Chapter 8

AN: Here be whump. Ye have been warned.

I like whump. I miss whump. So I whumped Dean a lot because I haven't whumped him or anyone for a while. In addition, the warning includes a heads up for tentacles, kinda gross stuff and more tentacles. There are no non/con elements, or anything like that but there is a lot of whump caused by tentacles, teeth and claws. If you get icked out by whump and mentions of blood and gore… perhaps skip to the end.

Gentle reminder, this fic is AU from season 3 of SPN. Dean never went to hell and these events are essentially occurring during what would have been seasons 5 and 6 (more in 6) of SPN. Obviously there was no pre-apocalypse events, no hell, no purgatory, no hell cage for Sam, no mark of Cain, none of that. Dean has not experienced another dimension before, and even if his time at T&E was hellish this is his first time in an actual hell dimension.

On that note: Bring on the whumpage!

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Sheppard landed in the Gate Room and crashed into Ronon. He hated falling into wormholes as the exit on the other side was always awkward, if not painful. The intense mental pain cause by the Fugly attack was blessedly gone and he rolled to one side, not wanting Winchester and Novak to land on him as they exited. Ronon grunted, "You ok?" Sheppard nodded, his head pounding but uninjured.

He stared back at the Gate, its watery blue surface rippling expectantly. Four long seconds ticked by and then, the wormhole disengaged. The Gate Room returned to normal lighting and Sheppard barked, "Chuck!"

"It closed on their side, Colonel." Chuck's voice cracked as he shouted back, but John did not turn around to look at the man. He nearly ordered an immediate dial back, but if Winchester was trying to re-dial from their side, the last thing they needed as incoming wormhole trapping them with two Fuglies. So they waited. Chuck automatically alerted the response team, and Teyla and her squad ran in several minutes later. "Colonel, are we going back?" Despite their obvious weariness, Teyla and her team were armed and ready to rock.

Torn, but needing to do something, Sheppard nodded. "Yes, dial New Boston now, Chuck." If Winchester or Novak hadn't dialled back by now….

More response teams arrived in the Gate Room, a mix of normal Gate team members and marines. Several guys were carrying packs crammed with holy water grenades and trays to use as shields. Sheppard keyed his comm. "This is the Colonel. Are there any empaths in the City? I need anyone who can project a shield. We're going after Winchester on New Boston."

As the Chevrons light up, Chuck called it in. 'Chevron 7 engaged.'

"Isn't the Gate lying flat?" Ronon barked, and Shepard nodded. "We'll have to climb out." Behind him, Sanchez confirmed to the teams that horizontal gate exit procedure was required. A few people groaned, as it was always tricky trying to exit a horizontal Gate.

As the wormhole engaged, Boyd ran into the Gate Room, struggling with his gear. Sheppard greeted him with, "Two Fuglies. We just need to snatch up Winchester and Novak." Boyd's expression was as grim and frightened as Sheppard felt.

"I'll do my best, sir."

Sheppard nodded. It would have to do.

Exiting the Gate on New Boston was the first surprise. The Gate was upright and Sheppard nearly fell down the small flight of stairs as he went low and launched himself out of the horizon. "What the hell?" he shouted as he stumbled to a halt. Teyla radioed in the change in Gate exit procedure and the rest of the rescue team were spared an awkward landing.

The next surprise was more pleasant but nevertheless worrying. A crystal clear blue sky welcomed them to New Boston. Teyla was ordering her team to fan out and search for Winchester because that was the last and worst surprise. There was no sign of Dean or Novak. The only good news was a distinct lack of Fuglies and any creatures overhead. The day was bright and sunny, a small yellow sun climbing towards midday and not a single portal or monster in sight. That good news soured fast when it became abundantly clear that Winchester and Novak were nowhere in sight.

Ronon and Teyla scattered with various squads to expand the search area, their voices raised, calling for Dean. Squinting up at the sun, John felt sick. The moment Dean had touched him and seemingly tapped into his emotions to bolster the shield had caused a mutual exchange of emotions. Dean's emotional state had been exactly as expected, terrified and exhausted. Sheppard hadn't fought the strange sensation of the connection as a sense of Dean's nature flooded him and all in all, it had felt very… normal. Standing there under a sky free of monsters, Sheppard had a moment to sort through that sensation.

Dean Winchester projected all the emotions of a young man who was far from home but happy to be on Atlantis – somewhere new and exciting. Yet, through that contentment was the sense of someone who yearned for connection, for safety but had no idea how to actually achieve that. The yearning echoed through his heart, through his being. They had not really been connected all that long, what with the rush for the Gate, but Sheppard had picked up a deep fear, a gnawing pain about being left behind, abandoned as they all ran. That fear resonated with him in a way he found uncomfortable and all too familiar. No one liked being left behind. John though as he stared at field bereft of any indication that Dean Winchester had even been there felt in his bones that Winchester did not function well alone. He needed people, he liked people. He needed to belong.

Unsettled and afraid, Sheppard stared out across the very Winchester-empty area and sighed, "Shit."

