SPN FIC: THE HEAT OF THE SUN

[x_erikah_x]

Title: The Heat of the Sun
Author: x_erikah_x
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (Dean has got a dirty mouth)
Character: Dean Winchester, small appearance by Sam Winchester and the Impala
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Spoilers: None, cause I’m only as far as 4.02 in the episodes.
Word count: 1967
Disclamer: I don’t know who Supernatural belongs to, I just know it ain’t me.
Author’s Note: A small ficlet that I wrote to whump Dean. Let’s call it a Whump Without Plot. No beta.

Summary: Dean’s having hallucinations.

THE HEAT OF THE SUN

By ErikaHK

Crooked trees cast eerie shadows that blinked in and out of existence with the constant flash of lightning. The way ahead was only a blur of gray, all covered by darkness, mud and rain. Water whipped at his skin, wind bringing it up to his eyes and making him shake badly with cold.

He didn't really know how he came to be in this position. At one minute he had been enjoying the sun, humming Metallica while he checked the Impala's engine, and in the next he was waking up in the middle of this bizarre change in weather, surrounded by trees and darkness and water, with a killer headache and a split open arm, all for no apparent reason.

Any apparent reason that he could think of at the moment anyway. With the screwed up life he took, one could never know anything for sure. But the fact remains that he wasn't supposed to be there. No way. He was supposed to be out on the road, feeling the warmth of early summer, wind on his face (or the closest you could get inside a car that had a roof), hearing Sam yelling something or another in his ear just for the heck of it.

No fucking way he was supposed to be freezing his bones under a storm, eyes watering in a completely manly way and totally because of the fierce, relentless wind and not because his arm was hurting like a bitch, and all alone in the dark. Not that the last part mattered. He was used to being alone in the dark. Well, maybe with Sam within earshot most of the time, but he was definitely not afraid of being alone in the dark. Even though he should, because he knew all too well of all the evil things that liked striking right when you ended up being alone in the dark.

But alone in the dark he was.

Dean looked up, trying to get a clue of the sky, waiting, searching, hoping for a flicker of light that would reveal the path ahead and turn on the neon sign indicating the way out of this nightmare. Lightning struck, the sky only a huge canvas covered by clouds. He had no idea if he was going the right way, if there even was a right way, but he wasn't just going to stay there buried by mud, waiting for something to happen to get him out of there. He had to pick one side to go and this one was as good as any.

He figured that a good way to find out how to get out of those damn woods would be figuring out how he got there in the first place. Which he didn't have a clue. He hadn't been working any case, no monsters had been chased for a few days, and no sign of any monster to be chased in the next fifty miles, so either Sam had dropped the ball and let something pass his expert eyes, or something weird and inconspicuous had found its way into causing him trouble. Hell, probably both. Knowing how things usually went, it was probably both and some little extra surprise twist mixed in, just to make things more fun. Or maybe, it was neither. Maybe it was just some mundane jinx of life, like getting hit in the head, attacked by a lunatic, sick psychopath, or something else along those lines, which, truth be told, would be completely pathetic.

Dean Winchester, slayer of demons and other evil things, digging his grave after a nasty encounter with the hood of his car which failed to stay up above his head like it was supposed to.

Dean muffled a laugh. Damn. He'd better get warmer soon, or there would be more nonsense coming. He could almost picture himself, dead and bloodied, with a huge grin on his face, his head flat on his engine and under the hood of the Impala.

Boy, only a hit in the head would make all this shit cross his mind.

Dean decided to check it, feeling his skull with his uninjured arm, going over all the usual bumps, but without crossing any new ones. Okay. Still, that didn't mean he hadn't hit his head, because it still hurt like hell and moving it caused dark spots to dance in front of his eyes. So, maybe checking it had been a little unnecessary. And it didn't make him feel any better.

He hugged his chest as he shuddered, hunching his back as he continued to thread forward. He raised his head from time to time, never catching any glimpse of anything useful. There were only trees, trees, water, rain, mud and more trees and rain. Sometimes there was also a rock on the way, which didn't exactly make a nice change in scenario.

After a freakish long time of rain, cold, dark, water and more cold, Dean was shaking more than… well, something that shook a lot. The way his mind was at the moment didn't make room for any clever metaphors. The crazy thoughts still came and went but never stayed long enough for him to start giggling again. He imagined that not being chuckling over freaky shadows that looked like clowns on steroids could be an improvement, but it had an equal chance of being quite the opposite, so he tried not to stay focused on that. Not that he was able to focus on anything other than how fucking cold it was.

