A.N. Finally managed to crawl from under the rock of shame to post this :o
Alert - "M" rated chapter content! Adults only please.
Threads - Chap 7
The madness and delusions triggered in Sam by the creature grow, over-taking and squashing reality.
-oOo-
Dean found himself not answering Hazel as confidently as he maybe should have.
"No, I guess. At least, I mean, I don't remember dieing..."
His words faded away as Dean experienced a momentary Technicolor flashback, re- living what he had been happy to think of at the time as his near collision with a tree. His heart seemed to skip a beat and, for a freeze frame within the fabric of time, he wondered?
"Hey! Are you ok?...Dean?...Hello?...Dean?"
Her voice finally cut through, and Dean forced himself to focus on Hazel again.
"I'm fine."
"Good. You looked like you'd zoned out on me there. Anyhow, in answer to your question, no, like you, I don't remember ever dieing, so I'm gonna count that as me still being alive."
Dean nodded his understanding.
"So, if we're accepting that neither of us are dead, how the Hell did you end up workin' here?"
At that, Hazel shrugged.
"The usual way. Drivin' past, saw a sign saying Staff Needed, so called in on the off chance, had a quick interview an' was given a job. When I first started I was in the kitchen, peeling and dicing veg. Porsche was already waitressing with another girl. When the other girl left they asked me if I'd waitress. Gotta be more interesting than chopping carrots eh? So, here I am. The pay's not bad an', well, there's always customers in."
Dean found himself struggling with how normal Hazel made it all sounded.
"When did you first notice it was always pretty much the same customers?"
"Let me think...Right, yeah. A couple of weeks ago."
Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise at how recently it was that the waitress had finally spotted something odd.
"Hazel? How long have you been workin' here?"
"Ah, now, let's see. In total? Nearly three weeks. The first week of it was my veg week in the back...
"An' she won't be makin' four weeks if she don't move her ass an' get doin' what she's paid to do instead'a sittin' around here yappin' with you! Round here Mister, coffee don't come with a cosy chat with the waitress thrown in! Ain't you got no friends?"
Dean looked up into the scowling face of Porsche as the realisation dawned on him that no, he didn't have a whole load of friends any more. Those old friends he'd had, and whose homes he'd felt so welcome in, they had all gone. Even Castiel was around less and, amongst their fellow Hunters, Dean was isolated. The path he and Sam had walked was one that was far beyond the experiences of the "average" Hunter, and it had taken them both in a completely different direction to the community they had always thought themselves a part of. Disavowed by his own brother, Dean felt the shock of knowing that for all intents and purposes, he was now truly alone.
-o-
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Porsche's scowl faded and she was looking at him now with something more like curiosity. Dean found himself thinking it was the kind of curiosity you might see on a puma's face when it's trying to decide whether the thing it's looking at is edible or not and he stayed silent.
"I see you're waitin' for somebody. Well, I guess it's ok for you to wait a while. Ain't nobody ever said it's against the rules. 'Course, we ain't never had anybody here waitin' before either. I'll fetch your coffee over, an' a full breakfast was it? Hazel? Table number 10 wants to change their order, go sort 'em out, there's a darlin'."
-o-
Sam used his discarded shirt to cover the area on the floor where he had ejaculated, not wanting to risk slipping if he should walk through it with bare feet. As the True Oracle he had a duty to look after himself and to keep himself safe, otherwise who would the Hunters turn to when they were in need of guidance? He decided to choose another book and padded over to a shelf containing books devoted to unnatural nature, his eyes were drawn to a large red leather bound book, it's title picked out in metallic greys read Thunderbirds - The Evidence. He and the man who had once been his brother had, in the past, taken a job which had them both entering the lair of one of these creatures, and it very nearly finished them. Lifting the book down Sam carried it back to the desk he was working at. Climbing onto the desktop, Sam seated himself cross-legged at it's centre and eagerly opened the book, his precious sticky notes close at hand.
-o-
Dean had no idea what Porsche meant with regards to him waiting, but it gave him the excuse to stay in the hopes of being able to speak to Hazel again and maybe figure out what the Hell he had wandered into...Or been brought into. He gazed around at the other customers, reminding himself that these people he was sharing the diner with were all, apparently, dead. He turned his focus onto the "new" guy, Charles. Aside from himself, Charles was the only other person - Ghost?- who was looking around, his eyes making contact with Dean's. Inwardly Dean groaned when Hazel's cousin excused himself from his table, picked up his coffee and walked across to join Dean. Dean's eyes scanned the condiments, for the first time noticing that salt wasn't amongst them.
