An End
( or maybe just a new beginning )

He felt his heart beating to the tempo of the music, body throbbing along with the shaking neon lights. When he had thought about it, he just assumed he would have hated it. Too many sweaty bodies on the dance floor, grinding against anything that could move, all senses cut off by the heavy pulsing beat and a trilling female voice, dark lighting, broken only through by the colored lights. But now that he was there to witness it, he understood its appeal. You were allowed to lose yourself. You were a part of mass that was only feeling, never thinking, never worrying. Dean was undeniably drawn to it but he was too scared to not be in control to try it. He was content enough being an observer.

It was his second week working at the nightclub. He had settled into a routine, going to work at eight when they opened, left at two, would drive home, and then crash, sleeping until noon, then getting up to do it the next day. Monday and Tuesday were the only days the club was closed, and he was ecstatic, seeing it was Sunday night, and he was physically exhausted. Hunting had gotten him used to odd hours and taught him to tough through his pain and fatigue, but it didn't make it any easier for him to keep dragging himself to work every night. His only saving grace besides the club being very loud and rowdy was that they had gotten the electricity and water back on at home, and he could drink as much coffee as he wanted throughout the day and his bed had a fan next to it. They were going through a heat wave, the last hurrah before fall came.

He saw a distortion in the crowd, people moving backwards. It was near the outer edge of the center and he moved from the wall and maneuvered his way through, suspecting a fight was starting or had already broke out. One had and the two guys were rolling around on the ground, looking more like they were doing some warped mating ritual then trying to hurt one another. There was a girl hovering near them, screaming at them to stop, and Dean deducted that she was somehow involved with the fight. When Dean saw that both were making an attempt to stand, he moved between them, catching the punch that was indirectly aimed at his face and flipped the guy around, agilely catching his wrists and putting them behind him so he couldn't fight. He could see out of the corner of his eye that one of the other bouncers had subdued the other guy, and he pushed the guy, escorting him out of the club.

The guy didn't resist and Dean returned back to the cool air-conditioned nightclub in record time. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. It always made him nervous when he had to kick people out. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with an angry clubber but he was scared he would hurt them. He wasn't all that used to fighting someone who wasn't out to kill him or incapacitate him.

The girl that he had seen with the two guys who had just been thrown out was standing in his corner. She was tiny, black fabric resembling a dress draped over her bony frame, eyeliner too heavy and dark for her pale skin.

" I wanted to thank you for throwing them out," she yelled to him over the music.

"You're welcome."

"They keep fighting over me. I don't like them," she told him.

Dean had no clue why she was telling him that. He just nodded, praying she'd leave him alone.

"But I like you," she stepped closer to him as she said it, voice lowering to a purr. She set her hand on his shoulder. Dean flinched. He felt invaded and he removed her hand. " I don't like you."

"Why not?" she tipped her head to the side, pouting slightly.

Dean didn't feel like answering her question. " Go dance."

"And if I don't want to?"

Dean walked away from her, pretending to see an imaginary fight. She didn't follow. When he returned to his spot, he found her trying to seduce one of the other bouncers.


The music began with an arpeggio, done by a soft piano. The girl's arms trailed up her body, forming a circle above her head, before she stepped out to do a spin, rolling up onto Pointe to fall out into a side kick, body arching backwards as she was in the air.

The audience clapped, awed by her flexibility and grace. The ballerina gave them a shy smile before letting her face turn back to the stony sorrow her profession was infamous for. It was her first solo as a professional. She had waited for this day for years, dancing behind the prima ballerinas, being only a decoration on stage. It was her chance to shine and she let the music dictate her movements.

As the music welled up into the highest notes of its crescendo, she ran across the stage, leaping into a split. She seemed to hang in the air for eternity, but when she landed, it was not with the lightness of an angel, which was what she was impersonating, but with a horrible fall. Her chin, held so high during the jump, dropped, head following, and she tumbled down, the side of her long neck sticking the ground first.

The audience heard a horrible snap as they watched in horror and disbelief at what they were seeing. It appeared impossible. The music began to fade away, reaching its dying notes.

