starryfif2: (Doug/Luke)
[personal profile] starryfif2
Title: Dead Memories
Pairing: None
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,594
Summary: A high fever causes Dean to remember some unpleasant moments from his time in Hell.
Warnings: Disturbing imagery, scenes of torture. Some swearing, unbeta'd.

Written for [ profile] rainylemons plot on the [ profile] hoodie_time Feverish!Dean comment fic meme. The prompt was:
Dean has a dangerously high fever and he's hallucinating. Very nasty & dark things-I-did-in-hell-are-coming-back-to-haunt-me kind of hallucinations. He's packed in ice (or snow?), Sam or Cas or whomever keeps watch over him.

Dean is burning up. His skin feels three sizes too small, and is itching too. His back arches off of a soft surface---a bed?---and his foot connects with something soft and fleshy. Dean hears a grunt. Dean smacks his lips, his tongue wetting dry lips, and he tastes blood. He is a mess.

“Dean,” Sam says, because even burning alive from a fever and half out of his mind, Dean can recognize his brother's voice, “You're going to be okay. Just lay still and let the medicine work.”

Dean's pretty sure Sam's lying to him. But he trusts his brother, and closes his eyes. Sammy can watch over him for a change.


From that point on, Dean is only aware in snapshots of time. The press of a washcloth against his skin. Something frozen against his skin----ice?----held there by a hand. Whispered voices, garbled and and incomprehensible. The bed shifting under someone's weight, and gentle hands feeling his forehead.

What Dean is aware of, always, when he slips awake, is that his skin is tight and uncomfortably hot. His head aches badly, like he went ten rounds with a heavy weight champion. He's hot, so very hot. He feels like he'll never be cool again.

It's another form of torture.


Alastair is sitting next to him, sharpening a knife with his fingernails. The knife makes a soft ping, ping noise, like a bell, every time Alastair drags his nail across the blade. He smirks when he notices Dean is awake.

“Glad you finally joined me, kiddo,” he sneers. “I've missed our sessions. I'm so very happy you're back.”

“No.” Dean moans. “I'm out. Castiel freed me.”

Alastair's smile is terrifying to see. “What you need to understand, Dean, is that you may not be there anymore, but you can never escape it. All that I've taught you, everything you've done down there is now a part of you. And,” Alastair's breath fans, hot like fire against Dean's cheek, “It's never going away. I'm never going away.”

“No,” Dean cries, “I won't go back there. I'm not that person anymore!”

Alastair presses the knife against Dean's chest. His eyes gleam with anticipation. The first press of the knife against Dean's skin feels like coming home; painful but cleansing. Dean wishes he wasn't so familiar with the pain, that it didn't feel like an old friend.

“You're my little torturer,” Alastair croons. “You'll sing for me soon enough.”

And Dean does. Alastair always did know how to make Dean scream for him. Alastair knows how to break him. Dean broke, and so did the first seal.


Dean is whimpering on the bed, his skin burning, cuts bleeding sluggishly up and down his body. The tip of his index finger is gone; Alistair took it as a keepsake. The dull throbbing from his finger beats in time with his heartbeat.


Dean doesn't want to turn and look, but he can't stop himself. And as he catches sight of her, Dean wishes he hadn't turned around.

“Do you remember me?” She asks. Her long red hair with its ringlets, brushes against his shoulder. Her smile is beautiful, her skin creamy and inviting. She's stunning, and she looks at Dean coquettishly. Dean recoils, bile rising in his throat.

“Well do you?” She snarls, mood doing a complete 180. “You should! Or have you seen too many pretty faces? I should be memorable, though; I'm missing my eyes. You pulled them right out of the sockets.”

Dean can't look away, no matter how much he may want to. Her eye sockets, black yawning pits, seem to suck up all the light in the room. Blood drips steadily from where her eyes should be, like tear drops. He wishes he doesn't recognize her, but he does. She'd cried and begged for mercy just like every other soul down in the pit, and with Alastair whispering encouragement in his ear, Dean had been only too happy to begin the torture. He'd laughed as he'd pulled out her eyes, her screams like music to his ears.

Now you won't be able to see your dead husband and twin. You can't see anything, anymore. There, pretty woman, isn't that better? Did Dean make your pain go away?

“Say my name!” She cries. Her fingers are like claws as they curl into his skin.

