Deanzilla vs. Hydros: This Time It's Very, Very Personal (cont.)
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
A/N: I don't normally ask for reviews, but I'd truly appreciate feedback on this chapter. It's double the size of a normal chapter and it was incredibly difficult to write. Most of it is dark and pretty graphic, just to warn you. I'll get back to the humor and fluff next chapter, I promise. But we had to go through the low point first, and this is definitely it. So please, if you'd be so kind, take a second to let me know if you like it or hate it. I'm very torn on how it came out.
Thanks as always to Katiki for her amazing beta-ing. Also, muckers was kind enough to make another manip for this chapter so everyone can understand the current size ratio. You can see it if you go to my profile.
Chapter Twelve: Confined, Part Two
For a young boy, he's awfully loud; the kid's got a pair of pipes like a fat lady at the opera. Dean cups one hand over his ear and holds the other one out in a 'stop' gesture.
"All right, all RIGHT, you're scared, I get it!" Dean yells. His booming voice is enough to freak the boy out even more: he jumps and clamps his mouth shut while his wider than wide eyes continue their silent scream. Dean takes a step back and lowers his hands. "Okay," he says gently. "I'll stay over here until you're ready to talk to me." He stands flat against the wall. "See? Way on the other side of the room. Nowhere near you. With me so far?" The kid nods from where he still stands glued to the wall with the tiny door. "Good. What's your name?"
"T-Tyler," the boy answers, still staring at the giant.
"Well it's nice to meet you, Tyler…" Dean stops and squints, trying to get a better look at the seemingly three-inch-high kid across the room. "Wait…Tyler? Tyler Durden?" Tyler nods feverishly, face still full of fear. "Tyler, it's me—Dean. We met the other day, remember? I was at your house and you were telling me about your pet snake Skippy." The boy starts to relax, shoulders finally pulling away from the wall, and Dean nods his encouragement as he steps forward. "Then I grew, and you asked if I was the Incredible Hulk. You helped me escape before anyone saw me."
"Out the back door," Tyler nods, recognition filling his face with color again. He walks forward, and the pair meets in the middle of the room. Dean smiles down at the 9-year-old, and Tyler cranes his neck to look all the way up at Dean and nearly falls backward. "Wow, Dean, you got BIG!"
Dean chuckles and goes down on one knee. "Yeah, I got big. How's your hand doing?"
"It's okay, see?" Tyler flexes it while keeping his stare—now awestruck instead of afraid—on his giant friend.
"So it hasn't grown at all?" Dean asks. Tyler shakes his head no. Dean sits down, looking worried. Tyler copies him and sits down too. "How did you get here, Tyler?"
"I was at the zoo with Mom and Dad, looking at the snakes. Mom hates snakes so she was outside, and Dad went to check on her." His face falls, and Dean waits patiently. "I dunno what happened," Tyler says at length. "Something bit me, and I fell asleep."
"Bit you?"
Tyler nods. "Right here," he points to the side of his neck. Dean frowns.
"Tyler, do you mind if I lift you up so I can see your bite mark?" Dean holds his hand out on the floor, and Tyler climbs onto his palm without question. Dean lifts him up slowly. "I won't drop you, I swear." Tyler doesn't seem worried at all, and Dean gives him a silent 'thank you' for not freaking out as he brings him up to his eyes. "Now show me where you got bit." Tyler points again, angling his head to the right, and Dean moves in as close as he can. There's a single cut of red on the kid's skin, and even though it's so very tiny, Dean's trained eyes can tell at once that it's no bite mark. Drugged dart to the neck, Dean seethes in his mind. What the hell is wrong with these people?! He's a little kid for fuck's sake! I swear, if they've done ANYthing to him, I'm gonna—
"Dean, are you mad?"
Tyler's voice brings Dean out of his enraged thoughts, and he looks at the earnest little face. "Yeah, I'm mad, but not at you," Dean reassures him. "I'm mad at the people that hurt you and locked you up in here with me."
Tyler looks around from his palm perch. "Where are we anyway?"
"I don't know. Me and my brother, we got captured. Don't know what they want with us, cos we never did anything to them."
"Is your brother a giant too?"
Dean smirks. "Nah. He's a sasquatch."
Tyler grins and jumps. "Really?! That's so cool!" Dean laughs, and Tyler grins even more. "You're like the Justice League, but better, cos you're real, and you could go after the bad guys and be, like, 'hey you, get out of our town, or you'll be sorry!' And then they'd be all, 'no way, make us!' and you could grab 'em an' throw 'em over buildings while your brother the sasquatch—"
"Sam," Dean offers, smiling.
"Sam, he'll push 'em through walls and roar at them and make them pee their pants cos they're so scared of him. And you could throw cars and smash 'em into the ground and climb up the Sears Tower and everything! And the jets would come and shoot atcha, psshew, pow, shhhhrooo," Tyler makes little gun and missile motions as he says this, "but they can't hurt you cos you're huge and strong, and you'd smush 'em like mosquitoes."
"Smush 'em, huh?"
"Yeah, smush 'em right up, cos they're mean and they deserve it! Then they'd run away and the whole town would cheer for you cos you saved them! Yay for Deanzilla and Sasquatch Sam, our heroes forever!" Tyler spins and drops into a sit, glowing with excitement. "God, that would be so AWEsome."
Dean nods, smiling even more at the Sasquatch Sam bit. "That would be pretty awesome," Dean agrees, lowering Tyler back to the floor. "But I don't think anyone would be cheering for me."
"Why not?"
"Well, what was your first reaction when you saw me?" Dean asks. Tyler looks down, face full of guilt. "Hey, it's all right. I probably would've done the same thing if I walked into a room with a huge giant. And that's my point: everyone would be scared of me, not happy to see me. They'd think I was a monster, not a hero."
"But you're not a monster," Tyler insists. "You're good. You're nice."
The tiny door slides open and the men in yellow quarantine suits are back. "That's not what they think," Dean murmurs, gently sliding Tyler in close to him. There are more men this time, but they surround Dean the same way as their previous visit, holding up their scanners and calling out their readings. One of them tries to scan Tyler, but Dean puts his hand up as a wall between them.
"Don't touch him," Dean growls. "It's bad enough you bastards took him away from his parents. You don't need to treat him like a lab rat on top of it." The man puts his scanner up to Dean and shocks him. Dean grunts from the pain but keeps his hand there. Another man walks up and they both shock him. Tyler looks up as something wet hits his head—a huge tear. "You'll have to do…better…than that," Dean stammers as they start to shock him continually. "Been through…much…worse…"
"Stop it." Michelle appears out of nowhere and storms up to the men that are shocking Dean. They pay no attention to her, so she grabs one of the scanners and throws it behind her. "I SAID, stop it!" she yells. A circle of yellow suits crowds around her, but her stern gaze doesn't falter. "You are here to take readings, NOT to inflict pain on my patients."
