All Wash Of Waters Broken (Dean/Sam oneshot)
Title: All Wash Of Waters Broken
Author: xephyr_42
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating/Category: PG-13, very very mild Wincest
Spoilers: Season 4.
Summary: It's been only a month since Dean has come back from Hell.
Prompt: From spnpromptcake Dean experiencing rain(or snow) after coming back from hell.
Cliche: post-hell Dean, supportive!Sam
A/N: Beta'd by the wonderful vita_obscura1! Title taken from the song Gasoline by Moist
Wordcount: 1,187
Dean felt stinging on his skin. A thousand cuts covered his chest, arms and face. They itched and hurt as the sulfur and ash settled into his skin.
The heat is too much. He’s sweating. He whimpers, actually whimpers, as the salty liquid mixes with the sulfur and ash, making a paste that coats his skin.
“Aw. Is someone gonna cry?” Alistair mocked. “Little Dean is gonna cry like a little girl?”
“Fuck you!” Dean spat. Alistair chuckled and moved closer.
“Have I ever told you how much fun you are?” The blade pushed up underneath Dean’s chin. “You, who willingly signed up for this. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Yet you still believe, still fight, like somehow, this will end.” Alistair chuckled again. The blade sliced into the skin under Dean’s chin. The tip of the blade touched the underside of the hunters tongue and the metallic tang of blood filled Dean’s mouth.
“Scream.” Alistair whispered. “Scream. I know you want to.” Dean’s eyes slammed shut. If he screamed, the blade cut deeper. If he cried, it would do the same. So he remained still, trying to keep his breathing steady.
“I can hold out longer than you boy.” The demon twisted the blade ever so slightly. Dean fought the urge to make any noise, and he opened his eyes and locked his gaze with his torturer. White eyes danced with delight, as emerald ones spoke a single phrase.
‘Bring it, bitch!’
Alistair smiled, making his twisted demonic face appear harsher, crueler. Dean caught movement around the torture room, but refused to look away. He tried to steel his body for the unknown pain he was about to receive. It never helped, but he had to try.
Alistair began laughing as Dean’s skin caught on fire. Only his head was free of the flames. The blade pierced through his tongue as the scream ripped through him. Then Alistair pulled the blade forward.
The hunter found that he was no longer bound or standing. His skin was still aflame, but he was lying down. The smells were different, probably another trick. They did that to him a lot. Change his surroundings to give him hope, just to tear it away.
His jaw felt intact, despite it just having been split open. He did not taste blood anymore. Why couldn’t he focus his eyes?
Just beyond this new prison they thrust him in; there was a rhythmic tapping sound. He knew that sound, had heard it several times before. But what was it?
He rolled his shoulders, just to be sure. He was able to move. He slowly sat up, amazed that they were actually letting him move like this. He stood on unsteady feet and took an experimental step. If there was a door, would they let him leave?
His eyes tried to take in his surroundings. It was hard to concentrate with his skin still on fire, melting off of him where he stood. He started walking forward, being called by the tapping. Just a few short steps later, he found a door. The tapping was louder here. Blindly, he found the doorknob. If he turned it, opened this door, what would be on the other side?
The door swung open and he was met with cool air. A few cool drops hit his chest, hissing out some of the flames. He looked up to the sky and found it not black, but grey. The smell of water, dirt and life surrounded him. Dean tentatively held his hand out, palm towards the sky. The drops of water pooled in his hand. It did not disappear.
Dean took a deep breath and took a step forward. The rain hit him fully, the tiny droplets fully extinguishing the fire on his skin. He closed his eyes and dropped to his knees, reveling in the in the water flowing over his nearly naked body.
Everything washed away from Dean. Hell, the torture, his memories, everything. He sat, surrounded by the rain, simply there. No mission from God, no angels, no apocalypse, nothing. Just a man.
Minutes, hours, maybe even days passed. Dean was so in tune with the drops, he lost track of time, lost his bearings, and off guard.
