Sam couldn't really remember falling asleep, but, then again, who ever did? The point was that he'd laid down on the dusty hardwood floor between his brother and Jo and come to in a decidedly creepy cemetery. A heavy mist swirled around the tombstones as the hunter sat up and looked around. The trees on the street just beyond the rusting old gate were nearly bare, their leaves crackling across the street toward him.
He glanced down at his sides to see Jo and Dean both stirring as they… what? Woke up? Fell asleep? Willingly waltzed into a dream-world to confront a supernatural pedophile who undoubtedly wanted to kill them all?
"Nice," Dean groaned, looking around the darkened graveyard, "lollipops and candy canes all around, huh?"
"But where's Freddy?" Jo asked, getting to her feet and brushing dirt and leaves from her back.
"Well, aren't you just ready and raring to go?"
"I want to get this done before anyone else dies."
A shrill scream echoed through the night. "Might want to re-set that goal," Dean advised, clamoring to his feet and glancing down at Sam, who looked up at him expectantly. The older man paused for just a moment, staring down at something that could be real, or could be a dream. There wasn't any way to tell, wasn't any way to know for sure that he wasn't the only one asleep. Gulping back uncertainty, he reached out a hand and pulled his brother up. "Bitch," he hissed under his breath, "learn to stand."
"Why should I?" Sam shot back, brushing himself off as the trio headed to the iron gate that kept the ghosties in, "you always seem so eager to help."
Dean rolled his eyes and pushed at the gate, which creaked open with a squeal loud enough to wake the entire street. Cautiously, three sets of shoes stepped onto the sidewalk.
"I don't believe it," Jo smirked, glancing up at the nearest street sign. "We're on Elm Street."
"Yeah," Dean groaned, "great. You know how many people have died on this God-forsaken strip of concrete?"
"Bout forty," Sam answered absently, staring down the street as a gurgling sound reached his ears. Something wet was running down the road, coating the pavement, making it slick. Too slick to be water. "It's blood."
"Nice touch," the older man commented, reaching around to feel the cool metal of his pistol as it rested against the small of his back. Before falling asleep, the jobs had been divvied up, and Dean had, as usual, drawn the short straw, which meant he got to shoot. Which would, you know, probably not work, especially if his life hung in the balance. But whatever.
"You surprise me," Jo commented, flashing a nervous grin as she tried to cover up her discomfort at the fact that warm blood was spilling down the street and running over her shoes, causing her hand to stray unconsciously to the handle of the machete that hung at her side, "I thought that you would be geeking out over this. I mean, isn't mass media kinda your thing? Hell, Sammy's more excited than you are."
"Yeah, well, maybe you've had a better night than I have," he replied dismissively. Unfortunately, Jo had never really been one to recognize a dismissive tone of voice.
"Yeah, but-"
"No buts," he snapped, "just had a bad night."
"He wanted to take out Jason," Sam whispered to the blonde as his brother stalked away down the street, sliding a bit in the constant stream of blood as he hunted down the latest (and hopefully last) monster of the night.
"Oh," Jo said, as if missing a murder could explain the older man's behavior. Together, she and Sam followed Dean down the street, their senses on high alert, muscles tensing in anticipation of an attack. In fact, they were so intent upon being ready for anything and everything coming at them from all sides that they failed to notice that Dean had stopped walking and ran into him.
"What?" Sam hissed, grabbing onto his brother's shoulder for support as he slipped in the blood, a little disturbed by the way the older man flinched at his touch. Dean pointed toward a spot farther up the street and Sam followed his finger.
A single street light shone down on Elm Street, illuminating the river of blood that still flowed down it. Standing in the circle of light was a man, staring calmly at them from under the brim of his tattered old hat, the sharpened knives attached to his glove glinting menacingly in the flickering glow. One of his fingers was covered in blood.
"Freddy," Sam whispered as his eyes roved over the figure. All the wonder and joy that came from years of idolizing a character were gone from his voice, almost as if he'd finally met his favorite actor, only to discover the guy was a jerk. Somehow, being faced with the real nightmarish creature was different than watching him murder mercilessly on screen. It brought a depth and reality that no movie ever could. And, although he would never admit it, he was scared. They all were.
"Well," Freddy grinned, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome, "look who it is. Sam. Dean. Sam and Dean." His eyes sparkled as he puckered up his lips in a grotesque imitation of a kiss, causing Dean to shudder and shrug off his brother's hand, which had never left his shoulder. "Welcome to my nightmare."
Sliding in the blood that still coated the concrete, Jo stepped out from behind Sam, whom she'd run into when he'd stopped abruptly with failed brake lights. "You tried to kill my mother," she hissed, her voice actually sounding threatening in the still, dark air of the night.
"And little Jo-jo," Freddy cooed, "well, this throws a wrench into the whole plan."
"What plan?" the blonde demanded, her hand again snaking to the machete, thin fingers wrapping around the handle.
The creature gazed at each of them, his smile widening, metal claws clicking together as he chose his words. "I was going to let it go, even though it wasn't traditional. It worked for 'House of Wax.'"
"What are you talking about?"
"Dean knows."
Sam and Jo both turned to the older man, who bit his lip. "You've seen a lot of scary movies, yeah?" They nodded. "Well, we're in one, basically. You know who always survives?" They both shook their heads. "Usually the heroic guy and his girlfriend, or the chick who's destined to become his girlfriend."
"But in 'House of Wax' they were brother and sister. The girl's boyfriend was the first to die," Jo pointed out.
"Exactly what he said," Sam reminded her, "and if you ask me, that poor guy didn't deserve it. He just had to pee."
"Then he shouldn't have been playing with fetal pigs."
"It was only one, and-" Sam's argument was cut off by the cool sound of metal-on-metal, which drew their attention back the Laws of Horror.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, well, we're not dealing with some creepy run-down wax town, here. We're dealing with Freddy. And Jason. And Michael. There's always a girl and there's always a guy. The chick's usually blonde and a virgin." He looked pointedly at Jo, who scowled at the accusation. "The guy's usually smart, strong, and nice enough not to pressure her into anything. Especially sex. The people in these movies who do it tend to die immediately after."
The sound of applause reached their ears and the hunters turned back to Freddy, who had, along with his streetlamp, moved closer to the group. "Bravo. Do you know what that means?"
Dean nodded again. "One of us has got to go."
"Exactly," Freddy smiled, "because we've got two guys and one girl, and according to horror movies throughout the ages and the CW network, that just can't happen. What do you suggest we do about it?"
Silence fell on Elm Street as the Sam and Dean looked at each other. Jo ducked her head, both guilty and relieved that she practically had a free pass to survive the night. They turned back to Freddy.
The monster smiled, his teeth flashing dangerously under the glow of the streetlight. "I know you," he said softly, "Dean. Willing to give it all up so your sweet little brother has a chance at happiness. Fine. We'll do it your way. Say hi to Jason for me."
Before anyone could react, Freddy's shadow had spread out from under the streetlight, rearing up and off the pavement as the clawed hand jabbed out toward Dean's chest. Nobody had been expecting the gun shot, had been expecting Dean to crumple onto the bloody pavement with a large hole in the side of his head. Nobody had expected Dean Winchester to die by his own hand.