Title: Memento

Fandom: Supernatural

Author: Fenikkusu Ai

Characters: Alastair/Dean, Sam

Prompt: 004 Dream

Table: 9

Rating: M

Word Count: 548

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.


Dean knew it was going to be a bad day as soon as his eyes opened. For once, there were no dreams. None. Just five hours of uninterrupted sleep. After two months, there were no flashing white eyes.

At first, Dean thought nothing of it. But, a black pit of gnawing worry churned in his gut all the same.

The atmosphere inside the church was too tense. Even for an angel and a demon sharing the same room.

The twin streaks of blood coursing down the Virgin Mary's chalky white stone cheeks were a warning; a warning that Dean was slow to respond to. A thought flashed in Dean's mind.

Watch the steps.

Dean did so. Within seconds, the door at the top flew off its hinges. He watched the older gentleman walk through. Watched him run his hand smoothly down the banister; rubbing his fingers together in disgust as if to illustrate its filthiness.

Out of the corner of Dean's eye, Sam tried to halt him with his psychic ability.

What registered next was his brother flying off his feet. On instinct, Dean attacked the intruder.

"Hello again, Dean." The fiend's expression managed to look fatherly, but his eyes were dark and full of malice. And familiar...

Out of the blue, the demon struck Dean. The knife clattered to the floor.

"Don't you recognize me? Oh, I forgot. I'm wearing a pediatrician."

Slam.

"But, we were so close," he purred. "In hell."

Pain ringing through his face, Dean forced himself to spit out the name. "Alastair," he croaked.

Alastair chuckled and smiled jubilantly before resuming his beating with bruise-causing blows. Dean's head was beginning to spin. Alastair...back?

And now, Alastair was more than willing to finish the job as his blows became more brutal. Bastard. Dean should have known that Alastair wanted to bring Dean back personally.

Sam rights himself, plunges the dagger into Alastair's shoulder, and everything just goes haywire.

Dean and Sam catch each other's eye. They nod in understanding. They weren't going to win this fight.

While Alastair madly turns around in a circle trying to get the knife out; Sam and Dean grab onto each other and jump out the window. Their only chance.

Dean's intuition had been right.


He runs from me. He dares to try to attack me, and then he runs from me?

Alastair glared out the window. They were gone. Dean and his damned brother both. His shoulder hurt, but pain was part of his job. Alastair could take it as well as inflict it though he preferred the latter.

Earth had made his boy forgetful. Dean was no longer dead, but that didn't mean he couldn't be made so.

Dean's eyes had a startled fawn quality to them. He was no longer sure of himself. He was on edge. Clumsy. Nervous. No longer strong and graceful like Alastair remembered. He sighed. This is what happened when charges left his care.

But, behind the fear, Alastair could still glimpse the rage. Rage and fear were interchangeable. Oh, yes. Dean was still his lump of modeling clay.

Alastair thoughtfully fondles the blood-spattered knife. Dean's knife. He would keep it as a memento of his boy until they met again.

For now, he had to continue his role in this affair...