“Aimee Soodt!” Dean yells, curling in on himself. “Your husband cheated on you with your twin sister! You told me you couldn't stop seeing them in bed together! You were so angry that you blacked out. The next time you were aware, you had an ax in your hand, and their blood all over your body!”

“Yes!” Aimee sobs. “Yes!” Dean recoils as Aimee collapses on top of him, inconsolable in her grief. She sobs brokenly for a few moments, before she draws away, and, instead of tears, blood drips down her cheeks from her eyeless sockets. “Are you sorry for what you did?” She wipes the blood from her cheeks, and it stains her hands like red paint.

“I remember every day. My hands are as stained with blood as yours. More so.”


“Aimee Soodt!” Dean screams. Sam startles awake, and almost falls off the bed. Dean thrashes against the bed, moaning and crying, and for one heart stopping second, Sam thinks Dean is having a seizure. The fever heat radiating off of Dean's skin is almost as alarming as Dean's cries.

Sam sighs and takes the washcloth off his brother's forehead and wets it in the bathroom. He'd just replaced it when Castiel appears next to Sam, a bag of ice in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.


“I am sorry.” Castiel apologizes. “But I could not ignore Dean's suffering anymore. I've brought supplies.”

Sam blinks. “You got Dean medicine?”

Castiel nods. “Yes. I believe he needs them.” Sam doesn't understand the dark look in the angel's eyes. “Cas? Is there something else wrong with my brother?”

The angel's face is sad. “He's hallucinating about Hell. His soul is crying out from the darkness of his visions.”

Sam draws closer to his brother, his hand wrapped protectively around Dean's arm, like he can protect his brother from everything Hell did to him.


Dean remembers the Fratelli's. A mother and son who shot and killed a police officer as they'd been escaping from a gas station. Down on their luck, in desperate need of cash, they'd turned to crime. The police officer hadn't even had time to draw his gun before the mother shot him through the neck. The son ran the man over, killing him, as they'd peeled away...right into the path of a tractor trailer.

Alastair told Dean to take his time with the mother, and he had. He'd enjoyed each scream he'd pulled from her throat, her son forced to watch and hear everything. Dean loved to tear her stomach open and pull out her insides. Her son screamed almost as loud as she had.

Her son holds Dean down as she starts to cut up him up. Dean doesn't struggle. He deserves whatever they do to him.


The next time Dean opens his eyes, it's because something cold brushes over his face. Dean gasps, and his throat burns. Dean almost inhales the straw that Sam places against his lips. He sucks the water down, and looks at his brother through watery, irritated eyes.

Sam looks freakin' exhausted, beaten and worn down, and Dean's heart aches for his little brother. His eyes are ringed with dark circles, and his skin is pasty. His hair is greasy and looks like it hasn't been washed in a month, if not longer.

Sam snorts without his usual ire and touches Dean's forehead with a slightly shaking hand. “You don't look any better, Dean,” Sam says. “Your fever just broke. The medicine Cas got you worked.”

Dean tosses his head like a horse. “Your feet don't work, Sammy?”

Sam glares, though there's no heat to it. “Jerk. I was afraid you'd die if I left you alone. Cas told me you were remembering some stuff from...there. I was afraid you'd have a heart attack.”

Dean exhales a shaky breath. “Goddamn angel can't keep his fucking mouth shut.”

Sam's eyes were haunted. “You were hurting, Dean, crying and begging for mercy.”

“I don't deserve it, Sammy, not after what I did to them.” Dean said sharply. “I tortured souls. I enjoyed it.”

Sam's reply is instant and heated. “I won't let Hell have you, Dean. You're here with me, now, and you're making up for what you did down there. You're stuck with me.”

Dean pats his brother's leg, and rests his cheek against Sam's shoulder. Sam starts but draws Dean closers. Normally Dean would push Sam away, or crack a joke about chick-flick moments, but at this moment in time, after memories of hell, Dean needs to be close to his brother. He wants the comfort.

His eyes feel like they've been weighted down, and he'll be asleep in a few minutes, if that. He and Sam need to deal with what Cas told Sam, and Dean knows his little brother is going to want to talk about what he remembered, especially if it caused Dean so much pain. But that's for another day. Right now, he's safe with Sam.

“You're not getting rid of me that easily.” Dean whispers.

Sam shudders and his arms tighten convulsively around Dean. “I won't let you go.”

Dean can live with that.
Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.


starryfif2: (Default)

September 2012

2345 678

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 06:56 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios