Sam thrashed in his fitful sleep as images of death came from every corner of his mind. He dreamt he was standing, not lying down in the motel bed next to his brother's, but in a large white room, light illuminating from everywhere. A large movie screen was in front of him lit with dark images of his loved one's demises.
First came images of John, his father, being slashed open by an invisible edge, blood pouring out open wounds all over his body as he tried in vain to stand his ground against his unseen enemy. He swung his fists at the air, hitting nothing, but receiving cut after cut with every swing. A final attack was made on his throat, blood shot out as he fell to his knees, choking as he tried to breathe, but began convulsing instead. His body shook on the ground and shortly lay still, John's sad eyes fading into a inky black color. His mouth formed a word that Sam couldn't decipher.
The next image was of Dean being held in mid-air. Sam could see dents in his neck as the invisible enemy held him, slowly choking the last breath from his lungs. As much as Dean kicked and fought back, it was no use. There was no getting away from the enemy's deadly grip. Soon, Dean's fighting slowed to the point where he could barely lift his arms. His skin had turned an ugly purple shade with a vein visibly showing in the middle of his forehead.
There had been less than a handful of times Sam had seen Dean cry and this would be added to those times. Tears fell down his cheeks as if in slow motion. Sam tried to scream out his brother's name, but nothing came out. He watched as the enemy released Dean, his body hitting the ground with a limp but heavy thud. As his eyes turned the same inky black color John's had, Sam noticed Dean's mouth move, but no words came out.
As Sam stood silently screaming, grief-stricken over the deaths of his father and brother, a movement on the screen caught his eye. Part of him hoped it was the invisible enemy. He wanted the chance to avenge his father's and brother's deaths. Even if he died too, at least he wouldn't have to live without either of them. Even though he and his father were estranged and had been for a long time, that didn't make the pain of his loss any less painful.
On the screen, a woman slowly walked towards Sam, her wheat colored hair fluttering behind her back by a soft breeze. As if seeing his father and brother die violently weren't enough, here was another image that broke the last pieces of his heart--the image of his beloved Jess, the one who had been taken away from him like his mother had when he had been a baby. Sam wanted to collapse to the ground in a teary-eyed heap, but something held him up and kept his eyes on Jess.
Coming to the edge of the screen, she paused and as if by magic, stepped out and stood right in front of Sam. Her eyes would have glued Sam to the spot if he would've been able to move in the first place. They were filled with nothing but sadness, sadness that cut deep into Sam. He started to say how sorry he was and should have told her every truth he had stayed silent about. How he should have told her the truth about his family's curse, what really happened to his mother, and how his father had trained both he and his brother how to fight demons, ghosts, and every other spook that went bump in the night. The truth that he had dreamt of her death for weeks, but had remained silent because he didn't want to believe they were true, but something deep down told him they were.
Jess held her sad gaze on him, the weight of which made Sam feel as if he would've rather faced the invisible enemy. He mouthed the words "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." over and over, hoping she would forgive him and in turn, giving him a chance to forgive himself.
Saying nothing in return, she reached over and to Sam's dismay, stroked his cheek. That simple touch broke the spell holding Sam in a standing position. He fell into a heap at Jess's feet, sobbing noiselessly. He felt hands grasp his face and wipe away his tears. He looked up into Jess's eyes and touched her face in return, startled to feel warmth radiating from her skin.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed. "I'm so sorry…"
She lightly touched his lips and ran her hands through his shaggy hair. The corners of her mouth lifted up into a smile, a smile that Sam had missed since her death.
A smell caught Sam's attention. The smell of smoke. He pulled away from Jess's contact, looking around for the plume of smoke. Horrified, he realized it was coming from Jess. The movie screen burst into flame as did the walls around him. Smoke quickly filled the room, turning it to a dirty black. Sam tried to get up, but the spell that had kept him standing now kept him sitting. Coughing on the thick smoke, Sam tried to find Jess, but she had disappeared.
Feelings of sadness and dread filled Sam as the knowledge of her whereabouts became known to him. Coughing so hard it rattled his chest, he stared at the ground with tears in his eyes. Tears that not only
came from the smoke, but from knowing what he'd find if he looked up. But as hard as he tried not to, something lifted his chin and made his eyes look to the ceiling.
There, in the middle of flames shooting out over the length of the ceiling, was Jess. Her eyes were the same inky black as his father's and brother's. Sam could see her mouth moving, but couldn't hear her over the roar of the flames.
Suddenly, a voice rose above the roar. It came without warning and startled Sam. Sam fell to his back and began convulsing violently.
"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" Dean kept frantically shaking his brother, trying to snap him out of the nightmare that had a tight grip on him, causing him to scream bloody murder for the past twenty minutes. "Sam, wake up! Please!"
Though Sam abruptly opened his eyes, Dean could see that his mind was still in the nightmare. "Sam!"
Snapping to reality, Sam sat up and began a coughing fit that rattled his chest again. Dean slapped him on his back, trying to figure out what brought on the fit.
"Sam. Sam, look at me." Dean commanded. Switching on the bedside lamp, he grabbed Sam by the sides of his face and looked into his eyes, trying to determine if Sam was there with him or still in the nightmare.
Sam coughed a few more times before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm all right, Dean." He choked out before going into another coughing fit. "I just had a bad dream, that's all." He stood up slowly and shuffled towards the bathroom, his sweaty t-shirt and boxers clinging to him.
Dean sat on Sam's bed, his heart pounding in his chest. Hearing the water running in the bathroom sink, he looked at the clock - 3:34.
He was about to run his hand through his hair when a smell stopped his hand at his nose. Inhaling, it took him a few seconds to recognize the smell and furrowed his brow in confusion as an ice cold chill went down his spine.
It was the smell of smoke.
The End.