"We have orders to force compliance when the giant interferes," the man directly in front of her says.
"You can force your compliance up your poopshoots," Michelle snaps back. "I have authority here, and I'm ordering you all out. You can come back when and if you agree to treat my patients as the human beings they are, NOT as cattle that need prodding. Is that clear?" No one says anything. "And don't bother reporting me to your superior," she adds. "I've already talked with him, and he's on my side. If you want to keep your jobs, I suggest you fall in line Ay-Sap." Michelle points to the door and the men file out of the room. It isn't until the door slides shut that she sighs out, shoulders relaxing from their tense, commanding pose.
"It's all right, Tyler, you can come out now," she calls, still watching the door.
Dean takes his hand away, and Tyler looks up at him. Dean nods for him to go ahead. "It's okay, she's a doctor."
Tyler walks past Dean's knee, and Michelle turns around, smiling at him. "Hi Tyler, I'm Michelle. Dean calls me Meesh, and you can too, if you'd like." She holds her hand out, and Tyler takes it and shakes it.
"What's Tyler doing here?" Dean asks.
"I'll tell you while I take a look at your hand." She sees Dean scowl, but she steps up close anyway. "No arguments. Let me see it." He holds it out in front of her, keeping it limp and off the floor, and she examines the giant fingers one by one. "They took Tyler because of your connection to him," she begins. "They know you both got bit by a hydros, and they want to understand why Tyler here had the normal reaction, but you," she looks up at Dean, "just keep getting bigger. To be honest, I wouldn't mind finding out myself."
"How do they know about the hydros?"
Michelle takes pause and gives him a solemn look. "Because they've experimented with hydros venom in the past, 19." She says the number with emphasis, making Dean remember what she'd mentioned about other giants. "Your blood tests confirmed their suspicions, so now they have you locked up together, in case you're contagious, which is absurd, of course, because they already know that a hydros bite isn't contagious in the least…"
"So Skippy was a hydros thingy?" Tyler cuts in, looking up at Dean. Dean nods, and Tyler pumps his arms, elated. "I KNEW he wasn't a regular snake!"
"Score one for the resident snake expert," Dean smiles. "Up high!" He takes his hand away from Michelle and holds his index finger up to Tyler, and Tyler jumps up and claps the tip. Dean hisses from an unexpected sting, but swallows it and does his best to look innocent.
"Nice try," Michelle says, waving for him to bring his hand back. Dean does, and she gets back poking at the patches of red, upraised skin. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you got here, Tyler. I was upstairs." She glances up at Dean. "Overheard Mr. Shady talking to one of his cronies about the new arrival. Don't know his real name," she clarifies, "only that he's pretty high up on the payroll scale. Wears a black suit and almost never takes off his stupid sunglasses."
"Oh, that douchebag," Dean groans, remembering Suit Guy well. Tyler snickers at the naughty word, and Dean smirks at his co-conspirator. Then he sees Michelle's face turn to that of a disapproving mom, and he clears his throat. "So, ah, what did Mr. Shady say?"
"He was discussing surveillance info. Said they'd been watching Tyler because of what happened to his hand, and then they saw you leaving his house one day."
So that's when they started following me, Dean thinks. Dammit, we should've been more careful. Dean's hand twitches with pain when the doctor touches a certain spot, so she hooks an arm around his middle finger and holds it in place.
"Almost done, I promise," she soothes as she rubs at the sore patch. Dean just hisses. Tyler runs up to his arm and pats his skin, and Dean can't help but smile at that. Finally Michelle pulls away and looks at both boys. "Second-degree electrical burn. It'll heal up on its own in a week or two, but it's gonna sting for a while. After breakfast, I want you to soak it in cold water for at least ten minutes."
"Breakfast?" Dean asks, and a mechanical sound answers him. Gears shifting, parts lifting…Dean looks to the wall across from his cot as a long section parallel to the floor swings up and open, like a prison door's food slot. A Dean-sized tray slides forward. It's flat in the middle and sports a high, wide platform on either side. A gargantuan plate covered with a mountain of eggs and huge strips of bacon rests on the low, central part of the tray. Two honey-laden biscuits and a glass of orange juice the size of a cement mixer truck sit next to it. Dean swears he hears a choir sing a heavenly "Aah!" as his eyes wander over the food.
"Well? It isn't gonna eat itself," Michelle teases. Dean slides over, lifts the tray onto his lap (where the two, higher sides rest comfortably over his thighs), grabs the jumbo fork, and digs in. Michelle pulls Tyler back as the crumbs and eggy bits start to fly.
"Tyler, I need to talk to you for a moment." They walk a short distance away, and she hands him a small device with a red button in the middle. There's a small, clear cap covering the button. "This is an emergency button. If either you or Dean starts to hurt or feel sick, I want you to press it right away. It'll let me know you're in trouble. All right?"
Tyler nods and pockets the device. At that moment, a piece of bacon flaps onto Michelle's shoulder, followed a second later by the tip of Dean's finger. He offers a quick and quiet "sorry" as he takes the morsel away, and Tyler giggles while Michelle shakes her head, smiling at her overgrown boy. Dean picks up the glass and starts to chug the orange juice, but Michelle shouts for him to hold on.
"Save a swallow for your painkiller pills." She walks under Dean's cot again, and Dean leans down and watches her punch a code into a tiny panel. A little door opens up next to her, and she pulls out two white, wafer-like pills. They're both about the size of a hula hoop. Michelle walks them back to Dean. "Here," she says, placing the pills in Dean's palm. "They work best if you take them while you eat."
Dean lifts the pills to his mouth, not sure about this. It's one thing to trust Meesh, and I do…I think. But who knows where these came from. What if someone did a switch? What if this is giant poison or something? His body seems to rise up in protest to his hesitation, every aching bit pouring on the pain and discomfort. Then again, it'd be nice to not hurt everywhere for a while… Dean swallows the pills whole and washes them down with his juice. Then he grabs a biscuit, offering it to Tyler, who declines. Dean readily shoves it in his mouth.
"Meesh, how tall is Dean?" Tyler asks, staring up at Dean again.
"64 feet, 3 inches. At least, that's what he was when he was brought in here. He might have grown a tiny bit since then."
"Hope not," Dean mumbles extra quietly, licking honey off his fingers.
