Kiss The Demons Out Of My Dreams.

Dean’s senses were suddenly alert from their slumber. He tore his eyelids apart, staring up at the washed-out white of his bedroom ceiling. His wife lay next to him, motionless apart from her steady heartbeat in time with each gasp of air she inhaled. He heard a repeat of the slight thud that woke him up again, this time from the room beside him.

He peeled the bedcovers off his dozed body, grabbing the iron bar from beside his bed, his natural instinct from ten years ago kicking in almost as if it had never left. His feet echoed around the silent house, blindly following the familiar route along the landing to his daughters bedroom, all he could see clearly was tiny glow lighting his way from underneath the door.

“Impala?” his voice was hoarse as he called out, pushing the door open with a single hand to reveal the five year old huddled under the pink duvet thrown over her bed. She looked up at him through green eyes that were identical to his, a few strands of feathery brown hair falling into their vibrant colour. Without saying anything, her eyes darted towards the whitewash wardrobe at the other end of the room.

“Daddy,” she mumbled into the covers so quietly he could barely hear her even within the dead silence. “There’s… there’s something in my closet.”

Dean could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand in salute, his blood turn to ice and his heart beat grow slower and distance like an echo within mountains. Images of every single terror he had faced sputtered through his dumbstruck mind, the horrors of his past ripping past the defence he had made for them and began slashing at his skin, open gashes seeping heroes blood mixing with the tainted oxygen breathed in by evil.

He swallowed, washing the toxins from his mind throughout his system and slowly, hiding the iron rod beside his leg as to not startle the infant. He placed a single hand on one of the delicately painted handles to the cupboard but turned around before proceeding with exposing its inner keepings. Impala was still mostly covered from the duvet, her eyelids clasped together so tight that it was hard to tell the upper set of eyelashes from the lower.

Thankful that he may not have to expose his daughter to the life he’d left with the scars to prove it, he flung the door open at a speed, but in total silence - something he’d been excellent at doing all those years back. He gripped the bar tightly in his hand, his veins leaving violet trails along the strained skin and his eyes jittered backwards and forth between the shadows looking for anything out of place, something that didn’t belong.

The shadows within the cupboard were from old teddy bears, locked away after the fascination of having a new toy had worn off and various makes of plastic dolls created a spider-like silhouette on the wall as their legs scraped against each other after being tossed into the closet without a care. There was nothing to imply anything was there that didn’t belong, no scent of sulphur and the electrics in the house had been working fine like the first day they moved into the house.

Dean chuckled quietly under his breath as he turned to face his daughter. He must be loosing his touch, it was a known fact take into consideration sulphur and flickering lights before barging waving the nearest iron object as your defence. Impala looked up from the bed, her eyes wide in confusion at her fathers grin across his face.

“Has… has it gone?” she whimpered, her eyes not leaving her fathers face. He nodded, before settling down beside her, the blanket conducting warmth throughout his body as he lay his legs over the top. Impala uncovered her face from the blanket, before falling into the arch of his arm and wrapping her petite arms around his toned body.

“Yes, baby girl,” He muttered into the top of her head before placing a single kiss on her parting, “What did you think it was?”

“The boogie man,” she said, the ends of her words were carried out into a single yawn. Dean stifled a sigh of relief, he could vividly remember his father explaining to his brother Sam at a young and impressionable age not to be worried about the ’boogie man’ as it was just a tale spun over the years yet the creature never left a single sign to its existence.

“Don’t worry Impala,” he said pulling his daughter closer, “The boogie man isn’t real. He’s not gonna get you. I’m here to make sure of that.”

"Daddy," her voice was muffled from the flannel shirt flung over his toned frame, "Are monsters real?"

His body stopped working, his eyes glazed over and froze on the wardrobe doors. He knew his offspring would someday ask him that question - every parent had to face it sometime in their life, it was inevitable. But he wasn’t a normal parent, he’d seen things even the greatest horror fanatic couldn’t imagine, stuff that would cause minds to become unstable - and he knew the truth about the question he had been challenged with better than any of them.

He could feel the scars from the car crash that almost led him to die still as fresh as the day the appeared on his face. The feel of a bullet penetrating his body with a force, and the feel of a knife slicing his skin was still fresh. He could feel the fight marks from all his life, even despite his angel erasing them all when he went to hell - Angels and Hell.

Two things she would later in the future ask him about. His answer to the angels question would comfort her and fill her up with hope that there’s something up there looking over the world, but the same reply to the latter would break her for life - especially if he went into the sordid details of his time down there.

And monsters? He’d had one too many encounters with the bastards. Too many people’s lives taken because he couldn’t figure out the case quick enough, or that the Chevrolet car he adored so much just wouldn’t speed up any quicker. His family had been ripped apart from the nightmares, him and his brother had been deprived of a normal white-picket-fence childhood, and his parents had been taken too soon but fought like the hunters they were to the death.

All of this due to a world which a select few knew about, a dangerous world that was filled with hate, revenge and the shed of innocent blood.

He’d been called a hero for risking his neck for everyone else, every single day - not having time to do the things he really wanted to do. No chance to go to the casinos, bet away money just to win triple the amount in a poker game. No chance to climb to the top of the highest mountain, or stand on the edge of a cliff edge and feel alive for once.

“Daddy?” Impala’s diminutive voice caught his attention, breaking the web of thoughts being spun in his mind. He looked down at his daughter. The same bright eyes as the ones that stare back at him in the mirror, light brown hair framing falling to her shoulders and that cheeky little grin that is spread across her face majority of the waking hours. He may have passed on his looks, but he wasn’t going to pass on his childhood. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

“No darling.” He muttered staring down into the rich colouring of her irises and seeing his upbringing staring at him back, “Monsters don‘t exist.”

It was no longer his job to be a hero to the people, he had to be a hero to his daughter.