Summary: Story 14: Let's Talk About Hell – Tag: Season 6 "The Great Wall of Sam" is tumbling down. Dean is freaking out with worry and Sam is, well, Sam. Words: 1,616

Let's Talk About Hell is inspired by
1) Episode 6x13: Unforgiven (that last scene when Sam is remembering/experiencing hell)
2) Episode 6x14: Mannequin 3: The Reckoning
Dean: "It was hell wasn't it. You got a big, fat faceful of hell."

Rated: T

Let's Talk About Hell

"Sam! ...Sammy! Wake up!..." Dean shouted anxiously while shaking Sam by the shoulders.

Bathed in the light of the setting sun, a black Impala is parked at the side of the road while sparring cars pass it by.

"Sam, it's not real! Whatever you're seeing right now, it is not real! Sam, you hear me?! Sammy!" Dean continued yelling.

Just a moment ago, they were driving peacefully down the street, with rock music booming through the stereo and Dean nodding to its beat. And the next thing he knew, Sam was unconscious by his side, his body spasming uncontrollably; and his face, even with his eyes shut, revealed a look of agony and pure terror.

The wall is coming down.

Finally, after 6 minutes of wild thrashing that felt much longer, Sam opens his eyes. His body's no longer convulsing but instead, it sprawled numbly on the seat, drained and worn out, with only his chest still rising rapidly as he chuffs away the horror he'd just experienced.

Dean held on to Sam's shoulders and then drops his head exhaustedly as he lets out a sigh of deep relief.

"How long was I gone?" Sam's voice is surprisingly calm.

"About 6 minutes," Dean gave the objective gauge. It felt like a really long time when he had to see his brother suffering while he wrung his hands at the side, practically useless. He didn't like how these episodes are getting longer each time it happens and the interval between them getting shorter. Moreover, to Sam, his perception of that "long time" is even more literal than what Dean had felt. It was 6 minutes on earth but where he was... it was weeks.

"What did you see?" Dean asked tentatively as he starts the engine, the sky outside's turning dark.

"Sunshine and rainbows," Sam replied flippantly, sitting himself upright.

Dean throws him a dirty look that contains more worry than annoyance.

"Dude, you looked like you were friggin' electrocuted so don't give me that crap..." Dean begins to blabber out his anxiety and concern, trying to offer help, even though there is no possible help available. He knows that Sam doesn't want to talk about it but he couldn't keep quiet anymore like those previous times it had happened.

Dean kept up a stream of worried rants, trying to get Sam to open up to him while Sam kept quiet, mostly, replying mainly with various variations of "I'm fine"; "Relax"; and "I know it's not real"...

When the brothers finally checked in to a room in their standard, grade-less, crappy motel, the sun had long traded place with the stars.

"... I know what's it's like, Sam, what hell's like... So, if there's anyone, anyone who'd even remotely understand what you're going through right now - it'll be me. But you've got to let me in, man. You've got to talk to me..." Dean continued blabbering.

"Dean. Look, I'm alright now..." Sam tried to cut him off.

"Now," Dean picked out the keyword. "I can't just have you "alright now". I need you to be alright, period." Dean countered agitatedly. "Sam, I know it's not easy... not like a "How's your day?" response - easy..." Dean went on and on as he unpacks, oblivious to the fact that Sam is at his limit with his persistent chattering.

With a loud "thud!", Sam threw his duffle bag onto his bed and riled up.

"Fine! Let's talk about hell!" He exploded. "What do you want to talk about, Dean? The heat; the fire; the sound of your own-sizzling-flesh; being held suspended by metal chains and having their hooks - sticking through your guts. Or. The devil - telling you; whispering in your ear - that this is going to last forever..."

Finally, Dean fell silent. As Sam listed the many horrific experiences that hell offered, those images flashes, way too clearly, in front of Dean's eyes, as though it was only yesterday when he had been on the rack himself... But worse, much, much worse than remembering hell, is knowing that Sam, the little brother he's supposed to protect, had gone through all of it, and more. That knowledge pained him in a way that Hell never could.

"... So, what do you want to talk about, Dean?" Sam asked again, his eyes boring straight into Dean's in a challenging glare while breathing heavily. And Dean just looks back at him, in what others would view as a blank, serene expression.

