Warnings for language, including the F word on occasion.

Spoilers for the movie Titanic. Of course, if you haven't seen it by now, do you honestly care? Oh, yes.., ahem, for legal disclosure, all opinions on the merits of the movie are strictly Mr. Dean Winchester's alone and I am merely documenting his comments… Mr. Cameron, please, do not sue me. I actually saw the film twice at the theater since I've always found the actual Titanic to be a fascinating glimpse back in history.

Chapter Three – A Night in Hell

"I'm the King of the World!" Leo screamed for the umpteenth time.

Oh, God! Why me?

Dean sunk down in the theater seat, hoping… praying the spirit would make an appearance soon. What the hell is wrong with this sadistic bitch? Can't it see I'm suffering here?

This ghost or whatever the hell it happened to be was so damn unpredictable. Just when they thought they had a handle on what was triggering its appearances it would shift and pull out a whole new modus operandi. Most of the actual sightings had stopped once they were on the case. There were still minor cold spots or disturbances, but nothing like what the owner of the theater reported before he brought them on board. It was hard to hunt the bitch down when it didn't show its fugly head. It was almost like it was taunting him, teasing that it would all be over soon and then thrusting him back into the depths of despair as that damn ship rolled across the ocean again and again and again. And then again.. and again..! And… again!

Dean wished he could sink to the bottom of the Atlantic and succumb to the frigid waters. It could all be over in a few shivering moments. I've heard freezing to death is actually a peaceful way to go. Anything would be better than this hell.

Since the movie was based on a historical event, Dean was well aware that real people actually died and for that he was sorry, truly sorry, but that was eighty-five freaking years ago. Enough is enough! Besides it wasn't like this was a documentary or something, or even remotely true. Hell, it's as close to real life as a freakin' Disney flick… you know, the cartoon kind!

He did find the analysis of how the great ship foundered and went down quite interesting, and the underwater photography of the actual Titanic lying in her grave at the bottom of the frigid waters was eerie and rather mesmerizing for a spook show. The broken hull of the ship and the scattered contents strewn about the ocean floor presented the most intriguing graveyard he'd ever been exposed to, and if there were any ghosts haunting the place they'd have pretty slim pickings on who to torment and would in all probability spend eternity trapped in the icy depths walking the barnacle-covered deck.

Dean hated to admit it, but he actually got a little choked up thinking about the enormity of all those lost lives. In the blink of an eye their entire existence shifted from lucky passengers on the maiden voyage of the largest ship ever build to just another tragic reminder of man's arrogance and reckless nature. The sheer number of victims demanded a somber response, and the survivors surely dealt with their own inner demons after what they had witnessed. He certainly could relate to the cruelty of fate and how one horrific moment could irreparably scar a life.

And that, my friend, is quite an admission from a hunter who's seen more boneyards than most preachers who make a living officiating over funerals. Of course, I've officiated at more than a few of my own ceremonies for the dead… and the undead in my storied career.

Any sympathy he might have harbored for the real victims of Titanic was unfortunately cast aside when the reality of the actual sinking gave way to the exploits of Kate and Leo as Rose and Jack got mushy and the truth of the tragedy got mired in the romantic drivel that passed for a story. Against his own conscience and empathy for the actual innocents on that fateful voyage he soon found himself rooting for the iceberg, wishing it could have been a hell of a lot bigger and more deadly, at least big enough to sink this movie.

He'd never before considered himself a movie critic, but I know what I like and I know what's good, and a quicker death scene would have suited him just fine. After all, that water was iceberg cold! Get real, people! Rose and Jack sloshing around in the frigid water pouring into the ship for an hour before it actually sank should have given them hypothermia long before they took the big plunge. You don't have to be a freakin' doctor to know that, any idiot could figure that one out! The final straw was the last words Jack spouted before slipping away and sinking into the icy depths. That bullshit was simply ludicrous. Like anyone would feel lucky to have won a ticket on that ill-fated voyage? Like the jerk would cheerfully give up his life for a chick he met days before?

Yeah, right! Only if he had a deep-seated death wish. Of course, after being forced to watch this movie nearly a dozen times, I can relate…

Look, don't get me wrong, the nude scene was cool. A little too Victorian proper if you know what I mean, but still, a naked girl at least got my attention. Too bad they got all artsy with the sex scene. Who wants to see the windows steam up? Good movie making is more naked girl. Right?

