Sorry for the delay in posting! I had a small bit of writer's block, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it's gone and will stay gone!
-3-
Sam dreamed, and he dreamed of fire, of white-hot flames burning him from the inside, and razors of arctic cold searing him from the outside in. The more he thrashed, the more the razors dug in. Slowly his dream shifted to a time he didn't want to remember; when Lucifer wore him as a meatsuit. Locked in his own mind, he relived every moment. He screamed in horror when he felt his fists –his- fists, pummel Dean. He felt Deans' nose break under the onslaught, felt what could only have been the crunch of bone. He screamed for Dean to run, but of course, Dean couldn't hear him.
The dream shifted, and he was back in Hell, with Lucifer. Agony coursed through his body as Lucifer used him as his own personal playground. Sam could feel his hand somewhere it was not supposed to be, and Oh God, those were not supposed to be on the outside. All the while, he whispered in Sams' ear all the things that he wanted to do to Dean, complete with demonstration.
Sam woke mid-scream. Panting for air, his teeth chattering, he listened to his heart pound for a few moments before realizing he wasn't hearing his heart. Blearily looking at the door, he swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand, only to sit back down when the room started to swim. Feeling like he was going to hurl, he gulped a few mouthfuls of air to steady himself, and then tried again. On wobbly legs, he made his way to the door and opened it a crack, squinting at the harsh morning light.
Once his eyes had adjusted, he saw the manager standing there, nervously looking around and licking his lips. On seeing Sam standing there, he cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm g-going to have to ask you to leave. Some of the other, uh, guests are complaining about the, uh, the noise."
Sam's voice was gravelly when he spoke. "Alright, ten minutes and I'm out."
The manager nodded and walked away quickly, glancing over his shoulder repeatedly like he expected Sam to bite.
Shaking his head slightly, Sam closed the door and went to pack up what little he had taken out of his duffel. While gathering the first aid supplies from the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "Jesus, I look like shit." His eyes were glassy, and his face pale. His hair, which he had let grow back out, clung to his neck, and his beard glistened with sweat.
Again, a dizzy spell hit him, and he braced himself against the sink, willing it to pass. As soon as it did, he was moving again. He pulled a fresh, well, fresher, set of clothes out of the duffel, quickly changed, and crammed everything back into his duffel. He opened the door to the sound of vehicles pulling into the lot and he instinctively looked, stiffening imperceptibly when he saw the Impala. Dean. He continued the walk to his truck, making it halfway before a coughing spell hit and he got light-headed.
AN: This seemed like a good place to cut it off. I'm hopeful that I'll have the next part up within a couple of days. Still working on it, but I think it's coming along pretty well.