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Every now and then Bobby and his Dad had talked about Hell. Capital H, capital ELL. They had debated on whether Dante's "Inferno" was metaphorical or based on reality. At the time, the debate was theoretical of course. After the crash and his Dad's death, Dean had thought about Hell a lot, about what his Dad was experiencing. Was he finding out that Bobby was right and Hell was not seven levels of increasing torment? Those thoughts, fears and imaginings had torn at his brain, causing more than one sleepless night. Mercifully, when he killed the Yellow-eyed Demon his Dad had escaped Hell. There had been no time for a cliff notes summary of what Hell was like. Nope. Just enough time to say goodbye and hope that his Dad found heaven.

Sam had suggested that they ask Ruby when that bitch appeared offering her help in catching Lilith. There had been no way that Dean was asking Ruby anything, other than to drop dead. He trusted her about as far as he could throw her and set her on fire. He didn't actually want to know what Hell was 'really' like, thank you very much.

So while he wasn't 100% sure what Hell was like, Dean was just about certain that he wasn't in 'the' Hell, but he sure as hell as in 'a' Hell. Maybe each galaxy had their own Hell and this was Pegasus's? No fires of damnation, no tormented souls, no demons, no wailing. Nothing like that.

When Dean came to, and awareness flooded in, he opened his eyes to darkness.

It was not completely pitch black and like New Boston, the lighting was more very dim twilight than night. Grey enough make out shapes and a general impression of the area, but dark enough that it was difficult to see, unable to get a good idea of his immediate surroundings. It wasn't cold nor hot, it was just on the edge of too cold, chilly, uncomfortable. The air felt dank and damp and as he sat up, the rock or whatever under his hands was cool and uneven. It was hard to make out if he was sitting on a rock or something else. It felt hard and gritty, but unlike stone or rock. Fortunately, he appeared to be alone. The last thing he remembered was the crushing grip of the Fugly's tentacle. Gingerly he touched his chest and winced. He was bruised for sure, and perhaps a rib or two were cracked. It hurt to breathe, and the air felt thick, but on the whole, he seemed ok. Or as ok as one could be when trapped in a literal hell hole.

With some difficulty, Dean climbed to his feet. He felt weak and shaky like he normally did after strenuous empathic effort. Combined with the physical exhaustion of four days of running battles, too little food and sleep and now cracked ribs, Dean felt about as good as shit. Top of his to do list was finding a way out. If he was in the same place the beasties came from, and they could portal into reality, there was a small chance he could escape the same way. Bracing himself, Dean limped forward. Any direction was as good as another, so forward it was. What was puzzling, but another good sign, was that if the Fugly had brought him here, why had he woken up alone? This space seemed too small for the Fulgies to live in it. The low ceiling and narrow walls felt more like a tunnel or cave, what little he could make out of it. Head aching, he took a step forward, one hand braced on the wall to steady himself.

Something had happened just before the Fugly grabbed him. Something about the Sun?

Dean's train of thought trailed off as a horrific notion hit him. What if he was inside the Fugly? Scanning the area, Dean gulped. The cave, if that was what it was, seemed too big for the inside of the Fugly. Weren't stomachs usually all icky and gross, with fluids and digestive juices? Gagging at the idea, Dean pressed on, hoping to find some sign that he was not about to be digested. If it had eaten him, then there was still a way out – if it had a mouth it had an ass… it didn't have a mouth, did it? Dean held tight to the idea that no mouth and no acidic juices meant he wasn't in a stomach. Yet.

Dismissing those thoughts, Dean walked on, one hand pressed against the wall, the other holding his ribs, trying to keep them from jostling. The cavern seemed to be widening, growing which he sensed rather than confirmed visually as the space opened up around him. There were no small rocks or jagged outcrops. In fact, the wall was fairly uniform bar for the odd bump here and there. Like it had been hollowed out by water and no debris had been left behind. The wall began to curve and then it abruptly ended. Through the gloom, Dean saw that he was at the mouth of a tunnel and it was opening out into an even larger cavern. Squinting, trying to make out the dim gloom ahead, Dean shuffled forward and caught himself in time as the floor disappeared beneath his feet. He barely noticed that, as instead, his attention was fixed on the enormous cavern that sprawled out before him. It wasn't a cavern, not really. No cave was that big. This was just space, a world bracketed by a grey ceiling and walls, covered in dim light. No stars, no sun, just twilight gloom, but it was opaque enough for Dean to see the denizens of this world.

A swarm so big he could not see it's edges writhed in the middle of the cavern, mid-air, a pulsing ball of disparate life. It filled the space, swirling and whirling like a maddened flock of demon-birds. Smaller creatures flew at the edges, with larger ones in the centre. At the base, standing on the surface of the deep cavern were the Fuglies. Hundreds of them. As a group the swarm didn't seem to be doing anything, just flying and standing around, waiting.

Waiting for what?

A stupid idiot human to just waltz right in?

Apparently so.

"Oh shit," Dean thought and as one, the swarm and Fuglies turned towards him, as if drawn by his unvoiced thought.

