Hell's Child

Rating: R

Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel

Word Count: 1,743 words

Warning: post 4.22 "Lucifer Rising" contains spoilers for episode, graphic gore

Disclaimer: I'm under no delusions that I own them. Unfortunately.

Summary: post!apocalypse, broken!Sam; A month after Sam goes missing, Dean and Castiel find him, in more ways than one.

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The light is blinding, deceptive, as it shoots from the ground, surrounding him, whiting everything else out. Then there is blood and fire and wretched screams. And no matter where he runs or how well he hides, he can't get away. There is no escape.

Eyes open. Eyes closed. It doesn't matter. It all looks the same. It's dark here, fire lights the sky reds and oranges. Broken bodies lie bleeding on the scorched earth, entrails spilling out on the ground like a path before his feet. A path he follows by no choices of his own. Their sightless eyes follow him, glaring, haunting, accusing. Some have no eyes at all.

Some have black eyes. They are the only ones still breathing. They follow him, dogging his heels and spitting praises and insults from their blood stained mouths. They sink their teeth into flesh, living or dead. They tear bodies limb from limb, dicing, chopping, hacking, skinning until there is nothing left but bones. They are like vultures feeding on hearts, livers, even a baby still pink with blood from the womb.

No matter where he turns, its still there. All around him. The agonized screams of the dying, the terrified screams of the few still living, the pitiful wail of the already dead; the terrible cacophony a soundtrack to the brutalism all around him.

They offer him flesh, the coopery scent of blood making him gag and heave. The oppressive heat bearing down on him as he drags his weary body through the landscape trying to hide in the shadows. And he prays for a reprieve, a break from the horror and the forever night that has descended upon him.

But there is only darkness on the smoking horizons.

Then there is light again. Small but bright white on the horizon. As it travels closer and closer, the black eyed beings shriek and run. The terrified screams quiet to a pitiful whimper 'til they are nothing at all. And yet it keeps drawing closer, heading straight for him. It gets brighter, hotter, painful as it scorches his skin, but he cannot look away, cannot move away. It chased away the dark and he is thankful.

But as the light surrounds him, he begins to weep. He cries because he knows it will never be enough to save him. He knows that no matter how bright it shines, it cannot pierce deep enough, through flesh, muscle, bone, down to his core where it is darkest, dirtiest, where he needs it the most. But then it does. A cool touch to his center and the light is radiating out over his skin and inwards through his flesh until he is dizzy with it. Its pain and bliss. Light chasing dark. Dirty made clean.

But it is too much and he is falling. When the light is pulled away he can see his rescuer for the first time before all chaos is quieted to a peaceful oblivion.

---

He wakes screaming and thrashing, the chaos and darkness following him to consciousness. When hands try to hold him down, he screams harder, throwing badly aimed fists and uncoordinated kicks. He panics; doesn't want them, the black-eyed beings, to pull him back to the dark. He can't open his eyes, doesn't want to look upon the carnage anymore. But he is tiring and the hands are insistent.

"No … no more … light … want … need .. no more dark." He begs, moving restlessly, throwing his head back and forth.

The hands pull him upwards and his panic is renewed until an arm holds him still, wrapping him tight in a cool embrace. His wrists are held tight, his back resting against warm muscle, a rumble working through him matching the whispers in his ear. It is then that he can feel the light, warm and peaceful as it caresses his cheeks and he knows that he is safe.

Through feverish eyes, he sees a blurry figure approaching, the light getting brighter, wrapping around him like the safe cocoon of arms. When a cool hand is placed on his brow, peace floods his mind and with a whimpered sigh, he slides exhaustedly back into oblivion.

---

Dean watches as Castiel lays a hand on Sam's forehead and instantly feels his brother go limp in his arms. He wants to let out a small sigh of relief but refuses to give up his murmured monologue, hoping it follows Sam down into the dark. With an appreciative nod at Cas, he slowly moves from behind Sam on the bed, releasing his wrists and settling him back down into his pillows.

His heart is still pounding in his chest a few minutes later when he is brushing Sam's sweaty bangs off his feverish brow. When Castiel had told him a week ago that they'd found Sam, Dean wasn't sure what he'd expected to find. Maybe his brother's dead, broken body lying deserted, or a possessed little brother spewing insults and curses at him. He'd never imagined finding Sam in an abandoned warehouse 30 miles from the convent. And he sure as hell never expected to see Sam curled up in a corner, knees pulled up to his chest as he babbled incoherently.

