He tried to block out the painful images that tormented him night after night, but, for some unknown reason, on that particular day the horrific dreams had greatly intensified. Twitching violently in his sleep, terrified groans softly escaped Dean's parted lips. Flashes of vampires, shapeshifters, and wendigos played across his sealed eyelids, each allowing its signature demented handprints to linger in his mind. But the most vivid creature to haunt Dean's nightmares left behind the putrid smell of sulphur in the air.
As the hallucinations grew more threatening, Dean's training kicked in and his body began lashing out at his surroundings; automatically attempting to keep the fictional monsters away. Thrusting an expert hand in the 'attacker's' direction, he felt the satisfactory caress of connecting with a moving, breathing form. Little did he know, that his unintentional target was the very person he wanted most to protect.
Lisa cried out; her usually understanding voice distorted into a mixture of minor pain and annoyance. "What the hell, Dean?" she muttered, still in the midst of regaining consciousness. Flicking on the bedside table lamp, Lisa turned toward her boyfriend's side of the bed; fully expecting to see his bright, green irises staring back at her, apologetic for having given her such a start.
Instead, she was greeted by an alarming sight: Dean's pupils remained hidden beneath heavily lidded eyes, his muscular arms gripped the scarlet sheets, and his naturally attractive features were twisted into a mask of utter agony. Lisa immediately leapt into action, gripping a fistful of Dean's cotton, gray t-shirt in her impeccably manicured hands and leaned as closely to his tortured face as she dared.
"Baby, wake up." She pleaded, faintly shaking his sleeping form. When her request was met with yet another powerful tremor, Lisa pushed herself off of the king-sized mattress, instantaneously sinking to her knees on the hard-wood floor. Crawling under the elevated bed, she reached for the one thing Dean refused to travel without. Lisa clutched the jug of holy water to her chest, easing her way out from beneath the structure and practically launching the clear, valuable liquid at Dean's shuddering figure.
Shooting into a sitting position with a sudden jolt, the proficient hunter's eyes snapped open; glowing lustrously in the moonlit rays shining through the rustling curtain. Deep, ragged breaths rattled grotesquely through his lungs; undoubtedly causing empathetic pain to anyone near enough to hear it. Lisa's ears ached with the sound of his anguish, but she was too relieved to focus. Taking Dean's sweaty face in her petite hands, Lisa searched his gaze for any tell-tale signs of permanent damage.
When none could be found, she wrapped her arms around his neck, forcefully pressing him to her; almost as if she wanted to validate his safety. "I'm so sorry, Lis." Dean murmured against the collar of her pearly, white nightgown. Gently shushing him, Lisa stroked his short, caramel-colored hair as she reflexively rocked him back and forth; most likely due to her maternal instinct being put on autopilot.
Once they'd both calmed down somewhat, Lisa leaned back slightly and placed her palms on his shoulders, refusing to release him, lest he vanish beneath her fingertips. "What happened?" she inquired softly. Dean wearily shook his head, uncertain on the amount of honesty he could divulge; absently twirling a silky strand of Lisa's dark brown tresses between his thumb and forefinger, he responded, "I can't really explain it…. I mean that part of my life is over, but it still feels like I'm haunted. Like even though I'm done with hunting, it isn't quite done with me."
Lisa hadn't the faintest inkling of how to reply to something so uniquely complex. Obviously she'd already accepted the fact that her lover sought out and killed monsters (it was virtually a fact of life at this point), but she could never really wrap her head around how much destruction it had wreaked upon him.
Nodding her head in somber sympathy, Lisa whispered, "I can't say I understand, not by a long shot, but I love you and…" she trailed off uncertainly, then chuckled delicately, "if some demon wants a piece of my man, he'll have to go through me first."
The corners of Dean's mouth turned up in hopeful smile, "How do you manage to make me laugh even when faced with the most malicious of evils?" he inquired in admiration. "Oh and by the way, I love you too, Lis."
He leaned toward her ever so slowly, still sluggish from his draining, cerebral experience, and pressed his lips to Lisa's tender, pink mouth. She responded straightaway, clutching the back of his neck as if it were a lifeline. The kiss lasted for a mere minute or so, but it was enough. Enough to assure the both of them that what they had was real. Enough to encourage them to soldier on.
Exhausted from his late-night excursions, Dean lay back against the downy, beige pillows, savoring the scent of Lisa's cherry shampoo trickling from them in mesmerizing, transparent waves. "Well that was a trip, huh?" the dreamer teased, resting his right arm invitingly across the bed.
"You can say that again." Lisa agreed. She shifted under the covers, rolling comfortably into the crook just below his shoulder. Dean wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling the lethargic woman into his warm chest and snuggly tucking the blanket in against her curves.
Sighing profoundly, Dean joked, "I could, but I doubt you'd hear me." Lisa chuckled appreciatively, nodding her head to the hushed thrum of his heartbeat. "Goodnight, Dean." She mumbled, drifting off into a distant land all her own.
Reaching an arm across her gently snoring form, Dean lazily shut off the lamp and kissed the top of Lisa's head. "Goodnight, sweetheart."