Hi everyone! Next round. I'm curious what you think! I hope you won't get confused with all the italics and stuff...but then, it would be fitting to the plot, right? Aren't we all a tad messed up?

Warnings: slight, but really only slight adult content – use of the F-word plus a few curses and swearings – some gory details from hell

Chapter 10

Sam closed his eyes, tried to relax, to let himself fall. He concentrated on her touch, the path of tender fingertips caressing his bare chest, not sure if the goosebumps were the result of her nails digging into his skin or the chill of the room.

He had wanted to send her away the moment she had appeared. The way she had suddenly leaned against the door jamb had annoyed him, with her arms crossed, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and lust while he had paced the small space from the beds over to the bathroom door, back and forth, brooding, grouching and tearing his hair.

The argument he had had with Dean still bothered him, he still needed some time to think. Sam's mood had screamed 'Do Not Disturb!' loud and clear. But sometimes Ruby seemed to feel that she was needed, even if the person needing her didn't know it himself.

And so Sam had given in, had decided to take the break he damn well deserved after being there for Dean night and day to find a way out of their, his mess. He had used his anger and frustration to fix the dents in his self-confidence, had gained the mastery over Ruby underneath him, knowing that she wouldn't mind, would even welcome the slight brutality and aggression between them.

She hadn't asked when he had looked at her with a heated glare, hadn't flinched when he had walked up to her in forceful strides, hadn't pulled back when he had roughly grabbed her at the back of her neck and had pulled her close almost violently, covering her mouth with his in a hard and unyielding kiss.

There had been no tenderness, no softness, just pure instinct and the need for satisfaction, the simple release of pent up rage, leaving Sam hollow and tired.

"What's going on with you?" Ruby purred beside him, her cheek resting on his collarbone, the rest of her body snuggled closely to his side, her soft skin warming him.

Sam almost flinched at her voice, his concentration still clinging to her touch, tracking her fingers running along his throat and sternum, the prickling feeling pushing him closer to the boarder of sleep and waking.

"Nothing you need to worry about", Sam answered hoarsely, craning his neck to make out the position of his cell phone. He had no clue what time it was. How long was he lying here with Ruby, one hour? Two?

"It's Dean, right? Come on, Sam, I know you and you only tend to get like this when you're angry. Don't get me wrong, I love it when you're angry, especially..."

"Yeah, sorry about that..."

"Nothing to be sorry for." She leaned closer and he felt her tongue trace along his throat, warm and wet, up to his earlobe.

"Don't", Sam interrupted her, suddenly feeling oddly cramped. He pulled his head away and took her hand, halting her stroking, needing the contact but also needing her to stop. "It's nothing, okay?" Letting go of her, he pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes roaming the room for his clothes.

"Okay then", he heard Ruby mutter, noticed the pull of the blankets when she tried to cover herself with it.

Sam stood, snatched his pants from where they lay in a heap on the carpet and slipped them on. He felt her eyes on him, as if she had the ability to look inside of him. Wasn't that girl a ridiculously curious demon?

"Listen, I need you to do me a favor", Sam stated, turning to face her.

There was a flicker of defiance on her features before she tilted her head with interest.

"Shoot."

"Dean says there are demons after him..."

"Down there in the looney bin?"

"Yeah. Can you find out what kind of demons they are and how many?"

"I haven't heard of any actions against your brother..."

"All the better. I want you to check it anyway. I can't protect him from here and I want to know what we're dealing with..."

"Don't you think Dean can take care of himself? I mean, he's a big boy."

"Yes...no...not as long as he's in there, he has no weapons, nothing to protect himself. And I don't think..." Sam stopped, not sure if this was something for Ruby to hear. Was it really necessary to throw tinder into the embers that were Ruby's cynicism against Dean?

"You don't think what?"

He let out an exhausted sigh. "I think there's something else. No, I know there's something else, but he ain't telling me. And I'm worried it's distracting him too much, he might have his guard down." In addition to saving his nurse, Sam thought, a new surge of incomprehension washing over him.

Ruby sat up, and Sam had to swallow when the blanket slid down, revealing her bare breasts. Speaking of distraction.

