Violent Dreams.

The dream always starts the same.

At the end of the corridor is a maroon brick wall. As I get closer, I can see the cracks in the walls forming, twisting and turning, breaking through the glass of photo frames and chasing me as I walk towards the dead end. My heartbeat is thudding in my ears, the noise is over powering although I can still hear the cackle of the fire ripping apart my family.

The bricks are stacked in front of me, blocking my way and the cracks form like mouths, mocking my capture. I place a hand forward, determined not to allow the quivering blood within my body pass its disease to my bruised skin, and lay my palm against the barricade. The barricade falls through my hands, turning to a whispery silver smoke that evaporated up into the air. Behind me, the corridor turned to midnight, stars above my head falling like raindrops in a biblical storm and I slowly walk towards the house of my childhood that began to quickly build up before my eyes.

I can see faces forming in the gardens shadows, their fangs sharpened so that the point some what glitters in the sullen moonlight. Their eyes are just black holes, reflecting their souls, and their glare causes my skin to sizzle. My footsteps echo around my ears, and I try to focus on this rather than the snarls of the faces. Faces of people I loved, people who I would die for… people who died for me. People I couldn’t protect, and the guilt of their deaths have replaced my conscience, all of them sitting on my shoulder and hissing resent into my ears.

I walk over to the tree that as a child I can remember playing in - Dad always said he’d make me tree house where I could have a password and be in charge of who went within it - but there still isn’t a tree house. Instead, all I can see is claw marks imbedded into the bark, snapped branches hang above my head, the slight wind loosening the threads holding them above my head, and the leaves that are usually so green with life are stained with the red of death.

I stumbled backwards, trying to avoid the splatters of blood falling down from feminine eyes. No matter how quick I move, I can never avoid that one drop that collides with the skin covering my arm. I look at the dot in disbelief as it trails down my arm in the shape of a letter S. A sign maybe? Surely not? But the scarlet tear always comes with the same voice of my father, the few words he said before he died for me. The last ‘orders’ he gave me. That I had to kill my brother.

I smear the blood’s message away, however I can still feel the imprint on my arm and the burning sensation as the blood leaks into my carcass. I walk up the garden path, the flowers my mother spent hours planting as I played in the grass beside her were now withered and dead - each had a pile of blackened petals resting at the base of their stem and the grass was now yellow and lifeless, each blade was shrunken in age and neglect. It’s almost as if it never had the touch of my childhood, just the damage of my maturity.

The front door opens to allow me into the house, the gloss painting is chipped and the hinges creak as it opens, and rust falls like snowdrops to the old ‘welcome’ mat that is worn and shabby. I step inside and the door closes with a vicious slam, and when I turn around it is no longer there, instead there is just four windowless walls with barricaded doors surrounding me, and a staircase with a slow trickle of blood falling down each step. I can see the indentation of past lovers painted onto the walls. Girls I’ve danced with, flirted with and lied my way into their bed with fake promises of acting, modelling and singing contracts. Girls I’ve spent a weekend with before running back to this life after my little break. Girls whose names have left my brain, but also girls whose faces are completely new to me. Girls who I have saved on a hunt, and girls who I have failed to save.

I’m spinning around on my feet, trying to take all of the faces in for one last time, when a fire erupts along the walls and their smiles turns into screams. My eardrums are about to explode from the pressure of the noise, and my eyes sting as I try to close my eyelids and prevent myself from seeing this, but something is holding them open. I try to scream too, and I’m not sure whether I do or not as it is covered by the noise of the walls but my throat burns almost as if bleach has been poured down my throat.

One of the doors in front of me fly open, and I run inside for comfort and safety, but I find myself in the roadhouse. Another place struck by flames because of me. The place is charred, I can barely make out any of it’s most noticeable features, apart from the pool table at the over end of the room, and some remains of a bar. There is a heaped body lying on top of it, and as I walk closer I can see the mullet growing, and the flannel shirt slowly rest stitching itself back to it’s original state. Vomit fills my mouth as I watched this, knowing that Ash never made it out alive, that was one of the few things I wished for when I set myself up for the dream.

I peer over the body, surprised at how in tact it looks. It looks like it’s been preserved like a mummy by the charcoal roofing of the roadhouse. I brush my finger against the skin, wiping away some of the ash and his skin looks porcelain against the blackening dust. ‘He’s just asleep’ I mutter to myself, thinking over how Ellen and Jo had recalled tales of they were never sure whether he was asleep or had drunken himself into a coma, but by opening a bottle of beer or blasting the jukebox soon answered that. I see the unopened bottle and bottle opener resting beside Ash, almost as if it has been placed there so I could awake Ash, and I lean forward to grab it. I reach over for the bottle opener and then I feel the grasp of Ash’s fingers cutting off the circulation in my hand. I drop the bottle in shock, the glass shattering all over the floor and shining like diamonds in a coal mine, and I become crippled in pain as Ash’s grasp tightens, revenge glowing in his eyes.

His mouth is dripping blood, and his face looms over me and my whole body shakes in fear. Not Ash. Surely not Ash. I never meant to hurt him, I never meant to hurt any of them. If I could prevent everything I would. He spits my name out, as his whole body turns to one block of coal, and he throws me across to the bar before he falls down into his final slumber on the pool table. The bottles of spirits smash against my skin, cutting up my protective layer and my blood mixes with the liquid of my victims.

I groan as I get to my feet, and when I look over the top of the bar, the pool table and the whole of the Roadhouse is replaced with a winding staircase. I look around me, and again I’m surrounded by walls. There’s only one thing I can do but go up. Each step is steep as I climb it, and it seems to stretch in front of me, and the sounds of screams fade into my heading. There’s something pulling at my jeans, and I look down and I see nothing but I know exactly what it is.

Hellhounds.

I kick my leg out, and the weight on my leg decreases, and I can hear the faint yelp as the dog falls down the stairs. If only it was that easy to get rid of them in reality. I begin to run further up the stairs, the landing staying firm in one place but I stop when I hear a scream from the bottom of the staircase. The scream is followed by a bark, and the rip of flesh and mothers tears. I gradually turn around as the screams float up towards me and I see Ellen and Jo Harvelle’s mutilated bodies lying at the bottom of the stairs. Their skin is ripped, shredded and covered in bite marks. The Hellhound barks one last time, and then without a second thought, it leaves the scene.

With one look at the bodies slowly evaporating, I turn around determined to at least save one person. I follow the screams of my father figure, further up and up the stairs. When I reach the top, I pause for a second, unsure as to which way the screams are coming from. I hear a thud from the left of me, and I run along the hallway in that direction, but the whole house seems to be shaking and I fall to the floor.

I push myself to my feet, and I’m back in South Dakota, another familiar territory. Bobby Singer’s house. I can hear his dog outside, howling occasionally from loneliness. His house isn’t how I know it though, it’s in it’s condition of when it was home to Bobby and Karen Singer. Bobby and his wife, living the normal Apple Pie Life. I hear a clatter under my breath, and I curse under my breath as I know where I am now. I’m back in Bobby’s own personal hell. I make my way through the house, following the screams of what was Bobby’s wife, although I can hear the cackle of possession mixed within it, and the pleads of Bobby who is unaware as to what this situation will bring.

‘Bobby!’ I scream as I run up the stairs. I have to save him, he’s one of the closest things to family I have. I run amok through the house, blindly searching for the screams that seem to be echoing through the house. I pause for a second, unsure whether the screams are just in my head, but then I hear a thud from the left of me, and I run along the hallway in that direction, and somehow I end up in his living room. Bobby himself is quivering in the corner

His wife is slowly walking towards him, her breathing is heavy and her pinafore dress is soaked with blood. Her steps are weak, she stumbles slightly which causes blood to spurt out onto the carpet. Bobby is whimpering in pain, his mouth is playing a recording of the words ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ yet every time he says this, his wife just cackles and lashes out at him. She’s hovering inches above his face, slowly pulling her nails through his skin and something is preventing me from moving to save Bobby. She starts digging her talons further into the skin, and Bobby grabs some form of knife from beside him and stabs her through the heart.

She stumbles back, a look of shock on her face at her husband’s actions, and then pulls the knife out of the wound without flinching and tosses it to the side before her body turns to a pile of ash on the carpet. Bobby gets to his feet, aging to how I know him now with every step and he picks up the knife which now represents the knife Ruby gave us. I still can’t move, and it seems that I’m tongue tied as I watch clouds of black smoke fill the room and taunt Bobby before he turns the knife on himself.

I close my eyes as the knife enters Bobby’s gut, and when I finally open them again, ice wind stings my skin and I’m at another destination. I slowly turn around, looking down each of the roads, looking for the bitch that haunts these roads.

“Dean Winchester. Fancy seeing you here.” The demon appears almost as if she had read my thoughts, and she grins as she looks me up and down. “This is quite the familiar location for us, isn’t it?” she clicks her fingers, and the room turns to a dark white, her eyes are glowering flames and she slowly walks over to me.

“You have four options Dean. You can either go back to the Roadhouse, and save Ellen, Jo and Ash. Go back to Bobby’s house and save him, and his wife. You can return home, try and save your family. Or you can wash away your sins Dean. You can go back to hell, where you belong after everything you’ve done.”

I ignore her, just keep my eyes fixated in their glare. It doesn’t seem to phase her. She walks closer to me, her mouth is inches away from mine. I can smell burning meat from her body, and I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

“Doesn’t Hell sound good, Dean? I know you had a whale of a time. Sammy really appreciated you dying for him… I mean, look what he did. He went against everything you said. Everything you’ve done, has done nothing to prevent the world. You should have done what your daddy said back before he died. Or when you were younger, you should have tried to save your Mom, not Sammy. He should have been left to burn.”

I want to go home.

“Oh? You want to go home? You want to try and change everything? It would have happened anyway, maybe not with Sammy, but with someone else. Everything you’ve done Dean, is useless. Once the wheel starts rolling, you can’t stop it. It’s like with the Seals, only this is the existence of the planet. The Universe. You really think you can stop it? This is something worth watching.”

