Hi Everyone! If you're following The Christmas Spirit...never fear! I have not given up nor lost interest. I just have been busy with work and then I jotted this two-shot down for a friend who's been going through some really rough stuff lately and needed a special cheer up. So of course, I soundly whumped the Winchesters to bring a smile to her face. :D I know, I'm weird with crazy on top...but I think most of us are in the best way possible lol.

I'm well at work on ch 33 of Christmas Spirit and hope you all forgive the long delay. And I also hope you will enjoy this little two-shot!

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

~Soren Kierkegaard~

He was going to drown in hell.

And the only reason that made any kind of sense was because that was exactly the kind of sense his entire life had made. He could hear the water, lapping nearby. But he didn't feel wet. Not yet anyway. So maybe he wasn't going to drown. Besides, whatever was eating his guts while he watched was very likely to finish the job first. Dean felt the tearing of teeth and couldn't stop the scream this time. And then he was swearing, cursing and telling the demon in no uncertain terms that he didn't appreciate having his liver munched on. And then there was a voice. A vaguely familiar voice and Dean held his breath for a moment, trying to listen.

"No, no, no, no, please don't say that. You're not being eaten...no, no, no, no, no…"

Dean laughed, but it was more of a sob. He didn't want to listen to that vaguely familiar voice lying to him. Because he could see it, see the claws, see the blood, see the awfulness of the wound. He writhed under the painful hold, feeling the world tilt and turn and spin. It was dark, lit only by the fires all around him.

Sulphur, flames, black billowing smoke.

He screamed again as fresh agony tore through his body as the demon continued to eat him.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…"

The demon was talking again, was it Alistair? Dean couldn't tell because his ears felt stuffed with cotton, burning cotton, and the voice didn't sound quite right. The voice sounded broken, sounded in pain, sounded desperate. Sounded sort of like….

"Not being eaten...no, no, no, no, please, please stop saying that!"

Sounded like the voice was crying.

Dean stilled his restless and futile attempts to shift away from the demon. He blinked through the smoky, fiery haze and felt the sting of tears as his eyes reacted to the smoke. And then he was blinking even more because something was wrong. Very wrong. He almost laughed again because how much more wrong could it get when he was being eaten alive in hell?

And then he tried to lift his head and the world splintered into a million bright red pieces and the pain in his body escalated and he felt more teeth and more claws and he was screaming. But this time he wasn't just screaming. This time he was screaming the only thing that his mind could focus on to get him through these sessions.

"Sam!" He shouted, eyes pressed closed, entire body trembling. His voice sounded pathetic and weak, but he kept screaming, "Sam! Sam! SAM!"

"Dean! I'm right here!"

Dean sobbed, because it sounded like Sam had answered him; that he was right here. And that pain, that absolute agony made the earlier torture seem like a day at the park. That pain threatened to break him in ways that nothing else could; that nothing else ever would. He wanted to keep fighting the demon, keep fighting every last monster that was trying to tear him apart down here. But he couldn't. Because whenever they did this, whenever they made him think Sam was right here, whenever they did this, he couldn't do it anymore.

So he just let the pain drag him under into blessed unconsciousness.

The entire time he drifted away, he could still hear not-real Sam calling his name and the tears that rolled down his cheeks were the only thing that felt refreshingly cold as fires burned all around him.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was shaking as badly as his hands were. As bad as all of him was. Hands still pressed against the wound in Dean's side, Sam stared at his brother's dirty, sweaty, tearstained face and prayed. He spared one hand and pressed bloody, shaky fingers against Dean's neck. His fingers slipped off Dean's neck three times before he could finally find his pulse. He almost collapsed at the feel of that pulse. "Dean?"

But Dean was gone again and at least he was just unconscious again and not dead. Sam sagged forward until his forehead came to rest on the back of his hands as he continued to hold pressure on the wound. Listening to his brother screaming his name and begging not to be eaten as he's tried to keep him from bleeding out of the wound in his side was almost more than he could take. He was having a hard enough time sorting out what was real and what wasn't. He didn't need that kind of imagery to make it even harder. It was killing him.

He's not looking so good is he? Probably gonna die any moment now.

Sam stiffened, but didn't look around. Because he didn't want to see him. Not again. The fact that he'd chosen to show up at a time like this wasn't exactly surprising, Sam knew, but it didn't make it any easier. Sam lifted his head and checked the wound, desperate to keep his mind busy on something important. Something real. And Dean's blood was very real and felt warm on his hands. It was the only thing that felt warm.

Shivering and feeling his teeth chatter, Sam forced himself to focus.