"He's been touched by Lucifer" Castiel whispered at Dean's questioning look. "Lucifer tried to use Sam as a vessel, but your brother put up a fight."

Dean's stomach lurched at the thought, remembering the night a month ago when Lucifer had been set free. He'd feared he'd never see his brother again when the light cleared and Sam was gone. But even more terrifying was the thought of what had happened to Sam.

Dean had seen Sam get headaches and nosebleeds fighting off lower level demons. And now he was fighting off Lilith and Lucifer in the same night? Looking at his brother now, blood smeared on his hands, arms, face, unaware of anything but his own broken mind, Dean could see that Sam had most definitely paid a price. Too high a price.

Slowly Dean approached where Sam was sitting, Cas not far behind him. "Hey there Sammy." His voice echoed hollowly in the space but Sam never looked up until they were within a few feet. Then his head jerked up sharply.

Sam's eyes were transfixed just over Dean's shoulder and it took him a minute to realize he was looking at Cas.

"Easy Sammy, it's just Cas. He's here to help, he found you." Dean reached out and gently laid his hand on Sam's knee. But once again Sam made no notice of his brother.

Sam's eyes were wide with fear but yet he seemed mesmerized, unable to look away from the approaching angel. Dean wandered briefly what Sam was seeing but then decided he didn't want to know when Sam whimpered.

Castiel reached his hand out and laid it flush against Sam's chest. Dean watched fascinated as Sam's expression changed from fear, slowly morphing into one of peace. The shadows and lines on his face faded before his eyes slipped closed. Sam's body went lax and Dean gave a startled grunt as he bore the brunt of his brother's weight, pulling him closer to his chest.

When he looked to Castiel for an answer, Cas just laid two fingers on his head and darkness filled his vision.

When Dean had opened his eyes a moment later, he was holding Sam on Bobby's living room floor.

That was a week ago.

Castiel did what he could for Sam; calming his chaotic mind when the nightmares got to be too much, giving him strength as his weak body fought endlessly to stay with the living, and most blessedly, putting Sam out of his misery into a peaceful sleep.

Sam had a few lucid moments since they'd found him. Moments when he'd look at Dean and see his brother and not a monster trying to hurt him. Moments when he could sit up and eat, moments when he could hold a conversation with Dean or Cas or Bobby, asking what was happening. And while those moments were few and far between right now, Dean knew it would get better as Sam's mind healed. And Dean would be with him no matter how long it took. The rest of the world could wait.

Sam stirring on the bed had Dean's attention snapping back to his brother. He watched as Sam's brow furrowed, his hands fisting in the sheets. Dean was fully expecting Sam to start screaming any moment, caught in the grips of another nightmare. What he didn't expect was Sam's eyes to slowly open a moment later, still blood shot and a little glassy, but mercifully coherent.

"Hey there Sammy." Dean took Sam's hand in his own, giving him a smile. "How are you feeling?"

Sam stared at Dean for a moment as all the pieces clicked into place. When they did, Sam gave him a small smile as he settled deeper into the pillows. "Tired. Too much screaming, too much blood." His voice was hoarse from screaming but a quick sip of water was all it took to cure that.

As Dean capped the water bottle he wished all Sam's problems could be cured so easily. He wasn't sure what to say to Sam so settled for squeezing his brother's hand. He could see the questions in Sam's eyes as he gaze up and though Dean had no new information, he wouldn't beseech his brother anything at this moment.

"Bobby's been talking with a few hunters. Everything's still quiet. Whatever they have planned, it ain't happenin' yet." Even before they'd found Sam, Bobby had kept an ear to the ground, checking for even the slightest hints that the end was upon them. And ever since Sam's first rational moment, when he realized all that had happened, he'd asked about it.

Sam nodded as his eyes slipped closed. A second later, Sam forced them open again, fighting not to let them close again. Dean just smiled, resting a hand on Sam's brow, glad to feel the fever was finally breaking.

"Get some rest, Sammy. I'll be right here." Sam just nodded and let his eyes slip closed with a sigh. He gave Dean's hand a soft squeeze before all tension fled his body.

Dean just settled back in his chair, content to wait and watch Sam's peaceful expression. Yeah, the rest of the world could wait.

The End.