“Dean!” a familiar voice cut through the drumming. Dean did not respond. “DEAN!” A pair of large hands cupped his face. He slowly opened his eyes and saw his brother, panic stricken in front of him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Had to put the fire out.” Dean whispered. His hand came up to touch the side of his brother’s face. Sam bit his lip and nodded. “I was on fire.” Dean looked around them, and noticed they were sitting on the cold asphalt of a motel parking lot. Dean dropped his eyes to where their knees touched. “I was dreaming again, wasn’t I?” Sam tilted his brother’s chin up so they could look into each other’s eyes.
“I was taking a shower. I’m sorry.” Sam blurted, gently rubbing his thumbs on his brother’s cheekbones. “Should have waited for you to wake up. I should have been there.”
“The rain felt good.” Dean wrapped his arms around himself. “I hate the dreams.” Dean began to shake, from the cold and the dream. Sam wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him in for a tight hug.
Sam didn’t know what to say. It had been a month since Dean came back from Hell, and Sam still had problems finding the right words to comfort his brother. So he did the only thing that he knew helped. Sam bent his head and kissed Dean on the forehead.
“Come inside?” Sam whispered. He felt Dean’s soaking wet head nod against his chest. Sam stood first, leaning down to help his brother. When Dean was standing, Sam wrapped an arm snugly around his waist and carried part of the other hunter’s weight as they walked back to the motel room. Once inside, Sam carefully removed the soaked clothing and dressed him in dry sweats and undershirt. He took one of the blankets from the bed and wrapped it around him.
It broke Sam’s heart that not once did Dean fight back, or even give a token protest. In moments like this, the fight and fire was gone from him. He didn’t expect his brother to come back from Hell in the same condition he left, but there was a small glimmer of hope that maybe Dean, the Dean he knew and loved, would come back.
Sam sat up to grab some water when Dean grabbed him. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave me.” He whispered. Sam covered Dean’s shaking hand with one of his own. “Just getting water.” Sam assured him. Dean’s grip loosened and fell to the bed. Sam returned with two bottles of water and sat in the same spot, letting Dean lean on him.
“Stay with me tonight?” Dean nuzzled softly into Sam’s neck, whispering the words. Sam wrapped his arm around him and squeezed.
“Of course,” Sam whispered. “Nowhere else I would rather be.”
Author: xephyr_42
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating/Category: PG-13, very very mild Wincest
Spoilers: Season 4.
Summary: It's been only a month since Dean has come back from Hell.
Prompt: From spnpromptcake Dean experiencing rain(or snow) after coming back from hell.
Cliche: post-hell Dean, supportive!Sam
A/N: Beta'd by the wonderful vita_obscura1! Title taken from the song Gasoline by Moist
Wordcount: 1,187
Dean felt stinging on his skin. A thousand cuts covered his chest, arms and face. They itched and hurt as the sulfur and ash settled into his skin.
The heat is too much. He’s sweating. He whimpers, actually whimpers, as the salty liquid mixes with the sulfur and ash, making a paste that coats his skin.
“Aw. Is someone gonna cry?” Alistair mocked. “Little Dean is gonna cry like a little girl?”
“Fuck you!” Dean spat. Alistair chuckled and moved closer.
“Have I ever told you how much fun you are?” The blade pushed up underneath Dean’s chin. “You, who willingly signed up for this. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Yet you still believe, still fight, like somehow, this will end.” Alistair chuckled again. The blade sliced into the skin under Dean’s chin. The tip of the blade touched the underside of the hunters tongue and the metallic tang of blood filled Dean’s mouth.
“Scream.” Alistair whispered. “Scream. I know you want to.” Dean’s eyes slammed shut. If he screamed, the blade cut deeper. If he cried, it would do the same. So he remained still, trying to keep his breathing steady.
“I can hold out longer than you boy.” The demon twisted the blade ever so slightly. Dean fought the urge to make any noise, and he opened his eyes and locked his gaze with his torturer. White eyes danced with delight, as emerald ones spoke a single phrase.
‘Bring it, bitch!’
Alistair smiled, making his twisted demonic face appear harsher, crueler. Dean caught movement around the torture room, but refused to look away. He tried to steel his body for the unknown pain he was about to receive. It never helped, but he had to try.