Focus, Sammy. That's a good idea. But why not focus on me?

And then he was right there, sitting on the other side of Dean, grinning and laughing, and Sam had to turn away, hands not breaking contact with Dean, while he threw up.

Aw, you're not looking so good either, Sammy.

Gagging, Sam couldn't look up, kept his eyes pressed closed. He weakly spit on the dirty ground and hoped that would be the end of it. Because he didn't have time for this. But when he felt just a little stronger and it had been a little quieter, he turned back to Dean. Only to find him with his head pressed close to Dean's chest. Sam froze, not wanting to look, not wanting to see it, but helpless to resist.

He's still breathing, don't worry. I won't hurt him. Much.

And then he had a blade that he was stabbing through Dean's throat and Sam choked back a sob, burying his own face against Dean's chest so he could hear his heartbeat, reassure himself it wasn't real. Because he couldn't see that. Not again. Not right now. Please, please, make it stop, Sam tried to calm his breathing as he listened to Dean's heartbeat, make him go away.

I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I'm right here in hell with you and big brother. Whole happy family together at last. And we're not going anywhere.

This time, when he crushed Dean's skull between his hands and Sam felt the splatter of blood all over his face, he had to let go. Had to pray Dean wasn't going to bleed out in the minute it took him to clutch his left hand so tightly that he hurt all the way up to his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look around, to concentrate. And then he almost cried in relief that it was just him and Dean again. And Dean was alive. Bleeding and concussed and definitely confused when he was awake, but he was alive.

So Sam put his hands back against his brother's bloody side and the tears that rolled down his cheeks were the only thing that felt refreshingly warm as the ice burned all around him.

Awareness came slowly and Dean wasn't sure if it were a blessing or a curse. He was confused; mind a jumbled, muddied mess and he hated that feeling. But he could already feel the sharp pain coursing through his body and he knew he was injured. How it had happened was a complete mystery. How bad it was…well, he was starting to get a clue as he came fully back to consciousness.

For one thing, his head throbbed more enthusiastically than it ever had after a good night out drinking. He felt sick to his stomach and, speaking of stomach, Dean realized his left side was where just about 100% of the fiery pain was situated. Except for the 100% of the fiery pain in his head.

"Two hundred percent." He mumbled around what seemed like a mouthful of marbles.

Forcing his eyes open, Dean could see nothing but blackness and for a long second he was sure he was blind. But then his eyes adjusted and he realized he wasn't blind. Just in a really dark place. He smelled sulphur, smoke and saw the fire.

Everywhere.

"No!" Dean shouted, jackknifing upright only to fall flat on his back, his shout of protest turning to a scream of pain.

He had no idea how much time passed before he found his way back from the darkness again. This time, at least, he remembered two important things. One, a demon had been eating him and two, it was a good idea to move slowly. Eyes opening again, he rolled his head carefully to the side and felt the heat of the flames on his face and he remembered a third thing.

He was in hell.

Groaning, he curled himself over onto his left side, cradling his hands around his half-devoured middle. It wasn't necessarily any less painful or any easier to think or breathe, but at least he somehow felt a little more protected than he had felt flat on his back. After who knew how long, he got his eyes opened again and wondered when the torture was going to start up again. When minutes passed, or days, it was hard to tell, and nothing came to rip his skin off, Dean felt himself actually begin to relax.

Which was always a mistake because that was when they came back and started it all over again. But for right now, he was too weak and in too much pain to keep his defenses up. So Dean just lay there, staring at the flames licking up the walls all around him. His gaze drifted upward and he realized he could see stars.

He'd never seen the stars before.

Eyes widened, he felt a new pain. In his heart. This was the sort of thing that hurt more than any of the other torture. This pain was the pain of remembering and being allowed to think for a minute that he was out. Just like when they'd conjured up Sam's voice earlier. A tear ran down his cheek as he lowered his gaze from the not-real stars. Dean looked back at the flames, then his gaze drifted lower and he saw water.

Weird.

Stars and water. What would Alistair think of next? Why was he doing this? Why wasn't he on the rack with Alistair staring at him with that awful, hateful smile? Dean couldn't muddle it all out. His head hurt too much. So he just pressed his face into the warm coat under his head and breathed out a sigh as he realized it was Sam's jacket. Even if it wasn't real, somehow it made him feel better and he fell asleep dreaming of the countless times he and Sam had sat on the hood of the Impala under the stars.

Sam's lungs were burning even if the rest of him was freezing. He surfaced and almost drowned right then as he struggled to stay focused enough to keep his head above the water. There wasn't anything to hang on to and it was hard to get a breath when he kept shoving his head under the waves over and over.