"Well, if you two gents don't need anything else, I'm off on an info run." Dean's head snaps around, and she says, "Yes, your brother's condition is on the top of my list. I was in the middle of searching for his chart when Mr. Shady walked in, so I'll get right back on it. You two just take it easy, all right? Especially you, Dean. The painkiller might make you a little dizzy at first, but that's to be expected. Just don't forget to soak your hand."
Dean waves his fork at her. "Thanks Meesh." She waves and disappears out the door. It slides shut behind her. As Dean pushes the emptied tray back through the slot, Tyler looks around the rest of the room and spots the Impala in the corner.
"Wow, whose car is that?" he asks, running over to it.
"That beautiful lady belongs to me," Dean smiles with pride. "Well, really, I belong to her."
"Can I sit inside?"
"Sure!"
As Dean gets up and steps forward, Tyler climbs in and sits behind the wheel. He honks the horn, then immediately freezes up, pulling his hand away like he's just touched a hot stove. He looks up at Dean with fear. "Dude, it's fine," Dean tells him, still smiling as he kneels down next to the car. "Honk it again if you want."
Tyler honks a few more times, then looks around at everything: the big, comfy seats, the radio, the weird little slot below it. "Is that for an iPod?" he asks.
Dean shoves the sick and wrong memory of Sam's iPod in his baby out of his mind and calmly replies, "That's a tape deck."
"Oooh," Tyler says, sounding impressed. Dean smirks at the reaction and makes a mental note to tell Sam that at least SOMEone appreciates the old format. Meanwhile, Tyler's eyes follow the outline of the open door before looking up at Dean again. "Why's the door off?"
"Well," Dean says as he sits down, "Sam was in here when he got hurt. My hands were too big to open the door, so I had to pull it off so I could help him." He smoothes his fingers over the roof and sighs. "I've apologized a hundred times, but I still think she's mad at me."
"She's not really mad," Tyler tells him. "She's worried about Sam, just like you." Dean looks down as he gives a slight nod. "I think she's worried about you, too," Tyler adds quietly. "She just doesn't want you to know, so she's pretending to be mad."
"Yeah, that sounds like her." Dean looks at the car and frowns. "What? You do that all the time! Remember Indianapolis?" He winces now like he's being yelled at. "Oh sure, you say that NOW…I don't remember you complaining then." Dean shakes his head and looks back at Tyler. "Sorry. She's very proud."
"My dad's car is a boy," Tyler tells Dean. "I don't like him very much. He's stuck up. Thinks he's better than everyone."
"Yeah, some cars are like that."
They both nod in complete understanding. Then Tyler looks at the exposed inside of the door frame. "Can you fix her?"
Dean smiles sadly at Tyler's question. "Normally I'd already have her fixed," he admits. "But right now…well…" He holds a finger up to the front tire to demonstrate his problem. The tip nearly covers the entire wheel. "My hands are too big, and the parts are too tiny."
"I could fix the little parts. You could hold up the door!"
Dean considers this. "I do have some tools under the seat...but I don't know. We might have to replace the hinge brackets—probably bent them when I pulled the door off. And if we're missing any bolts…"
Tyler hopped out of the car while Dean was talking, and now the kid is pulling tools out from under the bench and setting them on the floor. He's movtivated, I'll give him that, Dean thinks with a smile, only to drop into a grimace. His skull is throbbing again, enough to make him a dizzy, so Dean puts a hand to his head. His hand stings as his hair hits the spot where he was shocked repeatedly, and Dean remembers Michelle's orders to soak his hand. He's about to get up when Tyler stands up and brushes his hands clean.
"What's first?" he asks, so pumped with enthusiasm that he's actually bouncing on the balls of his little feet. Dean decides the hand soaking can wait. He reaches over Tyler and grasps the car door.
"First we have to see what we're up against."
So Dean starts teaching his young protégé how to fix a car door. Tyler takes to it like a natural. When it comes time to pry the detent spring out, Tyler slides the bar in and pushes with all his might, but it won't budge. When Tyler tries again, eyes shut tight and jaw clenched, Dean puts a finger on the end of the bar and gives it an extra budge. The spring goes flying, and Dean quickly sets his hand on the car's roof before Tyler sees it. "You are one strong kid!" Dean exclaims. Tyler beams with pride.
Then the car starts to shake under Dean's fingers, and Tyler's face falls. "Dean? You okay?" Dean doesn't answer him—his other hand is clamped to his forehead, and his eyes are closed. Tyler has to tug at Dean's thumb to even get him to look up.
"…huh?" Dean blinks. His eyes eventually focus on Tyler's concerned face, and Dean waves it off. "Sorry, kid. Head hurts a little."
"What about your neck? It's all blotchy."
Dean shrugs. "I'll be fine. But the car won't if we don't get those hinges fixed pronto."
They get back to work. Their progress is very slow, and it's not just from Dean having to constantly explain what Tyler has to do next. Dean himself frequently has to take breaks when his hands start shaking again, or when he's so dizzy he can't see straight. Tyler watches his friend's skin grow paler, while the blotches on his neck spread to his face and arms, getting redder all the time. But any time Tyler asks, Dean grins and swears he's fine. Tyler checks and rechecks he's got the emergency button in his pocket—just in case.
They've just finished up reattaching the door to its top bracket when Dean sits up and drops onto his back, breathing hard. Tyler turns to run over to him, but Dean puts his hand up. "No… 'm fine, Tyler…just…hot. God, it's hot."
"It is?" Tyler asks, looking around. Dean doesn't answer him, just pulls his blue shirt off and tosses it on the cot.
Not enough. Still hot. Dean's body is a furnace, every muscle pulsing in pain with the waves of heat fluctuating around him. Dean rolls over onto his knees, crawls to the sink, and, fighting against the crippling dizziness and ache, pulls himself up. He looks in the mirror and sees a ghost splattered in blood—at least, that's the picture his pallid complexion and scalded skin paint. His body is quivering all over, and his legs feel as if they'll give out any moment. Everything hurts. Everything's heavy. Everything's HOT.
Dean knows what's coming.
Don't, he orders himself. Not here. Not now. Not with Tyler watching. You'll freak the kid out for LIFE. He turns the faucet on and splashes water onto his face. It's gotta be the pills. Painkillers my ass. More like giant roofies. He pulls the cold tap as far over as it will go, cupping water and sending it over his arms, then down the back of his shirt.