Sam opened his eyes and just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. The dreams had been going on for two weeks now, and every morning, he would wake up and read the paper with his coffee to find the person he saw in his dream dead, injured, or had disappeared. He hated having to witness every night, being helpless to stop it because when he woke, it had already happened. He willed himself to get out of bed and get breakfast, knowing that the paper would read the ballerina's name and she just wouldn't be another beautiful face he saw die.

The sizzle of bacon and the clanking of dishes alerted him to the oddity of the breakfast. Both Dean and his father were up, Dean more asleep then awake, gazing in longing at the coffee dripping into the pot across the room from his seat. His father was scrambling the eggs and flipping the bacon expertly, and Sam moved around his father to reach into the refrigerator to get the cold orange juice.

"What's the occasion?" Sam asked, pouring himself a cup of juice.

Dean mumbled something incoherent. John translated for him. "It's Dean's last day as a free man."

"Katie and Jason will get him off," Sam wasn't allowing himself to think anything else.

"They're coming over here later tonight to brief you, right Dean?" John asked, bringing the skillet of bacon over and plopping limp pieces onto everyone's plates.

"Yeah." The coffee had finally stopped dripping and Dean dove for the machine, pouring himself a cup instantly. Sam watched in amazement as he chugged the hot liquid and refilled the cup before sitting down.

"Don't you burn your mouth?" Sam asked.

"It's worth it," Dean replied, words becoming more pronounced as the caffeine took effect.

"Why are you up so early? Didn't you get home," Sam took a quick glance at the clock on the microwave, " six hours ago?"

Dean nodded. " Layla wanted to go to lunch. She had other stuff she needed to do later."

"You aren't going to survive," Sam chided him.

"Thanks for the concern," Dean rolled his eyes. " I'll take a nap."

Sam was ready to believe that when it happened.

"So, Sammy, what's this I hear about talking in your sleep at night?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed his eggs. " I talk at night?" He stabbed his fork into one of the sausages.

"A bit. Doesn't make any sense," Dean took another scoop of the hash browns and poured ketchup over them.

"Oh."

"Nightmares again?" John asked.

Sam debated telling them the truth. He decided it was better to. " Visions. I keep seeing people being abducted or killed by…things."

"It's probably just old memories resurfacing," Dean quickly replied, almost too quickly, which raised a question mark in Sam's mind.

"No. They're real. I wake up and on the front page is the person I watched die."

"Prove it." His tone was angry. It was like it was something Dean didn't want to face.

"Where's the paper?" Sam asked.

"Living room," John answered, beating Dean to it.

"There will be a story about a ballerina. She will have been performing " Moonlight Sonata" in an angel costume. She will have done a leap and suddenly crash, breaking her neck," Sam told them, leaving the room to get the paper.

He came back seconds later with the paper, and he opened it to the 2nd page, thrusting it in Dean's face. " Her name was Amelia Santana." Sam stormed back to his seat and grabbed another sausage, stuffing it whole into his mouth.

Dean didn't say anything. He just read the article calmly and when he set the paper down, he was looking at Sam, eyes vacant and haunted.

"I want to do something about it. I can't go on like this, watching them be destroyed, knowing I can help them," Sam said.

Dean waited to answer, choosing his words carefully. " We can't."

"Why the hell not? We are the only ones who know they exist, the only ones who can deal with it."

"I know we are," his words were measured, quiet, no energy behind them. " But we can't just…."

"We have a responsibility to them!" Sam shouted.

Dean continued. " We do. But we have one to ourselves to be happy."

"Why is your happiness more important then their lives, Dean? How can you just sit there and condemn them when you have the ability to save them?"

"Maybe I'm sick of being a savior, Sam. Maybe I just want to live for once my life without worrying about other people," Dean snapped back, voice lacking true anger.

Sam turned to his father. " What about you? You're the one who got us involved in this mess. You going to help me find them?"

"I'm not completely healed, " John replied, scrapping the remaining food off his dish into the garbage.

"That's never stopped you before!" Sam yelled.

"Sam, stop being a bitch," Dean growled.