"Oh shit!" Dean cried out for real and ran for his life, back the way he had come.

It was no use. There was nowhere to run to, or hide. Just an ever narrowing tunnel and then… a dead end. Dean cursed, slamming his fist against the wall. The cave ended at a narrow point, smooth surface unyielding and unforgiving. Down the tunnel, the swarm barrelled, a shrieking horde of savage claws and teeth. Dean whirled and threw up a shield and it shimmered into place, shining in the dark, a bright silver manifestation of power. He braced himself, ready to fight to the bitter end. When the first creatures reached him, all teeth and claws yearning for his flesh, he hardened the barrier and the things flew right through it. Startled, Dean shouted and swung out a punch, catching the first monster full on, but it was instantly joined by hundreds. Psychic shields worked for shit against actual physical bastards.

Dean fought, pummeling and kicking, slamming the shrieking monsters into the floor and the walls, trying to keep them from his face and chest. Highly aware that he was going to be eaten alive, Dean tried to zap the beasts, shock them with electricity, fry them into dust. Nothing came when he summoned the electric power, the 'zap' that hummed in his blood. There was no time to think about why that was. Instead, the sheer number of creatures pressed him into the wall, and Dean screamed as the bastards overwhelmed his flailing limbs and teeth tore into his skin, and claws ripped and slashed at him. Oddly the creatures didn't stink, so all Dean could smell was his own blood as a rich copper filled the vicinity. He fought on, kicking and punching like a madman, but he was fighting an unending mass, a never-ending stream of diminutive monsters. As quick as he killed three or four, dozens more dived in, eager to taste his blood, more teeth replacing those he dislodged, more claws digging into his flesh as he flung others away.

The smaller monsters gave way to bigger beasts, ones with truly wicked claws and teeth and they shoved and clawed aside their own comrades to reach Dean. These monsters did not go down easily, a single punch barely phased them, and when they locked onto his exposed skin, they did not let go, gnawing and biting. Dean staggered back, crushing as many as he could against the wall, screaming as teeth ripped and shredded his skin and flesh. All he could see were wings, teeth, blue skin and claws. Some of the smaller ones were trying to claw into his mouth, ripping at his face. Uncaring, Dean bit back, and his mouth filled with foul blood. Undeterred, the blasted things kept trying to get inside him, fighting each other more than him, biting and squabbling. He was covered in creatures, big and small all crawling over him and he struggled to stay on his feet, struggled to fight on. In fact, by now he was fairly pinned against the wall, unable to move much as the horde pressed on him. Something bit into the skin on his exposed stomach and then there was more biting, chewing, ripping and Dean screamed. This was it, he was going down. Eaten alive.

Through the press of creatures the biggest flying monster yet clawed its way through to him, clawing its rivals out of the way. Dean screamed as more creatures ate into his stomach and something slipped into his mouth and choked him as it tried to climb down his throat, slicing his mouth and throat as it did. It was hard to see through the press, but he watched as the big beast reached him and Dean nearly choked on his defiance.

The big monster swatted its rivals off him, uncaring that it raked him with its claws, opening up long scores on his chest and arms. Doggedly, it cleared a space around him and most of the littler creatures fled, screaming, the sheer volume of bodies lessening. Some of the bigger ones did not let go, still grimly biting his arms and one even had his right hand in its mouth, happily chewing. The big new comer pulled off more of the little ones, pulling out the ones tearing into his intestines and pried out the one in his mouth. A heavy weight landed on Dean's chest as it landed, covering his torso, its claws piercing his skin. It gave Dean no chance to fight, to recover. It launched itself at him, knocked his head back and clamped its thick jaws around his throat. Cold teeth broke skin and Dean prayed it would be quick. He really didn't want to feel each bite as it ate him.

Snarling around its teeth, the big thing pulled and Dean fell forward, landing awkwardly on his knees. It pulled again, flapping its wings, beating back its competitors, and dragged him forward again. Dean struggled to stand, but the position it held him in made it impossible. He didn't dare pull against the teeth locked around his throat so he ended up scrambling along with the thing as it dragged him towards the tunnel mouth. Behind him, the smaller monsters swirled and shrieked, a brave few darting down and landing on his back, clawing and biting.

It took a moment, a long pain-filled moment before Dean figured out what was happening. It was dragging him out of the tunnel entirelu, dragging him to the Fuglies. It was struggling, as it wasn't exactly designed to carry a person, so it was half-dragging, half flying him out of the cave, along with all the other creatures still clinging onto him. The jaws around his throat hurt, but so did the teeth slicing into his arms, hands, legs, and feet. Something was digging into his back, licking his blood as the big thing struggled to the entrance. Luckily they did not have far to go, but Dean figured this thing would not be able to carry him to the Fuglies, he was too heavy for it. Panic flooded his body, and he jerked against the teeth, uncaring that he might be ripping his own throat open.

