It's Not Always Rainbows And Butterflies

I was running.
Running through darkness.
Running from him.
My biggest fear.
The only thing I had left to fear.

I ran through a dense forest, so dense that no light pierced through the leaves up ahead. It was as if it were night. The brambles on the forest floor pulled at the legs of my jeans; the tree branches scratched against my face, leaving shallow gashes where they lashed me, causing streams of blood to trickle down my face. They wanted to keep me here in the darkness. I struggled through them, my legs weak, my feet heavy.

Did I lose him?

My mind frantically asked. My eyes darted from side to side, looking for the dark figure that had been pursuing me only moments before. I didn't see him, but I didn't dare look back. I pushed on as best as I could, trying to find a way out; a way to safety.

And then I saw it: A break in the dense covering of forest. A small sliver of light shone between the trunks of two trees about a mile ahead of me. Relief flooded my veins and somehow my legs found the will to move a little faster, and a little more carelessly.

Once I'm in the light, he can't touch me.

I reasurred myself. My heart soared with hope and in my relief I lost all caution; my left foot caught on a large tangle of underbrush and I pitched forward. I threw my arms out to catch myself, but I was off-center and most of my weight landed on my right arm. I heard a dull thud followed by a loud crack which emanated from my forearm. I rolled onto my left side, cradling my right arm with my left as a sharp pain rippled from my wrist to my elbow. I opened my mouth to cry out in shock and pain, but no noise came out.

In fact, since my arm had broken, I hadn't heard any noise but the creaking of the tree branches above. Not the rustle of the dry leaves beneath me as I shifted my weight, or the soft rubbing of my clothes against my skin, or even my own breath coming in and going out. I didn't even hear the footsteps of my pursuer.

I lay on the ground in shock and pain. I felt the terror building inside me. Where is he? He wouldn't stop. Not with me laying here like this. My mind whirled as the adrenaline pumped through my veins, making my blood burn as it pumped through my prone body.

Suddenly, I heard the snap of a twig to my right. I turned my head abruptly toward the sound and I felt my lungs tighten in fear. I could feel my eyes bulge as they focused on the figure of a man. The man who had been hounding me all this time. He stood in the darkness no more than three feet away from where I lay.

In a frenzy, I rolled onto my stomach and attempted to crawl away from him. But pain rippled once again up and down my broken forearm and I only managed to emit a noiseless howl before collapsing face-down in the dirt and brush.

I heard a chuckle come from where the figure stood, and then a whoosh of air, like a large breeze had suddenly swept through the forest. I lay still, wishing, without much hope, that he had taken pity on me and decided to leave.

Another whoosh broke through the silence less than thirty seconds later. Suddenly there was a pair of hands underneath me, turning me, flipping me over and onto my back. I struggled against them fruitlessly.

"Hiya, Sammy." A deep, laughing voice breathed.

From my position on my back, I was forced to look into the face of the man before me. His horrible, terrifying face. It had once been so familiar. So full of life. It had once been a welcome sight.

But now his scalp hung loose, peeled backward from his hairline to the nape of his neck; what was left of his short brown hair was stained red from all the blood. His once loving face was covered in scabbed over burns, as if someone had burned him, let it heal, and then burned the same place again. Who knew how many times each patch of skin had been afflicted?

But the worst were his eyes. The eyes of a man who once cared about saving this world more than his own life were glazed over with incomparable pain, suffering, hate, and lust for revenge.

This horibble man squatted next to me now. A cruel smile showed from between his heat-chapped lips. Enjoying this chance to make me suffer for what I did to him.

My brother.

"You don't know how much I've dreamt of this moment." He rose slowly, methodically straightening his trunk, then his limbs. "Thinking about all the ways I could return the favor to you. For letting me go to Hell." He bent at the waist to stare down into my eyes and the intense smell of sulfur mixed with blood filled my nostrils. I began to gag silently. "Yes, Sam. YOU sent me to Hell. YOU are the reason I am this way." He spread his arms out wide, his voice rising and filling the air around me. I began to choke, as if his words were poisonous fumes. "I let myself get dragged into the pit FOR YOU. And what have you done to help me? Nothing! NOTHING!"

He was hysteric, waving his arms above his head, his eyes bulging from their sockets, the veins in his neck protruding underneath scarred skin. The more he screamed, the thicker the fumes became.

I squirmed on the ground, kicking and writhing as my lungs began filling with the thick fumes. My good hand reached up to claw at my quickly closing throat.

"I didn't deserve this, Sam! Any of it! It was you! It was always supposed to be you!"

I felt the life exiting my body with every word he screamed...

You, Sam. It was supposed to be you...

"Dean no!" I bolted straight up in bed, panting. My limbs were slick with sweat, as were the sheets I had been sleeping on. I placed one hand on my chest as if to assure myself this was real. My heart hammered through my ribcage. I sat still, willing my breathing to go back to normal.

A dream. Just a dream. I ran a hand through my shaggy brown hair, only to find that that was drenched through with sweat as well. Jesus Christ.

As my heart returned to normal speed, I looked slowly around the darkened room. It was the same cheap, two room apartment it had been before I had laid down to sleep the night before. No trees. No brush. And, most importantly, no homicidal, hellish Dean.

