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It starts like most of Dean's rare monster less dreams. He is in a bar, nursing a beer. The place is packed as he looks around. He's at the back watching everyone with a long mirror, catching glimpses in between the alcohol on display before it. He's not obvious, blending in as well as he does.

His dad's leather jacket hangs heavy over a dark gray plaid shirt. Under that is just a plain black t-shirt, jeans a dark faded gray decorated with frays and holes draped slightly baggy over his worn dark brown boots. The people all look the same. Nothing interesting. A blur of drunks, hook-ups and hustlers.

Then something changes...

A man enters and something draws Dean's eyes to him. It's hard to keep staring at the mirror instead of turning to look in person. Dean lifts his beer and takes a sip to distract himself. It was just for a moment but when the glass is lowered, the man is gone. Dean can't help but frown.

He wakes with a groan, groaning again when he remembers where he is. His dream leaves being replaced with memories of what brought him here.

Splashing, flashing, pain..

Then nothing.. No, not nothing, Sam near tears..

Dean groans yet again, this time in annoyance as he begins removing himself from the bed and machines. The hospital is quiet except for him and others suffering. He ignores it along with the pain in his chest. His feet freeze as they touch the tile floor. He grumbles in annoyance as he quickly glances over the room. His gaze stops on folded clothes and boots sitting on a small dresser near by.

Quick but quietly he steps over and takes the clothes. All black. As if Sam knew. A pair of his jeans, a led Zeppelin shirt and one of Sam's hoodies. He smiles a little at that then quickly changes before slipping out the room window and into the night. He thanks whoever is listening for putting his room on the first floor.

The trip back to the hotel isn't long, but it's long enough for Dean to think of his dream. Unfortunately though, he doesn't remember much.

Just blue.

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They say you don't dream when in a coma. Dean doesn't believe that, not anymore. Of course, he didn't know he was in one until he woke. Once again, in yet another hospital. ..Another monster injury.. One that should have ended him for good.

Sam disagreed, Dean's sure of it.

He ignores it, his anger as well as he looks back at the dream. It wasn't a bar this time. It was the hospital. THIS hospital, Dean realizes as he looks over the room. He's alone at the moment. The doctors already checked him over. He's fine..well, as fine as his fine gets. Dressed in white, from top to bottom. Meanwhile, Sam is retrieving their father. Both of them made it out okay but only because they weren't the target of the Yellow eyed bastard. Not like Dean was.

His anger flares for a moment but the dream pulls him back. He had left his bed in search of his family but found nothing.

No one.

The hospital was empty..quiet. His bare feet and breathing the only sounds.

“Hello?” His voice is barely a whisper but in the emptiness it almost echoes. Dean glances down the hall he's standing in. Left, right. “Hello!?” This time, his voice does echo.

A response is the sound of shoes and a rustle of clothes.

Dean quickly glances back to his left, just in time to see a flash of tan vanish into a room.

Dean blinks, dream forgotten as his brother screams from down the hall.

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He's doing what he always does.

What his father trained him to do.

He's running!!

His boots are a darker shade of brown, kicking up dirt and mud as he scrambles. His once blue jeans are fading to brown, baggy bottoms dragging through the dirt and mud. Scrapped and frayed from bushes and twigs snagging. Cuts and scratches cover his arms as he pushes through the bushes and low tree branches. He's vulnerable with just a t-shirt on.

“Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's”

Just another hand-me down.

His hair is damp along with his face. Sweat pours as he carries on running. He doesn't know where he's going but anywhere is better than what he's leaving behind. There's more growling then silence. It startles him to a stop. He realizes the sound of the wind is just his heavy panting.

His chest heaves then again when a shadow falls over him. He panics and turns with a shout.

He doesn't realize it at first but as his back hits the ground, his shout mixes with another and his pain tells him that he's no longer dreaming. Blood mixes with sweat and tears as his chest is ripped to shreds. His arms drop to his sides, ribbons of blood, skin and fabric.

Dean glances to one side and stares with fading sight.

He's no longer screaming, the other in the room is doing it for him...Sam..

He's much too occupied with the pooling wings under him.

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The hand print on Dean's shoulder burns the longer he and Bobby wait. They're in a barn, riddled with sigils and even markings Dean has never seen before. He sits on a creaking wooden table in the middle of the room. It's empty besides him, Bobby and the summoning equipment they used. A large steal bowl and jars of powders and liquids. Bobby is kneeling, blue trucker hat hiding his eyes in the shadow. He wears a long sleeved black plaid shirt over a red t-shirt, blue jeans that have seen better days and brown boots with questionable stains. At his side is a shotgun.

Dean glances down at his own which rest beside him. On his other side, is the demon blade. The one good thing Dean can say about last year. He grips the handle, tilting the blade boredly from side to side. Every now and then he stabs the tip into the table. He counts 15 marks already.

“You sure you did the ritual right?”

Bobby just glares at him.

Dean glances away with a soft whistle and a hand raised in surrender. He returns to stabbing the table. As he does, he's reminded of his dream. There was a voice. Deep and booming! It was loud but it didn't sound angry. It simply stated something.

Dean has no time to remember it as the roof begins to rattle. Both he and Bobby look to one another then up as they leap to their feet. They aim and follow the rattling as it moves to the front of the barn and to the door. The door shakes for a moment before bursting open. It bangs loudly against the walls as a man enters.

Dean feels Bobby's gaze on him. Without a thought and or reason, he sends off the first shot. Shaking finger squeezing the trigger. The following moment is a blur as the man carries on forward.

The lights burst as he takes every shot with just a blink.

Dean gives up and throws his gun to the ground.

He approaches with the knife.

The man just watches as he's stabbed in the chest. He removes the blade in one motion and then stops an attacking Bobby with another. A touch of two fingers knocks Bobby unconscious. He looks to Dean. Blue and tan come together and as the final light bursts, large shadows form over the two.

“We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”