As the larger cavern came into view, the cave mouth widening, a long tentacle snaked up over the edge. The creature growled, black ichor running out of its mouth. The tentacle reached for Dean, another edging upwards, barely visible. The moment it was close enough, the bigger creature dropped him and began tearing at the creatures still on his arms and legs. It did not have time to clear them all as the tentacle snaked forward and wrapped around Dean. It's touch was not as painful as before, but it still squeezed tightly and he wheezed, crying out as his ribs broke under the pressure. Trailing smaller beasts, many of whom were still trying to eat him, the Fugly carried him towards the centre of the cavern. Flying through the air, half-upside down, bleeding profusely, Dean groaned, his head swimming from the motion and the blood loss. It shook him and screamed in triumph, its hate tinged with excitement. The scream was muted like it was far away but the shaking hurt as more pressure crushed his chest. A few of the smaller creatures dropped off as the Fugly shook him.

Several screams and shakes later, Dean was free of the other smaller, bitey things and he only had to worry about the Fugly. Overhead the swarm whirled and shadowed its path to the others in the centre. 'You are shitting me, ' Dean thought. In the middle of the Fuglies stood the biggest one yet. How had he missed it before? It stood head and shoulders above the tallest Fugly. Similar in shape, this one's head was covered in tentacles, which danced around like a frigging crown. Somewhat unceremoniously, Dean was dropped on the floor from a height and he landed with a bone breaking thud. "Gah, f…" he spat, blood in his mouth, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

The second he hit the ground, a psychic bombardment pummelled him, and Dean painfully curled in on himself, trying to hide, holding his head, smearing blood everywhere writhing with pain. "Shit!" he screamed, already hoarse from before, hurting and now struggling to keep his mind intact. It was like New Boston only ten times worse, because there were ten more of the bastards. Try as he could, Dean was unable to hold his mental shield and it shattered. Pain far worse than anything a Kinetic had caused surged through him, and he collapsed into blackness.

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Normally the long-suffering members of the science department and various Gate teams avoided "tired-cranky-overly-caffeinated" Rodney McKay the same way one would avoid a contagion, or an angry ex-partner or a rampaging tiger with haemorrhoids. Rodney was rather proud of this reputation, as physically he was not generally able to intimidate anyone, not even children, and while he was intellectually superior in so many ways, most people failed to respect that until they needed him to save the planet.

On day four of constant pressure, terror and demands to figure out how to stop the portals from opening and trace the signal, Rodney Meredith McKay had reached new heights of crankiness, and was contemplating asking Jennifer to hook him up to a IV, preferably one filled with real coffee, but he'd settle for a banana bag.

The source of the signal was not only elusive, it was frigging diabolical as it defied all efforts to isolate it. On day two of the attacks, a bleary-eyed Zelenka had postulated that the signal had similar qualities to the readings the SGC had noted during events involving Daniel Jackson's ascension and other ascended beings. Considering that the SGC had never been able to trace or track that energy beyond a general 'it's not in our reality', McKay called Zelenka a pessimistic flat-earth idiot, and refused to concede that the signal was defying their abilities.

While McKay was utterly determined to succeed where the SGC had failed and discover a way to trace extra-dimensional energy and readings, the sad reality was that he was running out of ideas, energy and willing assistance. Half of the science department were deployed elsewhere, helping the Gate teams, enhancing weapons with Wallstreet for more effective monster killing and making food, and the other half were either asleep at their stations or arguing about whether Dungeons and Dragons the cartoon could be related to Narnia as both worlds were accessed by unusual portals.

Rodney was about to break up the interesting, but pointless discussion with a tirade, and he had picked up a coffee cup, ready to aim it at Green's head, when Sheppard ran into the make-shift lab. Snatching the cup out of his hand, Sheppard hauled Rodney off his butt-numbing stool and said, "Come on, gear up. Winchester is missing."

One of the few people immune to the McKay-glare-1000, Sheppard steadied Rodney as his legs wobbled. McKay yawned a complaint, "How,… what I am supposed to do about… I have work to do!"

"You need a break and I need your brain and scanners." John was walking McKay out of the room as they spoke and Rodney was too tired to really protest. Mildly curious and probably in need of a break, McKay sighed, noting Ronon and Teyla hovering nearby. "What, missing? Winchester is missing? How?"

Without looking at McKay, still striding down the corridor, one hand clutching the front of his shirt, John replied, "We think the creatures took him. Dragged him into a portal. Corporal Novak too."

Rodney ripped himself free, whirled around and ran straight into Ronon's broad chest. "Oh, no no, no, if those things are sucking people into pools of death, I'm…"

"He needs your help," Ronon growled and McKay rolled his eyes. "Fine".

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Waking up was a bitch, mostly because Dean hoped he wouldn't wake up. He was dragged to consciousness quite literally, as a tentacle hauled his inert form towards the Biggest Ugliest Fugly Ever. The others had backed off and the barrage of psychic blasts was over. Mission accomplished, his shield was down and to the biggest and baddest go the spoils, right?

