Destiel One Shots

67 - Sleep Paralysis

  
   Everything is dark. He's alone, yet he feels a presence with him. Deep voices fill his mind. Small screams and screeches fill the background.

      "You're worthless. You're nothing. You'll join us soon. Again."

      "We're waiting for you..." says another voice.

      "In this fire, that we call home," a third voice speaks. "The one you called home."

   Dean breathing picks up. There's pressure on his back as if someone was holding him down.

   Dean knows that he's sleeping. He's dreaming.

   No, he's awake. This is not a dream. 

   It's a hallucination. He needs to get up, right now.

   Dean wants to move. He wants to get up. He wants to escape the voices. He wants to get up. He wants to end this.

   He begins to panic. Begins to breathe faster.

   He can't move. He can't move. He can't move. He can't move. Not a finger. Not a hand. Not a leg. Not his mouth. He can't muster a sound.

   He wants to scream. To call for help. He wants this to be over. He tried moving for what seemed like a half hour, yet nothing even twitch. He's desperate for something. Only eyes can move, but they won't open.

   Dean takes a deep breath through his nose and focuses on moving a finger. He couldn't. It was as if a million pounds of sand was on him, keeping him down.

   It was hot. Too hot. Too much. Under the covers, he was fire.

   Again, he takes a deep breath and this time his hand moves slightly. He tries to get up. It's like only his soul got up, but got pulled straight back down into his body.

   He thinks of Castiel, maybe he should pray.

      "No," Dean thinks, "He's probably busy somewhere else."

   He has to do this alone.

   He's back to square one, not being able to move a muscle. He laid there for what seemed an eternity. The whispers haven't stopped.

   His eyes were filling with tears. He hates when this happens. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it! It reminds him of being on the rack, he hung there while the rest tortured him.

   Then, he finally moves. He moves and it's as if something wants to push him down again. Dean sits up and opens his eyes before he can go back under. Before it's too late. He breathes heavily as he rubs his eyes.

   He grabs his phone and takes a look at the time. It's almost two o'clock, which means he only had two hours of sleep. Maybe not even that, it was hard to tell how long he was paralyzed for.

   He sighs. He gets out of bed and realizes it's cold when his feet touch the floor. He walks out of the room slowly and makes his way to the kitchen. He drinks cold water in hopes that it'll wake his body up.

   He leans up against the island, his back facing the entrance.

      "Dean?"