I found a martyr in my bed tonight. Who: Dean Winchester and Selina Kyle What: Morning After Where: Selina's room in Hatfield House When: The morning of January 20th Rating: PG, possibly higher.
Dean stirred, images of Hell and Purgatory mingling in his head. Fire and blood, running between thin trees with branches reaching across the grey expanse of what should be the sky, clawing and scraping in the wind against each other. The sound of blades -- Alastair's face. He'll never forget the image of that demon's true face. Thirty years of torture replaying in his head, ten years of him torturing others following it like always. The screams of that girl, that very first girl. How she cried and whimpered and begged. And how he enjoyed every second of it. It bleeds out for images of the forest again, running as fast as he can, Benny and Castiel at his sides, and all he can think of is getting home to Sam. And there's his little brother, unshaven, hair a mess, tired and beaten, lying in that hospital bed.
Dean calls out to him in his sleep; quiet, a murmur. "Sammy?" But instead of hazel eyes that sometimes look green and sometimes brown, he sees yellow instead. A flicker and they're black. Dean remembers Sam standing over Lucifer's Cage. He remembers the pain searing in his face. He remembers Sam falling backwards, taking Adam with him--
Waking with a start, Dean breathes in sharply and then sinks back into the bed, his hand instantly coming to find his blade under the pillow. And there isn't one. Squinting around the room, he can hear birds and all kinds of morning sounds, and realises he's not at Bobby's house, or in a motel -- or Hell, or Purgatory -- but he's in Hatfield House. He doesn't sleep much anymore, he's had about five hours here, which is an hour more than normal at least. He just doesn't settle well without Sam in the room.
He stretches a bit, realising who he's next to and smiling lightly to himself as he rolls onto his side. He always sleeps on his back when he sleeps alone or shares a room with anyone but Sam. Resting an arm over Selina, he presses his face to the crook of her neck and shoulder, squeezing her a little and pulling the blankets up over them more.