Dean was in pretty awful shape, and his clothing was a testament of that alone. His usual attire, a mix of cast-off BDUs, and hand-me downs were shredded, hanging in bloody tatters and pieces. Big Fugly was leaving a trail of bloody material behind Dean as it dragged him closer, and his skin was only moderately less ripped and torn. The swarm had really dug into him, slicing and dicing as they went and if nothing else, he was probably going to bleed to death from all the deep slashes and bites. He struggled uselessly trying to find some purchase on the ground but was too even and smooth. Along with the trail of shredded clothing, he was leaving a long disturbing path of blood on the ground. Most of the blood was coming from the hole in his stomach and the little bastards had really done a number there, with muscle and intestine exposed in parts, all smeared with blood and pieces of clothing.

Big Fug stopped pulling when he was close enough and loomed down at him. Its 'face' was as blank and featureless as the others, just bigger. Long lines crisscrossed its blue-grey mottled skin in no discernible pattern, and it almost looked like scars. It was the tentacles though that really upped the ick factor, swirling around its head like dispossessed sea creatures. It moved wrong, jittery and sticklike as if it had no joints, like it was just muscle and tissue crammed into a sack. Its wings hung limply at its side, dead and useless.

Dean sought for a flippant quip and failed. So he went with, "Whatcha looking at, shithead?" His voice was rough and coarse, his words lost in the constant shriek and screams of the swarm. It seemed to be studying him, and he could feel its power poking and prodding at his empathy. Without his shield, Dean would have expected that to hurt, but it didn't. It felt... distant. Like something brushing against his skin, faint and weak. Confused, Dean frowned. Had his shield been the problem? Was it trying to communicate and now that his shield was gone, it didn't hurt?

He quickly dismissed that idea. The shits had been screaming at him for days, their intention very clear – I hate you, I'm going to nuke your mind. This? This was different and different wasn't good. Big Fug was massive, like building massive. Its legs were gigantic and it towered over him, a good ten stories high, he guessed. The tentacles ranged in thickness from as wide as his arm to as wide as a car. Some of the tentacles were slapping at other Fuglies, almost on their own accord, others were batting at the swarm, which dodged them. Dean came face to face with one of the thinner ones as it darted down towards him, unerringly. It reached him quickly and brushed along his chest, touching him here and there.

"Hey! Keep your damn..." he shoved it away shakily and whamo, he was flat. Squished like a bug, pressed so hard against the floor that he couldn't move. At all. Only, the Fugly hadn't moved an inch. Just one of its legs could have done the squishing job easily, but no, it was using its psychic power to pin him down. It felt like there was weight, making it impossible to move, but he could still breathe, still blink, still curse. Pulling at the force pinning him hurt his ribs and Dean cried out. Unconcerned, the tentacle continued its exploration, touching various parts of him, dabbing at his head a lot, then his chest before settling on his stomach. It seemed very interested in his wound and Dean's heartbeat quickened as it's poking turned hard. "Oh no, asshole, don't even think about it."

It did more than think.

Even though he anticipated the movement, it still caught him off-guard at how suddenly it twisted and dug into the wound, burying itself through the shredded skin and muscle.

There was no helping it. Dean screamed.

It hurt. Whatever the hell it was doing to him, it hurt. Deep and throbbing, urgent and hot, it hurt. It wasn't eating him, that was certain, but nothing else was. The tentacle was burrowing through the hole in his side, shoving aside organs, tissue and muscle. It seemed to be searching as it dug around, filling up the very limited space that was inside him. One moment his lungs were being flattened and he was coughing, gagging, dying then something touched his heart and Dean shuddered, sweat breaking out on his skin. He felt it brush against his rib cage, and collar bone, a thick snake in a china shop. Broken ribs being poked from the inside hurt even worse. Having something move through you like this was just plain wrong, and damn painful. Throughout it all he screamed, unable to move, unable to fight. If it was searching, it was failing to find anything, judging by how rapidly it was moving now. Big Boss Fugly was frustrated, angry – it wasn't succeeding. Dean gasped and coughed as it plunged past his lungs again, squeezed organs and just generally thoroughly tortured him. Unable to escape, his scream was cut off as it crushed his lungs again. Why wasn't this killing him?

Abruptly it was gone, the tentacle was out. Dean opened his eyes to see it dancing in front of his face like it was complaining, unhappy. Still unable to move, pinned by its psychic pressure, Dean snarled at it. It punched him. Well, it hit him in the face and the blow was considerable, but it felt like a punch. Then it wrapped itself around his head and squeezed. Unable to articulate anything other than a groan, Dean gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. It pulled and squeezed for a while, twisting his head this way and that. It let go abruptly and Dean fell back with a cry. The tentacle landed on his forehead and pushed. That itself wasn't too painful, but the rest of his body was awash with hurt, so who cared. What was more interesting was the psychic power behind the push on his forehead. Again Dean felt the distant touch of power to his ability, again very faint, very weak. The physical connection was very real and very painful, but its power was not connecting to his.

So it screamed and so did Dean.

The psychic scream still hurt like a bitch and it washed over his brain like fire. Reeling from the shock of feeling that unshielded, exposed, Dean shuddered, eyes rolling back into his head. Again the tentacle tapped at his head insistently and again the core of his ability was brushed with the lightest of touches. As much as he hurt, Dean laughed around the blood in his mouth. "You can hurt me, but you can't get it, huh?"