She pulls me in for a kiss, her breath tickling my lips as I try to fight her grip. She slips her tongue into my mouth, and the room begins to spin, and her grip loosens on me.

I’m back in a room from my memories. The house of my childhood. Nothing is charred, nothing has been baptized by fire. It’s how I recall, and I’m filled with excitement, I’m back where I belong. The walls are decorated with family faces of distant relatives I never got the chance to meet, but their unfamiliar smiles are a comfort to me after everything I’ve seen. It soon dawns on me that it’s night, and the soft sound of sleep is creeping down the stairs from above me.

I begin to climb the stairs once again, the stairs are silent as to respect the sleeping, and I focus my attention on the photographs trailing up the steps. Me, age three, with a grin identical to the one that spills across my face to this day, me holding a miniature version of Sam - he’s just days old but he’s got that mop of chestnut colouring falling into his eyes - those puppy dog eyes that managed every single time to melt the tough guy exterior that I used as shield.

The bedroom door where my parents rest was open ajar, I attempt to open it but the door wouldn’t budge for me to take in the sights of the room. I can hear a set of heavy breathing from the door, so I feel somewhat relieved, and proceed down the hallway. Each room was what was to be expected of a normal night in a normal household. Each body was deep in slumber, nothing was out of the ordinary. For once, the Winchester life was stable.

I smile to myself, the dangers that I had faced earlier vanished from my mind, I feel like a child once again. Memories of me playing in my room with my collection of toy cars, me helping my mother ‘cook’ but really I did nothing but make a mess, and me helping my father clean the precious car that was now mine. I’m too content in my mind that I don’t notice movement in the house, it’s only until I hear a cry of ‘No!’ that I realise what is happening.

I run into Sam’s nursery, but I’m too late. I’m always too late. My mothers blonde locks are turning to char, and the face that comforted me from a bad dream when I was just a minor is slowly wiped away by a burning flame. I try to scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth, and the whole room shifts to a new scene. The room is empty, except for Sam, standing at full adult height where his crib used to be. The moonlight shining in from outside the house is reflected in the black holes where his eyes are meant to be.

“Sam…” I cautiously proceed towards my brother, the wings in my stomach thump against the side, making my whole body convulse into their rhythm. Sam looks me directly in the eyes and slowly a horrendous laugh escapes from his lips, I have to cover my ears because the sound is so harsh I feel as if it would ruin my hearing and mind forever more.

“Dean, Dean, Dean…” Sam cackles and I stop walking towards him, “You really thought you could prevent this happening? Seriously…” He laughs again and I flinch at the sound once more, his lips upturn at this action of mine but he decides not to comment on it.

“Sammy, you could have fought it. This isn’t you. This is Ruby.” At the mention of the name, Ruby and Meg walked from within the shadows of the room and each one of them stood beside Sam, their hands on their hips and smirks that reached up to the witch eyes.

“You’d rather die than see me turn out like this” Sam continued, “If it wasn’t for Ruby, I wouldn’t be who I am now. Powerful. In charge. This is what I am meant to be. You and your little angels can do whatever you want because you know what?”

I ignore his question, and continue to try and stare his gaze down but he doesn’t break. He simply clicks his fingers and the handprint on my shoulder feels as if a knife is cutting out the scarring without anaesthetic. I turn to face the direction of pain and I can see Castiel standing beside me, his hand placed on my shoulder but he seems unaware to my existence.

“Cas, you said you could help my brother. Please help him… Cas?” Castiel’s gaze is still towards Sam, it’s almost as if he’s not real and I reach out to touch him but my body doesn’t seem to want to do what I require of it. Sam just stands by and watches all this, that ‘I-told-you-so’ look in his eyes.

“See Dean? Your little angel friends aren’t going to help you, are they?” Sam said, and clicks his fingers again and suddenly there is another surge of pain in my shoulder and Castiel falls to the ground, my eyes are blinded by the large animal wings which are escaping from the cadaver across the four walls, and the scouring stare of Pamela when her eyes were burnt out flashes into my mind and I scream in despair and pain. I quickly reach for the gun resting between my jeans and belt, and rise it up to the demon of my family.

I have to do what my father asked. His final orders.

And I suddenly awake in bed, the sheets are a scrambled mess, and there are beads of sweat making their way down my body. My breathing is heavy, and my eyes quickly get used to the moonlight coming into the window. The room is how I left it when I let myself fall into the same old dream, only there’s something different this time. Sam is sleeping peacefully in the bed beside me. His breathing is even, his sheets are pretty much intact from his relaxed slumber, and sometimes there’s a little smile depending on what dream is playing through his mind. He reminds me of when he was younger, before he found dad’s journal and challenged me on the unusual life we lived.

He remind me of when he was oblivious to danger. Like, how right now he is oblivious to the gun from underneath my pillow in my grasp. Oblivious to the outstretched arm holding the weapon just inches away from his head. Oblivious to what my subconscious mind is telling me what to do.

Oblivious to the danger.