NIGHTMARES
Dean stood in the middle of an endless field of yellow grass, blowing in a soft wind that hinted of rain. The sun peaked out from behind downy clouds, and the day had a wonderful and sinister feel to it.
Walking forward, Dean stared in each direction, waiting.
Then, suddenly, the devil stood before him. Lucifer, in his deteriorating meat suit, gave Dean that knowing, superior look, and Dean was strong, and Dean was scared.
"Choose, Dean."
Dean understood immeaditly. It was a painful choice, one which would never become easier to accept. It would hurt him in so many ways, but he knew which was more important.
"Sammy."
The devil shook his head. "Think carefully, Dean. This is no simple choice. This is life or death for those you hold closest to your heart."
Dean looked to his right, and saw his brother. Somehow, Sam was flickering back and forth. One minute, he was the toughened, sure, powerful Sam, Dean trusted to watch his back in a fight. The next, he was the chubby little eight-year-old who cried whenever Dad took too long on a hunt, or Dean tried not to let Sammy have his way. Dean knew that he would always choose Sam, no matter what the alternative was.
Then his gaze slid to the left, and tears filled his eyes. She was beautiful and wonderful. His port in the storm. Dean had never felt lost, so long as he could be near her, and she was the love of his life, the keeper of his soul in so many ways. The light shined of the polished black hood of the 1967 Chevy Impala, and she seemed to glow.
Dean groaned, then shook his head, decision made. He looked again at his greatest enemy, Lucifer, and spoke. "Sam."
The fallen angel shrugged. "So be it."
And then Sam was washed away like a mirage as the rain began to pour down in sheets.
Dean spun, yelling Sammy's name, begging him to answer. When he turned back, the Impala was changing. Twisting upwards, reforming into a terrifying monster of steel and chrome and it came flying toward him, wheels becoming sharp fingers, reaching, tearing, shredding Dean. And-!
...
With a sharp gasp, Dean bolted up in bed, breathing hard, sweating like crazy.
His eyes darted around the room, searching for a threat. But all he found was Sam, the normal, adult Sam, standing over him and watching him. Sam's hand was on Dean's shoulder, and his eyes were concerned and searching.
"Dean, what's wrong?"
Dean shook his head, then pushed the hand away, yawning and mumbling, "Nothin'. Jus' a bad dream."
He flopped back down onto the bed. Sam hesitated a few moments, then sighed and went back to his own bed.
But just before he fell asleep, he heard Dean mutter, "Why can't my dreams ever be filled with normal, psycho shit? Stupid Transformers."
Then there was a loud snore, and Sam rolled his eyes. He was so not taking Dean to the movies every again.