Booming psychic power pulsed over him. Fury, anger, hatred, frustration. It hated him so much, it wanted him to feel pain, wanted him to … wanted him to what? Dean couldn't grasp that emotion, couldn't quantify it. With no words, no language, its demands were futile. Dean had no idea how he was resisting, but resisting he was – or they were just incompatible for whatever it wanted.

Big Fugly retracted the tentacle and its head moved towards the other ones. It seemed like they were talking to each other. There was tentacle waving if that was talking and Dean could pick up some odd emotions and what felt like battles of psychic power, vying for dominance. Perhaps talking was the wrong concept perhaps they were fighting, or arguing. The Big Boss turned its attention back to Dean. He gulped but did not move mostly because he couldn't but also because he didn't want to give it a reason to hurt him more. His chest and insides felt torn up and bruised. He was probably bleeding internally – most definitely he was.

A delightful torrent of wrath bore down on him, and Dean winced. The anger was accompanied by another emotion, a command. Dean squinted, trying to understand through the pain. It felt like expectation or annoyance. Either way, he narrowed his eyes, ignoring the pain from dozens of cuts on his face, his split lips and busted up body. Once it had his attention, Big Fug raised its thick tentacles, the ones bigger than Dean's entire body and it lashed out at another Fugly, a smaller one. The tentacles struck and … dug into the other Fugly's head. 'Ew' Dean thought. As gross as it watching one Fugly 'tentacle' another, what was weirder was the exchange of power. While he hadn't really given it much thought, he knew on an instinctive level that these buggers were not empaths or kinetics. Using the word 'psychic' to describe their power to cause pain, project emotion and overwhelm human minds was just a convenient label for their weird alien shit. They had no words, but sure as hell could communicate. They had no eyes or mouths, but it seemed that they could eat and that was what the Big Fug was doing. Eating the smaller one. Sucking its power, syphoning it off. Dean could feel the exchange, could sense it but it felt distant, unreal, like the odd touches. As Big Bugger ate, Dean noticed that the swarm were turning on each other too, bigger creatures climbing into smaller ones, eating them, sucking them dry. Was that what they were trying to do in Pegasus, suck out humanity's life and power? 'Great.'

Dean sighed. He's figured it out and now knew exactly what Big Fug was trying to do. It was trying to eat him, to eat his empathic power and it couldn't figure out how to do it. It was showing him what it wanted. Showing him so that he gave in. Let it absorb his ability.

"Screw that," Dean hissed, both because he had no idea 'how' to give in, let alone a willingness to do so. This, however, did not bode well for the rest of his time in this hell. Fug would dig around his insides until it killed him. Eventually. The Big Bad finished eating, and the smaller Fug was even smaller now, and it, in turn, struck some of the bigger creatures in the swarm, eating them as its tentacles made contact. So the cycle continued.

Light filled the cavern, a glowing sickly blue light. Dean recognised it – a portal. Its source was the cave where he had landed at first. So that was why the portals started out small and grew. A portal was opening and the frenzied swarm dove for the portal, a couple of Fuglies moving as well. Another attack on another helpless planet. Seeing it from this side did not make it any easier. It must be night somewhere or it was just time to feed.

Dean fought against the pressure keeping him in place, certain that he could use a portal to escape too, but there was no moving. Big Fug thundered loudly, a long scream of hate and anger. The little ones ate people, the big Fugs ate them and ate each other. A fabulous frigging circle of life.

Big Fug turned its attention back to Dean, who growled as its alien mind assaulted his. In a battle of empathic power versus alien mind force, Dean stood a chance – a small one sure, but a chance. It could overwhelm him when it screamed but it couldn't seem to take his power. Buoyed a little bit by that thought, Dean lashed out the only way he could – he met hate with hate. He projected his own wave of hate and fear, gritted human determination laced with contempt and pride. It was a bucket of water against a flood.

Surprisingly, that tiny attack landed a hit. The Fugly reeled back as he struck, its scream breaking up.

"No way," Dean gasped. In retrospect though, his defiance was a mistake.

Recovering, it screamed at him, turning a flood into a waterfall so thick, so vile that Dean nearly passed out. Again. Alas, for him, he didn't.

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"Run," Charlie screamed as her team ran for the Gate. They had barely arrived on New Athos with the handful of Athosians who had needed to return for supplies. A sky full of creatures blocking out the sun was the first sign of 'oh, I'm getting a bad feeling,' and Lt. Matthews had dialled the Gate for a wormhole instantly.

At first, in that heart beat between 'Erk' and 'Oh Shit' Charlie had wondered if they had time to reach the Gate before something awful happened. It was then, naturally, that the Fugly appeared, stepping out of gloom into the half-light. It's scream was shocking and painful and Charlie's shield barely held, but she held it.

"Run!" Most of the team and the Athosians were through the Gate already and Matthews was waiting for her, unwilling to leave her behind.

