In Your Wildest Dreams

By AJ Wesley

Chapter 2

Cold.

That was the first thing that came to mind. He shivered, and that simple reflex set his head ablaze.

Son of a—

He really hoped it was a spectacular night that had left him with such a killer hangover.

It took great effort, but somehow Dean managed to open his eyes. Well, one eye. The other wouldn't open.

Darkness.

And…hard to breathe. He huffed out a breath, felt the warmth of it on his face. What the—?

Dean reached up, his fingers brushing the cold, wet material covering his chest and face. So cold he'd burrowed under the covers? But…why would the covers be wet…and so short…?

He yanked them down. Still dark.

No, wait. There was the smallest bit of light. Dean could see it as his eye adjusted. His focus jumped in and out, and he suddenly felt very tired. So he lay there, trying to remember.

Nope. I got nothin'.

And thinking made his head hurt more. Okay…

Cold. Yeah, he got that. Pain. Yeah, he so got that. The tips of his fingers touched the ground beneath him. Rock? Rock. That should mean something…

A faint dripping noise echoed in his head. Or not. Not his head, which hurt, by the way. Dean could hear the dripping water and…something else. A soft keening. Sometimes there, sometimes not. The sound formed a knot in the center of his gut, a knot that grew, as if deep down he knew this was urgent, knew he needed to respond, but it was taking his brain longer to—

Sammy!

Forgetting the cold and the pain, the dark and the pain, Dean forced himself up. Inch by inch, he rolled to his side, pushed up on his elbow, up further on trembling arms until he was sitting on his legs. He caught himself with a hand as he listed, feeling as though he'd just stepped off the Tilt-a-Whirl after an extended ride. Sammy used to love that...

Sam. Focus, Dean!

The sound came again, a soft whimper right in front of him. Dean squinted in that direction, in what he suddenly realized was the beam of the Maglite lying discarded somewhere nearby.

His brother was kneeling just beyond arm's reach, like he'd been walking away from Dean and his legs had suddenly given out, depositing him on the smooth rock floor. His shoulders were hunched, and Dean's pistol was gripped loosely in his right hand.

"Sam?" Dean called, but the name was just a rasp in his throat. Dean cleared it, shifted himself closer, reaching out an unsteady hand. "Sammy?" His fingers brushed Sam's shoulder.

The reaction to the touch was so violent, Dean nearly fell over. It wasn't until the cry faded, Sam plastered against the far wall of the passage and the roar in Dean's ears subsided, that he heard the clicking. It took him a moment longer to realize what it was. Sam was pulling the trigger over and over again, but the clip was empty. Thank God for small favors. But why was…?

Images flashed through his mind, blinding Dean with pain. One hand flew to his head while the other slapped back to the floor, bracing. The manticore. Sam was hurt. Sam was… Damn, his head….

Dean waited for the moment to pass, waited for the two Sams to merge into one. It was disconcerting to see his brother holding the pistol aimed at him. No, it hurt. Twisted his gut into knots. Even though, just like before, Dean knew Sam wasn't in control and the gun was empty, it still hurt.

No, he couldn't go there now.

Dean managed to focus. Sam wasn't angry. He was shaking, his feet scrabbling against the rock floor in a desperate attempt to back away. His eyes were wide as they stared at Dean, both hands gripping the weapon in an effort to steady it. Whatever he was seeing, it terrified him.

Dean stilled, then lifted a placating hand. Sam stopped trying to become part of the wall, but he still held the pistol up, his chest heaving for breath.

"Sammy—"

"Don't. Don't you dare."

Okay, now Sam was angry. But Dean still wasn't sure why. "What?" he asked, at a loss as to how to help his brother.

"What are you?" Sam asked, his voice catching. "Shapeshifter? Thought-form?"

"Dude, it's me!" Dean moved a little closer, which sent Sam lurching back, head clocking against the rock wall. He didn't even flinch. "Whoa! Easy!"

"Nice try, but it won't work."

The gun was almost steady in his grip now. Dean wondered if his brother even realized it was empty. "All right, look." What should he say? "You've been drugged, Sammy. Somehow…the manticore, when it clawed you. Remember?"

Dark eyes shifted down to the bloody stains on his shirt, but were back on Dean an instant later.

Wait. Sam wasn't wearing his jacket. A quick glance over his shoulder at the bundle of fabric he'd left behind, and Dean realized what was happening. The jacket had been covering him, his face. Sam thought he was… Oh, God.

"Sam…this stuff you're seeing…it isn't real."

"I can see you."

"Good point." Way to go, Dean. "But I'm real. I am. C'mon, Sam. You told me you knew the shapeshifter wasn't me. You said you could tell. You can do it this time, too."

