.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary:

Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: I have been wanting to start something new for awhile because the idea of letting one story consume my mind, especially one like The Falling, is pretty scary. And whilst this isn't actually the story I was planning to write - being that I wanted to do something lighthearted and funny - I decided that I could probably put more of myself into this story at the moment. Anyway... I won't bore you with the strangeness of my mind, so here we go... something new to toy with. ^_^ Thank you for reading!

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1. To sleep perchance to dream

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Staring into the mirror in front of him, Dean took in his reflection with a cool malice, hating every inch of the face that stared back at him. From the haunted hazel orbs right down to the skin dampened with a mixture of sweat and tears. Anyone who didn't truly know him would have described it as emotionless and empty, possibly even bored, when in truth it was controlled, a wall firmly in place to hide the warring feelings that battled for dominance. Anger, hatred, guilt, confusion and even fear.

"I didn't kill anyone," he told the reflection as he stared deep into those eyes. But the words betrayed him as they tumbled from his lips, a slight quiver to his voice as hopelessness and self-loathing coloured every syllable. His throat tightened, closing up as he tried to swallow back the revulsion that was so desperately wanting out. "Jesus Christ… I didn't. I wouldn't."

But the doubt was firmly planted, the seed slowly growing as he remembered all the blood. There had been so much blood… and the screams, Jesus – he could still hear the poor girl screaming herself hoarse, the vibrations causing his ears to ring. And if, in that moment, his hands hadn't been keeping him upright as his fingers tightly gripped the sink, he would have been tempted to cover his ears instead in a vain attempt to block out that damn painful noise. Hell, if he had thought it would help he would have willingly let himself fall to a heap on the bathroom floor just to make it stop.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to force back the nausea that caused his head to swim and knees to weaken, and immediately he regretted it as the images flashed across his mind and once again, he was forced to open those hazel orbs. If he hadn't already given all he had to the waters of the toilet bowl, he was sure that he would have been back down on his hands and knees throwing up the rest of his stomach and maybe even a kidney to boot.

What the hell was happening to him? What the hell was going on? This couldn't be real… this wasn't right. He was losing his mind. Three months to go and already Hell was reaching out, trying to claim his soul before his time was even up. Already it was trying to strip him of his humanity, trying to twist him and bend him… And somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if Sam had noticed. With the reddening rims and the darkened circles, it wouldn't be long now before he did…

And still, he couldn't get the image of the girl out of his head or the cold feeling that had spread throughout him, the laughter that had escaped from his lungs as one hand had slid up into the girl's hair, fingers twisting tightly into the strands, as the other hand had rested a knife upon her neck. And how she'd pleaded, sobbing and begging as she had struggled to even breath, tears slowly slipping down her cheeks to stain them before making their way down further to the tip of the blade.

"Shhhh…" The soft and gentle sound had brushed passed his lips to tease the skin of hers and then the knife had eased away from her fragile neck just long enough for him to place his index finger over another frightened sob, leaning in so his cheek stroked hers as he whispered the last words she would ever hear. "Don't worry, it won't hurt long."

Then that was it, he couldn't stand anymore. His legs gave up, supplying him with only a moment's notice before falling out from under him, and one hand still gripped the sink as his other dropped to his side, leaving him to feel like a crumpled mess. Staring straight ahead, his eyes focused on the darkened space between him and the wall, trying to push back the memory… trying to forget her terrified face.

How was he supposed to hide this from Sam? There was no way he could. He just couldn't… as much as he wanted to - as much as he wanted Sam to believe that no, Dean didn't really deserve to go to Hell, maybe it was time that little brother learned the truth? He needed to know. This wasn't normal, this wasn't right… and Sammy needed to know where his big brother's mind wandered when the lights went out. He needed to know about the sick and twisted dreams that had been plaguing Dean for well over a week now.

At first it had just been flashes of this and that. A pretty face, a bloodied hand… the screams of frightened girl. It had meant nothing to him. It had meant less than nothing. After all, it was hardly the first time he'd dreamed of innocents dying, their blood on his hands as he failed to save them. But the latest dream, the one he had just woken from, it had brought all the bits and pieces together. And it had been so detailed… had felt too Goddamn real. And the worst part wasn't that he was playing the failing hero, but that his role in the horrific nightmare had been that of the murderer.

And that just wasn't normal. He was dreaming of slaughtering innocent girls? How in the hell could that even register on the normal scale? Who the hell dreamed of stuff like that? Who in their right mind would ever…

Finally releasing his grip on the sink, his fingers brushed through his hair, knotting into the shortened strands as he tried to make some kind of sense of it all. He drew in a deep breath and forced his lungs to hold it for a moment before finally letting it out again. No, something was going on. He was many things, but he wasn't a murderer. And these dreams… they weren't him, they were something else.

Something was happening to him. Whatever the hell these dreams were, he knew they weren't normal – he'd been around supernatural stuff long enough to know when something was going on, call it a sixth sense if you would… but he knew. At least he hoped he knew… because if it wasn't supernatural, if it was all from inside his own mind then well… that was just too disturbing to think about.

But Sammy was the one with the visions, or at least he had been the one with the visions. Dean, well, he didn't have single bone in his body that could be considered psychic. He was as unpsychic as they came. Powerless, except for his smart mouth and knowledge of weapons… like Batman without the mask. He was nothing special. His gifts went no further then having a good aim and knack for finding trouble. But really, how could he even think to cry visions if there wasn't even a single body to support his argument?

His hands moved to hold the back of his neck, fingers knotting together as he took a deep breath and raised his eyes up to the ceiling in silent prayer. The tiles were cold against the skin of his legs and part of him accepted that, thinking that maybe he even deserved it, but the more logical part of him knew that he had to get up and off them before he caught something nasty.

He pushed himself up, leaning over the sink for one more moment before splashing his face with cold water and heading back into the room. His eyes landed longingly on the bed, it's sheets twisted and soaked from sweat, but he knew he couldn't sleep. As much as he wished for blissful darkness, he knew that he didn't dare because every time he closed his eyes, he could see hers staring back at him… hollow and lifeless.

He spared Sam a quick glance, envious of the peacefulness in which he slept, and instead chose to grab the remote from the nightstand, flicking on the television in hopes of finding some escape. But instead of finding escape, his stomach plummeted as he found himself staring at the image of a missing girl… the girl from his dream.

And damn if that didn't just make this whole thing that little bit more complicated all of a sudden.

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Thank you for reading!