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He knew he should have told Sam. But maybe he deserved this. Maybe the nights he would lie awake on the verge of sleep, but not being able too, were karma. Karma for all the people he couldn’t save. He tried, he swears to god he tried. But he couldn’t.
So now as he was on the dusty bed of the motel he and Sam were staying at, he did not rest. Instead he lay awake listening to his brothers even breathing all night. In and out.
Eventually sometime in the early morning he screwed up. He screwed up and let his eyelids close for 1 too many seconds. He fell into a deep long awaited sleep.
Dean was tied to a post, “Where am I?”
No one nor nothing answered Dean’s question. He was left in a deafening silence.
“Where’s Sam!”
He tried to block out all the possibilities of what had happened to his brother.
“Why am I here!”
Silence again.
“Oh Dean, Dean, Dean. You don’t remember this place? Tsk tsk tsk.” A voice emerged from his left but he couldn’t see anyone there.
Dean did remember the room, he just didn’t want to accept it.
“Why am I here?” He asked the question again not wanting to answer.
“So you do then.” The voice chuckled, “Anyways, I just missed my favorite pet.”
“Go to hell.”
“But I already am. Now let’s get to the fun shall we.”
A figure walked from the shadows and into the fiery light, literally. The only light down in the pit was from the fire covering… well almost everything.
Dean fought to not look away. Alastair. The demon that tortured him in hell had apparently come back for more.
The demon uncovered some of the “tools” from under a sheet and gave a crooked smile. “Remember these Deano?”
Dean flinched at the old nickname. He gave a sarcastic laugh, “How could I forget?”
Without another word, Alastair grabbed a short knife and strolled casually over to Dean, if it weren’t so obvious you wouldn’t even think torture was about to commence.
“I always did like you y’know, I feel that if the circumstances were different we would be friends.”
Alastair ran the knife across Dean's chest, not enough to cut into skin, just enough to cut away the shirt he was wearing.
He then ran the dull end against his bare skin. It made Dean shiver. Despite the blazing hot room the knife was shockingly freezing.
He stared straight ahead into the demon's eyes, willing himself not to flinch as the knife turned over and the first slice had been made.
Alastair carves and tore Dean to pieces in ways that he could never describe, just like his time in hell.
Before Alastair could continue Dean heard his name being called. He looked around surprised by the interruption.
Dean.
He heard it again but this time it was clearer.
Dean!
The voice sounded so similar. He cried out in help, desperate for whoever it was to know he was there, he was listening.
DEAN!
Please, help him!
DEA…wak…p!
Wake up? He wasn’t dreaming?
Dean's eyes opened and he shot up from his position on the bed.
He was shaking. He heard someone crying and a second later he realized it was himself, he desperately wiped them away. It was at the same moment he realized Sam was sitting across from him, eyes wide and a sickeningly concerned expression on his face.
“Dean-“
“Please Sammy, I don’t want to talk about it, no chick-flick moments.”
“Well, I’m not giving you a choice Dean. You have to talk, if you don’t you’ll get torn apart from the inside out.”
Dean gave a tired fake sounding short laugh, “Sam…” he looked away and at the wall, “What do you want me to say? Huh? That I’m weak, and sad, and I can’t take care of myself?”
Sam shook his head, “No, I want you to let me help you.”
“Like that will magically make it all better.”
“Of course not, Dean. But maybe I can help you shoulder it instead of it all resting on you.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Yeah that’s what you said the last 50 times! You can’t hide forever.”
“I’m not hiding.” Dean got up from his spot and walked over to the kitchen, putting on a cup of coffee. He was obviously avoiding the conversation and he knew that Sam knew what he was doing.
“Yes you are.”
Dean spun around on his heels, “Look Sam! I’ll tell you what you want to hear, okay?!”
Sam stayed quiet, a bit surprised at the outburst.
“I don’t sleep at night, and when I do, I get nightmares so vivid I wake up having to muffle my scream to not wake you up. I’m constantly paranoid. I think I’ll be sent back down into the pit any day now. Alastair will come back. He’ll kill you and torture me. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired, Sam. I’m just so damn tired.” He slid down against the wall and found himself sitting on the floor, head in hands.
“I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Sam sat down next to him staring ahead, which Dean was thankful for because tears were running down his cheeks again.
“Here? Where is ‘here’? The motel? We can go if you want.”
“You know that’s not what I mean, Sammy.”
Sam looked at Dean now, he himself was getting close to tears, that’s not what Dean wanted, he didn’t want some crying pity party.
“Why didn’t you speak up earlier?” Sam’s voice cracked, “Why wait until you felt there was nothing I could do to help, and don’t say you don’t like chick-flick moments.”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, bull shit, yes you do.”
“I…I deserve this don’t I? I broke the first seal, I let all those people die.”
“Dean. None of that was your fault. That demon made you do it. It was not your choice.”
Dean stayed silent after that and for a Moment Sam thought he had fallen asleep, but 5 min later he spoke again, “What’s wrong with me Sam?”
Sam looked at Dean and frowned, “Nothing Dean. Nothing is wrong with you. You're just scared, but you're even more scared of asking for help.”
“I’m weak.”
“No, Dad just put all that scrap in your head, and you listened. It’s okay to ask for help, I will never think any differently of you. I promise.”
Dean finally looked at Sam with tear streaked cheeks and red eyes. He looked like he had been to hell, he guessed he had.
“I need help Sammy. I need some fucking help.”
“I know.” Sam scooted closer to Dean and let him lean against him. They sat together, content for the moment.
Sam sighed, “you never got your coffee.”
“Yeah.”
Sam stood up and groaned, stretching from sitting on the floor.
“Old man.”
Sam gave a fake glare, “You're older than me, Dean.”
“I don’t groan when I stand up though. Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
They were going to be just fine.