I think you need swimming lessons, Sammy. You seem to be struggling a little.

And then Sam went under again, but his face was always there under the water too. Panicked, Sam kicked and surfaced again. He spit a mouthful of water out and said to himself, "It's not real, not real, not real. He's not real."

The water went over his head again as he pressed the scar on his left hand and forgot to keep kicking. This time he was alone under the surface. Eyes wide, stinging from the salt water, Sam looked around the near-black water and didn't see him anymore. Relief flooded through him and it was so strong that Sam relaxed, not even realizing he was drifting further from the surface. The ice was soaking through his body and it felt so good that he closed his eyes.

It would have been so easy to ignore the ache in his body and the sharp pain in his chest and just let the icy water quietly suck him under, but, as consciousness began to waver, Sam's mind suddenly filled with the one image he could not ignore. And his eyes opened as he kicked and beat his uncoordinated arms until he felt a shock of cold air against his face. The shock was enough to cause him to suck in a deep, desperate breath of air and start coughing up all the water he hadn't realized he'd swallowed.

Sam looked around frantically. He remembered Dean. Dean was hurt. Bad. But as he looked at the flames and water all around him, he couldn't remember anything else. Couldn't remember what he was doing. He slid beneath the water again and it was so much harder to remember to come up again this time. Sam just kept repeating Dean's name over and over and that was enough to bring him up every time he sank too low.

Spinning around, bobbing helplessly, Sam tried to find Dean. To figure out where he was supposed to be going. Dean was here somewhere and he'd know what Sam was supposed to be doing. Sam just needed to find him first. He frowned as he turned in a complete circle. He was inside. Swimming. Inside? The water slipped over his head and he couldn't remember which way was up. Heart clenching in his chest, Sam wiped at his eyes as if that would help and kicked helplessly. It was hopeless. He could be swimming the complete wrong direction for all he knew.

And then he saw something he hadn't seen before.

Stars.

Sam immediately swam in that direction, kicking with leaden legs and numb arms. His head was above the water and he was breathing again. Sam stared up at the stars. The stars. Vaguely, he knew he needed to get out of the water, even though he couldn't figure out why exactly. But he was transfixed by the stars. They were bright and so close. He floated onto his back, eyes focused on the pinpricks of light that were so clear above the flames all around him.

The flames.

The cold.

Sam's breath caught and he almost went under again as he felt something move next to him. He couldn't, wouldn't look. Because he could hear him laughing again and he didn't want to see his face. Sam stared at the stars and prayed they were real because he just couldn't remember if they were or not. But he did remember trying to count them all. With Dean. They'd been drunk and it had been a good night even if they'd only made it to fifty, or had it been fifty-seven, before one of them had fallen off the hood of the Impala; they never could agree who had been the one to fall in the first place, but they'd both ended up in the grass, so it really hadn't mattered that much in the end.

Good times, Sammy, good times. But those stars aren't real. I think they're pretty convincing though, don't you?

A hand was on his chest and the voice spoke again just before Sam felt himself shoved under the water. He said You never made it out to see the stars, Sam. You're still here. With me.

Sam almost closed his eyes, but then he felt cold metal brush against his arm and it shocked him enough that he remembered to squeeze his left hand and then, mercifully, the voice vanished and he was alone in the water. He slipped under again while he was focusing on the pain in his hand, but then he quickly bobbed up.

Teeth chattering, Sam spun in the water until he could barely make out Dean's form to his left. He started swimming in that direction, realizing exactly how cold the water was and how numb his entire body was. He needed to be out of the water. He needed to remember why he'd gotten in the water in the first place, too, but when he reached the edge of the deck where Dean was lying still and pale in the firelight, Sam decided he'd try to remember that part later.

So he dragged himself up out of the water and it took much longer than it should have. By the time he'd made it to Dean's side, he was shaking with the cold and could only assure himself that Dean was still breathing and hadn't bled out before he slumped against the wall in an exhausted heap.

And that was right where the devil found him.

Dean heard the voice nearby and he held still. Didn't want to let Alistair know he was awake. This experience was surreal in a whole new way. He was used to the 'ordinary' tortures. He was very used to the rack. But this, this was confusing and disconcerting in a different way. It wasn't easy to keep track of anything down here, but Dean was pretty sure he didn't remember ever being in this room...this place before. Still not moving, but slowly letting awareness pull him back to reality, Dean thought back to what he could remember from earlier.

