You Feel So Hollow

You wanna know,

just how long you can hide from,
What you are.
Not very long.
I have been lost,
Down every road I follow.
Out in the dark,
On my way home.

~~HoC~~

Sound reached down into dreams of screaming, of hot metal and cold flesh in his hands. He followed it back to the world, strangely reluctant, the nightmares so familiar by now he could almost, almost remember it wasn't real, the hope from the certainty that it was going to end with dawn light and Sam both getting in his face enough to make it bearable.

But there was something about that sound that reached him in the cold and the dark, something he knew, had known for far longer than even the oldest of the memories wandering through his sleep.

Fear. And pain.

Somewhere, someone was hurting and terrified. He woke up fast, blinking for a moment in the dark, disoriented by the similarity between the sound scape of nightmare and reality. Behind him, he could feel his brother's awareness, heard Sam's breathing pattern shift and knew he was awake. Neither man spoke or moved, feigning sleep as they listened, hearing screams and snarling and howling.

His blood turned to ice as he recognized it, one hand drifting up to his chest, unnoticed, curling around the small charms, warm with his body heat, the only motion in the dark room and he knew Sam caught it even before his brother spoke.

"Dean?"

He couldn't speak, feeling phantom claws tear at skin and flesh, catching on bone, smelling his own blood as it pooled beneath him, almost lost beneath the acrid stench of the air burning as Lilith turned on Sam.

"Dean? What…?"

Sam trailed off and the older man forced out a grunt, clamping his lips together as it tried to turn into a whimper. He shivered, felt the wood against his palm turn hot for an instant, then adrenaline picked him up and rolled him out of bed, sheets slithering to the floor at his feet as something thudded against the door.

Through the window, he saw shadows, dancing, falling, heard the screams fading as whatever it was outside their room scrabbled at the wood. He felt the blood drain from his face as it growled, so low he felt it rather than heard it, rumbling through his bones, shaking him to the core. It froze him to the spot, sent ice trickling through his veins, wickedly sharp as it turned his stomach.

"Dean?"

This time, it was shaky, scared, eight years old and finding out that the monsters under the bed are real after all.

"Hellhound."

He shuddered as he whispered the months old echo, heard Sam's gasp through the roaring in his ears as the door shook in its frame, something pounding at it from the outside. His fingers tightened around the knife he hadn't even known he was holding as wood splintered, then a cry sounded, two rooms over, thin and high and the clawing stopped.

It snarled one last time and sniffed, a long, low snuffling sound that sent ice skating down the hunter's back, curling up again with the cold from that dark, empty place at the base of his spine. His shoulders sagged as they heard the soft thump of its feet padding away, his balance wavering as he leaned back against the bed, the hard mattress sliding away a little under his weight.

Behind him, he heard his brother draw breath, huff it out again and he could feel the younger man's worried frown as Sam's stare tracked over his shoulders. Dean looked down at the carpet, listening to the screams outside as his brother stepped closer, a warm presence at his side as he slouched against the bed, fingers white around the hilt in his hand.

"Was that… did you hear that? Before?"

Sam's voice was hoarse, almost strangled. He couldn't answer, just nodded roughly as the scream came again, the sound carrying easily through the thin walls. It stopped suddenly, too abruptly, the savage whisper of bones shattering drifting to them in the quiet.

It broke the spell, the ice that his blood had turned into thawing with a heady rush as he whipped round, snatched his jeans from the floor and yanked them on, almost tripping in his haste. Spinning again, eyes searching for his boots, he snapped at his brother, still staring at him.

"Move, Sam!"

Dean ignored the pounding in his chest, the lump in his throat that tried to choke him as spotted his boots, kicked carelessly under the edge of the bed and stamped his feet into them. He chewed at his lip, free hand drifting up to brush against the amulet and charm on their thong around his neck again, heavy and warm against his skin as he eyed the door uncertainly.

The last thing on earth he wanted to do was go out there. Scars he knew he didn't carry itched, the savage rents across his chest, shoulder and thigh burning fiercely as a chill sweat trickled down his back.

"Ready?"