Someone laughs, low and menacing. Dean's head snaps around to look, and the dizziness nearly sends him rolling onto the floor. He clutches the sink tight and hangs his head. There's nothing there. It's just you and Tyler and your baby. No one else. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shakes as best he can. No one else…
You sure about that? asks a different voice. Dean ignores it and keeps his focus on the cool water. He scoops some into his mouth. It tastes so good, so clean. A third voice starts to say something, and Dean drowns it out with another long drink of water.
He chokes on the third swallow. The water tastes wrong. Metallic. Thick. He spits it back into the sink, and his eyes widen as blood seeps into the drain. The menacing laughter is back, now multiplied several times, as if a small audience is watching his every move. No, Dean, don't do this. He splashes more water on his face. You're fine, this isn't real. You know it isn't real, dammit, don't DO this! The faucet makes clogging sounds, and he looks down. Blood is now splattering into the basin. Dean's hands are covered with it. He looks in the mirror and sees his face and neck covered in it. The laughter turns into applause. Dean pushes away from the sink and stumbles back.
It's not real. None of this is real…
Oh it's real, Deanie-boy, a nasally voice, so dark and so familiar, says from behind him. Dean whips around to look. A shadowy figure as big as Dean, with white eyes and a destroyed face, throws him a smile. Welcome back to reality.
"Not…real…" Dean insists. The shadow winks and vanishes, leaving only tiny Tyler in its wake. Tyler is jumping up and down, frantically trying to get Dean's attention.
"Tyler…" Dean's knees finally give out, and he drops to the floor. Tyler rushes up, but Dean gently pushes him back. "Get in…my car," Dean gasps, rapidly losing strength as the fever wracking his body turns up the heat and the pain another few notches.
"What's happening, Dean?!" Tyler watches in fright as Dean falls forward. Two giant hands come down on either side of Tyler and keep his head from crushing the boy. Tyler stares up into the big green eyes, now rimmed with tears.
"I can't stop it!" Dean says, sounding so sad and so afraid. "Get in the car, Tyler, please. I'd never hurt my car. Duck low and stay down, no matter what you hear, no matter what happens to me." Then Dean cries out, one hand going to his back, and the giant collapses onto his side. He opens one eye and points to the car with a trembling finger. "GO, Tyler, now!"
Tyler dashes to the car and shuts the almost-fixed door behind him. Then he climbs across the bench seat and crouches down underneath the glove compartment. He jolts as Dean yells at someone to "stop…don't do this!" Tyler gets his emergency button out and presses it repeatedly.
Dean watches his car disappear behind a wall of fire. The lights above flicker out, replaced by utter dark. The flames spread, circling all around Dean. No, Dean thinks in desperation. You can still stop this. Just calm down. He takes deep breaths, hoping to quiet his pounding heart, but the air is now more smoke than oxygen; he coughs and curls up into a pained, suffocating ball. His body is baking, grey t-shirt and jeans soaked through with sweat. Dean tries to take the shirt off, but his arms are useless.
That's it, the nasally voice coos. Come back to us, Dean. Dreamtime's over. It's a brand new day! Time to get to work!
I'm not there, Dean tells himself, shutting his eyes. Not in Hell.
Of course you are! Back in Hell Sweet Hell. A fire flares up in Dean's mind, and the demon chuckles. We even left the light on for you. Moaning, Dean crawls sideways, hands feeling their way along the floor. Ah ah ah, the demon chides. Can't let you leave just when the fun's about to start.
A new hurt, sharp and hot, hits Dean in the side. His eyes fly open and spot the hook. He knows that hook: It provided his very first pain when he was taken downstairs and locked up in the lobby. He looks it over, wanting to be wrong, telling himself to see something else, but he can't. It's the same giant meat hook, razor-sharp tip glinting in the orange light, illuminating the blood and torn flesh where it has impaled Dean's abdomen. Its chain pulls tight, and Dean wails in agony as the metal rips deeper into his back and stomach.
Suddenly, a rush of cool air. Dean looks up and sees a tiny rectangle of light burst through the wall of flames. A figure runs through and stops by the side of his face.
"Dean!"
He knows that voice. Dean blinks, eyelashes sticking together from all the tears. "…meesh?" The fires start to die down as he turns his head and focuses on her small form.
"Talk to me," she says. "What's going on? Where's Tyler?"
"…car," Dean mumbles. "Told him…hide…"
Michelle watches Dean's eyes struggle to stay open. "Hey, hey hey hey—stay with me." She touches his forehead and hisses. "You feel like you're boiling yourself for dinner," she grumbles in concern. "And I don't have to get readouts on your implant to find out how the rest of you fares…" Michelle stands directly in front of his sideways eyes, hand still on his forehead. "Dean, listen to me. You HAVE to calm down. Your heart can't handle…"
Michelle's voice is covered by a sinister chuckle. I have to say, Dean, the kindly doctor is my favorite imaginary character yet. Not as hilarious as the angel, but still amusing in her own, pathetic way. Thanks for the laugh.
Dean opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he coughs instead. His hand goes to his stomach as he cries out in pain. Michelle, still right there and scared, looks down the length of Dean's reclining body and spots a metal hook in his abdomen, heavy chain pulling at bloody flesh.
"When did they replace the cuffs with hooks?" she asks herself, horrified. Then she turns to the ceiling and yells, "He's a MAN, not a piece of meat! What the hell is wrong—"
"NO!" Dean yells. "Not in Hell, NOT in Hell…" He writhes on his back, hands switching between pounding at his head and covering his torn stomach. "No demons here, no fire…fuuuck, shut UP!"
Michelle runs up to his head, climbs up his hair, and jumps onto his nose. "Dean, LOOK AT ME." She waits until the eyes stop swirling and focus on her. "Your implant is connected to a security system in this room. If you don't calm down, more restraints will be triggered to come out. You'll trap yourself!"
Clarity comes into those green irises, plain and pained, and it breaks Michelle's heart to see it. "Tell me where I am," Dean whispers. "Tell me what's real. Please?"
Michelle says something in reply, but Dean can't hear her over the roar of fires alighting all around them. He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, making Michelle topple back to the floor.
"Dean?!"
The laughter picks up again in Dean's ears, and he brings his hands up to cover them, only to feel a stab in his right forearm. He opens his eyes and sees another hook embedded there, the strong chain wrapped once around his elbow. Fire and smoke spread around him, and screaming white noise rattles him to the core.
"Oh God, Meesh, if you can still hear me, get OUT."
There is no out, the demon laughs. And there is no God. Come on, Dean, you know that! Another hook jabs into Dean's ankle, and hundreds of demons, all as big as Dean, emerge from the fires. Let's get your Welcome Back party started, the white-eyed demon smiles.
