Prologue

The Nightmare.

Dean's eyes shot open. Met by the pre-dawn light filtering through the thin motel curtains he could feel the sweat gently rolling down his face. He had long ago trained his body, even in sleep, not to sit bolt upright after a nightmare, even a particularly vivid one like this. He wiped a rough hand over his face then let his arm fall heavily back down onto the queen sized bed. Turning his head to the right he looked over at his brother in the other bed still sound asleep, his face slightly obscured by his long dark hair. Looking back up to the ceiling Dean sighed a long drawn out tired sound. It had been almost five years ago, why did his brain keep torturing him with something that happened so long ago? Sure, he could understand why the average person might dwell on or even obsess over something so traumatic. But Dean was not said average person; he had witnessed enough in his lifetime to send even the sanest person screaming to the nearest nut house, andhe was ok about that, most of the time. But then, every once in a while when he was sleeping deeply, when it was his only real chance to recharge and relax, when he should be getting a break God damn it, his brain would refuse to play ball! This is when the nightmare would begin. Oh, Dean had nightmares all the time, no surprise there really. He would probably be more worried if he stopped having them; maybe it would mean his mind had finally become ok with what he saw on a daily basis, become ok with what he had to do to keep as many people as safe as possible; keeping them all alive while slowing letting a piece of him die every time. Wow, he was being far too emotionally deep for this time in the morning,he let out a huff at his own self-indulgence, better not let Sam know, he'd be booking them in for couple's therapy.

But Dean hadn't just had any nightmare, he had had the nightmare, five years and still it was technicolour, HD, surround sound, quality goodness; fun for all the family, if the family were all sick, psychopathic sons of bitches. He looked over again at his still peacefully sleeping younger brother, all wrapped up warm and cosy in the cheap motel blankets. Dean felt sudden anger towards his sibling; sure he knew it was irrational, it wasn't Sam's fault but it didn't change the fact one of them was obviously still scarred by the event and at this moment it sure wasn't sleeping beauty over there. "Damn it, pull it together Dean!" he shouted in his head, his royally fucked up head. Five years and how many times had he had to relive the whole event in his sleep, a hundred times? A thousand? Dean's mind quickly pictures himself locked up in a psych ward, a scratch on the wall for every time he'd had the Nightmare. "Well that's healthy" he thought absent-mindedly, unable to suppress a minute curling of his lips. Oh good, now even his own questionable mental state was a subject he could laugh at, that was a sign of a stable mind! At least he still had his bullet proof sense of sarcasm he reasoned.

"Why this memory?" he barked in his head over and over again. He lived it once and that was enough spine chilling agony for one lifetime, more than most people could ever handle. So many things have happened since then, so many terrible, bloody, messed up things, like I don't know: Sam going to hell maybe? Sam being without a soul for a year? trying to stab Bobby to death (surely that one deserves a special place on the Winchester's crappiest hits list?!), his Dad dying for him (yeah, let's not dwell on that one). Even now, in present day his beautiful mind brother is having one to ones with Lucifer for Christ's sake! If that's not somewhat of a problem he doesn't know what is, their lives are so screwed up its not even news anymore.

Dean lifts both hands to his face, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, wishing it was as easy to rub the memory out of his exhausted brain. The nightmare that isn't really a nightmare at all, just a replay of the worst most painful moment of his entire life. His younger brother, his Sam, the most important person in the whole world to look after, to save; slumping forward into Dean's outstretched arms limply, lifelessly, cold wet and helpless, slipping away to God knows where. The knife wound to his spine already having done its devastating work. He'd lost his Sammy.