TRAILER UP ABOVE
He could barely recognize his own breathing as he lay in the dark, surrounded by a million screaming voices. Flashes of light flared around him and then there was nothing. He was trapped inside a box, in the dark, his breath short and fast as he wondered what he'd done this time to get thrown into a pit. Tapping around in the box, his hand met with wood, and there were clothes on his body. He frowned, what was going on? He reached into his jeans and pulled out a lighter, flicking it on, the sinking feeling hitting him all at once. He was in a coffin.
"Help!" He tried to yell, but it came out a hoarse cry, not even a whisper. The thoughts of returning to that rack got the better of him. What had he done to go back? "Help! Help!" There was nothing. He pounded on the top of the coffin and the wood cracked open, raining dirt down on his face. What? He grabbed at the board and pulled as hard as he could, groaning from the effort and a ton of dirt spilled in on top of him as it gave away. He clawed at the dirt, desperately trying to get a pocket of air to breathe from, pulling himself up as he got his feet under him, scrambling for the surface.
When he reached air, he could barely believe it, bracing himself and dragging himself out of the hole with every ounce of strength that he had. He gasped for a breath, groaning, his heart beating so hard he thought it might beat straight out of his chest. He laid on his back staring up at the sky. It was daylight. He'd never been so happy to see the blue sky in his life. Daylight. He was out! He was free, and it didn't feel like a dream, it felt real. The reality hit him even harder as he climbed to his feet, looking at a crude wooden cross at his back, and then his gaze swept outwards to the destruction that was there. All around him in a perfect circle, lay trees, dozens of them, all pulled out by the roots and spilling outwards as if from a blast zone and he was ground zero. What on earth had pulled him out?
There had to be some kind of irony to the fact that he'd just escaped Hell and now found himself walking along an empty road in the blistering heat around him. He shook his head, wishing for a drink of water, something to quell his raspy sore throat. In the distance he saw a gas station and he started to run for it. Civilization. He could start getting some answers. He pounded on the door, "Hello?" He called out hoarsely, looking through the dirty windows. There was no one around and the store was closed. He took the shirt he'd tied around his waist and wrapped it around his hand, standing back a little and then smashing the glass on the door. Reaching in through the broken window, he unlocked the door and pushed his way into the station. The first thing he went for was the fridge and water. Nice, cold, freezing water. He gulped it down, gasping from the sensation that he'd been denied for so long.
A pile of newspapers was on display and he grabbed one, looking at the date. 'Thursday, September 18th', "September..." He muttered. The next stop was a bathroom, he was so filthy from the dirt, and there was more. There was a stain on his soul he could never hope to wash away, but he had to try, and he'd start by getting the dirt and grime off his face. Staring in the mirror, he started to notice other things about himself, the scar the had run along his collarbone... gone. He pulled up his shirt and looked in the mirror at where the hellhound had ripped his guts out, there was nothing, no scars, or any indication that he'd ever been in Hell.
There was something there however; it ached slightly, a dull throb as he started to zero in on the strange sensation. He pulled up the sleeve on his left arm and stared at a red, angry looking hand print on his arm, blistering and risen against his skin. It took his breath away; it was as if he had been branded. Covering it up again, he put it to the back of his mind; he'd mull it over while he went about getting the heck out of there. He grabbed snacks and candy bars from the shelves, putting them in a bag along with several more bottle of water. The magazine rack caught his eyes and a copy of the latest 'Busty Asian Beauties' was just beckoning to him. He picked it up and flipped through it with a smile and then put it back. Karoline would kill him.
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Breathe ~ Supernatural Fanfiction
Fanfiction[Book 4 of 14] {Completed} "Dean is alive." They were only three words. Three simple words, but the effect they had on her was anything, but simple. Her voice caught in her throat at just the sound of his name. She inhaled sharply, almost forgettin...