He searched his brother's eyes, saw the brows draw together as Sam tried to think. Then his gaze flicked to the spot where Dean had been lying. Sam's eyes welled with tears and he shook his head.

Dean turned to look. "Sam, there's noth—" He turned back to find the pistol in his face. Geez! Empty, remember?

"My brother is over there," Sam said, his lower lip trembling. "I shot him. I shot him and now he…he…" Tears spilled over ruddy cheeks.

Dean had to look away for a moment, his brother's pain squeezing the air from his lungs. He took a breath, composed himself, and jumped back in. "Sam, you didn't kill me. I'm here, okay? The bullet ricocheted but it only grazed me. My head hurts like a bitch, but I'm not dead. You hear me?"

But apparently, Sam didn't. He stared at the hallucination, his head shaking slowly in denial. Then, suddenly, his eyes went wide and he looked at Dean. Really looked at him.

Dean breathed out slowly, waited.

"Oh, my God…" The weapon fell away as Sam's hand dropped to his leg.

"What?" When his brother remained silent, Dean urged, "Sammy, what?"

"It is you…" The words were barely a whisper.

"That's what I've been trying to tell y—"

"You're a spirit. A ghost."

Dean's mouth hung open for a few more seconds before he gathered himself enough to close it. Okay, that was so not what he was expecting. Leave it to the college boy to come up with that. The words were out of Dean's mouth before he could stop them. "Yeah, and I've come back to haunt your ass."

Sam wrapped his arms around his middle. "Oh, God." His chest hitched with panting breaths. "No." He lurched sideways, one hand snapping out to keep himself upright, the other still tightly pressed against his stomach. He coughed and retched, trying in vain to catch his breath.

"No, Sam, I didn't mean… I'm sorry, man, I—damn it." Great, Dean. Make the kid feel worse. He edged closer and slid an arm across his brother's shoulders. But the contact only seemed to upset Sam more. The cry that burst from the ragged throat, part anger, part grief, nearly shattered Dean's fragile hold on his resolve. "Hey, hey, easy, easy," he soothed, feeling the tremble in the muscles across Sam's back. "Breathe, Sammy. Come on." Moving by instinct, his fingers squeezed the bunched biceps, moved up to Sam's shoulder, then to the nape of his neck, easing away the tension and offering what support he could until the spasms subsided.

The passage filled with the sound of Sam's harsh breathing. Dean gave him a moment, then grasped his upper arms and eased him upright. Sam dragged a sleeve across his mouth, then let his arm fall listlessly into his lap.

Dean didn't like the lack of expression on his brother's face. "Come on, Sam. We gotta get you outta here."

A small shake of the head. "I'm not leaving him."

Exasperated, Dean rolled his eyes. Bad move; his head started pounding again. He pressed thumb and middle finger of one hand into his temples and waited it out. His thumb peeled from the tacky, drying blood that was making his face itch. Think. He should be able to figure this out, know just what to say, but his concussed brain was not cooperating. There had to be a way to get it through that thick head that—

Wait. Maybe that was the problem. Sam's brain was taking a trip, so maybe that wasn't the right target. Dean licked his lips, tasting blood. A lump lodged firmly in his throat, and he swallowed it down hard. "Sammy," he began and, damn, why was this so hard? "I need your help."

The change in Sam's face was minute, but Dean caught it, along with his breath. He waited, and finally Sam's eyes slid his way. "Dean?"

The breath left him on a relieved sigh. "Yeah, Sam, it's me."

"Don't leave. Please."

It was barely a whisper, but the plea tightened a fist around Dean's heart. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without you. Come on, I need you to help me get out of here." Sam's eyes began to drift back to whatever death vision he was seeing, and Dean gave him a shake. "Hey! Look at me, Sam." He shifted, keeping himself in his brother's line of sight. "Look at me." Sam did. "So, you gonna help me, or what?"

Sam really seemed to focus this time, and when their eyes met, Dean saw him wince. Dean knew he must look horrible, but he couldn't help wonder what Sam was actually seeing. Whatever it was, his little brother overcame it, swallowed, and nodded. Dean smiled as he clapped the slumped shoulders. "Come on."

Sam flattened his palms against the rock wall and pushed himself up.

Dean stood with him and instantly regretted it. The spike of pain that shot through his head was crippling, driving him back to his knees with a groan. He would have face-planted if not for the hands that clamped on to the still-wet denim of his jacket.

"Dean!"

One hand moved to press against his breastbone, holding him upright as Sam squatted in front of him.

"Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I think somebody's playing Ping-Pong with my brain…"

"But you should be… Why are you…? If you're…"

Dean tried to focus on the concerned face before him. "If I'm dead?" He sighed. "Is this what happens when college kids get high? Remind me never to go to a frat party." He grabbed Sam's arm and used it to slowly lever himself up. "Of all the things for that freaky brain of yours to latch on to. Geez," he finished on a choked grunt. He felt Sam's arm slip around his waist and was grateful for the support.

"Which way?"

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I suddenly know everything." Dean scowled. "Man, now you've got me doing it. Just head back to the main cavern." He hooked the fingers of his left hand over Sam's shoulder and did his best to keep his feet beneath him as Sam started to move.

Dean lost track of time, but a stumble over his own feet and the resulting jar jolted him back to awareness. Panic gripped him; he couldn't afford to lose it now. Sam needed him. Sam—

—stopped. "No."

Dean came fully aware at the fear in that one simple word. It was an effort just to focus his one eye, and he realized belatedly Sam was holding the Maglite. When had he picked that up? The beam illuminated the passage ahead of them. There was nothing there. "Sam?"

A tremor coursed through Sam's body, and he took a step back.

"Sammy, what is it?"

"No…please…"

Dean could feel the pounding of his brother's heart. "Come on, Sam. There's nothing there. You can do this."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can!" The force behind the words sent a wave of nausea rolling through his stomach. Dean grit his teeth and focused.

"No." Sam sounded so small, like when he was a kid.

Okay, so maybe Dean didn't know how to deal with manticore LSD, but this he could handle. He pulled himself up to his full height. "Look, man, I don't know what it is you're seeing, and I get that it's scaring the hell out of you. But you know what? It can't hurt you. It can't. Because I'm here. And I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You hear me? Sammy?"

"I—"

"Do you trust me?"

"Dean…"

"Do you trust me?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and nodded shakily. "Yes," he whispered. Then again, with more conviction, "Yes."

"All right, then." Dean eased himself from Sam's support, slipped the Maglite from his grasp. "We can do this. You and me. Okay?"

Another jerky nod.

Blowing out a quick breath through his mouth, Dean stepped in front of Sam, putting himself between his brother and the threat. Even imaginary monsters had to go through big brother first. He reached back a shielding arm, keeping Sam behind him, to the passage wall. Long fingers curled around his forearm and held on tight. A surge of pride bolstered Dean, keeping him moving despite the dizziness and nausea. They'd been back together, what? Five months? Apparently, Sam hadn't completely lost faith in him in the three years they'd been apart. That had to count for something. It was a touch of warmth in the cold darkness that was…

…getting lighter. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Passage. Whatever. Damn, it was getting hard to focus again. But they were nearly back to the main cavern. Just a little farther, then they could take a break. A few minutes, that was all Dean needed. He pushed himself forward, step-by-step, until the passage widened and gave way to the place where they'd started. "We made it, Sammy," Dean said on a sigh. "We made it."

No answer. Dean turned.

Sam was slowly opening his eyes, then glancing around, his brow knitting in confusion as if he wasn't sure where he was. His grip loosened on Dean's arm, then his eyes rolled up, his head tipped back, and his legs folded.

Dean darted forward to break his fall, but the movement sent him reeling. He staggered sideways and ended up on one hand and knee. Heart hammering, he reached out to lay trembling fingers over the pulse point on his brother's neck. Scared to death crossed his mind, but the wild beating of Sam's heart stilled that fear, giving way to another. How much stress could a heart take? Sam was young and in good physical condition, but the poison…

No. No, Sam was a fighter. This thing would not get the better of him. It wouldn't. Not if Dean could help it. He shifted closer, sliding his arms under Sam's and, with what remained of his strength, dragged his brother away from the mouth of the passage to the smoothest area he could find. He got Sam as comfortable as possible, then combed his fingers through the damp hair.

"It's all right, Sam. Just relax. You're safe. I'm right here." He continued the soft mantra as he checked the claw wounds for any signs of infection, then, satisfied, stayed by Sam's side until his breathing slowed to normal and his racing heart settled to a less worrisome beat.

Exhaustion was setting in fast, but there was one more thing Dean needed to do. Crawling on his hands and knees, he found the nearest pool of water. His hands were filthy, so he just lowered his face to the water and took a long drink. The water was cold as ice and tasted wonderful. He drank his fill, then rinsed his hands and carefully began washing the blood from his face. It was with a sigh of relief that he was finally able to pry his eye open.

Dean sat back on his heels, slumping tiredly. Now if only he had the materials to build a fire, but there was no wood down there. He shivered. God, what he wouldn't give for a lumpy mattress and a threadbare blanket. But right now, rest. Not long. Just…a few minutes.

Dean dragged himself back to where Sam lay, gave his brother a reassuring pat, then curled up beside him and closed his eyes.

Just for a minute.

TBC