|Sam Winchester (bitch____) wrote,|
@ 2008-07-15 04:50:00
|Entry tags:||dean winchester, sam winchester|
What happens to a soul when he's trapped inside his emotions ( Sam one-shot )
Assumedly, this night would turn out to be just like all the rest. Dean's night terrors had continued, and they were as bad as ever. Guess something like this didn't fade, even though that was a possibility Sam had been holding onto for some time now. Looks like it wasn't going to happen.. But tonight, he'd fallen asleep before his brother. All the sitting up late to try and shake the other awake had caught up to him, and he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open. He'd probably regret it later: you know, when Dean woke up and he wasn't immediately up on his feet and by his bedside trying to console him - not that it did any good. It was getting harder and harder to believe that his presence helped at all. So what difference did it make? Did it really matter? It did to Sam. Even if he couldn't understand it because he had no clue what all was going on, even if he couldn't share the pain, he at least wanted to be there until it passed. It's the least he could do.
But tonight ... tonight his dreams turned into something more.
At first, it seemed like just a nightmare. He'd had plenty of those. He recognized the signs, and sometimes these dreams ended up feeling very real. That's not what this was. It was almost like he'd been taken into a different world as he slept, a foreign place ( or so he assumed ), and as anyone could've guessed, it was a ghastly sight. There was blood everywhere and so many screams. It was hard to distinguish which ones were coming from who, and these people ... they were either pinned or chained, but all confined in some way: anchored down by these menacing figures that taunted them as they poked and prodded at them. Pieces of their flesh were plucked and stripped from the bone, and the captive would struggle violently against his or her binding, but to no avail. It was the picture of absolute despair and the worst possible agony imaginable.
Why was he seeing this? What was he supposed to be looking for? Even dreamwalking ( for lack of a better word ), he was trying to rationalize the situation. Because this couldn't be real. He'd fallen asleep. This was a dream, nothing more. But he was terrified, nonetheless. He could actually feel the flames nipping at his skin, and he could see some of the demons that had been busy performing varied acts of torture on others trapped there start to turn their blackened eyes on him. Suddenly, he'd become the person of interest. That's when he started to run. He wasn't crazy enough to dive into a battle he knew he couldn't win, and he easily recognized he was on their turf. He was in Hell.
Please wake up. Please, Sam. He'd tried closing his eyes and reopening them to get it all to disappear, but it didn't work. All he managed to accomplish by doing that was tripping and falling. After glancing back ( a bold move on his part because the predators in pursuit could catch up quicker if he stalled ), he realized what it was he'd stumbled over: his own body.
His expression twisted into one of sheer horror as he doubled back, almost as if he expected it to sit up and attack him. Was this some kind of freaky post-Challenge stress related thing, or what? Because this was getting way too weird. In that moment, Sam had become paralyzed by his own fear. He was unable to find his footing from there; he couldn't even stop looking at it. That's when the three demons that had been hot on his trail closed in on him - supposedly. He started screaming, "NO!" repeatedly, but that didn't deter their blood-soaked hands from reaching for him. Come to find out, it wasn't him, but the fallen version of himself they mercilessly lifted from the ground and propped up on a bed of stakes. They laughed and carried on as each took turns knocking various limbs of his body down onto the carefully placed points that impaled him, little by little: one hole at a time. But he wouldn't die. He couldn't. This was forever: eternity.
Suddenly, blood started pouring down his arm; then it soaked through his shirt. Every painful mark that was inflicted brought him further to his knees, and finally all the way down to the ground as he twisted, wriggled, and writhed in pain. But he had no choice but to take it: to tolerate his punishment. He was being stabbed and ripped apart from head to toe, and all he could do was lie there and pray for salvation. Yeah. He still prayed, as if that could save him now. As if anything could.
