3x11 "Mystery Spot" AU.

[Warnings: Gore and Dark Themes]

The clock was ticking for Dean Winchester. Recklessly, he had gone out and made a demon deal to resurrect his little brother. Not only that, but their failure to keep the Devil's Gate closed unleashed a plethora of demonic presences upon the world. Including the First Demon, Lilith. The Winchesters had an agenda: to stop Lilith from amassing an army to overtake humanity. There were speed bumps and hurdles along the way, such as Bela Talbot and the FBI's recurrences throughout their new arc, but neither Sam nor Dean ever counted on waking up in a small, unfamiliar kitchen as a hindrance.

They were both slumped in chairs at a square table. They both woke up at the same time, reanimating with small gasps, as if waking up from identical nightmares. The two brothers looked around the room– at the plain eggshell walls, the muted blue wood-topped counters, the artificiality of everything around them. Whatever props there were in the room, they looked pathetically fake. The knives hanging on the wall rack looked like they had been sculpted from clay. The red radio sitting on the window sill behind Dean too. Sam noticed a tiny page-a-day calendar hanging on the wall, next to the ridiculously small off-yellow fridge. The date said "June 19". June 19? Last he checked it was February– in fact, today was Valentine's Day.

Dean was staring out the window, past the fake radio. Outdoors looked even more falsified than their indoor surroundings. It looked like a child's blue canvas with clouds painted on it. The Winchesters skidded their chairs back, standing up. Dean pressed his face to the glass, trying to looking around outside. Sam felt extremely awkward in this setting. Everything was tiny. Well, not that tiny, but when he touched the knives on their rack, he found that one of them spanned the length of his hand from middle fingertip, to the base of his palm. The table top was uncomfortably lower to the ground than what Sam would be used to in a normal setting.

"What the hell...?" Dean asked, finally breaking the silence as he pulled away from the window. "Am I dreaming- Is this a dream?" The older brother looked at his sibling.

"I don't know, Dean- this feels pretty real to me," Sam said.

"More like unreal," Dean muttered. A very simple tune began to play, and they couldn't tell where it was coming from.

What's your favourite idea?

Mine is being creative.

"How do you get that idea?"

The brothers twitched at the sudden voice, and sitting in their seats were three characters that looked like Sesame Street rejects. One looked like Mophead Elmo, another looked like Bert's cousin, and the last looked like some off-hand relative of Big Bird suffering from gangrene.

I just try to think creatively.

Sam and Dean kept their eyes on the odd creatures– what even were they? Shifters?

Now when you look at this orange

Tell me please, what do you see?

"It's just a boring old orange!" the bird squawked without warning.

Maybe to you, but not to me.

I see a silly face!

"Wow!"

The brothers looked around, extremely put off by the unseen audience. What was going on? It was like there was another voice speaking, but they couldn't hear its half of the broken conversation. Sam looked at the bowl of fruit that was on the table. What was the connection between "How do you get that idea?" and "It's just a boring old orange!"? He couldn't guess for the life of him.

Walking along and smiling at me.

"I don't see what you mean," the bird said.

'Cause you're not thinking creatively!

So take a look at my hair,

"Cool!"

I use my hair to express myself.

"That sounds really boring," Mophead Elmo said.

I use my hair to express myself.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then noticed that the trio had gotten up from their chairs. They were all standing at the fake window now, looking at the painted clouds.

Now when you stare at the clouds in the sky,

Don't you find it exciting?

"No," the three said unanimously.

Come on take another look.

"Oh wait!" one of them exclaimed.

"I can see a hat!"

"I can see a cat!"

"I can see a man with a baseball bat!"

"I can see a dog!"

"I can see a frog!"

"I can see a ladder leaning on a log!"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Nothing was changing outside from what they could see. They couldn't see any of those things. Dean quietly lifted an index finger to his temple and pin-wheeled it counterclockwise. Sam cocked his head in agreement, grimacing.

Think you're getting the hang of it now!

Use your mind to have a good time.

"I might paint a picture of a clown," Bert's cousin said. In a blink, the three were seated again and Bert's cousin had a miniature easel sitting next to him on the table. A face-painted clown with curly teal hair was painted on the canvas. Sam winced visibly when looking at it. Dean instantly knew what was running through his brother's mind.

Whoa there, friend, you might need to slow down!

Suddenly a thick black goo dripped from above, curtaining the offending image. Confused, they looked up at the ceiling. Dean eyed Sam.

"Ectoplasm?" Dean mouthed to him.

Here's another good tip.

"Yeah?" Sam's befuddlement didn't offer a sure answer.

Of how to be a creative whiz kid.

It was possible.

Go and collect some leaves and sticks.

They could be dealing with a specter, or some kind of spirit.

And arrange them into your favourite colour.

But that didn't explain this weird (and frankly creepy) setup.

Dean then spotted something new in the small room. A new character was free-floating beyond the table. A girl. She looked just as perplexing as the trio spelling out words with newly acquire twigs. She had a little cute smile.

"Blue!"

The older Winchester slowly approached the suspended girl. Her face and dress were as white as a sheet of paper. Her hair was stringy and colorful, like yarn. Strands of pastel pinks, yellows, blues, purples and oranges spread through the air, as if the girl's body was sunk in a volume of water. Her eyes were closed, and she wore mascara so thick that it bunched her eyelashes together in rakes.

"Red!"

Only her face was white. The rest of her exposed skin was as black as the ooze that ruined Bert cousin's painting. Her dress was odd too. The petticoat she wore was visible beneath. It was a bright red. There were various patterns on the dress: an orange circle, sticks with leaves– around her waist were raining clouds. Dean couldn't tell where her leg skin ended and her shoes began. What alarmed him though was the blood on her bosom.

"Hey!" he called to her, "Are you alright?!"

"Green!"

The quaint music stopped. Sam saw the trio at the table stuck in freeze-frame, as if someone had pressed a pause button. He watched his brother from back by the refrigerator. The girl's eyes shot open to a frightening width.

Before Sam could inhale, he was seeing red. The girl, still levitating, unraveled herself so quickly that neither Sam nor Dean saw what had sliced Dean's torso until the girl's arm swung a full arc. A black cross, or an X, caught a glint of light through the spray of Dean's blood.

"Green is NOT a creative colour!"

"DEAN!"

Dean should have seen it coming. Pain shredded across his chest. His clothes were left in tatters. It was unfortunate that Dean wore a green jacket. Too deep. The girl cut too deep. The older brother sank to his knees, tasting blood, and he tipped forward, collapsing completely on the chess-tiled floor.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed again.

The girl's hand smacked the table top, alerting the younger brother. He watched as her pointed fingers scraped to grasp a sharpened pencil. The grin -or open-mouthed smile, he couldn't tell which it was- looked absolutely wicked. Absolutely psychotic.

Sam backed away. She was coming for him next. He looked past her at Dean. He couldn't be dead-

The girl sprang forward, poised to stab him.

[To Be Continued]