"I'm going to keep my ears open", she stated and smiled at him. That hungry, cunning smile he had learned to love and to hate equally. "In the meantime I can offer something to make sure you can protect Dean when it comes to the point." She conjured up a knife from out of nowhere and watched him challengingly.

Again Sam wanted to refuse. It was getting late, he had work to do. And he needed a clear head.

On the other hand he felt the telltale signs of his body starving, his strength waning. The prospect of power, accompanied by the thrill rushing through him every time it got what it needed so badly was enough to numb reason, to blind him for everything else.

Sam smiled as he approached her.

When Dean's eyes shot open, he instinctively knew something was off.

The cell was still dark, the only light creeping in being the bluish nightlight from the hallway. It was silent, the building lacking the normal bustling that dominated the daylight hours.

It crossed Dean's mind that he had never before woken up in the middle of the night since he was here, the heavy drugs always having pulled him into a deep, albeit not peaceful slumber and holding him there until the morning broke.

So why had he woken up, obviously very prior to the official wake-up call?

Dean groaned tiredly and rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of falling asleep again. The deadly silence unnerved him, his hunter senses picking up every sound, however tiny it may be, threatening to kick-start the roundabout of thoughts in his brain and therefore trampling his last chance of a good night's sleep.

It had taken him longer to succumb last night, hell, if it hadn't been for the pills he wouldn't even have thought about sleeping at all. He was out of his mind with worry for Phillip. Since the nurse had left the hospital in the afternoon Dean hadn't heard anything.

Maybe he should see the bright side. No news probably meant no bad news. If something bad had happened, there surely would be talking.

So Dean tried to relax. There was nothing he could do, right?

He concentrated on his breathing, tried to drown out the small moans of the pipes, the far-away whirr of the air conditioning and already felt the arms of sleep embracing him when he heard someone breathing.

Right beside his face.

His own breath hitching in his chest, Dean tore his eyes open and looked straight into light blue ones, glassy, almost glowing in the dark.

Dean.

A voice he knew, had heard over and over, had heard begging, screaming, howling for hours, days, weeks.

"Mike…" Dean rasped shakily, his muscles tensing, his mind screaming at him to get up, to move, to do anything but laying there like a stranded whale, but his body refusing to react.

Yeah. You remember me. Seems like I should feel flattered, the other man replied calmly, the crooked smile gracing his features widening. He stood, turned and walked up to the cell door, looking out through the window.

Dean shook himself out of his reverie and scrambled slowly into a sitting position, his gaze glued to Mike's back. He looked exactly like Dean remembered him, the way his suit was torn and ragged, his skin sweaty and dirty, blood everywhere.

Okay, so this wasn't real. He was dreaming. Mike wasn't here. Couldn't be. There was no way. Wake up, Dean.

Nice room you have here. So dark and cool. Tell me, how does it feel to be captured like this?

"You're not real", Dean growled, surprisingly collected now, "You can skip the tune and fuck off right now."

Mike barked out a laugh and turned, hands behind his back. Saying I'm not real, does it make a difference?

In the blink of an eye he changed his position, was suddenly face to face with Dean once more, causing the Winchester to gasp and recoil so abruptly that the back of his head crashed into the wall with a sickening crunch. Dean cried out in pain, his vision turning into a star-spattered sky.

Even if I'm not real here and now, I was real down there, Dean, Mike hissed, and through his haze Dean noticed a rain of spittle slamming into his face, And you wanna know something funny? I'M STILL DOWN THERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!

The last part was a thunderstorm, Mike's voice booming, erupting from all directions in Dolby Surround, echoing from the cell walls, every syllable cutting into Dean like pieces of shattered glass. His ears felt as if someone was ramming a hot poker deep inside from both sides, his skin prickled like being pulled too taut over sensitive flesh.

Stifling a scream, Dean moaned and yanked his hands up, tried to cover his ears in vain.

You know, I've always been quite the God-fearing person, Mike stated in a cold whisper, his lips only mere inches from Dean's forehead as if preparing to plant a kiss upon it, not the upright churchgoer, though, but I believed and I prayed, I prayed a lot. I prayed even more when I came down there, burning in the fires of hell, getting my ass kicked over and over and over again by every shitty demon that came by and needed to blow off steam.

