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Chapter Four
Dean told Sam everything that happened one week before the demon killed their mom. As soon as he finished, he turned away, not wanting to meet Sam's concerned gaze. Dean put the tape back into the cassette tape player, and let the soothing sound of Metallica take over him.
"How is this your fault?" Sam asked, putting his hand on the volume switch of the cassette tape player. Sam hesitated at making the music softer. Instead, he raised the volume slightly and waited for Dean to respond.
"I could have done something! I could have told mom or dad!" Dean said without looking up.
"You were four years old, and scared. It wasn't your fault," Sam assured.
"I wish I could have killed that son of a bitch right then and there," Dean started the car.
Sam was scared. He wanted his brother back, the one he knew. He had never seen Dean this way, and out of all the terrifying things he's ever seen and been through, this scared him most. "Dean, there's nothing you could have done. None of this is your fault, just forget it. You know that as soon as we find that piece of shit, we'll kill him – "
"Sam just shut up," Dean snapped.
Dean and Sam stopped at a motel, but went straight to a bar just outside the motel. They had a few beers, and Dean felt more like himself again. He spotted a group of girls sitting at a nearby table, and went to talk to them and get their numbers. Normally, Sam would have rolled his eyes, but now he was glad that Dean was more or less back to normal.
It was getting kind of late, and Sam decided to head back to the motel. Dean stayed a while longer, still flirting with the chicks he met.
Finally, once all the girls have left, their phone numbers written on napkins and given to Dean, Dean was much better as he made his way to the motel. He went to the elevator, re-looking the napkins with phone numbers. 'OUT OF ORDER' a large sign that hung on the elevator; said in messy letters.
"Damn elevators," Dean muttered as he walked to the stairs. The stairway was dusty, with cobwebs hanging from the edges of the stairs. Dean stared up to his room on the 4th floor, taking the cement steps two at a time. The dull light shining over the flights of stairs was flickering on and off, and suddenly turned off. Dean quickly pulled out a flashlight, and picked up his pace.
"Dean," a raspy voice coming from the top of the stairs called, and Dean shone his flashlight in that direction. A dim figure was staring down at him. It was faceless, but it looked furious. "Long time no see," it continued.
"Son of a bitch," Dean shouted, realizing what it was, "I'm gonna kill you!" Dean took out a gun from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and aimed it at the demon. He was pretty sure that it would be pointless, but he tried anyways. He shot a few times, but the dark shape just laughed at him.
"You weren't supposed to tell anyone," the demon croaked, "And now you Winchesters are gonna have to die. Too bad."
Dean took out another gun, this one loaded with rock salt. He knew it wouldn't kill the demon, but it would repel it until he figured out how to kill it. He pulled the trigger, overwhelmed by anger and hate. The salt went right through the demon, crashing right through the wall.
"Oh, please, you really think that was going to work?" the demon cackled, "Well, alright, I just stopped by for a visit, that's all. Now I've got more important things to go do. See you soon." The demon laughed again, shoving Dean downwards, sending him tumbling down the stairs. The shady figure disappeared, leaving Dean lying unconscious at the bottom of the murky stairway.