No. Not again! Dean looks around for any exit, ANY hope. In the distance, the tiny rectangle of light opens back up, bringing the cool air with it. Dean's adrenaline kicks in, and he lunges for the light, reaching his left hand out as far as it will go. His left middle and index finger shove through the miniature doorway just seconds after Michelle exits, and she flinches against the other side of the corridor as Dean's big and now bloody digits wriggle in front of her, huge but helpless. She dodges them and runs for the elevator.
"Gotta get out," Dean growls, pulling and pushing to free himself. Blood smears on the floor as he struggles: he'd landed on his belly, shoving the meat hook on its side and gouging himself even deeper. But Dean grits his teeth and keeps trying. "Get out. Make it work, dammit!" The little, metal door presses against his palm, threatening to chop his fingers off, and his skin cuts open in flaps as he fights. "Can't be trapped, GET OUT!"
Standing on the elevator, Michelle gapes as the two giant digits pop the door free and crush it. A crumpled metal ball drops to the floor as Dean hollers "Get out, get out!" over and over.
"Help is coming, Dean," she says as the elevator doors close. "I swear it."
Dean bellows in frustration at his useless exit, and he tugs his fingers back inside, slicing his fingers along the sharp edges of the tiny space. He doesn't care; it's just more pain. Desperate, timid, he tells himself, "Get out…" But the order drops into despair as the darkness sweeps in, painting his surroundings in pure nothing. The only sounds are his rasping breaths. He searches the dark for truth, feeling hollow depths and pressing walls at the same time.
Dean knows he's not alone. His muscles are tense and ready to fight or flee despite the unforgiving pain. "Where are you?" he asks. Laughter hits him from behind and is gone again, just like that. "Show yourselves!" he cries. Silver lightning strikes overhead, illuminating the area in its flicker. Demons everywhere. Huge. Smiling. Pointing. Whispering his name. Then the darkness drops back down and it's just his breathing once more.
SHHOOOP! Something sharp punctures his shoulder. Dean reaches his torn left fingers over to feel what is there, and they find another meat hook.
Whoosh whoosh CHINK! A heavy chain flies out and wraps around Dean's neck, pulling him back.
Silver lightning flickers. The demons are closer. Darkness again.
Whoosh SHHOOOP chink clatter FSSSST jut
They come from everywhere in the dark, hooks spearing into flesh, chains wrapping tight. Dean snarls incoherent threats, struggling to free himself, but the more he moves, the tighter the chains get and the deeper the hooks cut. Dean finally stills and drops the back of his head down, defeated.
The tears come. He lets them.
Lightning flickers again. The white-eyed demon is walking forward, clapping slow and condescending. The claps continue as the darkness resettles.
"Finally accepted it, I see," the nasal voice praises. "Good for you, Dean. You never were one for make-believe. Which is why I'm surprised you put yourself through all of this." It waves its arm around as silver flickers provide some light for a few seconds. "Lots of people dream in Hell. Dream of escape. Dream of relief. We can see right into them—it's our version of Must See TV down here. But your dreams," the demon chuckles, "they're different. Of course, you're pretty different yourself. I've never, ever encountered a soul so STUBBORN, it could keep itself in a dream as long as you have." The glowing white eyes pierce through the dark and look right into his. "I have to say, Dean, I'm impressed."
"Wasn't…a dream…" Dean growls, pulling at his restraints. "Cas got me out, I've been topside for months."
The demon laughs and pats Dean on the head. Dean's hair burns at the touch. "No, Dean. You've been here the whole time."
The lightning is back, and Dean sneers into the ruined faces of his would-be tormentors. "I've heard that before. I woke up then and I'm gonna wake up now."
"What, the thing with the oven? Dean, Dean, Dean…" The demon is shaking its head as the lightning flickers out. "That was you coming out of your little fantasy for a few seconds. You've been in and out like that for days now. It was awful—for us, I mean. It ruins the fun, not having you all there." It taps its index claw against Dean's forehead. "That's why we're all so thrilled to see you right back where you belong."
The lightning crashes, thunder slamming down on them, as the fires rise up and color the area in menacing hues. Dean looks down and finds himself lying on his back, the cold, rusty metal of the rack underneath his torn shirt and jeans. His body is a pincushion of hooks, as long chains with distant, unseen anchors hold him in place. There's more blood than skin, more tattered flesh than intact. The white-eyed demon is kneeling down next to him, while scores of other demons stand in wait behind it.
"Don't you fall for it, Dean," he tells himself. "Wake up. You're in a huge cell. You're a—"
"A giant!" the demon finishes with a laugh. "That was the best part!" The other demons laugh in agreement. Dean glares, and the demon gives a mock pout. "Oh come on, Dean. You can't honestly believe you're over 60 feet tall. That would mean we're all huge, me, all of them…" it motions to the other demons behind him.
Dean just shuts his eyes, telling himself to wake up. The demon looks down at him and sighs. "Stubborn, just like your daddy. So be it." It rests its hand on the giant meat hook in Dean's abdomen as it moves from kneeling to sitting, enjoying Dean's hiss of pain. "Let's look at the two scenarios from a logical standpoint, shall we? You tell me what makes more sense: that an angel got you out, took you upstairs, reunited you with your brother, and after some typical wacky Winchester adventures, you turned into a giant? Or," the demon leans in close, putrid breath rotting Dean's nostrils, "that you've been in Hell the whole time, dreaming about all of the above as a way to escape what you're going through down here?"
Dean doesn't answer. The demon smiles. "Think about it, Dean. Invoke Yoda and 'trust your feelings.' What does your gut tell you?" It rattles the hook in Dean's stomach again, grinning as Dean screams. "Pain is real, Dean. You DO feel this, right?" It pulls at the chain around Dean's neck with one claw and digs the shoulder hook in deeper with the other, drinking in Dean's shrieks as nectar. "And don't try and tell me the pain is from growing, like dear Sammy and Uncle Bobby told you. You were just translating your pain into your dream…blending it into your happy reality." The demon chuckles, adding, "Funny how even in your dreams, you let yourself get hurt. Pathetic, really."
Dean glares daggers at the demon. "Fuck. You."
"But I'm telling you the truth!" the demon insists with yet another smile. "Angels don't exist—you know it, and I know it. And honestly, Dean, even if they did, WHY would one ever come down here and save YOU? You're not important. You were nothing when you were alive, which makes you less than nothing now."
Dean shuts his eyes and thrashes his limbs, telling the demon to "shut your fucking trap" as the hooks deepen their grip on him.
"I suppose that's why you became a giant," the demon muses. "Makes sense, from a psychological viewpoint. You made yourself the biggest man in town because you've always thought so little of yourself." It tsks Dean as it shakes its head. "Sad when the truth hits home. Well, sad for you, anyway. It's Miller Time for us."