The flames and smoke all around him. The sounds of water. The heat. Sam's voice. No, he corrected himself, not real Sam's voice. Dean felt a shiver run through his body and he clenched his teeth against the pain in his head and side at even that minimal movement. The room was quiet except for his breathing, the soft lapping of water and the crackling of flames.

And Sam's voice.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed even tighter. Because he didn't want to hear Sam. Well, he did want to hear Sam, but he didn't want to hear this fake, hell-created version of Sam. Miserably, he curled tighter into himself and fought the despair.

"Not real, not real, not real…"

Gasping, Dean pressed his hands against his ears even though it hurt to take them away from his sliced open side. He didn't know why fake-Sam would be saying it wasn't real. Usually the point of the torture was to make it seem as real as possible just to make it worse when he realized the truth.

"Dean, please." And this time the voice, already shaky, seemed to break into a thousand pieces and Dean had to open his eyes. Because if Sam sounded like that, he was in pain.

Blinking in the darkness, Dean opened his eyes and found himself staring at a face that was so much like his brother's that he almost begged for Alistair to come cut him to a bloody pulp again. Because that was better than seeing Sam sitting there, white faced and shivering, his back up against a wall. With an expression of pure terror in his eyes.

"Dean, please, please, please, stop saying that...it's not real, it's not real." Sam was mumbling as he stared at some point just to Dean's right. Every once in awhile he'd flinch like he'd been slapped and then he'd start moaning again. "Dean, please, it's not real, it's not real…"

"Sam." Dean tried out his voice and was shocked that he had a voice; that he hadn't screamed himself hoarse by now. And, as soon as he'd said his brother's name, he realized something. Shock rushing over him, Dean said, "It's not real."

It was like a switch had been flipped in his pounding head and Dean could see Sam sitting there plain as day and Dean knew why Sam was saying what he did; why he looked like he did. Dean couldn't do much more than scoot along the floor, pushing with his legs while his hands went back around his middle and pain ripped through him. But he kept his gaze on Sam and didn't even try to figure out what the heck was going on. He just knew one thing. He needed to get to Sam.

By the time he'd started inching along, Sam had stopped talking. Stopped doing much of anything except sitting there like he'd died with his eyes wide open and his mouth moving with silent words that Dean could imagine all too well were desperate pleas. Come on, Sammy, it's not real, man, Dean thought to himself though he couldn't spare the energy to say the words aloud yet. That would come in a moment, when he actually got close enough to touch his brother.

Specifically, to grab his left hand and squeeze it hard enough that Sam would snap out of it.

That was what Dean hoped, anyway. He had to pause and catch his breath and try to keep the darkness at bay. Because whatever had happened to him, he could feel the dizziness of blood loss and the throbbing behind his eyes that meant he'd probably hit his head somewhere along the line. His hand felt wet and warm against his side and Dean remembered the demon shredding him, eating his guts and he had to lay his head against the ground. Not real! He told himself over and over. But it didn't stop the swell of nausea or the retching as he threw up whatever he'd eaten earlier. He couldn't even remember earlier.

Lying there, exhausted and spent, Dean opened his eyes and looked around. From where he lay, he couldn't easily twist his head enough to see Sam, but he had a good look at the room ahead. Or whatever it was. He squinted, eyes blurry and brain foggy. Because he could see stars above through the roof? And he could hear and see the lapping of water ahead of him. The walls were tilted and he abruptly noticed that he was tilted. The floor wasn't flat, it was sloping toward Sam, but also toward the water. And then he felt the movement beneath him, all around him, and another round of gagging left him with darkening vision and a few startling realizations.

He wasn't in hell. Which was good.

He was on a ship. Which was bad.

Because the ship was haunted.

And on fire.

And sinking.

Dean swallowed hard and tried to move again, but he moved at the same moment the ship moved and all that nice clarity slipped away with his consciousness as a lance of pain spiked through his head.

Sam recoiled as the blade went through Dean's chest.

Again.

And then the blood was spraying him in the face and he jerked back; as if it would help. He'd lost the will to protest, to plead for it to stop, to beg Dean to run. Because running never helped, never would. It would never end. Never end. Never end.

That's right, it's never gonna end! I've got all the time in the world and I'm having so much fun with your brother!

Sam couldn't react. He was too tired. Some part of his brain was screaming at him something about getting them out of the ship, but he couldn't get enough energy to even pay attention anymore. All he could think about was Dean. Standing there in front of him, being killed in every way possible.

"Sam."

Dean was talking and it was almost worse when he spoke because his voice sounded so real.

"It's not real."

And Dean sounded so certain that Sam almost dared hope. But then Dean's head was neatly cut off with a broadsword and Sam couldn't keep up anymore. He let his eyes slide closed. For a moment, it was quiet except for the sounds of water and what might have been the crackling of flames. He didn't know how there could be flames when it was so cold. Wishing he could just feel the heat and warm up, Sam's head tilted toward his chest and he felt the tug of unconsciousness.

Then the ship moved.

And he found himself falling to his left and his hand hit freezing cold metal and then Sam was clutching his hand with all his strength. Had to make it all go away. Had to remember.

"It's not real!" Sam said aloud, eyes still closed. "It's not real."

Squeezing harder, he forced his eyes open and the Cage and all the hallucinations faded away again and he remembered the most important thing.

"Dean!"

He almost fell into the water as the ship groaned and moved again, but he caught himself on his elbow at the edge of what remained of the deck, and looked at Dean. His brother had moved closer and Sam didn't have any idea how he'd done that. Scooting shakily forward, Sam pressed his fingers against Dean's neck again. Thankfully, this time his hands weren't covered in Dean's blood. His brother's skin felt warm against his ice cold fingers and Sam laughed in relief even though Dean seemed to flinch under his touch.

"Dean, man, you gotta wake up." Sam said, trying to gently pull Dean farther from the water. He got Dean situated as comfortably as possible against the far wall and he felt himself sliding toward the water. Planting his feet, Sam sat sideways so he could keep an eye on Dean and keep himself from falling into the ocean. The ocean that was getting closer every time he was aware enough to notice it.

Turning his attention back to his brother, Sam checked the makeshift bandages on his sliced up side. There was some fresh blood, on the bandage and on Dean's hand, but it was less than it could have been. Bracing himself as the deck swayed again, Sam gave Dean's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Dean. Dean? I know you were just awake. You gotta come back around, ok? I...I n-n-need your...h-h-help." Sam said softly, hating to say the words aloud.

Dean had a head injury and was bleeding out from a gash in his side and Sam was the one who needed help?

So pathetic….just like always. He would be better without you. Always would have been.

Sam squeezed his hand again before the voice got any louder. Why was it so bad right now? He shook his head, couldn't figure it out. It was bad almost all the time, but usually the pain he inflicted on his left hand was enough to keep the hallucinations at bay for a longer period than this. But he had to focus on other things.

"Dean, please." Sam said, hating that he was as pathetic as his freaking hallucinations said he was. But since more than half the time he was hallucinating, he figured it wasn't all that pathetic to need a little help. "Hey, man, I know you're h-h-hurting...and, uh, I know...I know you were s-s-seeing things…."

His stomach flip-flopped just thinking back to when Dean had been begging for the demon to stop eating him. And then when he'd started screaming Sam's name... Foggily, he rationalized that it was the flames, the heat of the fire, the smoke that Dean was smelling coupled with his concussion that was making him flashback to hell.

"It's not real." Sam said aloud, not sure if he was trying to reassure Dean or himself. He stared at the flames and could only imagine what Dean had been seeing or remembering as he sat in the heat of the burning ship.

Sam couldn't feel the heat, though. All he felt was the ice wrapping its jagged slivers through his entire body, freezing him from the inside out. Staring at the nearest fire, which, thankfully, was beginning to go down, Sam wished he could feel the heat. Suddenly, he desperately needed to feel it. To feel something.

He crawled away from Dean, eyes focused on the flames that were licking up the wall. Ice cold hand reaching out, Sam was almost there, almost close enough to touch the flames. Almost close enough to feel the heat. But before he could warm himself, though, he heard a voice behind him shouting his name with a surprising desperation. Pausing, Sam turned slightly away from the flames and saw Dean's eyes were opened.

Wide opened and clearly terrified.

"Sammy! Get away from there!"

And Sam did. Just not the way either of them would have preferred.

The deck shifted and he was under the water before he'd even stopped smiling about the fact Dean was awake and talking to him.

Dean had been aware of movement around him, even of a soft voice. But it had been so muddled and hard to surface from the warmth that he gave up before even half trying. Somehow the presence near him felt comforting and safe and familiar and he just drifted on the fringes of awareness. A hand was touching his neck. And Dean flinched away from the ice cold fingers. There was a touch on his side and he wanted to beg whoever it was to stop touching him, stop hurting him.

"Dean. Dean? I know you were just awake. You gotta come back around, ok? I...I n-n-need your h-h-help."

That voice sounded exactly like Sam's voice and Dean couldn't help it when he started pushing past the fog in order to wake up. It seemed harder than before, and he barely even remembered struggling awake earlier. But with every tentative inch he climbed up from the darkness, Dean felt himself remembering.

