Drag Me Down Quick (So they don't notice)

Yay, Trauma

     Stiles woke up suddenly. There was an unsettling feeling in his chest. It was dark where he was and he was lying on something soft. Why was he on something soft? Hell didn't have soft things. He had forgotten what soft things were until now. 

     It was quiet, too. That must have been what had woken him up. Quiet. Hell was never quiet, not even in the deepest regions where Lucifer was. Lucifer liked an orchestra, after all. Stiles reached a hand out, finding the edge of the bed (he knew what a bed was now, apparently) and pulling himself up. Bare feet met cold tile and suddenly he remembered. Castiel. The grave. Sam and Dean. They weren't demons. He was really out. 

      Stiles had never even thought about getting out, not more than in passing fantasies anyways. Even since they had taken his memories he knew that he must be there for a reason, so why would he get out? Sometimes he had wondered about what else there must be, obviously he hadn't been there forever, but he had never thought about actually experiencing it. That kind of hope made souls break. 

     Stiles snapped out of his thoughts. If he was out then he needed to have a plan, a way to get back in incase he did bad things again. Standing slowly, Stiles found a lamp next to the bed and pulled the string. Dull light spread through the room and Stiles saw a sink and mirror next to the door. 

     Stiles didn't recognize the face staring back at him. He hadn't known what he looked like for at least one century; the first century was always a little fuzzy to him. The face staring back at him looked young and fresh. Stiles turned the faucet on, cupping his hands to wash his face. When the water touched his lips he suddenly changed his mind and tuck his whole face under the faucet, drinking greedily. He couldn't even remember the last time he had drunk water, he hadn't even remembered that he needed to, but damn if it wasn't the most refreshing thing he had ever tasted. 

      Then his stomach turned and he was throwing everything he had just drunk back up into the sink but as soon as he finished he kept drinking. He couldn't stop, it was like an addiction, like that one neighbor he had had that sold his soul for a joint. The guy had tried to explain it and now Stiles got it. He thought maybe he would sell his soul again if he could just keep drinking forever. 

      Stiles' stomach rebelled again but before he could keep drinking the door to his room was thrown open and the tall man (Sam?) was there, pulling him away from the sink. 

     Stiles fought to get back to it but his body was weak and Sam was very strong. 

     "Stiles, hey, calm down okay? You can drink but you've gotta slow down. Its probably been a long time since your body last had anything in it." Sam let Stiles go and Stiles stayed still, thinking through what Sam had said. He moved slowly back to the faucet and Sam let him. 

     Cupping his hands again, Stiles forced himself to stop after only a few handfuls, and turned the faucet off. Sam nodded. "Yeah okay. That's uh, real good." He looked awkward. Stiles almost smiled a little. (And wasn't that a strange feeling.) 

      Sam spread his hands. "Are you hungry? We have food here." 

     Stiles squinted at him, confused. "Hungry?" He questioned, voice still raspy but better than before. 

      Sam smiled. "Yeah, you know, food and stuff."

     "Oh." Stiles replied. He caught a faint image of curly fries and an older man with a kind face. "Yes. I, think." He said cautiously.

      "Great!" Sam was very enthusiastic, Stiles noticed. Too much so, he thought. He wondered how long Sam would last on the rack.