Jack was an idiot, no question about that. The sex might have been good, but there're plenty more fish in the ocean. He was young, lots of good sex in his future. Bottom line, dying sucks. Stupid movie.

Then Dean heard the familiar music cuing the scene, and he sat up straight in his seat, instinctively preparing for his performance. Here we go again. One more time.., with feeling! Dean groaned before throwing himself into the moment. It was like he couldn't control himself; like he was Pavlov's fucking dog, the ship's horn ringing his bell, signaling his reenactment.

Dean muttered the words in sync with Leo, his body acting out the drama of the moment as best he could while still trapped in his hard, lumpy seat, the overwrought emotion cascading off the screen and burying him in the dripping sentiment, "Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."

He gasped out the last line and collapsed into his seat, his shoulders scrunched down low against the rigid back. He slapped his hand to his forehead and banged the back of his head against the hard frame in horror at his actions, not believing he couldn't control himself, again succumbing to the spell it cast over him. He then snarled his best Bruce Willis impersonation, wishing he could blow up the theater like the Nakatomi building. Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker! Now, that was a movie!

With his big scene over, at least for the time being, he slumped down further into the confines of his prison already dreading the next viewing… and how the goddamn ship would miraculously rise up from the depths to take him once more across the ice-packed ocean sending his tortured soul on a collision course with that freaking iceberg. Iceberg - 10, Titanic - 0, Dean Winchester - negative infinity.

He hunkered down even lower in his seat, wishing he could close his eyes and just disappear, wishing that damn spirit would come and release him into the next life. Anything would be better than this!

Silence surrounded him as Rose drifted on the wooden panel, the whistle sounding in the distance. No spirit, no action, nothing much happening here. Nothing except that obnoxious, sappy, morose music. God! What were they thinking? Who is that woman? Haven't they heard of Zeppelin? Get with it, people! Get the Led out!

Dean drummed his fingers on the arms of the theater seat, his long legs restless as they shifted and constantly changed position, and he felt like he needed to slip out of his skin. His hands anxiously rubbed down the front of his thighs, scratching through the denim in a frantic pawing motion before returning to grip the armrest in a desperate bid to still himself. All his nerve endings were a jumble, firing and sparking, and making his outer skin feel like he was being lit on fire. He just wanted to go home to their crappy motel room and slip into bed. Pull the covers up over his head and forget this nightmare; let sleep drag him into a dreamworld where he could face some real badass evil and his adrenaline could at least kick in and wash away this creepy-crawly feeling.

Come on you freak, what are you waiting for?

Why couldn't this spirit haunt The Terminator or Aliens? Huh? Those weren't just decent movies, those were great movies. Classics! He could actually enjoy those movies instead of being slowly tortured to death with this schmaltz. Maybe this is all Cameron's fault? He's the one responsible for this mess. He's the one who abandoned true filmmaking in favor of fluff. Maybe the ghost is protesting the disintegration of a promising career? Damn it! The man's a has-been…, going all artsy-fartsy, like he thinks this trash is going to win him an Oscar or something? Doesn't he know action is where it's at? Doesn't he read the demographics? Young, male teens don't want to see this emo-shit. The man had better get back to the basics before his career ends up in the toilet!

To ease his nerves and focus his mind, Dean started fantasizing about what he'd like to see Cameron do to get his career back on track. After watching this turkey almost a dozen times it was obvious the man desperately needed help getting his focus back, and Dean Winchester was just the guy to set him straight. Let's see, he needs action with maybe a little supernatural or sci-fi perspective. Yeah, something different, but with an underlying theme of good vs. evil, always the basis for good drama and conflict.

His tense body relaxed ever so slightly as his mind took him far away and he actually started to get excited about his fantasy show. Characters…, let's see… yeah, gotta have a kick-butt girl, maybe a hot babe who struts around in a tight, black bodysuit. Catlike moves, all sensual and sultry. Now, notice I didn't say slutty, but then again, we can always work on that. Smokin' body and gorgeous face with full, luscious lips and expressive eyes. A face you're captivated by and a bod you can get lost in. Oh, yeah! Maybe throw in some us-against-the-world vibes, like she's an outsider trying to find her way in this world. Not bad, Winchester, you might be on to something here. It's definitely better than this crapfest.