Dean blinked, realized his brother was standing in front of the door wearing his shirt, the one he'd dumped on Sam's head as he passed the younger man that evening, staring at the laptop in full geek-boy mode on his way to the shower. The tall hunter rested one hand on the handle, gazing back at him quietly. He forced down the not-so-irrational urge to drag Sam away and bundle him up in every quilt and blanket he could lay his hands on before stuffing him in the bathroom and locking the door.

"Yeah," he croaked, footsteps sure and steady as he slipped in front of his brother. Sam nudged his arm, handing over a gun and Dean almost smiled as his fingers closed around the worn grip. The younger man pulled the door open in one swift, sharp movement and he surged through, the Colt raised, index finger curled around the trigger.

The street was empty. Silent. He stared for a moment, shaking his head, not sure if he was trying to convince himself that it was all a dream or that it wasn't. The door clicked and his brother's shadow mingled with his own in the bright moonlight, the horizon a dark blur against the taint of gray on the sky. False dawn. Sam shifted uneasily at his shoulder, drawing breath to speak but Dean stepped forward, cocking his head to one side, listening to something on the very edge of awareness.

He let his eyes drift closed, knowing Sam would watch for him as focused his attention on the distant sound. He recognized it, again, the tiny noise stirring something old and almost forgotten, something from long years of sleepless nights, of sitting up alone waiting in empty motel rooms as his brother slept peacefully, ignorantly in the bedroom.

A child, crying, the sound muffled by more than distance and walls. Crying, and trying to stifle the sound.

His head snapped up, eyes wide in the silvered dark as he turned, one way then the other, trying to pinpoint the sound.

"What is it?"

He scowled as his brother's whisper made him lose it again.

"Don't you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, then paused, eyes slipping half closed as the sound crept through the night again.

"There."

"What?"

He didn't answer, just set off down the street, shivering a little as he realized he was only wearing his t-shirt. Adrenaline kicked through his veins, shoving the chill to the back of his mind, ramping up his heart rate and his breathing as he led the way along the sidewalk, past cars that bore more than enough evidence of the hounds' presence. Metal gaped at them in long, jagged-tooth grins, shattered glass crunching underfoot from windshields and windows. Not just from cars, he noted, spotting more than one set of curtains waving idly through the ruins of more windows in the buildings lining the street.

The breeze that stirred them brought more proof. The thick, cloying stench of blood cut through with the heavy, sharp edge of sulfur and rank fur. He dragged in a ragged breath, forced it out slowly as he felt panic twitch along his nerves, the faintest echo of screams stinging the backs of his eyes. Breaking into a jog, he tried to leave them behind, get away from the shadow that came at him from the dark, shifting, crouched on all fours and snarling one minute, staring at him with feral eyes and a smile stained with his own blood the next. He was half aware that his feet ached from slamming against the ground, that he was running blind through a town infested with Hellhounds but he couldn't stop, couldn't see past the shadow leaning over him, ancient wood twisting in its hand as the charm on his chest burned and his head snapped to the side, rocked back.

"Dean!"

He blinked, realized he wasn't running but he was panting hard and that his cheek was stinging.

"S-Sam?"

His brother looked wild eyed, long hair disheveled, shaking his hand a little as if it stung.

"You back with me?"

"Wha –"

He couldn't find the breath to finish, staggering back to lean against the wall, the rough brickwork scraping at his bare arm a little as he slid down it until his backside rested on the narrow ledge running the width of the building.

"You freaked."

Dean frowned.

"Jesus, Sam. Little compassion here?"

The younger man leaned beside him, panting just as heavily as he softened his tone a little, gasping out the words between breaths. Dean watched Sam as his eyes flickered over the street, picking out the shadows, searching them. Standing guard, he realized, and felt something unwind in his gut.

"You took off. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't… wouldn't stop. You were running like… like the hounds were after you."

He felt the blood drain from his face, layered the masks on, inside and out.

"So you slapped me?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

The hunter had to nod at that.

"What did you hear?"

"Kid. Crying."

"Crap."

Dean listened to the fear in his brother's voice, empathetic hurt for the child whose life had just fallen apart and scanned the street, pushing away from the building.