A job.

Nice and straightforward.

Back on a hunt.

Just what they both needed after...Dean wouldn't let his thoughts go there. He tried to focus on Sam's voice. A voice that was sounding less and less strong and more and more lost and weak. It also sounded like Sam was having trouble talking around his chattering teeth.

"Dean, please." There was a long pause then, "Hey, man, I know you're h-h-hurting...and, uh, I know...I know you were s-s-seeing things…."

Seeing things. Like Alistair. Like hell. Dean was almost there. The job, the hunt. East coast? Maybe West. He couldn't remember where they were, just that they'd taken on an abandoned at sea, haunted freighter. And Dean was swearing all over again in his head that he was never taking another hunt off of good old dry land. Because now the water he'd been hearing made an awful, dreadful, terrible kind of sense.

As did the fact he could see the stars.

The ship was on fire and sinking.

"It's not real."

Sam's words were even softer than before and there was an uncertainty to them now that had Dean's heart rate doubling and his anxiety spiking. Because Sam didn't sound like he believed what he was saying and that could only mean one thing. He was hallucinating. Dean forced his eyes open against the ten thousand pound weights sitting on them. He needed to see Sam, needed to help him and keep him from getting completely lost in his broken mind. But by the time Dean had his eyes open, that familiar presence at his side was absent.

He blinked in the darkness and before he was even all the way awake he nearly had a heart attack.

Sam was about ten feet away from him, on his knees.

Reaching out a hand toward the nearest flames.

Dean didn't want to know what his brother thought he was seeing. And he really didn't want to even consider the thought that maybe Sam did know what he was seeing and either couldn't comprehend why he shouldn't be trying to touch the flames, or didn't care. Dean pushed himself up on to his elbows with no small amount of agony and shouted.

"Sammy! Get away from there!"

The only relief he got was the fact that Sam immediately stilled, turned around and his sickly pale face brightened into a smile. Dean almost smiled back but then the ship lurched and Sam was pitched face first into the water.

"No!" Dean shouted again, struggling to move closer to the edge of the deck. His head was swimming and his side was on fire. But all he could think about was the fact that Sam was in the water, and hadn't broken the surface yet, and was more than likely trapped in the midst of one of his freakin' hallucinations.

Half-rolling, half crawling, Dean reached the edge of the water and very nearly joined his brother in the drink as the ship moved again. He gripped the edge of the deck with his right hand as his left curled around his waist. The water was frigid and as his hand slapped weakly against the water and he strained to see his brother in the blackness, Dean had a terrible feeling on top of his already bad feeling.

Sam's teeth had been chattering before he'd gone in the water.

Dean cursed and shouted his brother's name again as loud as he could, "Sam! Come on, Sam!"

Because if Sam's teeth had been chattering before he'd gone in the water, Dean knew that meant he'd already been in the water. Why, he couldn't begin to figure out, but he didn't doubt it for a moment. Because he was sweltering in the confined space with the smoking flames licking up the walls. Sam should have been just as hot and miserable as he was, but Sam's fingers had felt like ice. He was probably hypothermic on top of hallucinating and there was always that cheery thought that he might be injured on top of all of it.

"Sam!" Dean screamed again, lurching forward and moving his hand in the water, not sure what he was actually going to accomplish. He needed light, needed to be able to see. Needed not to feel like his head was going to roll away or he was about to bleed out.

Needed to find his brother.

"SAM!" Dean's voice was ragged but loud and it echoed off the water and the walls, snapping back to his own ears, letting him hear exactly how desperate he was. He stared at the water, strongly considering that it might be time to dive in after Sam.

And then he saw movement to his right. Just under the surface of the water. It looked like Sam was floundering, struggling to swim. And maybe he was; the hallucinations would be enough to keep him lost and confused enough that he would drown right there, an inch away from air. Dean threw himself to his right and ignored the spike of pain on impact and just put both his arms in the water and grabbed.

He connected with Sam's face and felt his brother jerk away from him. But right now, he was the functional one, and wasn't that just fan-freaking-tastic, all things considered? And he was more focused on getting Sam out than Sam was of getting away from him. Yanking with more strength than he really should have been able to muster considering his abdomen was sliced open, Dean pulled on Sam's shoulders until his brother's head was above the surface.

His jubilation at that victory was short and not very sweet because Sam wasn't fighting anymore, which should have been a good thing, but wasn't. Because not only was he not fighting off whatever hallucination he'd been lost in, he wasn't fighting to get out of the water, wasn't even fighting to breathe. His eyes were closed and Dean wouldn't let him even consider what the awful pallor of his face meant. He hadn't been under that long to have drowned, had he? But then again, he wasn't exactly trying to breathe now, was he?