The second scream sent her sprawling, shield shattering around her. Charlie gasped, clinging onto consciousness and felt Matthews snatch her up, his arms hard and strong. The relief of the wormhole was cold and wonderful and they stumbled into the Gate Room.

"Thanks," she sighed and Matthews nodded. "What the hell? How are they blocking out the sun?"

The Gate Room was busier than usual with loads of extra people standing around. Teyla was on response and her expression was grim. The others in the room were radiating tension and fear. Charlie did not shrug off Matthew's assistance as he helped her to stand. "Wonder what's going on?"

Sgt Sanchez was nearby and heard her. His reply was gritty and his voice was hoarse as he said, "A fugly took Winchester."

"What?"

His nod belied the roil of grief and fear that was raging through him. "Yep, snatched him up and the eggheads can't find him. Sheppard even dragged McKay to New Boston to scan frequencies and shit."

"But how?" Charlie stammered, fear at her own narrow escape warring with worry for Dean.

Sanchez shook his head. "No idea. But now the Colonel is talking about evaccing civilians to Earth. If the Fuglies can block out the sun…"

Matthews finished the fear-born thought, "They could attack us next and Winchester isn't here to stop them." Charlie felt zero offence at being discounted as able to stop a Fugly. She knew she couldn't and Dean had only managed to do so with her and the other Empaths' help.

"Shit."

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Reeling from the onslaught of the psychic attack, thoughts scattered, brain feeling like it was sludge, Dean groggily glared up Big Fugly. "That the best you got?" he slurred. The thin tentacle struck his head hard, coming from nowhere and Dean grunted, sparks going off in his brain at the blow.

Maybe if he pissed it off enough, it'd kill him quickly, make a mistake with his frail human body and then… it would be over. Another few love taps like that and maybe he'd have a brain aneurysm. No one was coming, no one knew where he was. Dean was trapped all alone in a hell hole with zero chance of escaping. Even if he somehow managed to break free of Big Fugly's hold, the path back to the cave was long and blocked by hundreds of Fuglies. The only possible escape was death and Dean was ok with that. Better to die quick and messy then let Fugly slowly eat his power and whittle him away.

The tentacle hovered near him, shaking in fury. It was vibrating, and Dean vaguely felt the Fugly slashing at his ability again, uselessly. "Not working, asshole," he mumbled, blackness creeping up the edges of his vision. At first, he thought he was hallucinating when more tentacles appeared, thinner, smaller ones. Blinking, unable to clear his vision, Dean shook his head and the truth swam into view. Not more tentacles. The thin one was growing smaller ones out of its front end. Mutant fingers springing out of a mutant hand. 'Oh no,' was all Dean had time to think.

The tentacle plunged itself into his stomach again, burrowing deep. It shoved itself in, piling into him, and Dean bucked and writhed, unable to escape, screams aborted and broken. He knew he was screaming, but he couldn't hear it over the fire burning inside his chest. His whole existence crashed down into the exquisite pain of an alien worm splitting him open. Impaled like a bug, Dean fought for breath, for release on instinct – to escape the pain. While it was still burrowing the fingers began exploring and it got a whole lot worse.

Long tendrils carved new paths through him, and ran through muscles and joints, under his skin, along his bones. Horrified, Dean felt and saw the tendrils move under his skin, bulging and gripping, twisting. A couple broke through on his arms, waving little points to the air before pulling back inside. More dug into his lungs, his organs, down into his legs and feet. The invasion deepened, heightened, running the breadth and length of him. There was no way he was surviving this, Dean thought, he had to die, he just had to. Tendrils crawled up his throat from his lungs, choking him, strangling him, twisting up his spine. Unable to even scream now, Dean wailed as tendrils poked out of his tear ducts, his nose, his mouth, dug into his ears. Unable to breathe, unable to do anything but shudder and writhe, Dean's vision filled with red and black. Things got really weird when they reached his brain, as whole parts of his body lit up, died, flared and colours danced in kaleidoscope in his brain. If the bastard was succeeding in draining his ability, sucking up his empathy, Dean had no frigging clue. He was lost in a sea of pain, unable to distinguish between one pain and the next, lungs empty, heart thundering inside his chest. In complete and utter agony, he sent up a silent plea to whoever was listening, yearning for death. Unable to breathe, chest pounding and aching, a milky film filed his gaze, drawing him down into the dark and Dean let go, stopped fighting.

Momentarily free of pain, in the darkness he saw a pair of yellow eyes, a familiar face grinning at him. He was locked in place, unable to move, trapped. Yellow eyes shone from his Dad's face. Invisible claws sliced him open, playing with his heart. Sam was shouting, pleading.

He couldn't see him though. All he could see was his Dad.

He tried to picture his big, goofy brother. Ridiculous hair flopping in his face, bitchface number two pasted on while he researched a case. Desperate, Dean pushed, needing to see his looking down a long hallway through cold water, he saw Sam slouching in a doorway, hair and face rumpled, glaring at Agent Gibbs. Sam was pissed but he was also pleased like he was saying 'I told you so.'

