Title: Moonstar

Ch. 8: Abyss

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.

Summary: Dean is crashing after a string of bad jobs. One last, terrible incident pushes him over the edge. He's on a downhill slide and the Moonstar is the last place he needs to be.

A/N: I've lost my internet connection so I had to post this from work. This is kinda short compared to the others but it sorta stands alone. This isn't a shameless plug for one of my stories but just a little heads up. Coming up in a few chapters I make a reference to something Dean does in my story Rituals. You don't have to have read Rituals for the chapter to make sense but it might add to it a little to understand what it's talking about during the scene. And it may not.

Dean shifted uneasily in his sleep. He was hot and the room seemed airless. Finally climbing to half awake he kicked off the covers Sam must have pulled over him. He rolled onto his back, rubbing his hands over his face, feeling the sweat on it. His head hurt and his throat felt raw when he swallowed.

He glanced over at the bedside table to see if Sam might have left the aspirin there by any chance. He sighed. No such luck. To get up and try to find them was just too much effort. Little geek probably had them hidden anyway. Dean's tolerance for pain killers was notoriously high, they wore off quickly and didn't work as well as they should have. Sam had restricted Dean's access to them to stop him from taking six at a time every two hours.

Dean's eyes traveled to the table and he realized Sam was slumped over the laptop, asleep, bathed in the light of the desk lamp. It crossed Dean's mind that he should make Sam get up and go to bed but that was also too much trouble.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, nerves tingling, overcome with the sensation that he was waiting for something. The sense of expectation was almost palpable. The room was absolutely silent. He shivered, the sweat on his body chilling as the room temperature inexplicably dropped. Gooseflesh rippled his skin and his breath started to shake. Warily, he pushed himself up on one elbow, knuckling his eyes with the other hand. His eyes felt filmy, giving the room a haze that seemed to be getting worse as he watched.

He was abruptlyoverwhelmed with the sweetish smell he had been experiencing and as the air grew thick with it he found it more and more difficult to breathe. Recognition hit him like a blow. Honeysuckle. That was the scent and with that knowledge came the identity of the underlying odor. Rotting flesh.

Dean pushed himself totally upright, his heart starting to thud. He didn't even have his damned knife! Sam slept on, oblivious. Dean tried to call his name but nothing came out of his mouth. Wake up, Sammy! He thought as loudly as he could. Now would be a good time to turn into Psychic Boy!

He tried to get up but that no longer appeared to be an option as he couldn't move a muscle.

The swirling haze concentrated itself in the center of the room and the figure of a woman emerged from the fog. The muscles in his leaden body started to shake as he stared at her. She shifted suddenly to the foot of the bed and stretched out a hand to his ankle. Her fingers traced up his leg, her touch leaving ice in it's wake.

"Don't be afraid," He heard the words in his head but her mouth didn't move. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun. Her clothing was white, shapeless and nondescript. He couldn't take his eyes from her face. Not beautiful, but gentle and mild, dusted with freckles, her dark brown eyes filled will sadness, almost regret. He could feel himself falling into them, sinking into the deep brown wells as she watched him.

Her nails dragged on his jeans, catching in the folds of fabric as she moved up his leg in a series of jerking motions, the noise soft but audible, each small sound and pull of fabric making his nerve endings jump. Dean struggled to draw breath, choking on the foul thickness of the air filling the room.

SAM! His mind screamed.

Now, both her hands stroked up his waist, his chest, cupping his face, her hands cold against his fevered skin. He couldn't breathe. Sudden thirst, genuine, dying in the desert thirst, sucked every drop of moisture from his body and his tongue and throat shriveled. She leaned into him, fitting her body to his. I've waited so long…..for someone like you….so much pain. The words moaned across his mind, as she pressed closer.

Close your eyes….

God…PLEASE…. Dean's mind went spinning as felt himself going numb. There was incredible pressure as she pushed her body against him, burning like acid, dissolving into his skin, shoving him into the blackness of the room in his mind where everything he couldn't face was locked away. And then he was gone.

Sam awoke with a jerk, surprised to find himself draped over his laptop. His back complained as he tried to straighten up, joints popping. He groaned, stretching, wondering how long he had slept like that. His watch read 12:41, it had been 9:45 the last time he'd checked it. Man! No wonder he was stiff!

He turned toward Dean's bed at the sound of a whimper. Sam started as Dean suddenly jumped from the bed and rushed into the bathroom, filling a glass with water and gulping it down. He frantically refilled it and drank that one in a long swallow. He was choking down a third before Sam's brain kicked in and he stumbled into the bathroom jerking the fourth glass out of Dean's hand, spilling most of it on the floor.

"What are you doing? You're gonna make yourself sick!" Sam exclaimed, holding the glass away as Dean lunged for it.

"I'm thirsty!" Dean cried, fighting him for the glass. His eyes were glazed, the pupils so large there was only the thinnest circle of green around them. His face was flushed, water dripping down his chest, soaking the waist of his jeans.

Sam stared at him, dropping the glass and grabbing Dean's arms to try to hold him still.

"I'M THIRSTY!" Dean cried again, struggling, but not as strenuously as before.

"Dean, wake up! You're sleepwalking!" Sam shook him.

