"Geezus...kill me now." Dean groaned as he swayed on the stone bench. He was angry with himself for being so weak. Being angry didn't help his issues with breathing. Looking around, his vision flickered in and out now and then, like a bad light bulb as Dean tried to stay conscious for Sam.
All Dean could do to stay awake was hang limply on the thought of Sam. Dean was the older brother and this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was supposed to be able to go outside for five minutes and not almost pass out. He was supposed to always be there for the younger one, to protect him, to help him, and now HE was the one waiting for a wheelchair. What absolute crap.
Dean wasn't used to the taste of helplessness and he reluctantly wallowed in it as he waited for Sam, mentally bruising himself with thoughts of his failure and current weaknesses. Save Sam, save dad, save the family, save as many people as you can. That was always Dean's mantra, doing what he had to do to help them, regardless if it meant he was going to get hurt or even killed.
The eldest of two wasn't just mad at himself though. He was mad at his father for being...well, his dad. The same man who was so obsessed with revenge, that he forgot to live, or even let his own flesh and blood live. He was just completely bent on hunting that was it. Nothing else seemed to matter, just killing this Demon.
On second thought, though, Dean figured he would have done the same thing. Leave. He wasn't much use right now, just an obstacle, something for Sam to worry about and Sam didn't need anything else to think about right now. It would be better with him out of the way. But Dean couldn't give into his physical state, he wouldn't, he wanted to be in this fight.
Dean had never had reality hit him like this before. It was almost too much. Sure he'd gotten into some messy situations with dire consequences with Sam before but, nothing like this. Nothing that hurt this much.
The moment he woke in that hospital, Dean felt as if his life had been sucked away by something more vicious then a succubus. The truth, told by stern, almost soulless, men in white.
He could remember clear as crystal, the doctor talking to him in private, on that cold and lonely afternoon.
"You'll be close to fully recovered by this time next year. IF you take your pills that is...and do your rehab and live a quiet, peaceful life." The doctor said lightly, trying to make the drugs and rehab sound less like a punishment and more of a good-thing-to-do.
Dean just lay in his hospital bed, breathing shallowly, wishing he had died in the crash instead of losing the rest of his life, without actually dying. He felt like an innocent, being condemned by Satan himself, to spend the rest of his days on the demon infested planet, alive and well, but without power to do anything to stop them.
"Take my advice. Meet a girl, get married, get a eight to five desk job, have some kids and you should have close enough to a normal, regular life." The doctor finished, patting Dean's one, unharmed leg.
A normal life? What was that? Kids? Wife? How could ANY of that be what could keep him alive for fifty more years? If anything, Dean saw it as a bigger weight and worry than going after the thing that did this to him alone! Stupid doctors, they didn't have a clue.
The eldest hunter felt discouraged enough already, but couldn't help but ask about sports and exercise. By sports he meant hunting trips, but the doctors would never get what he meant if he had asked that. Unfortunately the answer was the same. No.
Well, they didn't just say no. They said something more along the lines of: "Of course you can exercise. Things like swimming. But I wouldn't recommend running, or lifting heavy things, or doing anything really cardio focused."
"But isn't it good to start to build up strength again?" Dean had asked.
"Yes, but you have to be extremely careful to not over work it. If you do, the results could be fatal." The doctor had warned.
Those were the harshest words Dean could have heard at that moment. Even harsher than the line "You're dying." He'd gotten that one before, he could handle it again. Besides, dying just meant he had the choice to live the last few days of his life to the fullest. But this, this was just torture.
Coming back from that painful memory, Dean had another thought. He'd held back Sam from killing the demon, not once, but twice. A pang of regret pulsed through his aching body. If only he'd done something. If only he'd let Sam do it. Sam would be so happy now, instead of being tortured with guilt, and this would all be over. If only...
His guilty, angry thoughts were interrupted suddenly, by a kind voice, and Dean jumped slightly as a hand was placed on his shoulder.
"Do you need some help?" a soft, deep voice asked.
"Uh, no, thanks. I'm waiting for my brother. He should be coming back soon," Dean said weakly, trying to focus his vision on the figure in front of him.
"Ok, but I've been watching you for a while now, and I don't think your brother is coming back," the voice said with it's deep tone, and Dean deemed it to be male.
