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Waiting for You

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A crunching sound, wood breaking, then a snarl. His chest was wet, he could taste copper dripping from his lips, could feel hell fire on his heels –no, wait. That was a different time. But the howls, he could hear them! They were following, ready to rip him to pieces.

Or had they already?

He remembered waiting for them, how they sliced him open, puncturing him like a cheap balloon. He was bleeding, but he was running this time. He could feel it in his lungs and in his legs.

The blood loss was probably why he couldn't remember how he got here, and it was no doubt leaving a trail for the dogs to follow. Where was Sam? He couldn’t remember. He hopped the dogs hadn’t gotten him, but he was pretty sure they weren’t after his brother.

They only wanted him.

He stumbled, tripping over his own clumsy feet and downing down hard. He lay, winded and bleeding, wishing someone was there to help him fight. But he didn’t want Sam to die with him, and Cas...he hadn’t seen much of the angel before he had appeared to return Sam to the world of the living, and he saw even less of him now that he was waging an angelic war in heaven.

Something crashed into the clearing around him, too large and too visable to be a hell hound. It was followed by several other monsters, half human in their stance, with huge claws and canine fangs as sharp as the knives in the impala.

With a shrieking coyote bark, one of them lunged at Dean, slamming into him with those stabbing, slicing teeth. Dean barely had time to wish again that someone would help him before darkness took him.

 

 

Death was as painful and confusing as ever.

Dean alternated between floating, if not peacefully, then at least mostly unaware in that foggy, blackness that took him out of the world. There in the dark it was quiet, and he couldn’t summon the energy to do any of those human things like thinking and worrying. But occasionally, in some space of time undeterminable in the darkness, there were words and sensations that would break through.

“Brother, if you are lying–”

“For fuck’s sake. Do you think that I wanted this to happen?”

The words weren’t so bad. They confused him with their urgency, and sometimes the conversations he heard didn’t seem to be  directed at him. There was some part of him that was surprised to hear the voices, almost recognizing them at times before their identities disappeared under exhaustion and he drifted back into the shadows.

Feelings, sensations. Those were the less pleasant part of being woken from the darkness. Sometimes the pain would come, so strong in its burning that he feared hell had found him and ripped him from his state of limbo. Smells like blood and lightning confused his already disconnected senses, and he found himself thinking in his more lucid moments about angels sent to rescue him. Or was it distroy him?

“Dean is my friend. I will not allow you to hurt him.”

“That’s nice. I thought I was your friend too. But I guess that means little to you now that you have started hanging around these mud monkeys. It’s not like you would understand the pain of finding your mate and knowing that the bond might as well not exist for all they can feel.”

Dean whined. He didn’t understand what was happening. He was too hot, everything was too loud. But the voices were upset, and he felt like shit that they were upset about him. He was so confused. Maybe he wasn’t dead. He could feel pain, right? So me must be feeling it somewhere.

It was hard to focus through the blackness that was trying to pull him back in, but he didn’t want those voices to worry so much about him. With all of his will he tried to connect to the pain in his shoulder, where he remembered bleeding so much. He had been bitten, hadn’t he?

Those things hadn’t been hell hounds. They were too human. He must have been hunting werewolves, but how was he still alive?

Suddenly, it seemed much more important to find out what was happening. But the darkness was there and he barely shrugged before he was slipping back under. The voices exclaimed at the movement.