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The jagged sword swings with an audible whoosh, displacing air with incongruous grace. Thing was huge, almost as tall as the wielder, and sliced through three of the beasts before slowing down. Dean laughed maniacally as blood and viscera splattered his clothes. It wouldn’t be long at this rate. His bloodlust was growing quicker, now. Sam dreaded the day he watched his brother’s pupils split and become glassy, a mindless bloodrunk beast like the things they were contracted into killing. They conveniently leave that part out when they give you the transfusion. In Sam’s estimation, it’s not dissimilar to demon blood: addictive, makes you nearly unstoppable, keep having to drink more and more to fight mightier foes. And most importantly, it turns you into a monster.
Maybe that’s why Sam can resist it better. He’s familiar with the urges—fights them every day in fact. You never really get that devil off your shoulder; you just get better at ignoring his whispers. He watches the horrific, disgusting, beautiful display of Dean’s wicked blood-raining dance, and knows his brother has never felt better in his life. It makes his head itch. His eyes writhe.
Dean is blind to the giant spider-alien clinging to the side of the building, and nearly misses getting scooped up in a gigantic spindly hand. He laughs at Sam, says he’s going crazy. Sam tackles him out of the way of demonic orbs of light, and Dean laughs and laughs.
It’s become too horrible to bear, and Sam ties a piece of filthy blood-soaked cloth around his eyes. It doesn’t impede his ability to walk and fight, but it blocks out the nightmares growing out of the monsters. Blocks out the secrets burrowing their way into his eyes and brain and eyes and eyes. The insanity-inducing truth wrapping its tendrils into every crevice of his mind. There’s a larger truth at work here, not simply beasts and blood. He hasn’t seen a beast in days, despite Dean continuing to rip into the nightmares with a feral, thirsty grin.
He hears a song, now. A constant off-key choir in the distance. It’s beckoning them. Dean follows. He killed the last human they came across, said they were turning. Asks Sammy when they can return to the dream to get more blood. There’s something at the top of the tower that pulls him ever closer.
All of Sam’s eyes still itch.