Dean woke up to the familiar sensation of his skin burning. There was no smoke, of course not because it wasn't a flame that was burning him. It was the sensation of fresh wounds being irritated by air, the annoying stinging creeping along his arms were from three new cuts going in different directions on his skin.
With a grunt he got up and shuffled towards the mirror, lifting his shirt to find three more cuts, deeper than the ones on his arms, scattered along his stomach. There was a sizable rip in his shirt which he hadn't noticed before.
Sighing he scratched his head, turning away from his reflection. This level of confusion so early in the morning was giving him a headache. 'Why the hell does this keep happening?!'
The first time, he had associated it with the bad dreams he was having recently which probably caused him to lash out in his sleep a considerable amount. However, as it continued and the cuts became deeper, this theory became almost ridiculous. First off, how on earth did he hurt himself that badly, what could he possibly be doing in his sleep to have cuts in such out of the way places and if it wasn't him, then how in the hell did he not feel someone carving him like a turkey?!
Dean grumbled as he made his way down the stairs, these and many other possible theories that were equally ridiculous going through his head. He instinctively headed to the library area of the house. No, it was not really much of a house, more so an underground mansion of sorts which had belonged to their slightly eccentric grandfather. He had a hobby of collecting strange, rare items and books that he hoarded in this collection. He had always said he wanted this to be the greatest collection of lore in the world. It probably was.
Sam was sitting at one of the many large tables in the reading area, a book with strange creatures decorating the pages and chicken scratch that Dean was sure was another language. He had a steaming hot cup of coffee sitting next to it that he occasionally took tentative sips of.
Dean plopped down in the chair across from his brother and sighed loudly causing Sam to glance up from the book and take another sip of his coffee "Rough night?"
Dean grunted "Considering that my skin looks like Scissorhands and I got in a bar fight? No not at all"
"More mysterious bruises?"
"How the hell is this even happening?" Dean flung his hands in the air and Sam leaned back in his chair "Maybe you should see someone...about the dreams since you won't talk to me about them"
"You really think I'm gonna talk to some random stranger about dreams that I won't even tell you about? Maybe you should go see someone" He grunted crossing his arms on the tabletop and resting his chin on them.
"You've got a point there...but the problem still remains"
"I'm just flailing in my sleep, it'll be over soon"
"Dean-"
"I need coffee, I'm gonna get coffee"
Sam rolled his eyes running a hand over his face "Well alright fine-"
"Good"
Dean could be infuriating sometimes. Most times. All the time. But. Sam was actually worried about him and that bad habit of labeling things that related to himself as unimportant. He just wished Dean would tell him what his nightmares were about, what could be so horrifying that he'd do that to himself in his sleep. Whatever it was, Sam had a really bad feeling about it.
Sam woke up to the sound of Dean shouting his name and for a brief moment the thoughts of the previous day, of this whole thing being a giant bombshell waiting to explode returned and he ran faster. He had to grab the edge of the door frame to stop himself from speeding past the room or running right into the post itself.
Dean was standing at the side of the bed at the far side of the room his eyes bugged as he looked at something Sam couldn't see because the bed was blocking his view. When there was no movement or further speech for a couple seconds Sam glanced around the room. There was a golden dagger plunged into the wall next to the door and he noticed Dean was holding his side and he could see a bit of red starting to seep through the light colored material of his shirt.
Dean looked up slowly, eyes still huge, his mouth seemed to be trying to form words
"Dean, what is it?" Sam started and Dean began to lift his hand to point at whatever it was he was looking at, closing his mouth so tight it made a thin line. There was no point in trying to use words.
Sam made another step towards the bed and the mystery object started to come into view. Sam blinked when he made out the tip of a black shoe. That shoe was connected to a foot, clad in black dress pants. 'Oh dear god don't let that be what I think it is...'
Despite every instinct telling him to turn around and walk out of the room, he ignored it, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose and continued his slow progression towards Dean as more of the scene unfolded. The legs were indeed connected to a body, a body that looked very much like it was dead.
"Oh god...what-" His mind went completely blank when he saw what was behind Dean and under the bed. Two very very large black wings spread out across the floor. How he missed that, he'd have to ask later.
"Dean...why-"
Dean started to shake his head and Sam continued "Dean why the hell-!"
Dean now moved away from the body and started to pace back and forth still shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. "Dean-!"
"-What the hell is happening?!"