WAKING NIGHTMARES

Warning: Contains mild Destiel slash, violence, and a worried moose/puppy.

Approx. 1000 words.

A shaking, bloody hand appeared in the doorway. No arm. No body. Even so, Dean knew whose hand it was. For seven months he had tried and tried to forget him, because after all, there was only pain and guilt in remembering the dead. Or at least that was what Sam and Bobby had told him. Black surrounded his vision as he closed the door on the blood-dripping fist and awaited the pain that he was certain would follow. Crack. Bang. Slash. Pain. Searing white fire burned his flesh. He groaned and limped over to the old black couch, the one which was always there to lie down on when the screaming began. Static. Flicker. Leather. Pain. Breathe, Dean, just breathe, he reminded himself. It would be over soon. A gun fired somewhere outside as the door opened to reveal a tired, hurt man wearing a trench coat drenched in blood. He held a gun in one hand. A sick smirk on his bruised face.

"Hello Dean."

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Pain.

...

Dean gasped for air as he awoke from the nightmare. His chest heaved. His mind was in a state of exhaustion. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he wearily got up, walking to the bathroom. Shouting came from downstairs as Dean splashed cold water on his face. They were at it again: Sam and Bobby. Ever since Dean had started taking his meds like a good boy Sam had flipped out, always complaining about his older brother giving up and being not only weak but selfish. True, Dean hadn't worked a case in a solid month or so, but he was cracked and damaged beyond repair. How could Sammy not see that? And the meds were only temporary relief. Even then they didn't always work. Bobby however insisted that the elder Winchester boy kept his feet up until he was feeling better again.

"Me? Selfish? Do you know how many people have died right in front of my eyes, Bobby? Dean being one of them! I know what it feels like to lose someone. I've been there too. Dean needs to toughen up an-"

"Are you out of yer mind, ya idjit? The poor boy's lost the only guy who was there for him! And besides, do ya really think it was his fault Jess went up in flames and yer mum and dad died?"

If they didn't shut up soon Dean was going to personally shoot them both. His head was already throbbing. He just needed some silence for once. As he walked back to sit down on his bed he eyed a set of keys. His baby's. Funny, though, Bobby always kept them hidden in case either of them decided to make a run for it. One drive couldn't hurt, right? He picked them up as soundlessly as he could and slipped out the door, sneaking down the stairs and out the back door before either of the bickering men could notice.

Dean started the engine of his sorely missed Impala and drove off. Not a care in the world. Not a cloud in the sky. He had left a note saying that he would be back soon and that they shouldn't worry, even though he knew they would regardless of what he wrote. Dean glanced in the mirror. Keeping an eye on the road, he put his right hand into his jean's pocket.

"Dammit, my meds are back at Bobby's," his rough voice muttered. Dean sighed and kept driving, not wanting to go back to Bobby and Sam's bickering too soon.

...

"Dean." Sam knocked on the door. "Dean, get up. Breakfast is ready."

One knock. Two. Sam paused, placing his ear to the wood. No snoring. No complaining. No sound of the sink water running. None of the usual morning noises from Dean's room were there. Slowly, the younger brother twisted the rounded door handle and stepped inside. A heap of blankets lay crumpled on the end of the bed, a piece of torn paper rested on the pillow where Dean's head should have been.

"Gone for a drive. Don't worry, I'll be back soon." He mumbled as he read.

This was bad. Very bad. Sam couldn't trust Dean with a frying pan let alone a car. How had he managed to find the keys and just walk outside without anyone realising?

Bobby walked in just then and grumbled. He asked what was taking them so long and that if they didn't hurry their asses downstairs soon their food would get cold. Instead of replying Sam just stood staring at the note.

"Sam? You okay?" Bobby asked in his gruff voice.

"N-No. Dean, he's gone. He took the car. He-"

"He WHAT?"

Immediately the older man snatched the paper from Sam and read it. He shook his head in disbelief. How the hell had Dean managed to sneak out?

"Well, we'll just have to go find him before the kid gets himself hurt," said Bobby.

Sam nodded and ran down the stairs two at a time, terrible images flashing through his mind. Dean in a car crash, blood trickling down his forehead and cheeks. Dean being caught and tortured brutally by a demon. Dean lying unconscious in a hospital bed; his pulse too weak, too faint... Shaking his head, the younger Winchester grabbed the keys to Bobby's truck and ran outside.

Getting into the car, Bobby turned to Sam. "Any idea where the hell that idjit's gone off to?" To which Sam shook his head and pulled out his phone to call Dean, before realising that his brother's phone was sitting neatly on his bedside table. Sam hastily put his phone back in the pocket of his jacket.

"He can't have gone too far, Sam. We'll find him."

Sam nodded silently, his expression a mix of fear and worry. He hoped that his brother would be okay. The car drove over the crunching gravel, the faint sound of music coming from the radio. If Dean got hurt...

Sam shook his head and kept an eye out for the black Impala. His brother would be okay; Dean would be found soon and they'd all go back to Bobby's, safe and sound. At least that's what Sam hoped.

To be continued...

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~OnceUponATimeInDestielLand aka Sophia Rose.