Dean paused for a moment, surprised, "No, he's coming," Dean said, sure that he was.
"Maybe I'm wrong but, I think I saw him take a taxi, roughly 20 minutes ago."
Dean let his surprise and disbelief show to the stranger. He sat there, stunned. This couldn't be true, it can't be. Sam just wouldn't do that. Something must have happened. This man was lying.
Roughly 20 minutes ago? Had it been that long? No...
"My brother, he..." Dean stuttered, trying to find the words.
"Oh, I didn't mean to upset you. You just looked like you were in so much pain, I thought I'd lend a hand. Just in case he really did leave and doesn't come back."
The eldest head pounded with questions and desperate pleas. He could help, he wasn't totally useless. Sam wouldn't leave, would he? That's what Sam had always wanted, but now? Not now, no.
It was too much. Unconsciously, Dean's mind let go of reality and slipped into a more peaceful state of mind, like a coma. Dean abandoned his thoughts and fled into the shadows of unconsciousness, were he thankfully stopped worrying, stopped feeling, stopped trying to grasp hope, just stopped thinking all together.
------------------------------------
Dean's eyes opened, but he was met with pitch black.
Okay, so you're awake. This is good, Dean thought optimistically. But do you know where you are? No. Do you know how you got here? No. Do you know where you were before you got here? Nnn.. Wait! Dean dug through his hazy thoughts, trying to piece fragments together.
Yes, he remembered...slightly. He was at the hospital, waiting for Sam outside, on a stone bench. But, this wasn't the stone bench anymore, and it sure in hell wasn't outside of the hospital either.
The eldest Winchester lay in a completely black room, on the dirty floor no less, and tied up, to his dismay. His legs and hands were bound tightly. Something really didn't want him getting away.
Dean searched his mind again, trying to see if he could remember how he came to be in this shit hole. Then he remembered the male voice, telling him that Sam had left, that he'd taken a cab no less. Dean remembered the man offering to help, and that he thought he was lying. That's where everything really blurred.
His heart nearly skipped a beat when he thought of Sam leaving him again. No, that man had to be lying.
Dean brushed off what he remembered about it, and decided it was better to focus his attention on getting untied.
Think dammit. Think! It's just ropes for crying out loud, and you're Dean! Dean struggled around on the floor for a moment, fidgeting with the ropes, making his wrists raw and his lungs ache. This isn't working, bright eyes. Stop making so much noise. You need to calm down, think of a plan, and SHUT UP.
Dean stopped moving and lay still, thinking some more. A bunch of serious questions came to his attention in the silence. What time is it? What day is it? How long was I out? Where is Sam? Who was that man? WHERE AM I?
Then, the other part of Dean's panicked brain interrupted. Okay, shut up, and listen! You are a hunter, you need to focus on finding clues, on a way out, stuff like that! Not the stinging, burning pain in your lungs, or the lingering- Shut up! Dean's head fought back but finally caught on, deciding to tune in his ears to see if he could hear anything.
Surprisingly enough, Dean DID hear something. A man's voice, but very soft, and very far away. Dean could tell by the way the voice was speaking, that he was talking into a phone and by the fact that there was a lack of another voice. Dean strained his ears to hear what it was he was saying, and to whom he was talking to.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy..." The voice trailed back to him.
Sam! Dean's neck snapped to look in the direction of the voice. Still pitch black. Immediately Dean thought of Sam's weakness, him. Dean was part of a stupid 'plan', using HIM as bait to get to Sam. Great, just peachy keen! Dean then realized that the voice sounded familiar. It was the man at the hospital!
Dean ignored his annoying brain now and just flipped his instincts on to 'hunter mode'. He started tossing and turning on the ground, attempting to loosen, well, just about anything.
Yes! Dean shouted in his head as a hand was released, that was all he needed. A few moments later he was loose, but all the concentration and movement had really exhausted him. No, not now Dean, later! Later! Instincts and stuff, stick with 'em. You can do this! You've gotta get outta here, and get to Sam before that sick bastard does! Get up!
He managed to convince himself that he was truly capable and indestructible. He was Dean Winchester and he would do anything for his baby brother. Unfortunately, in this case, the mind was willing but the body was weak.