"Had to be down here somewhere."

A hand under his elbow steadied him as he swayed, vision tunneling for a moment. He let it stay there for a moment, silent thanks before he pulled away with a shrug, resettling his grip on the gun still clutched in his sweaty hand.

"C'mon."

He hadn't been quite so glad for his brother's presence at his back since they walked out of Cold Oak.

:: ::

Creeping down the street behind his brother, Sam felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, the unmistakeable sensation of something watching them familiar. The quiet was beginning to get to him, his nerves crawling with anticipation of attack.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a howl split the night, another, a third and more joining the crescendo and he swallowed hard, shared a quick look with the older man as they realized the town was surrounded.

In the wake of the eerie sound, almost lost beneath the distant yelping and snarling that followed, the crying came again. Sam crowded against Dean, nodding towards a building on the other side of the street. They crossed the street at a run, soft footfalls echoing in the deserted street. The younger man watched his brother as much as the town around them, his skin crawling with the Hellish cries on the edge of the town. Something burned inside him as he caught a glimpse of the pallor of Dean's face, chalk gray and taut, eyes dark with fear; unguarded and unreachable..

Sometimes, ever since the moment he'd watched lightning play around a bullet hole in the possessed janitors' chest, watched the yellow eyes that had haunted them, hounded them for so long fade into the dead man's empty hazel, it seemed that they'd never stopped being scared.

He knew Dean still suffered through the nightmares that nearly broke them both after the Revenants took him. He never doubted that his brother dreamed of the pit as well, he'd watched the older man struggle and whisper in his sleep often enough, though he'd only understood half of what he'd heard. Until yesterday.

Now he understood, all right. Now he wished he didn't.

In front of him, Dean suddenly ducked to the side, grunting softly as he slammed a shoulder into a wide door. It shuddered in its frame, popped open against a security chain and Sam had to reach out, grab for his brother's hand as Dean snarled, aiming the Colt at the thin links of weathered brass.

"Whoa, whoa, easy man."

He could feel muscles trembling and bunching under his grip, could feel the effort it took his brother to lower the gun. He waited, holding on until Dean sighed, huffing out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging.

"I'm good."

Sam winced. In the last few weeks, he'd finally gotten used to the rasp that never quite left his brother's voice, but the huskiness in it now had nothing to do with the scars fading from around his neck. He took one more look at his brother and said nothing, pushing gently past the older man and easing up to the door.

He took his time slipping the blade of his penknife through the gap and under the chain, twisting it savagely as he listened to Dean swallow hard behind him. The chain ripped out of the lock and he caught the door before it could swing back against the wall. Sam twisted, folding the knife and slipping it back into his pocket, scanning the dimly lit hallway on the other side of the hollow doorway.

It was narrow, even before the staircase that crept up along one wall. Paint flaked away from crumbling plaster, the tiled floor cracked and black with ground in dirt. He sighed.

Just once, it'd be nice to get a gig in some fancy hotel somewhere.

The ratty shade hanging off-center in the ceiling flickered, glowed briefly, went out again and the only light left was the weak, pale tint drifting down the stairs, and the brighter fan splayed around his feet. But the short moment of illumination was all he needed to see the door, far back in the shadows at the end of the corridor, jerking shut suddenly.

"Dean."

"Saw it."

The roughness was almost gone, hidden behind the masks the younger man had come to rely on, much as he hated it. He'd seen behind them, just a few times – leaning against the hood of the Impala on a winding mountain road as Dean looked at him, tears in his eyes, the deep scar winding up from his brow vivid in the low sunlight. Fear, lingering behind the love in his brother's gaze as he choked out, 'Sammy, remember what Dad taught you, okay? And remember what I taught you.' Sitting in the parking garage, Dean's face a pale blur, eyes too wide, too dark, 'He forgot to breathe, after a while. He just…stopped.' And then yesterday, still aching and sore and dazed after their tangle with the war between the angels and demons. 'I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing, Sammy.'

Thinking back, he realized it was always his brother's voice that broke first, always the cock-sure, arrogant smirk in it that shattered, long before the walls behind his eyes crumbled.

