Sorry I haven't updated in so long. Christmas and New Year are crazy. Anyway I hope you like this chapter. I know its only short but I'll try to get another chapter up before the end of the week. Please R&R.

Chapter 17: - Nightmares.

The demon was livid. It had underestimated Alex, thinking her weak and pathetic in comparison to itself. But she was smart. She had used her strengths to her advantage, taking it off-guard, a mistake it wasn't going to make again.

She had wounded its pride. No teenage girl was going to take it on and get away with it. Recovering from her assault on its body, it had quickly formulated a new plan and wasted no time in implementing it.

Heading back to the motel, having left Sam and Alex two miles up the road, it found Dean alone.

Dean had been trying to distract himself by checking his weapons bag. He had started work on figuring out all the weapons he owned by touch. Some he had known instinctively, his fingers gently caressing the knife he always kept beneath his pillow and the '45 he always kept tucked into the back of his jeans. His hands lingered on the shot gun Sam had used to shoot him with, back in the Roosevelt Asylum in Illinois, instinctively reaching up to touch his chest where the rock salt had smashed into him, taking his breath away.

Some of the weapons had taken a little longer to figure out, but even without his sight, he could remember every scratch and indentation that marked them, lovingly touching them as he remembered the countless times they'd saved his life. He realised he didn't need to be able to see to clean his collection, and he threw himself into the task with an urgency that almost masked his uneasy spirits.

The demon grinned as it silently climbed in through an open window, closing it too behind it. It moved silently across the room until it was standing right in front of Dean, a look of glee etched across its face.

Dean, feeling a shift in the air, looked up sharply, pulling out his favourite '45. "Is someone there!" he demanded, locking the dread that crept up his spine, away deep within him.

The demon smirking, side swiped him, knocking the gun to the floor. Dean jumped to his feet, ready for attack. He held his arms out in front of him defensively, his ears scouring the room for movement.

The demon, knowing Dean was completely helpless, stepped towards him, grabbing a fistful of his clothes. Before Dean knew what was happening he was hurled across the room, his head making sickening contact with the opposite wall.

He crumpled to the floor in a daze, his mind sluggish as he struggled to remain conscious. He groaned weakly, tasting blood as he fought off the dream-like state that threatened to engulf him. He moved his hand to his throbbing head feeling a gash across his temple and a cut across the bridge of his nose. As he squinted against the shooting pain, he fought his way ungainly to his feet, blindly trying to defend himself.

The demon watched in amusement as Dean leant heavily against the wall, trying to steady himself. Walking over to him, it struck him with such a sudden violent blow, that Dean flew off his feet, his arms flailing out as he tried to save himself. The demon looked down at his shell shocked form with delight. The anger, hate and rage, Alex had brought upon it, gave way to sheer satisfaction as it watched Dean's pain. It wanted someone to hurt, it wanted Alex to pay for what she had done. Until then, Dean would do, he would do very nicely indeed.

It closed its eyes, its influence seeping into Dean, making him relive the scene in the church all over again. It forced him to witness his brother and father lying dead in front of the altar. This time Alex was sitting beside him, ghostly pale, her lips trembling as she bit back tears, anguish contorting her delicate features.

Dean squirmed on the ground, his face scrunched up in agony as the demon brought forth his worst nightmares.

Inside the church, Dean could see the coffins before him, Alex sniffling beside him, her hand clutched in his. She looked up at him with tearful eyes, her face as white as milk, her skin almost translucent against the long black dress she wore.

He turned away from her, realising with dread where they were and why they were here. Turning his eyes away, he desperately blinked back the tears, refusing to shed them before her.

Ahead of them, something shifted. He looked up nervously as Sam sat up in the coffin.

"Sam," he choked, dropping Alex's hand as he jumped to his feet and out into the aisle. "You're not-"

"Why didn't you save us?" Sam butted in sharply, making Dean wince.

He floated above the coffin, only his spirit remaining. John appeared beside him. Dean withdrew, falling backwards off the step in shock. He lay paralysed, staring up wildly at his brother and father.

"Why didn't you do as I asked?" John ordered coldly as Dean looked up at them from the floor. "Why didn't you protect him like I asked!"

Dean made to speak but was lost for words as his father and Sam looked down at him with accusatory stares.

"You failed us," they continued in unison.

"You never lived up to my expectations. Why couldn't you be more like your brother!"

Dean stared at them in terror, his heart breaking as they forced him to admit his failure. 'How could he have let this happen? How could he have let Sam die? He was a failure, something he's fought against all his life.'

"We never needed you, not like you needed us," Sam spat. "Dad always did what he wanted; he didn't need you to back him up. I didn't need you! I was fine at Stanford, and then you had to come back into my life and ruin everything. It's all your fault!"

John nodded in agreement as he watched his eldest son squirm on the ground before him, his eyes shining with a vulnerable sadness. "You've really disappointed me Dean. You should have known better."

Dean's breath caught in his throat, those few little words cutting deep. He could deal with being shouted at, hit or hurt. But the look of absolute disappointment sparkling in his father's crest-fallen eyes and quiet disheartened tone of voice killed him. All he'd ever wanted was to prove himself to his father, but here he was staring up at him as a failure.

"What's your point in life," Sam snapped bitterly, breaking in to his reverie. Sam's spirit floated down so close to Dean's face that Dean let out an involuntary gasp. "To screw everything up?"

The demon watched with joy as Dean's face twisted, his body shuddering as his mind tortured his soul. Hearing the sound of two cars pulling up outside the motel, it whispered persuasively to the young man's subconscious that all his family were gone and that life was no longer worth living.

The demon's physical form reached under the pillow of Dean's bed, drawing out the knife he kept there and placed it into Dean's lap gently, before disappearing out of sight.

Alex pulled up outside the motel and turned off the Impala's engine, Sam pulling up in the Camaro beside her. Getting out, Alex moved towards her car and began pulling out the grocery bags, putting them into Sam's outstretched hands. Locking the car, she led the way up to the room, Sam following, struggling to carry the over laden bags.

Pushing open the door as she watched him stumble up the pathway, she smiled mischievously. Turning back towards the room, the smile turned to a look of shock, her eyes widening in horror as she saw Dean sitting on the floor trembling violently, a knife in his lap.