Then just like that, it stopped. His breathing was raspy, and tears streamed down his face. Despite it all, he managed to hoist himself into a half-way upwards position. He could hear the demons whispering now. He could barely make out what they were saying - though one name recaptured his full attention. Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester had made a deal, if they would let Sam go. He literally watched as he disappeared from the depths and the grasps of pure evil. He was freed. And once he looked down to survey the damage, he found there was none. It was like it'd all been erased. So why hadn't he woken up? Why was he still here?
This had to be a nightmare. Oh God, please. He couldn't stay here, not even for another minute. It was driving him insane. No. Sam had to find a way out. He had to get out of there before ... this was his destiny. This place - these things. It was his fate. Maybe he'd somehow died in his sleep, or - or maybe this was a really intense vision of what was to come. What didn't occur to him at the time was that maybe this was what had already happened. Maybe he'd been searching for answers he'd had all along. Whether the memories had been repressed or conveniently forgotten somehow ... there was an undeniable feeling of deja vu.
That's when he heard it: his brother's voice. He recognized those screams anywhere, even amongst all this chaos. The voice caused him to find the strength he needed to climb to his feet, grimacing from the one pain that had failed to go away: the stinging sensation that traveled all up and down his spine. As soon as he stood, he went in search of the source. "Dean?!" Everything had become blurry now. Smoke clouded his vision, and every once in awhile he'd run into a towering flame that blocked his path. On the other side of this one, he saw who he'd been looking for. "DEAN!" He stepped forward, prepared to brave it out. What's the worst that could happen? But it was like there was some invisible wall there, blocking him. Even after the fire died down, he couldn't reach him. He couldn't get to his brother. He banged on what appeared to be thin air until has hands bled, and he repeatedly called out the name, but nothing got through. There was no recognition.
"Leave him alone! Get the hell away from him!" Of course threats didn't work either. That's when the realization struck him like a knife, straight to the heart: there was nothing he could do. All that was left for him to do was watch as they tormented his brother. The things they did ... He'd wanted to know. He'd wanted to know, and now here it was - and all he wanted was to go back to not knowing anything. Sam could feel the bile rising in his throat, but that didn't stop him from pounding away or screaming until he barely had any voice left. And then - then the shield shattered, and the whole place shook. That's when he woke up. What he hadn't figured out yet was that the lamp was what had shattered, and the 'shaking' was because he'd fallen from the bed to the floor.
This time it was Dean's turn to rush to his aid, having been rudely awakened by all the racket. Try as he might, Sam couldn't stop his body from trembling, and sweat, not blood, was what had soaked through the material of his shirt. Focus was hard to find until two or three minutes after it was all over, and he realized that he was back in their hotel room. Wide eyes shot over to his brother as he grabbed onto him and looked him up and down repeatedly to make sure he was alright. He appeared to be. A little confused and concerned, but okay. Instinctively, Sam leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the other, pulling him into a tight embrace. His grip - honestly, it was probably too tight, but he still hadn't recovered. Not by a long-shot. He also hadn't gotten up off the floor, and was thus keeping Dean down there with him as he fought the urge to rock back and forth.
Fear was the all-consuming emotion that had taken complete control of him for the time being, and until it dwindled, he wasn't letting go. You could try and pry him off with a crowbar, but he wasn't budging. As he continued to cling to Dean as if he was his only lifeline, he started mumbling something. His words were incoherent at first, but eventually his sentences became clearer. "Oh God, what did I do? What did I do to you?" Right after the repeated question came an apology. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please ... I didn't mean- I'm just sorry, okay? I'm sorry it happened to you." Sorry that his brother had paid because of his stupidity. Sorry that even amidst it all, he'd still selfishly wanted a way out - and he'd gotten it. Thing is, that only made him feel worse. He'd been there. And if he'd stayed there, Dean never would've gone. Dean never would've suffered.
He lowered his face so that he could bury it in his brother's shoulder, as tears welled in his eyes. One by one, they started to fall. Saying anything else at this point wasn't an option. There was no need. He'd said enough. How the other could endure it ... how he could live with that memory ... But that was the thing: he didn't remember. Thank God he didn't remember.