"C'mon Sammy, let's finish this game." He stalked through the halls of the Bunker, hammer in hand. All he felt was the desire to maim, kill, torture. He needed the feel of blood on his hands, to watch Sam beg him to stop, the sound of breaking bones, blood being coughed up. All the hours in that chair, the agonizing pulse of purified blood racing through him, devouring him, it was the thought of pulling Sam apart piece by piece that kept him going.
As the demon side weakened he felt the handcuffs lose their power, the Devil's trap no longer held him. He had just enough left to utterly destroy what was left of Dean. That weak, human, guilt ridden, worthless thing. He would put this strong, virile, attractive body to much better purposes than what Dean had done with it. Once Sam was gone, Dean's memories would wither and die, his soul would burn itself out in impotent rage. He just had to kill Sam.
I smell him, love that fear.
He rounded a corner, and saw Sam looking the other way.
This is it!
Feet pounding on concrete, arm swinging with all it's strength, howling with glee, the hammer connected with Sam's injured shoulder. The delicious impact flew up his arm and Sam's agonized cries were the perfect accompaniment to the feel of bones breaking as he swung over and over.
"Dean! Hey! Wake up!"
His eyes flew open, Sam was standing a safe distance away, fear laced concern in his eyes. Dean's pulse was racing, the pull out couch Lyla had offered after Oliver ate and left to keep an eye on things was covered in sweat and his hands were balled into fists. Dig had gone to run some errands with Sara while Lyla went to work. Sam had taken the guest room and he took the couch, they both needed some sleep after driving all night. The sheets were in utter disarray and the few decorative pillows he'd just pushed out of his way so he could lay down had been flung several feet from the couch.
Sam stepped closer and handed him a towel, "What was that about?"
"Monster," he tried to shrug it off, "Hell, who knows. I don't remember."
He watched Sam's face flash through all the phases of concern and irritation that only Sam was capable of showing in less than five seconds as he dried the sweat from his face and chest. Sam would keep pushing, he knew it but he couldn't bring himself to tell him the truth. Not after everything he went through to bring me back. I can't. The dreams, they're getting worse, more vivid, more violent. I see them when I'm awake sometimes now too. It's not gone. I just have to hold on a little while longer, after this job I'll tell him.
Sam walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, filled it with ice water and set it on the table next to him. "You know, it'd be great if for once you could actually be honest with me. I know we don't have a great track record with that but it'd be a nice change of pace." He started picking up the pillows and tossing them at Dean. "Get up, those sheets are soaked. We should at least throw them in the wash before Lyla and Dig get back."
He got up off the couch, downed the water and started walking to the bathroom, "Fine, whatever. I'm going to clean up."
"Damn it Dean!" Sam snapped, he was near the end of the patience. "Stop."
He didn't turn around. He couldn't look his brother in the face. Not when his hands were shaking and a cold sweat was breaking out on his face again.
"That dream wasn't about Hell or monsters. I have seen every variation of nightmare you have, I can tell by how much you move what the dream is about. Keep pushing it down, keep running. It won't help."
Sam stepped in front of him. He's close to breaking, there's so much frustration in his eyes. I know he wants to help but he can't, no one can. Talking won't make this go away.
"Do you honestly think you're hiding anything from me? Do you think I can't see it?"
Here it comes.
Sam's arms flashed out shoving him back a few steps. "What does this solve? You denying that you're hurting. That you have nightmares of what the demon wants to do. Do you think I don't?"
It wasn't the words that plowed through him, dragging up all the things he couldn't stand to feel. It was Sam's face, the unshed tears in his eyes, the lines of stress as Sam fought with either punching him or hugging him, the compassion that he had somehow still held onto even after everything.
"Lucifer was in my brain for months. You think whatever you see is worse than what I see when I sleep? Do you think I'll judge you in some way? That nightmare, we were in the bunker. Weren't we?"
"Sam. Later."
"No!" The next shove was full force, he tripped over a chair and stumbled backwards.
"Weren't we!"
He has to let this go! He put more force behind his words and took a step towards Sam. "This is not the time."
He wasn't ready for the fist that slammed into his stomach doubling him over as he tried to breathe.
"If not now, Dean, when? When you lose it and shoot someone other than a monster? Now answer the question or God help me I'll hit you again."
