Love Lost

A flash of red. Clinking of rusty chains. Screams of terror. The smell of decaying flesh.

A young man in his late twenties is stationed in the center of this absolute abhorrence, all hope of discontinuance of this seemingly never-ending nightmare anywhere but with him. His once bright green eyes that used to carry so much vitality, courage, and mischief no longer carry such shine. Instead it is replaced with intense fear and anticipation for the next round of severe torture, both mental and physical. At the sound of faint footsteps, his eyes dart from one place to the other, trying to locate the source of the sound.

He is coming.

The young man lets out a strangled breath of air as the demon approaches him, a smirk of satisfaction twisting his darkened features. "Hello Dean, my good friend," he greets as he circles in on the prisoner's shaking frame. "Are you ready for some fun?"

The bound man, named Dean, instinctively shuts his eyes, a string of profanity flooding his mind as the merciless demon plunges his hand into his stomach and takes hold of his insides.

An almost animal-like scream rips from Dean's throat as he witnesses the demon dressing his torso haphazardly with his own entrails. Curses to the Gods above, along with pleas for his loved ones echo throughout the area, enabling other wicked creatures to hear him and cackle in pleasure.

"Oh, no. I... I seem to have... messed up. My apologies. Shall we try that again?" The demon chuckles darkly before he snaps his fingers, causing the damage he inflicted upon Dean's body to suddenly disappear.

"N-no..." Dean groans as he attempts to move away from the figure, but it is no use- there are chains latched onto his skin to hold him in place.

The powerless man then screams once again as the demon repeats his previous actions, a wide, malicious grin spreading across his face before saying, "I love my job."

Beep. Beep. Beep. Be-

I jolt awake at the piercing shrill of my alarm and slam my fist against the cold metal to shut it off. A shaky breath of air slowly exits my lungs as I lean against my headboard wearily. I thought the nightmares had ended a few weeks ago. Why were they suddenly resurfacing after all this time? I couldn't think of one possible answer, but then again, I don't even know why I started having these nightmares in the first place.

It all started approximately 4 and a half months ago. At first, I assumed I just had one hell of a nightmare, but then they became frequent. So frequent that I experienced them every night for 4 months straight. I never told anyone but my three best friends, but even so, it took me 2 months to convince myself to do it. I thought I became hysterical and almost considered admitting myself into a psychiatric ward, but something about these nightmares drew me from that option. It felt too real, like someone, or something, was trying to tell me something. I searched and searched for whatever it was I needed to discover out of those horrid night terrors, but came up empty-handed.

One day they stopped. I began to dream normally, or not at all. It was as if I never experienced them. I tried so hard to understand what it was my dreams were trying to explain to me, but I just couldn't. The worst part of it all was the fact that during the dreams, I was not truly apart of it, therefore I couldn't do anything to aid the poor man named Dean, who my focus was ever-so strangely revolved around. It appeared that I was in some sort of crevice in the walls, silently watching from a close, though safe distance. I did not hold emotions toward the situations placed before me, I just watched, and watched, and watched until I woke up in cold sweat with unintentional tears streaming down my face. I attempted looking for the man but my search was cut short when I realized that it would be nearly impossible with 168,689 people in the United States who were named Dean.

However once a few weeks of peace passed, I managed to push the tormenting dreams in the back of my head and return to living a normal, day-to-day life. Now all of a sudden I'm having these nightmares again? Something was wrong, and I know the first thing that I have to do is tell my best friends.

I press a clammy palm to my forehead and fell a thin layer of seat coating the hot skin. I do not draw back or wince in surprise, I have grown used to this, but the feeling weighing my stomach down was the worst of it all. It feels like someone has dropped a thick slab of jagged lead into the pit of my stomach and lit it on fire. I wrap my feeble arms hastily around myself to cease the pain but find that it is ineffective. I whine lowly and roll on my face, laying there for a short amount of time before deciding to go ahead and get up.

Reluctantly, I throw the covers off my legs and swing myself to the side of the bed, rubbing my face momentarily. I then notice that my apartment roommate and best friend, Lydia, is not there. I check my phone for the time, seeing a few app notifications and text messages from various friends, and find it to be 10:45 in the morning. She must be in class.

I met Lydia during freshmen orientation at the University of North Texas in Denton. It was a strange first encounter that not even I myself can explain, but she became not only my roommate but my best friend in such a short period of time. Though our tastes and interests are practically identical, we look nothing alike. She has a tall, lean frame, standing at 5'10, with long blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a tan to kill for. I, however, am at a mere height of 5'1 with a lean though curvy body. My hair is dark auburn and my eyes are a simple shade of brown, though strangely my skin holds a contrasting milky fairness to its color.