"No. I'm sick of being scared to go to sleep at night. I dread waking up because I'll feel guilty for letting them die. I'm tired…"

"Stop complaining and go out and do it yourself, Sam," Dean interrupted.

"I can't. I'm…"

Dean sighed, very loudly. " What? You're a hunter, Sam. You're not scared of some puny demon or vengeful sprit."

Sam didn't have a response. He swallowed. " Fine. I'll kill it. I don't need either of your help." He grabbed the newspaper off the table and went down the hall to his room to begin the research.

Dean turned to his father whose lips were twitching, trying not to smile.

"What?" Dean asked.

"It's nice to see you boys getting along."

Dean scoffed at his father's sentimentality


Layla laughed as she watched a green-headed duck waddle across the deck, squawking and making a general ruckus.

"Is it okay I give him bread?" she asked.

Dean nodded and she tore off a corner of one of the loafs in their breadbasket and threw it in front of the duck. The duck picked it up in its beak and promptly swallowed it.

"It's cute," she told him, grabbing the piece of bread she had already broken and slathered her leftover butter on it.

"They hurt."

"Did you try to hand-feed it when you were a kid?" Dean gave an ashamed nod. " Silly kid."

"It didn't look like it had teeth," Dean exclaimed.

"Then why does it hurt?"

Dean shrugged. " Suction?"

Layla laughed, taking a bite of her bread and following it up with a sip of her lemonade. " This is really a nice place."

It was. Dean had heard about the place from somebody at work and it had been worth the hour drive. They were overlooking a pristine blue lake with sailboats on it and seagulls flying overhead, dive-bombing every scrap of food unattended by humans. It was a sunny day and everything just seemed more beautiful because of it.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" she asked.

"Not really."

She didn't have to say anything. She just gave him the look, one that knew he was bullshitting. He caved.

" I'm sure it will go fine but…I don't want to go to jail."

"You won't. You were under a lot of stress when it happened. They'll take that into account." She reassured him.

"Thanks. That's more then they've been telling me."

"Whose they?" She took another sip of her drink.

"My lawyers. It's funny. I've never met them, talked to them, hell…I don't even know their names."

"Has it been Sam who's been dealing with them?"

"Yeah. It's not that I don't trust his judgment but from what I know, he went to school with these kids. They can't have been lawyers for long." Dean took a swig of his drink. " It makes me uncomfortable."

"Well, do you trust Sam?"

"That's a stupid question," Dean blurted out. " Of course, I do. I…"

She smiled and he realized what a fool he was making out of himself.

"It was rhetorical," she told him.

"Oh…"

The waiter emerged from the kitchen, hoisting a heavy tray in the air with one hand, maneuvering around the tables and chairs on the deck. He lowered the tray low enough to scoop off their plates, and after setting them down gently, walked away to the next table without a word.

"That was rude," Layla commented, wiping the mayonnaise off her hamburger.

"He's busy."

"Enough to not say three words?"

Dean didn't answer, too busy pounding on the bottom of the ketchup bottle to get enough out to cover his fries.

"Going back, I think I would trust my lawyer being Sam more then some friends I never met of his," he said after some time.

"Then why isn't he?"

"He never went to law school. I kind of didn't let him."

Layla was looking at him so intently and the words fell out of him. " Dad went missing right before his interview. I needed his help and when we got back, she killed Jess, his girlfriend. He gave up school to go searching for Dad and to get revenge on her. To keep me company."

Layla digested it quickly. " Who killed Jess?"

Dean wasn't sure how to explain it. " It was a human but not, because she was immortal. She would die and come back in a different body. We met up with her when she was a child. She said she was something we created. Then she attacked and we killed her."

"Can she come back?"

Dean shook his head. " No. We destroyed her soul. Even if she lived, her next bodies would be useless because she couldn't control them."

"Did you know how she was created?"

"Only our father knows. He wouldn't talk about it when I asked him."

"Is it the…?"

"She killed our mother." Dean answered.

"Is Sam going to go back to law school now that it's all over?"

"He's thinking about it. But I don't know if he'll actually do it."