I bowed my head and clasped my hands behind my neck, focusing on my breath. You're losing it, Sam.I told myself.

It was the truth, actually. This wasn't the first time I had dreamt of Dean since that night that the hellhounds had come to drag his soul away. In fact, I'd dreamt of him almost every night. Of the pain he was enduring. The torture. And most of all, I dreamt about the fact that it was all my fault.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet found the floor, but I wasn't quite ready to get up yet. I glanced at the small bed-side table that housed nothing more than a small lamp and my phone. I reached out and pushed a botton on my phone's keypad, illuminating the screen.

3:27 A.M.

I tapped the lampshade once, causing the lamp to emit a soft glow into the room. I sighed and stood up, walking out of my bedroom and down the narrow hallway, slowly making my way to the closet-sized bathroom at the end.

As I walked past the doorway wich opened into the half-kitchen/office, I caught movement out of the side of my eye. My heart stopped, dropped, and then started up again, pounding with adrenaline. I pushed myself against the wall next to the doorway and swallowed hard.

"Who's there?" I called out.

No answer.

Gulping down bile, I jumped through the doorway, balling my hands into fists, preparing myself for some form of hand-to-hand combat with an intruder. But there was no one there.

I cautiously flicked the wall switch, turning on the over-head lights. There was no one in my apartment. The movement I had registered was the oscillating fan I had turned on before heading to bed.

"I'm getting way too paranoid." I muttered, flicking the light off and returning to the hallway.

Once in the bathroom, I turned on the light and took a good look at myself in the mirror.

My brown eyes now had huge, purple, bruise-like bags under them. My hair was so drenched with sweat, it looked as though I had just taken a shower. And the whites of my eyes were almost completely red from lack of sleep. I sighed, letting my head drop down and loll over the sink.

I really need to get some sleep.

"Yeah right." I muttered to myself. As if. Even if I WAS tired, which I wasn't, I'd just have the same dream over... Or possibly a worse one.

Screw that.Instead, I stripped off the light shorts I had worn to bed and stepped into the small, glass-enclosed walk-in shower. I shut the door behind me and turned the cold water on full blast, revelling in the shocking sensation it left when it hit my sweaty, too-warm skin. I grabbed my shampoo off the wall shelf and emptied a large blob into my hand, working it into my scalp. I scrubbed down the rest of my body, ridding myself of the sweat and, with it, the horrible feeling of the previous nightmare.

Stepping out of the shower and grabbing my towel, I stepped out into the hallway and headed back to the bathroom, drying myself as I went. I wrapped the towel loosely around my waist and walked to my small chest of drawers, reaching into the bottom most one for a pair of jeans. I tossed them on the bed and straightened, pulling out the top drawer and retrieving a pair of socks and boxer shorts. I pulled on the boxers and proceeded to lose the towel. Next came the socks and the jeans. Finally, I padded to my closet and pulled out the first shirt my hand came into contact with. I pulled it over my ead as I walked back to my bed.

Flopping onto the bed on my stomach, I reached underneath it and felt along the floor until I felt the smooth plastic of my laptop. I pulled it up and onto the bed, sitting up as I did. I flipped it open and clicked up my internet browser.

I need to find a job. And soon.

The more I sat around and thought about Dean, the worse it affected me. I needed to find something, anythingto hunt.

I typed furiously away, searching for murders, suicides, cow mutilations, anything that could yield a hunt. I scrolled quickly down the list of items, not finding anything that seemed out of the ordinary.

Until I reached the third page of results and the words STANFORD UNIVERSITY appeared in front of my eyes. My heart picked up again, and I eagerly clicked the link, hungrily reading the words before my eyes:

"June 13, 2008
-STANFORD UNIVERSITY
Today marks the date of the third murdered student in two months here at Stanford. This victim, like the other five, was reported beaten to death and then hung in a common area. Police believe that these young men are all being chosen as examples for a purpose, but are unsure of what that purpose may be. The candle-light vigil for this man will be held on Sunday, June 15th, at 9P.M. in front of the common hall. No further details were released at this time."

Stanford.I hadn't been there in years. Not since Jessica's death.

Jessica...

"It has to be a sign." I breathed, snapping the laptop shut without giving it a further thought. "I have to work this case."

I jumped up and crossed to my closet, pulling out my empty backpack and duffel where I kept my hunting supplies. I shoved my laptop into the bottom of the backpack and crossed to my dresser, shoving jeans, t-shirts, and under-garments into the bag. I zipped it closed and set it on the bed.

I then turned to the duffel. Opening it, I checked my supply of false I.D.s, salt, and shells. More than enough.I pulled out my pistol and cocked it. It responded immediately. I replaced it and pulled out my sawed-off. I pumped it and it issued a satisfying click. I half-grinned. I'd missed that noise.

Satisfied that I was prepared, I slung the duffel over my right shoulder and my backpack over my left. I snatched my phone from the bed-side table and turned out the light. Walking through the hallway and into the kitchen area, I snagged my keys from thier hook on the wall. After fastening the lock, I took one look back into the small, dank, dreary apartment before stepping out into the fresh, early morning air. I closed the door behind me, and it was as if a weight had lifted from my chest.

Stanford, here I come.