In one swift movement, I jump out of bed to confirm to my body and brain that I am not returning to bed, and go to my bathroom to get ready. I turn on the light, shrieking as a burning sensation hits my eyeballs from the brightness and rub them gingerly to adapt to the change in environment. I spend about fifteen minutes washing my face, peeing, and brushing my teeth before returning to my room to change clothes.

I decide upon an over-sized teal and navy blue flannel top with small silver pyramid studs adorning the corners of the two frontal pockets and plain black leggings. I pull on my grey knit socks and dark red Dr. Marten boots before putting on my favorite silver earrings and rings. I proceed with my hair and make up and do a simple facial coverage with contouring and highlighting, as well as a light cheek tint. I then line the top of my lids with a black winged eyeliner and apply mascara. I finish with a dark red lipstick to match my boots and nails then spritz some of my favorite perfume onto my neck and wrists. Finally, I take out the braids I styled my hair in the night before and scrunch the now wavy hair that falls just below my chin, running my fingers through my bangs as I place a bowler hat on my head.

Looking at the time, I see that it is 11:30 and grab my purse on my desk, concluding that some lunch and a coffee would do me good.

-

"So what've we got?"

Sam looks up from his laptop to see Dean stuffing his face with the apple pie he had bought him that previous night. Without hesitation, he rolls his eyes and brings his attention back to the screen of his laptop before replying, "Get this, apparently this wasn't the only 'suicide' that happened on campus. There's a number of them that date all the way back to 1982."

"Really? Huh, so what are we thinkin'? Some seriously pissed off son of a bitch who's got no limit?" Dean muses as he plops into the chair across from his younger brother, taking a swig from his beer.

"That's what it looks like, at least from what we've gathered from our investigation so far. Now all we need is to find out who it is exactly so we can find the grave, dig it up, and salt and burn the bones."

Dean whistles lowly. "Unless it's cremated. Then we gotta find whatever thing it's attached to and burn that."

Sam sighs and rubs his face, a frown creasing his face. It has been two weeks since Dean popped out of the ground and he doesn't know what to think. He, lightly putting it, is overjoyed that his brother is alive, but he knew Dean was hiding something from him. He has asked him on multiple occasions if he was alright, but Dean just snaps out of a weird trance and either tells him to shut up and get him a beer or deflects it with a crappy joke. Then again, Sam shouldn't be talking. He has been sneaking around with Ruby, improving his powers every day. He doesn't have the guts to tell Dean, though, because he knows exactly how he'll react, and it most definitely won't be in a positive manner.

"Sammy!"

Sam jumps in his seat. "Wh-what? Sorry, zoning out. Repeat that?"

"I said that we should go to that coffee place down the street, talk to one of the employees... Dana, is it? Best friends with the vic," Dean responds slowly with a look of suspicion masked by confusion.

"Oh, yeah, let's go."

Immediately, Sam stands up from the small table while closing his laptop and goes to put on his shoes. Dean watches him carefully, secretly attempting to figure his little brother out. What has been his problem, lately? Ever since he got back from Hell, he knew something was up with him, something very different... and wrong. Very wrong. He isn't the same Sammy he once knew, and he is sure as Hell going to find out what it is that's got him by the balls, even if it means the usage of force.

-

"Hiya, sweetheart, what can I get for you?"

"May I get a small caramel macchiato with the club sandwich?" I say politely as I place a bag of chips I snagged from the shelf beside me.

"Of course! Name?"

"Elena."

"Alright, that'll be $9.37!" the girl replies with a bright, contagious smile. I really am not feeling it, at least I thought I wasn't, until I smile back just as enthusiastically while handing her my debit card.

Once I finish purchasing my food, I go to find a seat at one of the cozy tables in the back of the building and luckily find one of the two available, the other being occupied by two official looking men. I take a seat and pull out my laptop, deciding to work on my essay for my American Literature class. Before I begin, I start up my iTunes and take out my earphones in preparation then proceed to open up Word Microsoft.

As I'm typing the introductory paragraph, I hear my name being called and smile. There are many reasons why I love this coffee shop, and one of the big ones is how fast they get back to you with your order. I go up to the counter and thank the girl, Dana, before returning to my table. While I'm trying to open my chips, I hear the two men from the table across from me talking and suddenly get a tad curious. Their voices were deep, like deep deep, but one of them stood out to me. It sounded almost familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. I shrug and peel myself from their conversation, returning to my sandwich with a grin.

"Dean, your order is ready!"

I drop my sandwich.

Slowly looking up, I see one of the men stand up from his chair. He has short dirty blond hair and gorgeous green eyes, not to mention he looks to be at least a foot taller than me and well-built. This handsome young man... this couldn't be... the
Dean. Nightmare Dean. That's not possible. It could be just a coincidence that they both have the same name, look the same, and-

"Here, Sam," he says gruffly as he hands the taller one with brown hair a cup of coffee.

Yep, that's him.