"Why?"

"Sam has always been the black sheep of the family. Now, he feels accepted. I think he thinks Dad and I will hate him if he returns back to college and abandons us once again."

"Will you?" Layla asked quietly.

"No. I'll be lonely but I've gotten used to being alone. And Dad will even be prouder of Sam. I never told him that but he bragged to everyone he knew that his son had gotten into Stanford on full scholarship. Didn't ever show any enthusiasm to Sam over it but…" Dean sighed. " Whatever Sam wants, he'll get. I wouldn't stop him."

"And what do you want, Dean? Will you get to have it?"

The question caught him off guard. " I don't want anything."

"Yes, you do," she answered. Her tone was quiet, not posing an argument but a statement of fact.

"No. I have everything I want right now," he looked right at her, squeezing her hand under the table. She blushed.

"You'll want more someday," she told him.

"I wouldn't."

Layla didn't correct him. Someday he would want answers to why life had to be a certain way. Someday he would want to step out of Sam's and his father's shadows and start wanting to be his own self. But for now, he was not ready. He wouldn't be ready until she left him, she feared.


Sam didn't want to admit it but he was really looking forward to seeing Katie and Jason again. He hadn't seen them in nearly four years, both of them having been two years ahead of him in school. His friendship with the two had been somewhat peculiar, Jason being his R.A. and Katie, his girlfriend for the two years who took a fondness to him immediately. She had told him he reminded her of her brother at home. Sam remembered that didn't make him too happy to hear. He had had a huge crush on her but she never strayed from Jason. It was when she left, that he started taking interest in Jess, who with a couple of her friends, shared an apartment with him and his roommate.

He had heard through the grapevine that Jason and Katie had broken up when they had got to law school. One of them cheated. He didn't know which one but he knew she was unattached. This made him anxious because he knew this meant he could potentially date her. The visit would be interesting, he knew. He would finally get to see if the feelings he had for her then were just infatuation or were real. Like Dean, he had not seen Jason or Katie before today. He had called up Katie, who specialized in criminal law, the day after Dean got taken, and out of an old favor to him, she agreed to help. Jason had been added later when Katie needed someone who knew something about how individual state laws and rulings worked. Sam hadn't realized they were still in contact with each other, but he reluctantly took the free help.

He glanced out the window, hearing the familiar rumbling of an engine cruising down the street. It was the Impala and Dean pulled into the driveway, and seconds later, after the automatic doors rolled open, the garage. Sam heard the car doors slam, the roll of the garage door closing, and the pounding on the steps as Dean went into the house.

"You look disheveled," Sam commented as Dean walked past the living room. Dean's pants and shirt was wrinkled, hair messy and falling in his eyes, the collar of his polo shirt up in the front.

"I thought I was going to be late."

Sam smirked. " And didn't have enough time to wipe off the lipstick."

Dean's hand flew to his neck and he ran his fingers across it then inspected. " There's no lipstick."

An evil smile crossed Sam's face.

"Real mature, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. " Go change. They'll be here any minute."

Dean left the room and Sam turned back to the window, watching the cars speed up, wondering what car would be the one that had her in it. His nerves were getting to him. He was scared she'd think differently of him now that she saw the real him, the side of him he never shared at Stanford of poverty and his messed-up home life.

He heard rather then saw the car pull up and he stood up and stopped, debating if he should greet them at the stoop, opening the door for them, or waiting for them inside, on the couch, not seeming to care. He was thankful he didn't have to choose. Dean was already going outside, hair sopping wet, and Sam took his lead.

Katie emerged from the passenger side, looking as beautiful as he remembered, with her long curly strawberry-blonde hair, and sea-green eyes. She was dressed in a white sundress and she smiled at him when she spotted him. Then Sam saw Jason coming out of the passenger side, and both annoyance and joy ran through him. He was happy to see his old friend but he was annoyed he had to show up, being an obstacle in his perspective pursuit for Katie.

Dean shook hands with Jason and Katie and Sam escorted them into the house and then the living room.

" Do you want something to drink or eat?" he asked.

" Yeah. We missed lunch," Katie told him.