Damn, he's not kidding. He hasn't been this mad in years. Oh hell.
He ducked out of the way as another huge fist came towards him.
"We were in the bunker," Sam snarled.
Sam's right cross flew towards his face, he barely managed to block.
"You were killing me."
The next hit took him on the chin, Sam had gauged it to glance off his face but he'd had enough. It was his fist that aimed for Sam's gut this time but Sam hopped back at the last minute.
"Leave it alone Sam!" Time to use Sam's sense of courtesy and respect for others against him, "We don't need to trash Dig's place."
Sam paused, looked around and took a deep breath. "This is not over." He turned away and started stripping the sheets off the pull out couch and Dean resumed his walk to the bathroom.
Not the best way to start a hunt, especially one with non hunters involved. I know I'm not hiding anything, I just don't know how to deal with this. I'm supposed to know how to handle anything.
The cold water from the bathroom sink felt good on his face, numbing the throbbing Sam's glancing blow caused.
Good thing he didn't land that right cross. He wasn't holding back on that one.
He stripped out of his jeans and underwear as the water in the shower heated up. Focus on ghosts. Nightmares can wait another few days. Who is controlling these things and why?
Sam threw all the sheets in the washer and was half tempted to turn it on just to flood Dean's shower with cold water. He deserves it. Stubborn idiot. He's never had a nightmare that bad, not even after he came back from Hell. It was his laugh that woke me up. Goddamn it was scary, just like a demon laugh. He doesn't even know how close to the surface these dreams are. Is he going to start acting them out in his sleep? I don't even think I can call it a nightmare, it was much more than that. The Mark must have kept hold of some of the demon side somehow. That or maybe the demon purification thing doesn't cure the demon, it just makes it sleep. That guy from the Men of Letters never had a chance to follow up on the demon he cured, and we didn't complete the ritual with Crowley.
The one thing he never thought he would feel, fear of Dean, started creeping it's way through him, turning his blood cold as it did. I can't trust him. He leaned his head against the laundry room cabinets. I've always been able to count on his motives even if his actions were screwed up, now I don't even know if I can do that. How much of Dean is left? Damn, I understand how he felt when I was soul less. He never gave up on me, I sure as hell won't give up on him.
He heard the bathroom door open then Dean's footsteps returning to the living room. It took a large measure of restraint on his part to not wrench the wash machine knobs off as he turned them to the right setting and slammed his fist into the button to start the load.
One day things will be easy, with our luck that means we'll be dead, again. It would be nice if we stayed that way for once. If nothing else it's less stressful being dead, says the man who hunts vengeful spirits. God our lives are screwed up.
He made it back into the living room just as Dig returned. "Morning, or rather afternoon guys, I can make coffee if..." As soon as Dig got a good look at them he slowed down and stopped walking, "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, "Just talking about some family stuff. It's fine. We just woke up, coffee would be great. Thanks."
Dig nodded, headed into the kitchen and started the coffee pot. "Not sure what you guys are up to eating but we can grab something on the way to the Club. Oliver texted me that Felicity had gotten some hits on people who were at all the locations the ghost things had been at."
"That will help," Dean said, "Give us some people to go have a few chats with."
"Do you want Oliver or I to go with you?" Dig asked.
The brothers looked at each other, "Nah," Dean answered, "No offense but it will go faster if Sam and I go. We know what to look for and ask."
"All right. When you guys are ready we can head over."
"Coffee first," Dean requested, "Then I can think. I'm getting too old for this lack of sleep crap."
Dig chuckled, "I feel ya."
Sam and Dean got their caffeine fix, grabbed their gear and the three of them headed to the parking lot.
"So Dean," Dig said, "Any chance I could drive? I fell for her the minute I started the engine when we helped Sam. I've missed her."
Sam was shocked at Dean's reply. "Sure, you let us stay at your place. Why not?" He tossed Dig the keys and slid into the passenger seat while Sam got into the back.
"Thanks man," Dig started Baby, a huge grin sweeping across his face as the roar of her engine echoed through the underground parking lot. "Damn, I think she's even more cherry than last time I drove her."
"Been working on her," Dean replied as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Sam tried hard not to make his stare obvious enough that Dig would notice. Never saw that coming. Something is seriously wrong with him.