watched his brother's body suddenly engulfed in flames...
"Dean!" he screamed...
Dean's eyes flew open to a brightly-lit, familiar bedroom. He was out of breath and his entire body stung from the adrenaline of fear. But he could make no move at the moment to change his vertical position on the bed. Just a dream... Just a dream. Just a nightmare, he thought.
Sammy's dead... That burning in his chest came back...
*~.~*
Tony woke to the smell of coffee. When he opened his eyes, they fell on a mug sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Oh, right. Gibbs' house. Dean.
He pushed himself up to sit, just as Gibbs wandered in with his own cup. "Sleep well?" Gibbs asked.
"Always sleep better at your place, boss," Tony half-grinned as he picked up the mug. "Thanks for the coffee."
"Best short-notice complimentary breakfast you'll get outta me," he smirked.
"Is Dean up?" Tony asked after taking a long drink from his cup.
"Heard him go out to get his bag, earlier. Shower's running now."
Tony nodded and took another sip, watching as Gibbs did the same. "So, you think he'll stay here? I mean, if he does, is that okay with you?" Tony asked. "Because if not, he can come stay with me. That's not a problem at all. And ya know, Allen can probably give him a job at the shop."
Allen was someone they'd gotten to know after the Winchesters left Tony and Gibbs to fix Tony's Mustang. Bobby had sent them almost all the parts they'd ended up needing. But work ended up getting in the way so often, they needed an extra hand. Allen was an uncle of a fellow agent at NCIS who had heard about Tony's car troubles and recommended him. It turned out the man was pretty decent.
"'Course he can stay here, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied. "But that's up to him. And getting him a job at the shop's not a half-bad idea."
"Well, he can get it himself. Just use us for references and he should be good to go. He knows what he's doing." His face suddenly dropped with a feeling of guilt.
"What?" Gibbs questions, narrowing his brows.
"I just remembered, I never sent him a picture of the finished car," Tony said sullenly. "How could I have forgotten that?" he met Gibbs' eyes incredulously. "God...it's all my fault that we lost contact."
"In case you forgot," Gibbs began, "A lot happened between then and the car being fixed. Right after they left, we were dealing with Rivkin."
Tony became thoughtful for a long moment. "Right... Ziva and all that...stuff. Guess it was kind of distracting."
"And by the time it was finished, I was busy getting my mother-in-law to confess to murder," he continued. "So, we all had our hands full."
"That's right," Dean's voice sounded from the entrance to the room, and they looked over. "Like you said last night, takes all of us to lose touch."
"Fair enough," Tony gave a lopsided grin. "Good morning, by the way. Want some breakfast? I can run out..."
"Coffee's fine, actually," Dean replied, starting toward the kitchen. "You mind if I grab a cup, Gibbs?"
"I can get it for you," Gibbs offered.
"Nah, it's fine. I know my way around the kitchen," Dean smirked.
"Almost forgot," Gibbs let out a small laugh.
"And then I'd like to see the car, Tony, if you've got her with you," he said a bit louder, from the kitchen.
"Yeah. No problem. Lemme just get my shoes on..."
*~.~*
"Can't believe I didn't recognize her when I pulled up," Dean said as they stood at the curb in front of Gibbs' house.
"It was dark, and you'd been on the road for a long time," Tony defended. "Plus, last time you saw her she was a pile of scrap, just about," he smirked.
"Well, she looks great now," he commented before taking a sip from his mug. "You said Allen was the name of the dude that helped you out?"
"Yeah. Great guy. When it got so busy at work, he really took over the majority of putting on all those parts Bobby sent out in the beginning."
"What was that I heard about Ziva?" Dean asked. "You and Gibbs were talking about someone named Rivkin?"
"Long story," Tony shook his head, "But I guess if you wanna know, it's only fair. Wanna go for a ride? I can tell you in the car."
"Okay," Dean agreed, and they got in. Dean watched as Tony made sure his belt was on before he even shut the door, and Tony caught him watching.
He gave him a sheepish grin, "Still can't break the habit, since."
"Don't really blame you," Dean replied.
They drove a bit through the neighborhood as Tony told him about Ziva's personal involvement with Michael Rivkin; the way she'd kept it a secret from her team, and how he'd had to confront him, was attacked, and ended up killing Rivkin in order to save himself.
He told him about how she'd decided to stay in Tel Aviv with her father, and ultimately the Mossad, after they'd all gone there to defend Tony for the death of one of their officers. How she'd told Gibbs to choose between the two of them, and when he refused, she'd abandoned them.
Then he told him how her own father sent her on a suicide mission, in which the three of them had to go an rescue her, and how she's really never been the same since. Something happened to her there that broke her in some way, and she refused to talk about it. And there was really no way to even try and convince her to.
"Sounds like that's what's made her seem so different," Dean said. "Holding all that stuff in, it's pretty tough. Makes you put up extra defenses so it doesn't show." He got a thoughtful expression on his face as he looked absently at the dashboard. "That's what Sam would say, anyway," he said a bit quieter.
Tony glanced briefly at him, then back to the road, trying to think of something to say to that. "Sam was pretty smart about that kinda stuff," he decided on.
"He was pretty smart about a lot of things," Dean replied, then looked down at his lap.
Well, damn..., Tony thought. This isn't going as I'd hoped. As the car headed back toward the house, it was silent for a while. He wanted to defuse the situation without possibly risking making it worse. But he was at a bit of a loss.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out without really knowing what else to say.
Dean's face shot up to look at him. "For what?"
"For making you sad," he said. "For making you think about it again."
Dean let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he looked out the windshield. "You assume I ever stopped. Thinking about it, I mean."
"No...I mean, I didn't...I-" he stumbled over his own words, feeling a bit like McGee. "I'm just sorry."
"Wasn't there some rule?" Dean half-smiled in his direction.
"I just wish it could be different," Tony continued. "I wish I could fix everything for you; make it all...I dunno. I wish Cas could've done something." Dean compulsively swallowed, not looking at anything in particular as Tony spoke. "I wish you and Sam didn't have to sacrifice so much; sacrifice yourselves. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair," his voice cracked, and Dean looked over at him. "Sorry. I know I have no right..."
"Dude, shut up." It was Tony's turn to look over at him. "You have a right to miss him too." After a moment, Dean looked back out the window, and Tony to the road. "I dunno what hurts more," Dean said quietly. "The fact that he's not here, or the fact that he's in that pit...enduring the worst possible tortures imaginable." There was a short pause before he continued. "Guess it's just a different hurt. First one's selfish. The second one... Yeah, that's worse. That's definitely worse..."
TBC...