Dean blinked frantically, his fingernails digging into his skull in an attempt to seal his ears from the painful revelations he didn't want to hear. Never wanted to hear. Never wanted to be reminded of ever again.

And then you came. And my prayers became louder. More frequent. Because compared to you all the demons before you with their games and techniques and tools were like kittens playing with a ball of wool. So I screamed my prayers, I begged and pleaded while you enjoyed destroying me, killed what was left of my human soul.

"I had no choice", Dean grunted, head and back pressed against the wall, "You know that...you met Alistair, too..."

Yeah, sure, I met him. I have a few scars courtesy of him. And you should be glad that he never offered me what he offered you, Dean.

"Come on", Dean huffed out in feigned sarcasm, hoping to appear a lot more callous then he actually felt, "This is ridiculous..." Wakeupwakeupwakeup, damnit.

Do you wanna know when I stopped praying? Huh? What do you think?

Mike shifted and sat back on his haunches, tilted his head and locked eyes with him, a cold stare crawling right into Dean's orbits and seeming to convert him slowly to ice, starting with his insides.

The moment I overheard that an angel has pulled you out. Do you know what this meant for me, Dean? An angel? A heavenly creature, serving my lord, the God I was praying to, pulls you out, saves you, after all you've done to me? To all of us down there?

"Mike..."

But you know what's worse? He leaned close, their noses almost touching. When you were gone I, all of us, cried in relief, we thought it was finally over. It was before we noticed that Alistair'sother minions had learned from you, had watched you and were all too eager to follow in your footsteps.

Every muscle, every fiber in Dean's body froze. The put-on mask of casualness softened, melted into a grimace of shock and disbelief.

"You're lying", he whispered and shook his head, hissing when the movement sent spikes of pain up his skull.

Mike raised his eyebrows, his expression full of fake pity. Why would I lie to you, huh, Dean?

"No", the Winchester choked out, throat constricting.

I can show you, Mike whispered and before Dean was able to draw back he laid his hands over Dean's which still covered his ears.

He knew the flashes of images that assaulted him. He knew the black and red and brownish colors, the smell of burning flesh and hair, the sounds of bones breaking, people screaming, of limbs being torn apart.

Dean knew it because he was the cause.

The faces were familiar, some more, others less. There were people he remembered because they had been beautiful once, still were before he lay hands on them. People he remembered because he had spent weeks, months, years beside them secured on that abhorrent rack, before he had changed sides, had sold his soul to the devil a second time.

He felt the heat of the fire, the warmth of their blood running down his hands and arms, heard their cries.

Please.

He saw himself standing amidst piles of flesh, bare chest rising and falling in violent pants of exertion, gleaming with sweat and blood, sparkling green eyes hungry.

Please...oh God...

The blade was heavy, but the hilt fit into his fist as if made especially for him.

Please...

'Stop pleading.' A command. An order, resounding from the black rocks around him. The screams grew louder, the piles of flesh moved, quivered.

Please…I…

I said, stop pleading.

The images vanished, the air grew ice cold, the smell turned into a slightly sterile odor.

Dean couldn't keep himself upright and felt himself tilt to the side, his mind jumbled and numb, unable to discern where he was. Which place? What time? Somewhere in his brain he registered that his back slid along something cold and unyielding while he fell, a wall? The bedhead? Was he in a motel?

Sam?

He even noticed his own surprise over the fact that he came to a halt on something fairly soft, his head sinking into what felt like a pillow, his left side resting on a mattress.

Dean didn't know if his eyes were open or not, he couldn't see. He couldn't hear, the rushing in his head being the only noise he could make out.

Before he heard a voice. He knew the voice. He knew the black and red and brownish colors the voice had, the smell of it's burning flesh and hair, the sounds of it's bones breaking, it's screaming, it's limbs being torn apart.

See? it hissed into his ear, Whatever's happening to you up here, however bad you feel? It's nothing like what we had and have to endure in the pit, thanks to you.

A small tear rolled over the bridge of Dean's nose, following gravity, ending up in the soft fabric of the pillowcase. In a tiny second of lucidity Dean wanted nothing more then to follow suit, wanted to melt away, to just go, like that tear.

He felt more of them on his face, tracked their path mentally until he couldn't feel no more.

To be continued...