Dean got to his feet and then collapsed as quickly as he had stood, he had fainted.
Light, joy, it was all around him. Dean was completely immersed in the brightest light he'd ever seen. He could not only see it, but also feel it. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch it, that it'd be real.
It was the warmest, most peaceful thing Dean had ever felt. Dean eventually was at a loss of words, and just let the light overwhelm him. The light dimmed and he could see a beautiful garden with an assortment of flowers, a seesaw, and a swing.
Music danced around, low and soft, but happy and full of life. The music was then drowned out by bubbling laughter. It was as if the whole world was laughing at the same time. But it wasn't sinister or cruel, it was pure joy and there wasn't a care in the world.
Out of the laughter a voice sounded above the rest. It called his name. It beckoned him with soft cooes and Dean felt as if the voice was someone's arms, welcoming him in.
"Dean, Dean, come with me." The soft voice echoed.
Dean was looking for the source of the voice, but flowers and lushes plants were everywhere, making it difficult to find.
Then, he saw her. Her long golden hair shimmering, her sparkling eyes, her smile. She sat in the grass, waiting for him, laughing and singing.
Mom...
Dean ran to her. He was a young boy again, her baby in her arms, and it felt so right. It was bliss, he could have called it paradise. To feel that kind of love, to see her smile again, to be with her, Dean was overwhelmed.
The 4 years old and his beloved mother rolled around together on the grass, picking flowers and throwing them about. He was so happy, she was so happy, nothing was wrong, nothing to worry about, just a boy and his mothers love.
In an instant it was gone.
Cold, damp darkness hit Dean like rock salt fired from a shotgun. Sadness, pain, grief, regret, guilt, it all came rushing back. Including 2 words: Get up.
With the shock of the sudden reality check, Dean felt hopeless and lay on the ground for a while, trying to gather composure and a plan. He had to get up, to get out, to tell Sam, to save him. Just thinking about that was draining for Dean.
The eldest brother was fully alert now, conscious, but wincing in aching pain. Then Dean came to realize, he wasn't completely alone anymore.
"Deanny boy, wake up. Wake up sleepy." A voice came cooing.
Dean lay perfectly still, covered by the loose ropes, hoping whoever it was, wouldn't be able to tell he was free.
"Wake up!" The voice shouted impatiently, as a foot connected with Dean's chest.
A scream escaped Dean, and he scrunched into a slight ball as he quivered from the unexpected pain.
"Oh, sorry, did that hurt?" the voice mocked, "Get up."
Dean gritted his teeth, he couldn't give the bastard any satisfaction, but it was difficult breathing enough, without being kicked in the he chest.
Dammit Dean. Don't give that son-of-a-bitch what he wants. Breath! Stupid lungs, c'mon! BREATHE!
"What...do...you...want?" Dean managed to choke out, unsuccessful at regulating his breathing again.
"Ooh, a fighter are we? I like that," the voice mused. "I must say, I like the challenge. Much more interesting than that cry-baby brother of tours," said the voice darkly.
"Sam? Where is he!"? Dean ignored his recent injury and shot upright, standing, straining to see into the darkness. He would have taken a swing, but he still couldn't see anything.
"Take it easy, tiger." Mocked the voice, as if the voice could see Dean's every move. "I haven't touched Sammy...yet."
Dean couldn't take it anymore and kicked into the darkness, picking up some rope and twisted it around his hands.
"Hey, maybe I don't have to, that's up to you." The voice continued, "All YOU need to do is tell me what I want to know, and we'll call it even."
Dean swallowed hard. He was in agony. He couldn't breathe, his heart was pounding, which wasn't good, and it made him extremely light headed, which wasn't good either. He had to save Sam though, so he had no choice.
"What do you want to know?" Dean asked, still trying to catch his breath.
"Oh, just a little thing," the voice said conversationally.
Dean waited impatiently for exactly what the "little thing" was.
"The Colt and the bullets."
"I don't know where the hell that is. I was in the friggin' hospital in case you didn't notice." Dean snapped back, gesturing to his bandages to the darkness. "You were there..." he added, glaring.
A crack was heard as another kick connected with Dean. The kick was so hard this time, that Dean fell back to the floor and his head hit concrete, all consciousness leaving Dean in that moment.