Dean stopped fighting and jerked out of Sam's grasp, drawing himself up and narrowing his eyes. Sweat rolled down his face and he was shaking. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Sam's eyes widened and he felt his heart skip, then start racing. He fell back a step, looking Dean up and down. "Who're you?" he echoed, and somehow it didn't sound stupid at all to his ears.

Dean snorted, tossing his head. "Margaret," he replied, his tone clearly conveying, Idiot. "I'm thirsty." He repeated with deadly emphasis, reaching for the glass again.

It took every bit of nerve Sam had and he grimaced as the sound of his hand connecting with the side of Dean's face cracked through the small room.

Dean clutched his face and staggered backwards. His face twisted as he looked up at Sam, eyes rolling back in his head. His legs gave out, hands and knees hitting the floor.

Sam grabbed for him as Dean fell, kneeling next to him on the cold tile. "Dean? Dean are you okay?" he asked anxiously, trying to see Dean's eyes.

There was a brief silence and then, "What the hell was that for!" Dean yelled in outrage, pushing Sam away, holding his hand against his face.

Relief washed over Sam. "Dean?" Sam asked again in a small voice.

"Who the fuck did you think it was!" Dean closed his eyes and groaned, "Ugh….." He suddenly went pale, pressing a hand against his stomach. "Oh, man…." He drew in a sharp breath and lunged for the toilet, promptly throwing up all the water he had just drunk.

"What the hell?" he gasped, coughing. Sam caught his shoulders until the spasm appeared to be over and then handed Dean a wash cloth.

"Dean, I'm sorry. You were acting so weird." Sam fidgeted nervously, watching Dean get himself under control.

Dean sank back down on the floor, holding his head in his hands. "Is it just me, or do we spend a lot of time in the bathroom together?" he moaned. He tilted his head up at Sam and fixed him with a one eyed stare. "Am I missing something here?" He demanded, voice rough. "What weird? I was asleep and the next thing I know I'm in the bathroom, you're slapping the shit out of me and I'm puking water like a geyser. Did I drown taking a shower in my sleep or something?" His voice was getting more hoarse with every word. He lowered his head again, coughing.

Sam frowned at him. "You don't remember?"

Dean glared at him. "Remember what, dude? That slap? It's gonna be a long time before I forget that!" He rubbed the red, hand shaped welt on his skin. He cleared his throat, grimacing.

"Dean, I swear to God, I woke up just as you ran into the bathroom and started chugging water like it was drinking contest." Sam held up his hand to stop Dean's comment. "I stopped you and you went ballistic. You kept saying you were thirsty."

"I don't remember any of this," Dean rasped, glaring at Sam.

"I guess you were sleepwalking, Dean. I don't know. But when I wouldn't give you the glass back, you gave me this look and asked who I was. Your eyes were all funny. I asked who you were and you said, Margaret."

"Margaret?" Dean exclaimed. His eyes shifted to the side.

"I couldn't wake you up, so I….." Sam's voice trailed off and he shrugged with his hands. "I'm sorry. It's like you were someone else. I didn't know what else to do."

Dean wiped the new sweat off his forehead and pushed slowly to his feet, using the wall to brace himself. He move like his joints hurt.

"Well, I can tell you one thing," he growled, "If I was gonna be someone else, it sure as hell wouldn't be a Margaret!"

Sam hovered close by as Dean moved unsteadily back toward his bed. He sank down on the mattress pressing his fingertips to his forehead.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head slowly. "I…I did have a dream…I think it was a dream." He sighed and coughed again. "Jesus, I'm too tired," he murmured finally, laying back with his arm over his eyes.

"You've got a fever," Sam said, watching him. "You want some more aspirin?" Sam went over to his jacket and fished in the pockets. He shook out two pills and held them out to Dean. "You want some water to wash 'em down with?"

Dean rolled his eyes and made a face. "God, no." he tossed them in his mouth and dry swallowed them. Closing his eyes he turned onto his side. The air seemed cold now and he shivered again, hugging himself and pulling his legs up.

Sam reached down and pulled the blankets back over Dean.

"I guess I shouldn't have teased you about that kid sneezing on you." Sam remarked, clicking off the table lamp. He noted the rain had stopped. "I think you're really sick."

"Damn right." Dean replied. He coughed a trifle theatrically. "Oh. And Sam?" he continued turning back to so that he could see Sam. He wanted to get this out before his voice was totally gone.

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam said faintly.

"The next time you think I'm sleepwalking, think again, cause little bro, I owe you one, big time." Dean settled himself further into the mattress, he coughed again, for real, ending in a wheeze.

Sam lifted an eyebrow, he had no doubt sooner or later Dean would collect. Of that he was sure. "You need anything else?"

"mm umh. Tired." Dean coughed again.

Sam shucked off his jeans and climbed into his own bed, After a while his breathing grew soft as he drifted into sleep.

Dean's eyes opened once he was sure Sam was asleep and he stared into the darkness, a frown marring his features. He shivered again pulling the blanket closer around him, as chilled by his fever as the he was by the cloying scent of honeysuckle that still hung in the air.

He ran as much of what he could remember through his mind. A shudder rocked him.

He had been dreaming…hadn't he?

Is this getting silly or stupid? For God's sake say so. I keep the gun by the computer now. It's so much simpler than walking into the dining room and taking it off the wall….