"Damn it Sam!" Dean choked out, his face almost in his brother's wet hair as he tried to hold onto him. He was now on his stomach on the deck, his hands gripping Sam's shoulders so hard he was sure there would be bruises tomorrow.

If they made it to tomorrow.

"Sam!" He shouted again. He couldn't move. Couldn't pull Sam out of the water. Not with his abdomen ripped to shreds. Not with the deck sliding him ever closer to the water. Not with Sam weighing fifty thousand pounds and not doing one single freaking thing to help.

Dean tightened his grip, feeling his hands go numb not from the grip but from the icy water. He stared at Sam's lax face, freakishly lit half white in the starlight, and half red by the flames. It was one of the most terrifying sights Dean had ever seen and then again it wasn't. His hands started to shake and his breath wheezed in and out in an ever increasing staccato.

"Not real, not real, not real." Dean said aloud although he almost didn't have enough breath to do it. But he had to because he needed to hear it. Because he wasn't sure. Wasn't sure at all any more.

Sam looked dead.

He'd looked like this before.

Cold Oak.

Dean gasped, "Please...come on, Sam, come on!"

In hell.

No, no, no, no…

Alistair.

The heat!

Sam's dead.

"No." Dean whispered, his head lowering. It was so heavy and he couldn't remember why it had seemed so important to hold it up.

His arms were being dragged down by something even heavier than his head and when his face hit something wet and hard that smelled like Sam's shampoo, Dean couldn't do it anymore. He let go of everything and couldn't even stop it when his face went into the water.

Sam's first sense of awareness was when something hard hit him on the top of the head. It knocked him deeper into the water and somehow knocked the desire to breathe back into him. He surfaced, gasping and struggling to catch his breath. When he came up, something knocked into his shoulder and Sam swiped a hand across his face and blinked in horrified shock as he realized Dean was face down in the water.

"Dean!" Sam coughed and spluttered as he bobbed just above the surface, struggling to stay afloat while he simultaneously tried to push Dean's head out of the water. "Dean!"

It wasn't easy, but he was finally able to get a hand on the slippery deck to hold himself up while he used his other hand to push at Dean until his head was somewhat awkwardly, and probably uncomfortably, twisted to the side. At least his nose and mouth were out of the water. And he was breathing. He coughed a couple times at first, then Sam could see his chest rising in the dim light of hellfire.

"No! It's not real!" Sam shouted aloud. Because he just didn't quite believe it yet, he shouted it again, even louder, "It's not real!"

"I can hear you! Geeze, Sam, take it down a notch, I've got a headache."

Sam almost went under again because he was so surprised and it sounded just like "Dean?"

"Yes, moron." Dean said, his eyes staring straight at Sam. "Get out of the water. Now."

"Can't." Sam said, feeling himself losing his grip on the deck and his grip on reality.

"Sam, you gotta get out of the water." Dean said firmly and suddenly Sam felt a hand on his. He flinched at the sharp pain that cut past the numbness in his left hand and then he could see Dean so clearly. Could see the worry and fear and hope in his dulled green eyes. Dean must have seen something change in his face, because he smiled all of a sudden and said, "Ya with me, Sammy?"

Nodding jerkily, Sam said, "Here."

"Ok, well time to get up here. You're gonna freeze to death."

"No! Please, no…" Sam moaned, closing his eyes and letting go of the deck.

"Sam!" The pain was back in his hand at the same time Dean's voice shocked his brain. Dean was tugging him by his left hand up onto the deck, but he couldn't do more than just hold him against the deck, still squeezing his hand. "Sammy, look at me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, man. Wrong thing to say."

Sam blinked back tears and salt water and tried to focus on Dean's face again.

Dean's other hand was behind his head, pulling him so close that Sam was waiting for the crack about personal space. But there was no crack. Dean just tugged him closer and said with a rare desperation, "Sammy. Please. Please get out of the water. Please."

"Dean?"

"Right here."

"Is this…."

"It's real, Sam. Get up here. Now."

Sam tried. He really did. But it was incredibly difficult to get his frozen limbs to cooperate and there was this nagging sense of nonchalance that had him almost shrugging and not bothering to move. He was so tired and he just didn't really care that much. It was at least quiet in his mind. The devil was gone. For now. And Dean was here. Maybe that was enough. Maybe he was safe enough. Maybe he could just rest for a moment. Dean was ok. Sam didn't really care about himself at this particular moment. Dean was fine. He needed to close his eyes for a moment.

