Morpheus Remembered
These good fellows don't belong to me but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off and with a kiss on the cheek return them safely home.
Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you.
~Marsha Norman
A/N: This is my first Supernatural story.
Chapter 1
Dean ran.
Down the middle of the street, in broad daylight, in the center of town where people went about their Sunday shopping and chatted while sipping caramel flavored lattes and coffees as if they were world travelers without a care in the world. Then again, they didn't have a care because it wasn't them that he ran from. It wasn't the short stoutly middle-aged cop that directed traffic where the light wasn't working, nor the angry man who pulled out a knife on an unsuspecting woman just inside the alley.
Dean ran for his very life.
He didn't look back because he knew there was nothing to see as the hot afternoon sun beat down on him. The hairs standing up on the back of his neck, the shiver that crawled down his spine from the warm breath just behind him spurred him on and he knew that looking back would cost him that precious half of a second that would mean his death. Relentless footsteps pounded the pavement just on his heels as the sweat ran down from his wet hair making his eyes sting.
Resisting the urge to reach up and wipe it away he focused on the small brick house in front of him. Closing in on it fast he could only think how 'not' fast enough it was to him. As if in slow motion he could see Sam, his younger brother, step out of the front door and motion for him to hurry, his calls lost in the rushing wind around his ears that blocked out everything except for his own pounding heartbeat.
Every step closer to the safety that Sam called him towards seemed to grow further as the whispers grew louder in his mind. It was almost on him and looking at the frantic screaming eyes of Sam he suddenly understood that it wouldn't be possible as minute calculations raced through his brain shrieking the physical impossibility of what he had hoped for. This time wouldn't be one of those miraculous leaps from death with his own personal flare of glistening green eyes and a face etched with agony and regret.
No, instead he would die in the middle of the street, chased by something invisible, surrounded by strangers as his brother watched just out of reach while his body was torn to shreds. In that next instant his thoughts then went to Sam. The baby brother he had begged his mom for, the adult brother that could be the biggest pain in the ass of the world. It was all irrelevant now because he knew that Sam was more than a brother, he was his best friend. There was a laundry list of things he needed to tell him, how to survive, how to pick the right girl in life, to treat his baby as good as he would have. But more than anything he wanted his baby brother to survive and live to see the next day, and the next.
No matter what Sam had to live.
He could see it now in those eyes as they changed from encouragement to wide-eyed panic. The shadow of the building had revealed his attacker but he dared not looked back. Sam's fearful eyes now told how this story would unfold and his own expression was now telling him goodbye.
As he felt the penetration of claws into his skin and they ripped through the flesh of his back all those things he had wanted disappeared and darkness overtook him. And as he heard his name called out, he could hear the tone change to one of grief and raged filled cries.
"DEAN!"
"DEAN!"
Sam Winchester was frantic now, his mind racing in a thousand directions. The abandoned house they had found late last night was dirty, cobweb filled and yes one step down from the sleaziest of any hotel they had ever stayed in but it was what they needed for the moment. Now though it had become their own personal nightmare with walls that were closing on him faster than his mind could comprehend.
"DEAN!" Sam clenched his hands on Dean's shoulders shaking him almost to the point of being afraid of really hurting him.
It wasn't making any difference at all. His brother continued thrashing on the floor, the sleeping bag no longer even underneath him as his feet kicked everything near him away and his arms flailed at unseen assailants. Wet with sweat the dark hair matted to his forehead while his face twisted in what looked like agonizing horrific pain.
"Dean! Wake up!" Taking his palm open hand Sam impacted Dean's cheek with a resounding smack leaving a painfully obvious imprint of his hand behind.
It didn't matter. The nightmare from hell continued.
Sam stepped back, his shoulders heaving with the exasperated breaths that had him now literally shaking. Never had he seen Dean like this before. He was the nightmare boy, the one that dreamt of Jessica's flaming body trapped on the ceiling above him or of strangers faces that provided clues of the terrible things they would have to hunt down and face in the near future.
This was different and deep in his gut Sam knew that something was very wrong here. As the long shadows of the dimly lit house wrapped around him his hands frantically dug into his pockets until they grasped the phone. Flipping it open he called the one person that might be able to help him.