The demon lifts a finger as a signal, and lightning strikes directly into Dean's heart. Soul and body scream as the electric charge surges through every hook, burning through muscle, bone, and nerve as it sizzles into the chains and sparks out of sight. The skin around the biggest hooks chars and flecks off, adding to the thick layers of ash on the ground. Blood burbles up the back of Dean's throat, choking his cries into gargles. He retches at the taste and the pain, spitting up blood all over his face. Gasping for air, bloodied drool slipping out the corner of his mouth, Dean looks up at the demon and glares, defiant to the end. The demon stands up and beholds Dean's destroyed form.
"Good to have you back, Dean."
Another agonizing surge hits Dean's heart, gripping it tight and making it burn for release. "NO!" Dean wails, trying to brace for what's coming, but it hits him all the same: blinding pain, everywhere, all at once. Dean's body trembles and rolls over, chains pulling with and against him and keeping him from going flat on his belly. Hanging there, he feels the demon slide its claws along his arm.
"Not enjoying the rude awakening?" it clucks. "You brought this on yourself, Dean."
Dean turns his face to the floor and smacks his forehead against it. "Stop it, stop it, STOP it," he says to himself, to the demon, to the pain—everything. Dean pulls his arms out and cranes his neck, groaning as he tries to stretch himself free, but the chains hold tight. The demon snakes its fingers around a chain and rolls Dean back onto his side.
"I'll be back to check on you later," the demon promises with a smile. Then he turns to leave.
Dean tilts his head up, fighting against the chain around his neck. "WHY am I back on the rack?!" he yells. The demon looks back over his shoulder. "I did everything you wanted, you fucking bastard," Dean spits. "I did EVERYthing!"
"Yes, you were following orders," the demon agrees. "Coming along nicely, in fact. But that was before you embarked on your little dream voyage. Now that you're back, we thought we'd start you over from the beginning. It's the least we could do for our favorite prisoner."
The demon walks away without another word, and Dean's fury erupts in a war cry. Again he struggles to free himself, but he feels weary—down before the count even began. Breathing hard, he gives up for the moment and turns his face to the side, away from his useless and bloody body.
Then he sees Sam. Sam is staring at him. Sam is in Hell with him.
No. It's not Sam. You know it isn't Sam.
But even though he knows better, Dean can't look away. His brother is tiny, just like in his dream, and he's standing right there, not a foot in front of his face.
"Dean?" the little man asks, creeping forward. Dean watches him closely, waiting for whatever 'tell' will inevitably give away the demon in disguise. 'Sam' puts his hands up in a 'calm down' manner. "It's all right. We're gonna get you out of those chains, I promise, but first you have to calm down."
Dean shuts his eyes and utters a small "No" to the imposter.
"Open your eyes, Dean," the painfully familiar voice tells him. "Keep them on me. Focus."
Yeah, that's just what you want, isn't it, you son of a bitch… Dean's eyelids open and he glares him. "Not SAM." He throws his left hand out to grab the little man, but a chain and hook keep him from reaching him. His fingers stop just short of his prize, and he wilts as 'Sam' looks upon the shredded fingers with pity. The little hand reaches out, and Dean flinches and pulls his hand back.
"Not falling for it again," Dean hisses at 'Sam.' "You HEAR ME YOU FUCKERS?" Dean curls his hand into a fist and thumps it on the ground, knocking 'Sam' over. Dean's face is stone as the little bastard gets to his feet. "Not again," Dean repeats, bringing his hand up to wipe away the tears on his face. "Not again. Not Sammy. NEVER Sammy."
Dean gradually rolls onto his other side, chains jingling and twisting and chafing as he moves.
"Where do you think you're going?" the demon asks. It kicks Dean hard in the shoulder hook, and Dean grunts as his back slams down on the rack. The chains tighten again, and fresh tears stream out of his eyes and into his open mouth as he screams in silence. A different voice screams at the same time, but Dean doesn't look. It's just another soul in Hell. They all scream here.
Owen screams until he's hoarse, then stumbles backwards, both hands pressing the sides of his head. Sam runs up to him, but Owen backs away. "NO! Don't touch me. You'll see, you'll SEE!"
"See what?" Bobby asks. Owen shakes his head, unable to answer. He trips over his own feet, and Sam catches him before he drops.
Instantly, the room disappears from Sam's eyes. His head pushes past migraine and into agony as a vision slams into him. The picture is sharp and clear: the bloody remains of someone barely alive, giant hooks and chains binding bloody limbs in a very dark place. Heat and smoke scorch Sam's lungs with every sharp intake of breath, while cold, unforgiving metal gouges his back, large, jagged bolts lodged deep within his spine. The picture jerks to the side and focuses on demons, black and fluid as smoke but sporting monstrous faces and long claws for fingers. One with white eyes approaches. The scene shifts up to the endless space above, lightning flickering on thousands of figures in chains, then to the right, where a river of molten lava carries charred, melting, screaming bodies into a fiery hole.
Fear clutches Sam's heart, and thoughts that are not his own run rampant through his mind. It's happening again oh God I can't do this again It's happening oh FUCK any second now Please you can't Not again not AGAIN
Dean? Sam both thinks and realizes. A third voice comes into his head, just as pained as Dean's.
It's what he's seeing, Owen tells him. What he's feeling.
Owen… Sam gawks at his Dean's damaged body, feeling every ounce of his brother's hurt and horror. Sam fights the overwhelming need to vomit and holds on. Is this a memory or a hallucination?
Owen sends regret through their mental connection and replies, It's both.
Their view shifts as Dean's eyes search around the area again, hoping to find anything to help him escape. There's nothing. The white-eyed demon steps up to him and kneels down over his face.
Dean Winchester, it hails, a smile crackling out of acidic skin and protruding skull fragments. We've been waiting a very long time for you.
Something flashes before Sam and Owen—too fast to catch, but they feel it all the same. Pain. Absolute, inhuman pain. Owen starts to pass out, but Sam sends him a mental slap. NO! We have to stay and help him wake up!
Can't, Sam…too much…
The image flashes again, quick as a subliminal message: Chains and pain. Utter dread.
Not again not again not again
Every part of Dean, physical and metaphysical, quakes as the demon holds up a finger.
Not again not AGAIN please!
The demon's anticipation feeds off Dean's fear. It's only right we give you a proper welcome for such an honored guest, it tells him.
Then he flips his finger down.