"Don't you freakin' dare, Sam!" Dean's shout was ragged but effective.

It shook something loose in his brain and Sam found the last bit of reserve strength he had to his name and somehow managed to pull himself out of the water, immediately collapsing in a heap next to his brother.

He might have been happy if he hadn't been so damned tired.

Dean wondered how many more heart attacks he could survive before he'd be well and truly dead. He stared wearily at the limp, shivering body next to him and squeezed harder. He hadn't let go of Sam's left hand the entire time his brother had struggled to get out of the water. Dean could see all too well that Sam's ability to distinguish reality from hallucinations or flashbacks was perhaps even more tenuous than his was at the moment. At least right now Dean was able to remember that he wasn't in hell. That hell had been years ago and the only hell he was in now was the hell of watching his little brother suffer through his own fractured memories and agonizing hallucinations of hell.

Well, ok and of course there was the hell of being on a burning, sinking ship.

That was so not cool.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

Dean lowered his head to his outstretched arms, hand still squeezing Sam's. He whispered, "What…"

He broke off before he started. There would be no point in asking Sam what the hell had happened. He'd be lucky if Sam would even manage to stay with him if he let go of his hand, let alone remember what had happened. At least not and manage to give him the non-hallucinatory version. He needed to focus on what they were going to do next instead of what had happened before. And first thing first, he needed to get Sam back into his coat. Dean blinked his heavy eyes and tried to ignore the double vision as he looked at the deck.

The coat Sam had put under his head on earlier was gone. Probably slid into the water. Sighing, Dean looked at Sam again and shook his hand weakly, trying to rouse him. At least he wasn't spouting nonsense or diving back into the water, but he sure didn't look good. Dean cleared his throat and said, "Hey. Sam? Wakey wakey. I need your help."

"Dean?" Sam whispered, then groaned, curling in on himself.

It took all of Dean's concentration to keep a hold of Sam's hand when he moved. Dean was not letting go until he saw some more promising signs of actual coherence. Sam had his eyes open, but they were unfocused and pained. They finally met Dean's and Dean smiled.

Sam smiled back briefly. His entire body was shaking and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably as he whispered, "Are...are we here? Together?"

Dean almost laughed. He just squeezed harder against the scar on Sam's hand because he could easily see the signs that his brother was barely holding it together. Maybe it was the hypothermia, maybe an injury, but whatever it was, Sam was doing an abysmal job of managing the hallucinations this time around. Or maybe Dean just hadn't been paying enough attention to know how bad things had really gotten for Sam. Dean didn't feel like laughing anymore.

"Sammy, we are right here. Together." Dean said, putting as much conviction into his words as was possible since he felt like he was in the process of passing out.

Again.

He needed Sam to be alright. Needed him to stay on the right side of reality. Because if he faded out again... Dean swallowed hard against the bubbling fear of what could happen if he lost consciousness and Sam went for another swim. Or tried to commune with the friendly flames. Dean shook Sam's hand again and held his gaze.

"Sam. We are right here on this sinking ship in the middle of the ocean in the real world right now. Tell me."

"Sinking s-s-ship. Right n-n-now." Sam chattered, his hand closing around Dean's.

"Good. I need your help."

Sam nodded, but didn't move.

Dean tried to think through a plan. It was difficult given the general crappiness of their situation. The ocean water was lapping closer to their unsafe perch on the tilted deck. The flames were actually dying down and because the ship was breached and the sky was showing through, they weren't in danger of asphyxiating. Which was the good thing. The rest of the bad was that he wasn't sure he could let go of Sam without him flipping out. And he didn't feel like he could move what with the ripping pain in his bloody abdomen and the marching band between his ears. Needed to get them both away from the water. Needed to get Sam warm, preferably without setting him on fire. Needed to not pass out.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"We need to move."

"Yeah."

"The water…" Sam broke off as he started to push himself upright. "We gotta move."

"Yeah." Dean repeated because he was having trouble thinking of the right thing to say and yeah seemed like a pretty good option under the circumstances.

"Dude." Sam said, on his knees now, and how had he managed to do that without Dean even noticing him move? Sam's face was bent low, near his face and Dean wanted to bat him away but didn't. There was just a hint of amusement in Sam's eyes as he said, "You gotta let go of my hand."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Need...need to keep...you…here."

Sam almost protested, but then he looked around the wrecked room and shuddered and this time it wasn't because he was freezing. He focused on his brother's face and said, "Don't let me go."

Dean smiled, "Never."

There's more! :)