Hey there. It's been awhile. So uh, finals. Yeah. What a drag. But hey, have another chapter of my own little siesta from real life/canon/homework, starring my favorite punching bag(s) who I love dressing up and making them kiss and totally do not own them in any way. /i am a strange lady okay/
\\\\\
"Cas, come on man, you've got to breathe, CAS!"
The shallow gasps continued, wet and rasping, becoming increasingly erratic.
"Cas, you sonofabitch don't you dare leave me here, not now…"
Dean couldn't decide what to address first, which was worse, between the weeping open wound on Cas's chest, his pained gasps to try to draw in air, or the way each movement seemed to set off a new chain reaction of pain somewhere else in his convulsing body.
Both angel and hunter had started to sweat, although it wasn't because of the heat. Writhing and shuddering on the leather bench seat as his body starved for air, his friend's face was screwed tight with unbearable pain. He could feel several bones grind in their place where Dean had him pinned down against the seat of the car, his hold slicked by the blood he was also simultaneously trying to staunch.
Dean suddenly felt lost. He had no idea what to do.
Distantly, someone called his name from behind him.
"DEAN!" Sam shouted, "What's happening back there! Do I need to stop?"
He started, "Uhh, no. No keep driving"
Blue unfocused eyes slowly opened and shifting, tried and failed to focus themselves in Dean's direction.
"We've only got about twenty minutes left, is he gonna make it back to Bobby's?" the younger Winchester asserted.
Sapphire gradually fell away once more, replaced by white as Cas promptly fainted on the spot, eyes rolling back in his head as his body compliantly sank back into the leather seat.
He didn't' answer Sam as he moved into action, once again attempting to staunch the bleeding.
"Dean!" Sam looked back around, immediately taken aback by the sight in the backseat. There was a lot of shivering, an expanse of bluish skin only tinged with pink, and a whole lot of blood.
Blanching, he turned his attention back to driving, picking up an extra ten miles an hour.
/ / / / /
A vast sea spread out in front of him, accented by only the first rays of sunlight staining the horizon.
He gradually came to realize he was sitting in the tepid water, no, nearly lounging in it, as the sea reached up to gently tug at his middle with the surf.
If he wasn't clothed before, he's pretty sure he is now. The weight of the waterlogged cloth feels familiar against his skin. He could have stayed like this for days.
The tide gently rose, crawling up his arms and past his elbows, past his chest: unmarred, bearing none of the scars of a harder life.
There was a pain somewhere in his core, a dull throb that he couldn't quite locate or soothe. Not that he needed to anyway.
The water began to recede rather quickly, whispering past his ankles and around his feet as the last rivulets were chased back from where they came.
He lay back, stretching out on the damp sand. Something itched at his subconscious, but he promptly scratched it away. Maybe if he put his hands under his head he could relax more, that was what he'd seen others do. That was what Dean often did.
Dean.
The throbbing increased.
Something whispered in the distance. It grew to a whistle, until it finally reached a crescendo in the form of a hundred thousand inanimate voices, soon transformed into screams.
The impossible wave towered overhead, but he couldn't move.
\\\\\