Every chain and hook pulls at once. Dean is torn apart like a slab of tender meat, limbs ripping out of their joints, ribs cracking open as bony jaws, organs spilling into the ash and metal underneath. Dean's head, hands, and feet remain intact, resting above their respective chains. His eyes stare down at his still-beating heart, hanging from an artery, and then follow the length of his spinal cord, blood-soaked bolts still clamping it to the rack. The pain is so massive that he can't understand it. It just IS. Like it's always been there, and he's always been this broken. His body reacts in the only way it still can: he cries. He cries and cries and cries, with the pain, for the pain, because of the pain.
His two onlookers cry along with him, until Owen gently blacks out, and Sam is torn from his brother's mind and back to the floor of the giant cell. Michelle is checking over Owen, and Bobby is shaking Sam by his shoulders.
"SAM! Talk to me, boy!" Bobby falls still when Sam blinks at him, clarity behind those tears. "Sam? Hey." He steadies Sam's back with one of his arms. "You all right? What happened?"
Sam can't speak. His own body is racked with ache as much as sympathy and guilt. In his memory, the chains pull again and again, making Dean scream like Sam has never heard him scream before—and never wants to again. The tears slip down his face, and Sam is brought into Bobby's arms and hugged tight. Bobby doesn't say a word, just hugs him. It brings Sam little comfort. He looks over at Dean, still chained up and helpless in the middle of the floor. Sam is struck dumb with the reality of it all.
Is this what you see when you sleep? he thinks to his brother. Is this what you saw in the U-Haul, at the warehouse…everywhere? Sam shuts his eyes, already knowing the answer: yes Dean sees this, and who knows what else. No wonder why he doesn't want to sleep, and why he suddenly hates being tied up or confined anywhere. "I didn't know," Sam whispers into Bobby's shoulder, staring at his big brother all the while. I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't KNOW.
Dean's heart beats louder, faster, sending a pulse through the ground under their feet. "He's starting to panic again," Michelle announces. "We have to get him calm, NOW. His heart won't survive another attack."
Sam's imagination runs wild, picturing Dean suffering the most horrific torture, and knowing he isn't even close to what really happened. "Sam," Bobby says, gently pushing the young man out of the hug. The wretched look on Sam's face nearly shatters Bobby's resolve, but he keeps his eyes locked on Sam's all the same. "What did you see?"
Sam shakes his head back and forth in a daze. "He's in so much pain, Bobby…"
"I know, kid."
The hazel eyes sharpen into a stare. "No. You don't. You didn't see…" Sam puts his hand over his heart as he pictures Dean's hanging there, beating without a body. "Didn't feel…" Sam's face falls as the reality overwhelms him. "He told me on the pier that he remembered, but I didn't…" His head shakes again of its own volition, back and forth, eyes vacant as he thinks back. Bobby puts a hand on either side of Sam's head and holds him still.
"What's Dean remember? Sam?
Sam's gaze falls back on Bobby's worried eyes. "Hell," he replies, the word dropping as a heavy weight between them. Bobby is so stunned that he has to step back, face losing color as the truth hits him. "He remembers Hell. All of it. Everything." Behind him, Dean whimpers something, chains rattling as his body begins to shake again. Sam turns around and looks at him. "I saw one memory, Bobby," Sam mumbles, emotions slurring his words together. "One. And it was…Dean…he…" Sam's jaw quivers, unable to convey everything he's feeling. Bobby joins him at his side and gives Sam a kind look, letting him know it's okay not to talk. Then he straightens his trucker's cap and peers up at Dean.
"Neither one of us was able to keep him outta the pit," Bobby mutters. "Couldn't help him while he was down there, either." He turns to face Sam. "But we can help him now. Get him out of the Hell up here," he taps on his temple. Sam straightens up a little as purpose crosses his face, and Bobby glances back at Dean. "You know you're the only one he'll listen to." Sam swallows and nods, and Bobby pats him on the back. "Go on, son. Talk to Dean. Bring him back to us."
Sam nods again and, taking a deep breath to steady himself, walks over to Dean, ducking under big, taut chains along the way. He gets to the side of Dean's face and stops by his ear. He doesn't know where to begin. All he wants to do is apologize, over and over, until Dean understands just how sorry Sam is for everything his big brother went through. Instead, he clears his throat and leans in close to the ear that's as big as he is.
"Wake up, Dean," Sam says, fighting off more tears. "You're not in Hell anymore, I promise. You're back. You're here, with me."
There's a pause, and Sam backs up to look at Dean's face. The large eyes flash open, but they don't look at him.
"Go away," is all that Dean replies.
"No. I'm staying right here, right by your side. You'd do the same for me." The big head turns now, red, irritated eyes studying Sam. Sam forces a smile. "It's me, Dean, I swear."
"Course you do," Dean grunts. "You always do."
Sam's forehead wrinkles. "What are you—"
"Just stop it," Dean whispers, water leaking back into his voice. "Chop my dick off, burn my eyes out, whatever floats your damn boat. Just don't use his face…" Dean swallows hard when 'Sam' doesn't budge.
"You're not in Hell, Dean," Sam says again. "You've been out for months."
"Liar," Dean whimpers.
"I'm telling you the truth!"
Dean just shakes his head no. "Don't be him," he pleads. "Anyone but him…please…"
The face turns back to the ceiling, eyes falling shut once more. His body jolts like its being shocked, but Dean just takes it without a sound this time. Sam jumps up and grabs the short sleeve of Dean's grey tee, hauling himself up. The huge, racing heart pounds under Sam's boots as he gets to Dean's chest. He makes his way around the sharp barriers of hooks and stops near Dean's chin. Dean's eyes open again before Sam says a word. He sighs, and it sounds so final to Sam. Dean is giving up before his eyes.
"Why don't you just kill me?" Dean asks in a very small voice. The sadness in the question rattles Sam to the core. "Get it over with," Dean coaxes, "you know you want to. Just don't…make me go through this again. Don't make me look at his face…"
"Dean…" Sam reaches out to pat Dean's chin, but Dean picks him up and holds him in his right hand, fingers curled tightly around the little body. Sam squirms to free himself, but Dean holds him tight, bringing him close to his face before his chains pull tight.
"You…are not…my brother," Dean mutters in a low, hoarse voice, glaring at the little hazel eyes with what little remaining inner strength he has left. "This game ends now." He squeezes 'Sam' even more, making it hard for Sam to breathe. But Sam holds his stare.
"If I'm…not him," Sam wheezes, "then why…not…kill me…right now?"
