Chapter 13
A low, thunderous rumble groaned beneath their feet, drowning out even the sounds of roaring flames and the screaming child. Everything shook violently, jarring Sam's bones. He staggered to his feet. Cas grabbed his arm.
"What is that?" Sam shouted over the din.
"It's the fever. We're running out of time, it's burning through him too quickly!" Cas answered. "Dean's body is trying to reconcile the damage to his mind and he can't take much more of this."
"Can't you do something?" Sam asked. "Buy us more time?"
"I might be able to slow it down," Castiel replied. "Maybe I can keep his body alive long enough for you to find him in here. But I'd have to go back to the outside…"
"So go, then."
"If I leave you here…"
"Cas, I'll be fine!" Sam yelled, the rumbling growing louder. "Just go, I'll find Dean!"
"If I don't pull you out in time…"
"Just GO!" Sam shouted, giving Cas a little shove and turning away. He ran a few steps away from the burning house, then glanced back. Castiel had disappeared. Dean's four-year-old memory self still knelt on the ground outside the house, crying and clutching the empty blanket to his little chest.
"I'll fix this, Dean," Sam whispered. "I promise."
-o-
Sam continued his search. The thunderous rumbling grew louder. The smoke grew thicker. The ground shook harder. And on Sam ran, shouting his brother's name, calling through the wasteland.
Just as the last traces of hope were beginning to dissipate from Sam's heart, what had been an endless stretch of completely flat land suddenly began sloping gradually upward. Sam picked up his pace.
The hill grew steeper, until Sam's legs were burning from exertion. Higher and higher he climbed, ascending above the smoke and dust. When he finally crested the rise, he froze.
On the other side of the hilltop, looking out over the vast stretch of ruin, was Dean.
Sam let out a small cry of relief, and hurried forward. "Dean!"
His brother turned, and the small bubble of hope that had welled up in Sam's chest instantly popped.
Dean's face, hands, and clothes were splattered with blood. Multiple deep cuts slashed across his chest, and his face was as pale as a ghost's save for the dark purple splotches of bruising around his eyes and jaw. His eyes, once so bright, were glassy and deathlike.
Sam stood in front of his brother, taking in the beaten and bloody sight. Dean appeared to be crumbling at the edges before Sam's eyes, as if he were made of corrupt data. He appeared cracked, pieces of himself flaking off like cinders sloughing off a burning log. He was disappearing, disintegrating. A strange sort of red light seeped through the cracks in Dean's skin, as if he were a grenade about to go off.
"Dean!" Sam repeated, reaching out to grab his brother's shoulders.
Dean just stared at him as though half asleep. He blinked, seemingly confused.
"Listen, Michael did something to you," Sam urged. "Your mind is ripping itself apart because it can't figure out what's real and what's not! You have to fight it!"
Dean blinked again, looking Sam dead in the eye. His voice was so quiet, Sam almost didn't hear him over the rumbling.
"Who are you?"
A/N: Who's excited (and terrified) for "The Prisoner" tonight?! THIS GIRL.