They kept the eye contact for 5 long seconds before Sam blinks and deliberately looks away. He pulls out some clothes from his bag and with a short glance towards Dean, said in a softer voice: "I'll take first shower." Then, he left his brother in the room while he closes the bathroom door behind him.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he runs his hands down his face. Plumping down on his creaky bed, he shakes his head violently, trying to rid of the horrid images in his mind. Images of him on the rack... of Sam on the rack…...

Back in the shower room, cold water is rushing down from the showerhead, splashing onto the heated skin of Sam Winchester. He takes in some long, deep breaths to calm his accelerated heart. As he begins to cool his head, other emotions rise within him. Although Dean had kept quiet during, and after his outburst, with his face seemingly cool and expressionless, it was not actually so.

And Sam could see it. That look in Dean's eyes was not merely sympathy or concern - he was remembering hell. The calm mask of facade that he wears was exactly that - a mask - to hide his pain and fear when it becomes too much. To an outsider, it may look arrogant or detached, but it is a mask that Sam recognised well.

He wipes the water off his face as he lets out a hefty sigh. He shouldn't have lost his temper. Dean was just trying to help, like he always does. Not to mention, Dean wouldn't even have memories of hell if not for him...

Remorse and regret overtook the fear and fury within. He should apologise... he will apologise, if Dean is still in the room after he gets out of the shower.

Back in the room, Dean lies on the bed with his eyes shut, trying not to think; not to see. He has a very strong desire to run to the nearest local bar right now, to drown himself in booze instead of images of hell - to escape. But he didn't. He couldn't - not when his brother is a literal, walking, talking time bomb.

The bathroom door squeaks open and Dean jumps off his bed, grabbing his clothes off the sheets and strides towards the shower with his eyes on the floor.

"Dean," Sam called out in a neutral tone and Dean turns around with a look of guarded anticipation.

"I, er... I want to apologise," Sam said, shifting slightly from embarrassment.

"What?" Dean spouted out, his eyebrows lifting with surprise.

"I.. shouldn't have gotten so worked up. I know I was acting like a jerk for... I didn't mean to remind you about hell. I'm sorry," Sam apologised sincerely.

Dean stared at him blankly for a moment as he absorbed his words.

"Wait a minute - lemme get this straight. You saw yourself in the pit, with the devil, like, less than half hour ago - and you're worried that by telling me those you'd.. what, hurt my feelings?!" He cried in disbelief.

"I know you're just trying to help..." Sam explained.

"Wow. Just... wow," Dean said sarcastically as he runs his fingers through his hair.

He then looks back imploringly at his little brother, with water dripping down his too-long-hair and clear, wide eyes that are staring at him, with an air of guilt around him. Somehow, he feels a sudden urge to throw a punch at him.

Is this really the time to be worried about anyone other than himself right now?

"Sammy... just... take care of yourself, alright?" Dean said steadily as he held back the violent impulse.

"Ya. Sure," Sam agreed too easily.

"I mean, whatever you do, don't scratch the walls," Dean clarified as he half-begged-and-half-ordered.

"Fine," Sam replied with a slight pout, not seeming entirely please about it.

"You promise," Dean is starting to sound whiny.

"Yes, I-promise-not-to-scratch-the-wall. Go shower already," Sam said with a roll of his eyes and he turns away to end the conversation.

Dean picks up a random pillow on the bed and hurls it at his brother. He hears him grunts in complaint as he shuts the bathroom door behind him. He should be thankful that it wasn't his fist that landed, Dean thought with a smirk. And then he sighs. Dean is damn glad that Sam has got his soul back but… trust that silly, soulful brother of his to be worried about him - him! - in his current condition…

Sam spins around to glare at his childish brother but was only in time to see the door swings shut.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath. Nevertheless, Sam understands why Dean is freaking out with worry. This time, he isn't just being paranoid or over-protective like he usually is. The wall is crumbling. Although Sam promised not to "scratch the wall", and he does intend to try and uphold that promise, maybe.. it's already too late…

Sam sighs as he tugs the towel off his shoulder. And then he added after a pause, "Sorry...".

~ The End ~

I had this story in my head since the last time I re-watched those season 6 episodes~ (which is quite some time ago) Somehow, I only got down to writing it much later but still, glad that I did! :)

Writer's Random Rant: I should really get on with studying now... Haizzz...