Dean's eyes fill with anger, and he keeps squeezing, adopts a fierce look on his face, tries to summon up the hatred…and fails. He loosens his grip but doesn't let go of the little man. Sam keeps very still, letting Dean look at him…REALLY look at him. Come on Dean…it's me, you know it is. Sam sees a spark of recognition in those big green eyes, and he waits for Dean to call him "Sammy" and smile. But Dean doesn't. The spark dies out, and Dean brings his hand down to his chest. Sam doesn't hop off. Dean's closes his eyes.
"Leave me alone," he begs. His entire body cringes and Dean wails through clenched jaws, fresh tears rolling down his eyes as he shakes all over. Sam just stares, wishing he could take the pain away. He looks down at Bobby, but his face is clouded. He shakes his head at Sam, not knowing what to do, either.
"Don't give up Sam," says Michelle, and Sam looks down at her. "You're getting to him. He's already calmed down, but the chains won't release him until his blood pressure is below 140."
But he doesn't think I'm me, Sam thinks in despair. How can I get him to listen to me if he doesn't even believe I'm me? He looks around the room, praying for inspiration. Bobby is tending to Owen, who still hasn't come around. Bobby would tell him the same thing I did. Dean probably won't listen to him, either… Sam looks at Michelle again. And Michelle came to us for help when she couldn't help Dean, so she's out as well. Sam's eyes reach the Impala. Maybe something in the car… His eyes light up. The car!
Sam jumps off Dean's palm and onto his chest. "Dean, look over there." His brother keeps his eyes shut, so Sam jumps again. "Your car, Dean! It's right over there!"
Dean utters a barely audible "So?"
"SO, the Impala wasn't in Hell!"
Dean's unending negative thoughts give pause as those words sink in. He wracks his brain for memories of the Impala. There are thousands, of course, but not one of them includes hellfire.
"If your car is right here, and your car was never in Hell, then YOU can't be in Hell either!" Sam declares. "Just look, Dean, please! It's really there, I swear!"
Dean gives the little man a tired glare. "Just like you swear that you're my brother?" His head rolls the wrong way, and Sam stomps his feet.
"Dammit, Dean, give it a try! PLEASE! Just—!"
The car's horn blares out, and all eyes go to the source of the sound. A young boy has appeared behind the wheel. He opens the door (which promptly hangs from its only fixed hinge) and looks out at the giant.
"She's right here, Dean!" Tyler shouts. "She misses you!" He keeps honking, little blasts of familiar, welcome noise that start to chip away at the darkness surrounding Dean.
My baby's calling me, he marvels. How? She isn't down here… Dean rolls a little on his side and looks at the corner of the room. It's engulfed in flame. The horn honks again, and Dean squints, straining to see shining black metal.
"She's there, Dean," Sam promises, holding on to the fabric of Dean's shirt. "You just have to let yourself see."
A double-honk seems to blow a small hole in the fire wall. Dean sees a flash of chrome, and his eyelids lift. Sam beams as his brother's expression relaxes out of its painful scowl and adopts a look of awe.
"I don't…I don't believe it," Dean breathes as more of the car comes into view. Little by little, the fire dies down and reveals his gorgeous Impala, intact and in person.
It's true, he realizes, blinking hard to clear his vision. She's really there. Here. She's here. I'M here…not in Hell. I'm here. I'm Safe.
With a long, deep breath, Dean collapses back and relaxes into his relief. One by one, the chains fall slack and drop to the floor. Sam steps forward, smiling and more than relieved when Dean's eyes find him and recognize him.
"Sammy? What…" Dean frowns when he sees his brother's red eyes. He's been crying. Dean sits up and gently picks up Sam, who slides onto Dean's fingertips and thumb. "What's wrong?" Dean asks, looking him over.
Still smiling, Sam shakes his head. "Nothing, man. I'm just really glad you're back."
"Back." Dean scans his surroundings. Hell is gone, replaced by the toothpaste-colored walls of his cell. Tyler jumps out of the car and bounds over to Meesh, who is standing by Owen and Bobby. Dean does a double-take when he sees his old friend. "Bobby? What are you doing here? How…"
"I brought them here," Michelle tells him. "I knew only your brother would be able to get through to you, and Bobby and Owen were locked up with him, so I busted them all out and here we are." She folds her arms. "You mind telling me what the hell just happened?"
Dean jolts at the word 'hell,' and he frowns at himself. It's just a word, jackass. You say it yourself all the time. Hell! His body jolts again and settles into trembling. Flummoxed and feeling weak, he looks at Sam, who is still sitting on Dean's fingers. The Nostrils of Concern are out in full force, puppy-dog eyes and hunched shoulders only adding more weight to whatever Sam is feeling. Sam clears his throat.
"You had a flashback, Dean," Sam tells him with regret. "You nearly died."
Dean gulps as his eyes drift to the floor. Flashback… HURT and DARK and FIRE flash inside him, followed by Sam's frown of worry and the demon's grin of delight. Both realities crash into each other as raging rivers of images. Please don't let it be true, he begs whoever is listening. As usual, his plea goes unheard: Dean glances at each of the little people in turn, sees their fear mixed with pity, and knows the truth.
They know. They saw.
Embarrassment and anger, panic and numbness, anxiety and resolve—the different extremes seesaw through him at once, and the walls rebuild themselves double thick to hold it all inside. Dean face goes blank as he sets Sam down on the floor.
"Dean? You all right?"
Dean doesn't answer, just turns his attention to the hooks still strewn in and out of his body. They're not nearly as big as the ones in Hell, but they hurt just the same. Biting the inside of his cheek, he pulls the hook out of his stomach first, fighting off a cringe at the sound and sensation.
"Let me help you with those," Michelle offers as she steps forward, but Dean grunts and pushes her away. Then he gets back to hook pulling. Each hook holds tight, not giving up its hold without taking some of Dean with it, but Dean doesn't make a sound. The hooks speak for him as they clang on the floor, some dropped gently, others thrown hard.
Once he's done, he just sits, shoulders hunched, chin slightly dropped. The big green eyes drift between his hands and the bloody hooks. Then they shut. He breathes. Once. Twice. His eyes blink open. He stands up. He turns his back to everyone.
"Shower," Dean asks, voice coarse. No one speaks, so Dean glances over his shoulder and down at Michelle. "Tell me there's a shower in here."
Michelle nods and points. "Y-yes, it's…the button's next to the sink."
Dean turns away again and pulls his grey shirt off. Everyone feels sick as they look at the bruises, burns, and open wounds through his back and torso. Dean presses the button, and a huge door slides open next to the sink. He gives them all one last look, pain in his eyes as plain as his pale face, before he disappears into the shower room.
The door slides shut, and everything is quiet.
