Fic: Wild By Skye (25/27)
"Hang in there, son… you're going to be okay," John's voice rumbled gently.
His father sounded a thousand miles away. Dean knew only now, only his agony. His body was soaked with sweat. John had cut off his son's shirt when Dean's temperature spiked at levels near the limit for seizures and brain damage. It didn't matter. Dean still felt like he was burning.
The Native American amulet was lying fiery on his chest. It felt like a burning coal laid against his skin.
Every inch of him was burning. Inside and out, fire and boiling blood, searing him.
It was in him. A demon, dark and angry. He'd felt it force its way into him, invited in by John's incantation whether Dean wanted it or not, invasive and unrelenting. Then it filled him with its sick rage. Pure, twisted, crazed fury rolling in him, coiling tight within the confines of his skin. Scraping him raw inside. Attacking him. Attacking the wolf.
He felt the war raging. The demon lashing out, licking molten strikes against Dean and the wolf. Dean felt the wolf's pain, lived it, owned it. He twisted against the onslaught, pulled uselessly at the straps holding him flat on his back. The wolf was fighting back, teeth snapping at blackness. It was a battlefield, a war zone, and the ground was Dean. It felt like they were standing on his nerve endings, each nerve laid fine and taut to make a flooring, and every touch hurt. Every step of the wolf and demon took reverberated through Dean with a wave of agony.
He wanted to die. He thought he would. He felt it. If the wolf died, he'd die with it. No way could he survive this.
The demon lunged and the wolf took a horrific blow.
Dean's body arched away from the bed and a strangled cry ripped from his throat.
"Shhh," John said again, from his safety so far from the fray. "Open your mouth, Dean."
Dean did, but not to obey John. To scream.
A worn strap of leather was shoved between his teeth.
"Bite down on this," John instructed softly. There may have been a hand brushing through Dean's hair, but he couldn't tell. He couldn't feel anything but the pain. "Don't scream, Dean… someone will hear."
Dean closed his teeth fiercely around the leather. He felt his teeth sink into the strap. His jaw muscles ached from the force of his bite. Tears stung his eyes. He struggled to bring in enough air fast enough through his nose to breathe.
A muffled scream tore from him and he threw back his head. Fire raced through him, burned him, scorched him, disfigured him from the inside out. He'd be a shell when this was over. The wolf would be gone, then the demon, and there'd be nothing left.
The demon and wolf flew at each other, clashed in mortal combat. Dean bucked and screamed into the leather in his teeth.
"Hang in there, Dean… you're going to be okay… just a little longer…"
It wasn't how Dean imagined dying.
Twenty-Six
His father sounded a thousand miles away. Dean knew only now, only his agony. His body was soaked with sweat. John had cut off his son's shirt when Dean's temperature spiked at levels near the limit for seizures and brain damage. It didn't matter. Dean still felt like he was burning.
The Native American amulet was lying fiery on his chest. It felt like a burning coal laid against his skin.
Every inch of him was burning. Inside and out, fire and boiling blood, searing him.
It was in him. A demon, dark and angry. He'd felt it force its way into him, invited in by John's incantation whether Dean wanted it or not, invasive and unrelenting. Then it filled him with its sick rage. Pure, twisted, crazed fury rolling in him, coiling tight within the confines of his skin. Scraping him raw inside. Attacking him. Attacking the wolf.
He felt the war raging. The demon lashing out, licking molten strikes against Dean and the wolf. Dean felt the wolf's pain, lived it, owned it. He twisted against the onslaught, pulled uselessly at the straps holding him flat on his back. The wolf was fighting back, teeth snapping at blackness. It was a battlefield, a war zone, and the ground was Dean. It felt like they were standing on his nerve endings, each nerve laid fine and taut to make a flooring, and every touch hurt. Every step of the wolf and demon took reverberated through Dean with a wave of agony.
He wanted to die. He thought he would. He felt it. If the wolf died, he'd die with it. No way could he survive this.
The demon lunged and the wolf took a horrific blow.
Dean's body arched away from the bed and a strangled cry ripped from his throat.
"Shhh," John said again, from his safety so far from the fray. "Open your mouth, Dean."
Dean did, but not to obey John. To scream.
A worn strap of leather was shoved between his teeth.
"Bite down on this," John instructed softly. There may have been a hand brushing through Dean's hair, but he couldn't tell. He couldn't feel anything but the pain. "Don't scream, Dean… someone will hear."
Dean closed his teeth fiercely around the leather. He felt his teeth sink into the strap. His jaw muscles ached from the force of his bite. Tears stung his eyes. He struggled to bring in enough air fast enough through his nose to breathe.
A muffled scream tore from him and he threw back his head. Fire raced through him, burned him, scorched him, disfigured him from the inside out. He'd be a shell when this was over. The wolf would be gone, then the demon, and there'd be nothing left.
The demon and wolf flew at each other, clashed in mortal combat. Dean bucked and screamed into the leather in his teeth.
"Hang in there, Dean… you're going to be okay… just a little longer…"
It wasn't how Dean imagined dying.
Twenty-Six