Alistair began laughing as Dean’s skin caught on fire. Only his head was free of the flames. The blade pierced through his tongue as the scream ripped through him. Then Alistair pulled the blade forward.
The hunter found that he was no longer bound or standing. His skin was still aflame, but he was lying down. The smells were different, probably another trick. They did that to him a lot. Change his surroundings to give him hope, just to tear it away.
His jaw felt intact, despite it just having been split open. He did not taste blood anymore. Why couldn’t he focus his eyes?
Just beyond this new prison they thrust him in; there was a rhythmic tapping sound. He knew that sound, had heard it several times before. But what was it?
He rolled his shoulders, just to be sure. He was able to move. He slowly sat up, amazed that they were actually letting him move like this. He stood on unsteady feet and took an experimental step. If there was a door, would they let him leave?
His eyes tried to take in his surroundings. It was hard to concentrate with his skin still on fire, melting off of him where he stood. He started walking forward, being called by the tapping. Just a few short steps later, he found a door. The tapping was louder here. Blindly, he found the doorknob. If he turned it, opened this door, what would be on the other side?
The door swung open and he was met with cool air. A few cool drops hit his chest, hissing out some of the flames. He looked up to the sky and found it not black, but grey. The smell of water, dirt and life surrounded him. Dean tentatively held his hand out, palm towards the sky. The drops of water pooled in his hand. It did not disappear.
Dean took a deep breath and took a step forward. The rain hit him fully, the tiny droplets fully extinguishing the fire on his skin. He closed his eyes and dropped to his knees, reveling in the in the water flowing over his nearly naked body.
Everything washed away from Dean. Hell, the torture, his memories, everything. He sat, surrounded by the rain, simply there. No mission from God, no angels, no apocalypse, nothing. Just a man.
Minutes, hours, maybe even days passed. Dean was so in tune with the drops, he lost track of time, lost his bearings, and off guard.
“Dean!” a familiar voice cut through the drumming. Dean did not respond. “DEAN!” A pair of large hands cupped his face. He slowly opened his eyes and saw his brother, panic stricken in front of him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Had to put the fire out.” Dean whispered. His hand came up to touch the side of his brother’s face. Sam bit his lip and nodded. “I was on fire.” Dean looked around them, and noticed they were sitting on the cold asphalt of a motel parking lot. Dean dropped his eyes to where their knees touched. “I was dreaming again, wasn’t I?” Sam tilted his brother’s chin up so they could look into each other’s eyes.
“I was taking a shower. I’m sorry.” Sam blurted, gently rubbing his thumbs on his brother’s cheekbones. “Should have waited for you to wake up. I should have been there.”
“The rain felt good.” Dean wrapped his arms around himself. “I hate the dreams.” Dean began to shake, from the cold and the dream. Sam wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him in for a tight hug.
Sam didn’t know what to say. It had been a month since Dean came back from Hell, and Sam still had problems finding the right words to comfort his brother. So he did the only thing that he knew helped. Sam bent his head and kissed Dean on the forehead.
“Come inside?” Sam whispered. He felt Dean’s soaking wet head nod against his chest. Sam stood first, leaning down to help his brother. When Dean was standing, Sam wrapped an arm snugly around his waist and carried part of the other hunter’s weight as they walked back to the motel room. Once inside, Sam carefully removed the soaked clothing and dressed him in dry sweats and undershirt. He took one of the blankets from the bed and wrapped it around him.
It broke Sam’s heart that not once did Dean fight back, or even give a token protest. In moments like this, the fight and fire was gone from him. He didn’t expect his brother to come back from Hell in the same condition he left, but there was a small glimmer of hope that maybe Dean, the Dean he knew and loved, would come back.
Sam sat up to grab some water when Dean grabbed him. “Don’t leave, please don’t leave me.” He whispered. Sam covered Dean’s shaking hand with one of his own. “Just getting water.” Sam assured him. Dean’s grip loosened and fell to the bed. Sam returned with two bottles of water and sat in the same spot, letting Dean lean on him.
“Stay with me tonight?” Dean nuzzled softly into Sam’s neck, whispering the words. Sam wrapped his arm around him and squeezed.
“Of course,” Sam whispered. “Nowhere else I would rather be.”