The smell of salt filled Deans nostrils, and the sound of seagulls could be heard over the thundering ocean surf. The cool ocean breeze whipped about his hair and he could feel the bumpy, gravel like surface of the rock underneath him. Dean marveled at the transparency and warmth of the water as he placed his feet into the sea.
He sat, content as could be, throwing bits of the rock into the waters sparkling surface, as the seagulls flew so low they could also touch the water with their spread wings.
An early morning sun shone, brilliantly, in the nearly cloudless sky. It illuminated the water in such a way, that Dean could tell no one was out enjoying the waves.
There was just a boy, making holes in the sand with a plastic spade. A smiling boy around four years of age, with brown hair and green tinged eyes. There was a man too, fishing just off shore on a dock, singing a fisherman's tune.
That song made the little boy laugh, and his laugh was like a sirens song, so bewitching to hear. The weight that had been crushing Dean's heart was immediately lifted and he felt so relieved. Sam was happy, he was happy, their dad was happy. What more could he want?
Dean ran with his eight year old legs, straight to Sammy. He was so happy Sammy was okay. Dean wanted to hug him and tell Sam everything, but he was so young. Instead, once he reached Sam, Sam offered Dean a spade and they started building sand castles together, happy.
Nothing could ruin this, he was indestructible again. He was with his family, and they were happy.
In a cold moment, it was all torn away for the second time.
GET UP! Dean's head screamed in disapproval at the moment of bliss. You need to stop this. Get a hold of yourself and find Sam!
Reluctantly, the peaceful dream lingered and then finally left altogether, leaving Dean alone again, in that hole from hell. Little by little Dean regained consciousness and found himself lying on that same cold, dirty floor, in that same dark, lonely room.
He couldn't move though. It hurt just to lay there and breathe.
You have to find SAM! His head screamed at him. But I can't. I can't move, I'm broken.
A younger, more vulnerable side of Dean seemed to be arguing now. This was good, because this wasn't what he was supposed to do. He was twenty-six now, not six, not eight...twenty-six.
Regardless of his best efforts, Dean shattered. A wall was breached and a form of emotion, more or less unknown to him, was released.
Dean nearly choked trying to keep it down, but the tears could not be stopped. The hot emotion flowed like rivers from his crystal hazel eyes and Dean covered his face, ashamed of himself.
Big brothers don't cry, let alone MEN. Worrying like a mother was bad enough for him, now he had to cry like one too?
He closed his eyes, feeling light headed and sick again. He just wanted the pain to be over, for it to all stop, just ended and go away.
Dean's guilt-rich tears were suddenly interrupted as he heard the voice again. He swallowed the tears as best he could and mentally prepared himself to lunge at anything he could hear move.
But the voice was farther away, like the first time, and it was speaking on the phone again. Dean heard Sam's name, something about himself, all the while the voice was growing closer and closer.
A door opened, and Dean could see only "the voices'" silhouette standing there. By what Dean could make out, he was a tall man, but that was pretty much it, seeing as how Dean was lying on the ground and in the dark.
The man was silent and walked with defiant steps over to the anxious, eldest brother. Dean was trembling, he didn't know why, maybe it was the cold, maybe it was his fever, or maybe it was the fact that Dean didn't have any idea what this figure wanted.
The man knelt beside Dean, the shadows covering his features, masking his identity from Dean. With one hand, he placed the phone by Dean's mouth. In the other hand, Dean saw a glint, a flicker of metal, and then a numbing, stinging, burning sensation penetrated his leg and screamed through the rest of his body making his head swim.
He didn't have time to even think of what he could do before the cold steel blade of a hunting knife was put in his leg and twisted, not once, not twice, but three times.
Dean screamed in agony as he felt the tendons and muscles in his leg rip and separate. Red immediately began to soak the jeans around the wound. Dean couldn't see anything now, even with his eyes wide open in terror, but, he could still hear. Heard Sam's voice shouting on the phone. And he heard...Sam was coming. No, Dean thought, terrified, NO!
Then his vision went blurry, then black and he was out again.
The impala roared down the endless highway, with the window down, the music blaring, and the eldest Winchester brother, calm behind the wheel.