When he found himself choking on water and mud, he raised his head, rolled over and spat all the crap that entered his mouth. He opened sluggish eyes, staring at the drops coming down on him while he shook. He felt tired and sleepy, his eyes slowly drooping. He wanted to get up and fight, but his body stopped obeying his commands some time ago, when it decided it would be a good idea to fall flat on his face. So, despite his best efforts, he continued to close his eyes and very soon the battle to stay awake was lost.

Next time he opened his eyes, he was in the middle of a dry desert, sand covering his body, sweat trickling his skin. He frowned, a bit freaked out over this sudden change of scenario, flashes of a water deluge and a throbbing arm going through his mind. He lifted his arms, letting the sand fall over his chest, checking both up and down for any sign of injury. He was somehow relieved for not finding any. That is, until he moved his leg and choked on his own cry of pain.

"Sonuvabitch!"

He groaned and yelled a string of curses, body curling on itself. He opened his eyes, panting and blinking away the tears, to look at the damage. He saw part of his bone poking out of his lower leg, a huge gap surrounding it and an ever bigger bruise around everything. Shock made his heart hammer so fast, he felt like it would jump out of his chest. His head crashed back down on the ground while he squeezed his eyes shut, grunting as he tried to stop shaking.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He hit his head into the soft sand several times as he shouted. “This is truly fucked up, Dean!” he shouted.

He took a moment to breathe in and out slowly, taking back control over the situation while the pain eased to more manageable levels. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of warm, soft sand beneath his body and how it itched on his skin. A soft gush of wind lifted some of it, but the air soon went back to being deadly still, the heat burning his exposed skin.

He slowly opened his eyes, taking a moment to just look around before he got up. He avoided moving his leg, not that he would be able to do it even if he wanted. Sand fell down from on top of him and he batted it away from his lap and from his legs. He grunted as he touched his injured limb, but it would be a lot worse let it get infected. Not that he would be able to clean it without any drop of water.

Fuck, and he had been complaining about having a freaking storm drenching him from head to toe. He had actually hoped from some nice dry weather to replace that hell. Well, now he had a bit of too much dryness. It would be nice if things decided to settle in between.

He took a second look at his leg, trying to keep breakfast in when he caught sight of the bone protruding out of it. He thought about putting it back in, but soon reconsidered it. The pain alone would be capable of blacking him out and he wasn’t eager on passing out under that sun.

What the hell was going on? Hallucinations could sometimes get a bit vivid, but this was on a whole different level. The sand under his hands felt real enough, let alone the busted leg. What sort of creature would create a scenario like this one and keep changing it? Maybe it got some kicks in seeing him like that.

Wasn’t that his lucky day?

He leaned with his hands back, looking far at the horizon and seeing nothing but desert.

“Anyone there?” he yelled. “What the hell do you want? Do you get your kicks from this?” Only the wind responded back. “Answer me, you bastard!”

He punched the sand and grunted in frustration.

“You sonuvabitch, I’m going to kill you, hear me?”

Dean cast his eyes and blinked at the light that suddenly appeared. He turned his head away, trying to get a glimpse of something, anything, beyond the white brightness, but it soon became overwhelming and it exploded in a huge bang of fireworks and noise, going from high pitched to thousands of meaningless whispers. It kept on growing, squeezing his skull in a massive migraine. His own loud scream got deafened seconds before darkness claimed him.

He opened his eyes slowly, relieved to find that something was shadowing the sun from his face. He blinked a few times, the blur finally settling into image. He saw Sam’s head looking down at him, a bright yellow aura surrounding his hair. Dean took a few seconds to notice he was flat on his back, down on the hard warm pavement outside of the motel room.

“Sam?”

Sam’s face was showed a frown of concern. “Dean? You okay?”

“What happened?”

Sam shrugged. “I dunno. I came out and you were just…” He waved his hands down at Dean. “Like that.”

Dean blinked a few times, trying to get some feeling from his legs and arms.

“Did you hit your head or something?” Sam asked.

Dean took a few seconds to answer. “I dunno.”

“C’mon.” Sam offered his arm. “We have to hit the road.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean hauled himself up. “Let’s go.”

He closed the hood and took the keys out of his pocket, going for the driver’s seat of his car.

\o/