Confused, Dean blinked, and pushed harder, trying to get closer. Abruptly, the vision disappeared and he was back, lost and alone in an enormous space filled with monsters. He was still in hell, still trapped by Fugly, but oddly enough, the pain was gone. Well, most of the pain was gone. He hurt still, but there were no tentacles playing hide and seek with his insides. The pain was muted, distant as the combination of shock and adrenaline kept him from feeling its full force. Confused and despairing, Dean looked up at Fugly. It was attacking another of its compatriots, venting its frustration that much was clear. It was still pissed, still hungry and Dean was a broken mess. Movement was impossible both because he hurt so much and the pressure was still active, so Dean leant his head back and pulled in ragged breaths, crying as his ribs protested, his heart raced and everything else groaned in a chorus of agony. Why was he still alive? How was he still alive?

Unable to draw a full breath, Dean choked and sobbed. Maybe it was impossible to die in Hell? Maybe the pain just got worse and worse until you broke and then the pain continued. Maybe he was dead already, his body back on New Boston and Fugly had ripped his soul out, and this was his fate? Grunting, screaming in an aborted fashion, Dean tried to pull free, tried to do something, anything. This couldn't be it. He'd escaped demons, kinetics, and snake aliens only to fall and end his existence as a frustrating snack for an interdimensional monster.

Gurgling on blood filling his mouth, Dean fell back the scant inches he could move his head and watched Fugly feed.

Light from an incoming portal filled the cavern, but Dean ignored it. In response to the light, the swarm dived towards the entrance cave, their shrieks rising and falling in concert. 'Off to kill more people,' Dean thought sluggishly. Sheer exhaustion and despair seeped into his consciousness, making the cavern dark and oppressive. He spat out a mouthful of blood, choking a little. The swarm wailed and fought as it bunched above him, fighting to get to the portal. Big Fugly would return any moment to finish him off as slowly as possible. He started a little as a thunderous boom filled the cavern. He opened slitted eyes, wondering what fresh hell was in store now.

It rattled the whole place, the walls and the ground shaking. A brighter, whiter light cut through the gloom, and Dean twisted awkwardly to see what was happening. Moving even that little bit made him gasp, and with such limited mobility, he could barely see the smaller cave, let alone anything else. What he could see was the swarm clustered at the entrance, a black mass of fighting, clawing death and then a brilliant white light burst through the horde, scattering the millions of flying demons.

The light blossomed, growing to reveal a man flying through the air, straight at the Fuglies. He shone like a star, trailing a plume of glittering light, a dull roar filling the cavern as he approached. Dean blinked.

The flying guy crashed into a Fugly, striking it hard enough that the crack reverberated through the cavern and the Fugly fell like a stone, adding yet another crash and rattle to the noise and tumult. It was far enough away that Dean was in no danger of being crushed, but the momentum of its fall jolted him on the ground as it landed, tentacles waving about.

'No friggin way.'

Whirling and twisting up and away from the downed Fugly, the man darted upwards and then dove straight down, heading towards Dean. He skimmed over the top of the others, some of which reached up with tentacles to snag him. Stunned and doubting his eyes, Dean tried to sit up, tried to move and shit on a stick, he could do it! It hurt like a bitch, but he pulled himself up to lean on his elbow. Big Fugly and the others were entirely focused on the light guy as he wove above and through them, dodging legs, tentacles and screams. In a matter of moments, the guy was close enough for Dean to notice his goddamn wings and recognise his face.

"Novak?" he slurred, uncertain of anything as his body screamed at being upright and his brain stalled at the sight of wings and a glowing marine. He opened his mouth to say something more but Novak closed the distance, landed long enough to snatch him and launch off again.

It took seconds but holy hell it hurt so much Dean nearly vomited. It wasn't a gentle hold or a smooth ride, and Novak was silent as he flew up and up. Over his shoulder, Dean saw Big Fug reaching for them, tentacles racing upwards accompanied by a scream so hate filled it burnt his skin. "Hang on," Novak shouted and a portal opened in front of them. Dean held on as best he could and closed his eyes against the light.

Blinding brilliance surrounded them, a bright red against his eye lids, a feeling of free fall and panic, speed and time colliding into a moment of sheer and completely white. It lasted a second and it was a second too long as Dean rattled around the empty space, caught in free fall.

A crack of sound. Gravity returning. Pain and agony bearing down and biting into bone and skin. Colours and sounds. Smell of blood and fear. Empty, lonely cold.

Tearing his eyes open, needing to see, needing to know, Dean blinked away the after images of wings and teeth. Through the haze, he glimpsed grey concrete walls, a low white ceiling and the shining face of Corporal Jimmy Novak.

"You flew," he murmured.

"Yes, I did."

"Holy fu…"

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Author's note: Is it weird that I pictured Castiel looking like Buzz Lightyear charging in to save Dean?

Chapter 9 will be up next week. It will of course contain some accompanying comfort post-whumpage. Thanks for reading and sticking with this fic and series. It really means a lot of me.

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