"Cheese and crackers sound okay?"

She nodded, smiling eagerly, and Sam's heart jumped. " What do you want anything to drink?"

"Do you have diet soda?" He nodded. " I'll take that. Jason wants a beer."

At Jason's nod of confirmation, Sam went into the kitchen to gather up the drinks and prepare the food. He could hear Dean chatting away with Jason and Katie, getting to know them. He was envious of Dean's ability to make easy conversation. Sam wished he could do that, not having to keep up pretenses. He wished it were him who was getting to talk to them. He fished the block of cheese out of the refrigerator and began hacking at it with a knife.

"So how have things been going with you?"

He hit the last button on the microwave, starting the melting of the cheese on the crackers to spin around and face Katie. He hadn't heard her enter the room, which didn't surprise him. She was the one person he knew besides Dean who could slink into a room unnoticed.

"It's been alright. I worked for a bit, got fired, now playing chauffeur for my Dad."

" Must be dull after your road trip," she said with a mischievous smile, taking a seat on the counter. Sam noticed that it made her taller then him.

"A little but it's nice to not have to worry about what's coming next."

"Yeah," she watched him pull the steaming-hot plate out of the microwave. " Say, are you ever going to come back and get your degree?"

Sam shrugged. " I'm thinking about it. Why'd you ask?"

She was trying to inch the cracker she wanted from the bottom of the pile. " You'd make a good lawyer. Better then him," she motioned with her chin to the living room where Jason was going over a stack of papers with Dean.

"Really now?" Sam was curious to hear what Mr. Suave as he often thought of his friend was going so wrong.

"He cares too much about the clients, about fairness and all that mumbo-jumbo," she rolled her eyes.

"And why would that be a bad thing?" Sam asked confused.

"You'll understand why when you get your first job as a real lawyer, not as a law school brat like you'll soon be."

Sam just looked at her, not saying anything. It was like her beauty was slowly diminishing in front of him.

"How was law school anyhow?" Sam asked.

"Not as hard as I thought it would be once me and Jason broke up. I finally had some time to actually do my work."

"Why did you break up?"

She giggled nervously. " I got drunk, got a little bit too friendly with this guy. He found out. I broke it off with him."

His respect for the girl had reached new lows for him. He was trying to figure out why he ever thought he could like her. Cheating was one of those things that really bothered him.

"So, I haven't seen Jess around. Did you guys break up?"

Sam blinked, too flabbergasted to speak. He saw out of the corner of his eye, Dean and Jason by the kitchen door, probably checking on what happened to the food. He presumed they had heard what she said from the murderous look in Dean's eyes.

"She died two years ago," Sam said softly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." She didn't sound very sincere.

"You should have. It was in every paper," Sam heard Jason mumble. Katie heard him and glared.

Sam decided he re-liked Jason.


While Dean and Sam got acquainted with Jason and Katie, John decided to take a late-night drive to the local shooting range. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be able to use it, but fake I.D.s' had their benefits. It wasn't like he was going to cause havoc or anything. He just wanted to shoot his gun and having no land to shoot it from and visitors at the house impaired it.

He took aim at the target a hundred yards away with his hunting rifle and squeezed the trigger. He felt the gun kick, the strain of muscles to keep it steady, and the glee that came when he squinted across the field to see the nice circular hole right in the center of the cut-out's chest.

It relaxed him and he felt his mind beginning to clear as he fired off more shots. Suddenly, the dilemma that had been racing through his mind didn't seem as complicated to him, and he started running through it again.

He wanted to fix his relationship with the boys. Sam, in the past, resented him. Dean probably did too though he didn't admit to it. He tried to control his boys too much. He tried to make them just like him; Dean became, Sam refused to.

He had put too much responsibility too early on Dean. He tried to make Dean be a parent. Dean, most likely, didn't like that. He harassed Sam over his intelligence. Truthfully, he was jealous and very proud, but Sam didn't know that. Instead the boy thought he hated him.