A hand slapped at his chest in passing, and he flinched a little, back against the door frame as Dean squeezed past him, green eyes flashing with intent.

"C'mon, Princess."

He fell in behind his brother; let his gaze wander from the stairs to the doors lining the hall to the t-shirt, clinging to Dean's back, sweat-soaked despite the chill in the air. The brothers crept down the hall, freezing once when something groaned upstairs, low, rough, the sound too soft to identify. Sam met Dean's stare as the older man twisted, peering back at him over one shoulder, and shrugged a little, skating his finger over the trigger guard on his Taurus.

He watched the stairs after that.

Waiting behind his brother, eying the length of the hallway, Sam waited as Dean rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Hey. It's okay."

A whimper from the other side, quickly stifled and Sam shifted back, giving his brother room to crouch closer to the door, his posture instinctively relaxed, unthreatening.

"We're not gonna hurt you. We're gonna get you out."

Faint whispers crept under the door, the tiny sounds of bitter argument and the brothers shared a look, heads whipping back to the door as the lock clicked. The younger man watched as Dean leaned almost casually against the wall, the tension riding his shoulders hidden behind a warm grin, too bright eyes glittering in the scant light that spilled out into the hall from the cramped room beyond.

Jesus, he thought, knew he was staring when he should have been keeping watch but he couldn't look away, the jarring sense of dislocation shuddering through him as a thin, pale face framed by striking red hair peered out at them. Anna. He knew it wasn't her, the angel they'd known first as a terrified, broken young woman but he almost expected to feel sourceless wind batter at him, to hear wings beating against the air, against his soul, then she leaned a little further into the hallway, the light falling sharply across her face and the resemblance faded.

He dragged his gaze away, a shiver itching its way down his spine as he scanned the corridor restlessly and listened to his brother draw in a slow breath; let it out in a soft murmur.

"Hey there."

Movement, slight and hesitant just off the edge of his vision. Sam never let his gaze leave the corridor as he turned back a little, the empty feeling of the building fading beneath a growing awareness of something there. Peering round the door, those cold blue eyes blinked at his brother, a tiny voice whispering back,

"Hey."

"My name's Dean, this is my brother, Sam. We're gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"There were… out there, they…"

"I know. We'll stop them."

"I got the kids in here, but I couldn't go out again. I had to leave them all behind. Did you see anyone? My folks…"

He listened to his brother pause, knew the older man was seeing the same scared, red-headed girl, begging them to say it was all still okay.

"I'm sorry. We didn't see anyone. They could've holed up somewhere, like you did."

The door ground open a little further, hinges protesting roughly and Sam glanced back, saw her lean into the opening. She was older; he realized, lines etched around eyes that were shades darker than Anna's and her hair was shorter, cut to tumble forward over her shoulders. But she had the same, instant trust in her face as she reached out desperately to the crouching hunter. Dean flinched back, jostling Sam and she gasped, snatched her hand back. The older man shook himself, almost visibly steeling himself to reach out to her.

"Sorry. It's okay. How many of you are there?"

Sam lost her answer beneath the growl that rumbled down the walls.

"Dean."

His brother nodded, pushing up from his crouch and easing the door fully open.

"We gotta go."

The younger man put his back to his brother, facing the corridor squarely as Dean slipped halfway through the door. So when it came down the stairs, all power and hideous grace, too purely, utterly wrong against his nerves to ever be anything natural, his gun was already half aimed.

His hands raised, snapping off a shot as he surged backward, barging into his brother and shoving him forcefully into the room. Sam kicked out at the door, slamming it closed on a snout that bristled with way too many teeth, hearing it yelp and snarl as the force of the blow knocked it back, claws skittering on the floor as it scrambled back to its feet. He threw himself at the door, the wood pounding against his back, shaking with the weight of the Hound as it crashed into the door, over and over.

He met his brother's questioning glance as Dean untangled himself from the red-head. Sam nodded, watched as the scared, haunted look faded from his brother's eyes, replaced by the determination of the hunter he'd known for so long and felt his own nerves settle at the sight.