Singing along, tapping his fingers on the outside of the door, to the beat of the ACDC rhythm, life was good.
Sitting shotgun was his little brother, Sammy. That was his whole family right there, his reason to live, sitting right next to him, with his fingers in his ears and singing "Genie in a bottle" by the infamous Christina Aguilera. Life was still good, besides that song part.
It was just a regular day, with regular bug-your-brother-to-death moments. The contest: How much can you bug your brother with music? The prize: Bugging your brother the most and, well, being the winner. Sam unfortunately won this round, by singing "Who let the dogs out" by the oh-so-wonderful Baha men. Sam had sung it so loud, that the ONLY car that had passed them for miles, of course heard. From the looks they gave the brothers, it was a winner, so Dean caved in then and there.
Dean couldn't have been happier though, he laughed the 'you're crazy' looks away and playfully hit Sam in the arm. Sam just sat there with that goofy grin of his and shook his head, content now to just look out the window. Life was good.
For the last time, get up!
Once again, his peaceful whatever you want to call it, was interrupted and ruined by his pounding body, and restless head.
Sam is coming dude, Sam is COMING, here, now...so get the frick up!
Dean obeyed his mind this time and tried to stand. He gritted his teeth as he became aware of the rather large KNIFE sticking out of his upper leg. Dean fell back down, and lay there, as still as possible.
Yes Dean, you're genius. Get up and make your leg bleed more. YES THAT'S IT! ...You should be shot. Dean mentally kicked the crap out of himself, and lay, in helpless agony, unable to move or think straight.
But now, Sam was coming. Maybe Sam had a plan, Sam was smart. Sam went to collage for crying out loud. It gave Dean hope, and a little faith, if that was possible for Dean. But then again, he was the bait for Sam, this couldn't be good. But surely Sam had to have SOME kind of idea about it all...
Would Sam even find him here? Maybe where Dean was, wasn't were Sam was meant to go. Dean got a head rush just thinking about it. No, Sam was coming, and he was coming here.
Dean couldn't tell if his vision was going again, or if the room got darker. He felt sick, but he was trying not to think about it. Needless to say it wasn't working. He had to stay awake though, he'd really be no help to Sam if Sam had to carry him out. That'd really slow them down.
Suddenly, Dean heard talking. It was all low murmurs and muffled sounds, but it was definitely two people talking.
More muffled talking, then fast footsteps, then a thud.
Atta boy Sam. Dean thought, optimistically, almost automatically thinking Sam wasn't the one who was the thud. Still, he felt a little worried, being how HE was the way he was, and the fact that he wasn't supposed to be. Who's to say that, that kind of crappy luck doesn't happen to Sam, right? Dean tried to shake the doubts from his head...second-guessing wasn't Deans favorite mental feature.
Yes! Sam was there, and he was kicking the crap out of that tall, silhouetted son-of-a-bitch. Dean wasn't about to let Sam get all the glory while he sat here in a dark, cold room, oh no. Dean took some of his loose rope and tied it tightly around his leg, he grabbed hold of the handle of the knife and began to pull.
His eyes nearly rolled back into his head, but he managed to keep it together and pull the bastard out. Blood poured from it as the last few inches were pulled out, so Dean quickly ripped some of his shirt, tied it around the wound and then tied more rope around that.
Feeling dizzy now and extremely hot, Dean wiped his forehead and gathered the strength to get up, there was NO way he was going to crawl out of this room. He would limp around until he found the wall, follow it to the door and hope to God it was unlocked. That was the plan.
Just as Dean finally stood, the door swung open and the lights were switched on. Dean's retinas burned from the unexpected amount of bright light, he swayed a bit and covered his eyes.
Dean squinted to see who it was, but it was answered before he could look.
"Dean!" Sam's voice came like an SOS, which it really was.
"Sam." Dean said weakly, swaying a bit more from relief. Sam walked over to Dean and held both of Dean's shoulders, trying to see his face.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked, worried and astonished he was actually standing, after what he had heard on the phone he didn't think there'd even be a pulse left.
"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Dean answered, bringing down his hand to look Sam in the eyes.
"Ah, good."
Then with a swift movement as Sam hit Dean's temple and chest with a metal pipe.
Dean went down.