He wasn't loving enough towards either of them. He only rewarded them when they killed or earned money, all survival stuff. Dean still felt too much responsibility towards him and Sam. He put his value in other people. He never learned to express what he felt. Sam had turned out better. He had gotten a parent through Dean. But at the same time, he was worse off. He never learned to cope, to forgive, and to sacrifice. He wasn't prepared to deal with the cutthroat world where morals had no role.

But that was what John expected when he became a parent. He knew he would make mistakes. He knew he would regret teaching or not teaching them something, and would grieve the fact they would have to learn their lessons the hard way. He sighed, firing his last shot into the head. He took his seat, picking the cartridges off the ground, and putting them in a plastic bag to throw away later. Dean, over time, would learn that he was a good human being and stop blaming himself for everything that went wrong. He would turn his feelings for responsibility from Sam to his own kids with time. John only hoped he'd be around long enough to see the little squirts. And Sam would soon learn to appreciate the things that Dean, and by extension him, taught him, and become truly wise, not just book-smart. He would stop blaming other people for his problems and gain perspective on why things had to be that way when he was a child.

John came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do to fix the problems he created. Time would mend them. He had just had to be around and be the supportive father, the things he never was. He didn't think it would be too hard.


She stared at the phone wistfully from across the room, sitting in her chair around the dining table. The chair faced out and she looked away, eyes closing, hiding disappointment, as the phone finally stopped ringing.

Her eyes opened and she saw a shoe, blue with red rimming on the sides. It was expensive and she looked up.

"I'll help you up," the lady told her and the girl nodded. The lady grabbed her arms and with little help with the girl, hoisted her into the wheelchair.

"I don't want to go," the girl told her as the lady grabbed her key card and then pushed her out of the motel room.

The lady patted the girl's bald head. ""No one does…"

Sam opened his eyes, relieved for the dream to be over with and that it wasn't another death dream. He climbed out of bed and walked down to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup out of the drain, he filled it with water and then chugged it down. He prayed the dream wasn't a premonition of something to come.

He paused by the fan on the way back to his room, letting the cool air chill him, and went back to bed. He lay there for some time, repeating over and over to himself that he didn't want this girl to die. She couldn't…

"I'm sorry you didn't know sooner."

The man smiled at her, squeezing her hand. He was sitting at her bedside, sloppily dressed like he had just woken up. " You couldn't help it."

"Still…" she trailed off, looking away from him, up at the abstract paining on the wall.

"Look at me," he said quietly.

She appeared to ignore him.

He grabbed her chin and lightly rotated her face towards him. Her eyes were wet.

"You're scared."
She nodded.
"I would be too."

"I just always knew it was coming but…" she shrugged. " Now that it's here, I want to live. I want to live so much."

Dean kissed her forehead. "You will."
"Maybe. But I don't think so."

"Why not?" He was beginning to look as miserable as she did.
"It feels real this time. That this is the end."

"You're not going to die." His voice was forceful, commanding even, but it was wavering.
Layla smiled weakly.

"Fuck."

Those were Sam's first words, and he sat up in bed with a groan. He didn't want to deal with this. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the sleep out of his brain. No ideas on how to handle it came to mind; he could only stare out his window at the sunlit dead grass, dumbfounded.

He heard a knock on his door. "Sam, you need to take your shower. Dean's getting impatient," his father said from behind the door, and Sam climbed out of bed.

Sam knew he had to tell Dean. He owed it to his brother. But he had no idea how to tell him that the women he loved was going to die, possibly at any second. The only relief Sam had was that Dean would get to see her before she died. He didn't have to tell him. But, he knew that he at leastneeded to prepare Dean for the bad news. He knew that Dean realized that Layla was dying but he also believed Dean was ignoring that possibility.

Sam walked into the bathroom, grabbing a towel off of the rack. He would tell Dean, just not now. Dean was under enough stress with his trial in a few hours. Hopefully he could tell Dean before it happened. Maybe then, the grief that would hit at her passing would not paralyze him.


End Chapter 6: Enter Sandman


Something's wrong, shut the light
Heavy thoughts tonight
And they aren't of snow white

Dreams of war, dreams of liars
Dreams of dragon's fire
And of things that will bite