:: ::

Dean's heart climbed into his throat, hammering as he scrambled to his feet, lunged at the door as it shuddered and slapped a palm against the wood beside Sam's ear, leaning all his weight against it. The younger man shifted a little, easing sideways so the elder could jam his shoulder against the door. Dean turned as he did it, looked at the girl and took in the two children huddled in the corner of the small office, the desk overturned before them. he almost laughed at that, the idea that a flimsy chunk of metal and plastic could hold back Hellhounds, but he remembered trying to crawl, trying to drag himself out from under their claws, as if he could ever get away from them.

He didn't even know which memory it was, they'd chased him through the endless wastes as well and it had always ended the same way as it had in New Harmony.

He clenched his jaw tight, his fist tighter, the dull ache in his left shoulder throbbing dully. It wasn't long enough since they'd thrown themselves through a church window, wasn't enough time for the dislocation to heal and he rolled his shoulder a little, trying to ease stiffened and inflamed muscles.

"I'm fine, Sammy."

He heard his brother's teeth snap closed on the question he'd already answered and grinned, murmuring again, "And quit rollin' your eyes at me." Raising his voice he caught the red-heads attention.

"Hey, what's your name, sweetheart?"

She blinked at him, dazed, eyes too wide.

"I… uh… Kate."

"Okay. We're gonna get you all out of here, alright? But I need you to do exactly what I say, no questions."

She nodded slowly.

"Great. We gotta move fast, so you'll have to carry the youngest and keep hold of Tommy's hand. Follow Sam, he'll get you out. Can you do that?"

Dean didn't wait for her to answer, just winked and tried not to remember the same words tripping off his tongue, so long ago. He would've given anything to be that young again, childish in the faith that his father was out there somewhere and that all he had to do was reunite his family to make everything alright again.

"Come on. Let's hustle."

The huddle of arms and legs pulled apart, an illusionists nightmare come true as it resolved into the red head, a brunette, pre-teen, long bangs tangled around his face as he pulled a toddler back against his knees. Dean grinned at it as it stared solemnly back at him, one thumb stuffed in its mouth, fine white hair smudged with dust and dirt. The smile turned hollow as he saw a trace of something darker on those thin strands, something that smeared down onto the twisted neck of the kids' Spiderman t-shirt.

"Ready, Sam? Soon as you get up those stairs, find us a way out of this place. 'Cause those things're fast, and it'll be coming after us."

"Okay. Make sure you're following us, Dean."

The hunter licked dry lips, stomach rough with the surety that it would be his blood that would derail the unstoppable beasts. It was a price he would gladly pay, even now, he realized with a jolt somewhere deep inside as if something settled back onto bedrock. He would spill every drop of his blood if that was what it took, though he could see the concern in his brother's eyes. Sam knew what he was thinking, the way he used to, thought it was pointless martyrdom, thought they could run fast enough to not need a sacrifice.

No, Sam. We can't. Not even without civilians slowing us down. Nothing's fast enough to out run them.

He didn't have it in him to break the faith in his brother's voice, even though he could hear the doubt shivering beneath it. A slow, cold pain pulsed up his spine, just once and he bit his lip against the urge to shake his head. The chill subsided, settled under the skin of his back as he shifted to check the clip in his Colt.

It clicked back into place with a satisfying ch-snick and a faint jolt that steadied his hands. twisting, he looked back over his shoulder at the girls, caught Kate's terrified eyes wide in the shadows glinting as she nodded to him, swallowing audibly.

"Okay then!"

He said it with a bright, ringing cheer that sounded fake even to his ears. Beside him Sam snorted quietly.

Dean pulled away, spun on his heel to face the door and yelled at the thin slab of wood even as the younger man moved to open it.

"Come on then, you mangy sons-of-bitches! I'm right here!" he kept roaring as the gun shattered the dark, slamming back against his hands until he couldn't even hear what he was saying, just saw hell-fire eyes burning in the dark, flaring with a rage that took his breath away until the bullets, sanctified, marked with crosses and dipped in blessed salt water put them out.

"GO!"