"Hey man, is it ok if...?"
Reluctantly, Dean nodded.
"Go ahead, though I warn you I'm not feelin' much like company right now."
"Right, gotcha."
Charles eagerly sat himself down opposite Dean.
"Some kinda whacked out place this is, eh?"
"How d'you mean? Foods ok, waitresses are...Mostly...Friendly."
"Not my idea of Heaven though."
Dean's interest shot up the scale.
"Come again?"
"Well, it's pleasant enough I guess, but I'm used to places that have quite a bit more class than this joint...Name's Charles...How'd you get here?"
Dean instantly played the dumb card.
"Drove here. I look like a backpacker to you?"
Taking no offence, Charles in fact looked inordinately pleased, while he scanned the car park through the window behind Dean.
"Your car out there then?"
Dean nodded, waiting to see where the guy took the conversation, though he had a feeling he already knew what was coming next.
"That's great...So...Er...Gimme the keys. Now pal."
Dean gazed at the piece of cutlery, a standard stainless steel knife that had never come close to being sharp, in Charles' hand. Ok, wasn't quite expecting that one! Looking at Charles' determined face, Dean gave him a quizzical stare.
"Or what? You plannin' on butterin' me to death, pal?"
-o-
Without taking his eyes off the book he was reading, Sam reached for another sticky note, his hand feeling nothing but the wooden desk top. Keeping a finger in the page he was on, he glanced around the whole of the desk top. There were no sign of any sticky notes anywhere on the desk, he tipped forward and peered on the floor around and under the desk without success. When he straightened up again, Sam found himself feeling distinctly dizzy and light headed, as well as irritated by the lack of sticky notes; how was he supposed to work without the right tools and equipment? Jumping down off the desk, Sam strode across to the library door, unlocked it and went out into the corridor, heading for the kitchen. His calling out of Dean's name sounded husky and rasping, the impact of his parched mouth and throat due to his belief that he need not waste good reading time on drinking, nor on eating, and in not sleeping. Reaching the kitchen, Sam stared around, searching with his eyes, there were no signs of the supposed partner. Just to be sure, Sam checked the inside the kitchen cupboards and the inside of the refrigerator. Finally convinced his sticky note stealing ex-brother wasn't there, he stormed down to Dean's bedroom. Throwing open the door, he walked in.
"You little shit! Gimme back my sticky notes, or I swear I'll kill you dead!"
Standing in the silence, Sam's increasingly confused mind took a while to register that Dean had gone. Left him. Wasn't here in the bunker. He had departed. Probably gone in search of some gullible female to screw. Sam angrily threw himself down onto the top of his brother's bed, his thoughts on his lack of sticky notes, one hand again stroking himself softly. The sensation was soothing, comforting, and lying there on Dean's bed, Sam again fulfilled his own needs and desires.
-o-
Sam watched the arc of his semen through half shuttered eyes while writhing and gasping through his self induced orgasm, feeling pleased at himself for discovering so effective a way of ridding his body of more toxins. He told himself that this type of cleansing needed to be carried out in order that he could become completely pure. With his erection gone, Sam knelt up on Dean's bed, Looking down at himself, he began to patiently encourage his penis to rise again from the dead, and participate in ridding the body it belonged to of further contaminants.
-o-
Wearily exiting Dean's room, Sam was finding it extremely hard not to close his eyes and give in to the demands on his body for sleep. He needed to shake this weak limbed, tired eyed sensation. Once out in the corridor, Sam began to jog along it and back, quickly beginning to sweat as he drove one foot in front of the other. And yet he jogged on, toxins and salt now trickling out of his body, until even the soles of his bare feet began to leave damp prints as he ran and his breathing turned to heavy panting through a mouth hanging open and slack. Forcing himself to carry on, sweat poured into his eyes, impacting on already blurring and, unnoticed by Sam, darkening vision. He began to stumble occasionally, but continually refused to stop and rest until, in the end, he collapsed to the floor as he ran.
-o-
Lying on the floor, breathless and exhausted, Sam soon tried to clamber back up onto his feet, getting nearly half way upright, only to then collapse back down to the floor again. On the third time Sam fell, he stayed there, eyes closed and his body unmoving except for the quick rise and fall of his chest.
-oOo-
Chap 8 also comes with warnings I'm afraid! (Groan - No pun intended)
Chick xxxxx