And there's got to be a muscle car, like say, a sleek, black 67 Impala? No, maybe not; after all, there is only one Black Beauty, and I don't feel like sharing her. No, something fast and furious, but different. Maybe a hot motorcycle? If this is in the future then who knows how expensive gas might be? I mean, what if it goes over two bucks a gallon? Couldn't afford to drive a muscle car then, so the smart ride would be a motorcycle. This is looking good, dude! A hot babe on a cool bike. And I definitely see some leather chaps in her future…; Dean arched his eyebrows in appreciation and he smirked, ….pants optional! A huge grin lit up his face as he licked his lips in anticipation; his fantasy girl whetting his appetite, amongst other things. Oh, yeah!

What else? Well, there has to be a hero, but not your typical squeaky-clean type, that's too boring. Oh, all right. We'll throw in the normal, banana republic good guy just to keep the MILF's happy. But the real hero needs to be handsome and built, yes, I might be available!; cocky with a smart mouth and a ready smirk, hmmm, sounding vaguely familiar; bold and brave and physically superior to beat the crap out of everyone he faces, dare I say, I am rather awesome in a fight!; and most important, cool and confident with the ladies, is there any doubt? A star is born! Dean chuckled to himself as the audience around him shushed loudly. Alright, already! So they're dying on the screen, you have no idea how perfect this idea is!

Damn! This is sounding promising. I should be in the biz! If Cameron would just follow my advice he could dig himself out of this Titanic sinkhole. Maybe I should drop him a line? Lay it all out for him.

Good story, but it needs a title. She sounds like a devil, but no… don't want to give the devil his due. No… maybe more like an angel, not that they really exist. Hmmm, maybe that works. She's everyman's fantasy. Hell, she sure is mine! But she isn't just a beautiful, pure angel, no way… not if I'm creating her. No, she's gonna be dark and threatening. Whoa, that's it, Angel of Darkness. No, that's not quite right. Maybe, Dark Angel? Dean, my boy, you are brilliant. Dark Angel it is!

Dean returned his focus to the movie screen as the credits rolled; relieved he had managed to survive one more showing, but devastated it wouldn't be the last. Oh, God! Why the hell won't that bastard show himself?

He grabbed up his plastic cup half full of hot, watery Dr. Pepper and stood up to shake off the stiffness from three and a half hours of agony. This small town theater could use some new seats, the nice ones that lean back with foot bars to put your feet up, not to mention having an acceptable amount of padding. As usual his feet stuck to the floor and he pulled up each of his boots and continued on with the squish-squish sound accompanying him back to the lobby. How the hell do these people spill all this crap? I freaking hate getting my boots all gummed up.

John was standing by the theater door as the audience filed out. "Dean, anything?"

"Nah. You?"

"Quiet as a library on Saturday night."

"Sounds good. Better than this torture," Dean scoffed.

John looked up in shock, wondering if his sons had been in contact with a transmutation stone. If somehow Sam's essence had been transferred into his brother's body.

"You're hoping for a stint at the library on a Saturday night? Dude, you got a fever?"

Dean expelled a grunt. "Well, I am steamed, but only from the punishment you're dishing out." Dean's voice was just this side of contemptuous, barely within the allowable confines.

John rolled his eyes, only the slightest concern evident, more annoyance if he were being honest. "Dean, you love the movies. It can't be all that bad."

"Have you seen this movie?" The volume and harshness of Dean's voice was rising although he managed to stay conscious of the parameters of acceptable behavior, not yet crossing over into the Sammy zone. He somehow always managed to control his anger, instinctively knowing to rein it in, respect for his dad ever present, always tempering his words and actions, even when he felt like screaming to the heavens. Oh, God, could I let loose with a primal scream right about now!

John tried to reason with him, not yet understanding the severity of the situation. "It's a blockbuster. All of America can't be wrong."

Dean adamantly shook his head, certainty behind his words. "Wanna bet? I'll give you odds. Ten to one I'm right."

John cocked his head in concentration. "And how am I going to find out?"

Dean grinned. "Easy, we'll switch posts. You stake out the next show and I'll keep an eye on the lobby and the cute popcorn girl." Dean's eyes sparkled at the prospect, hope momentarily bolstering his spirits.

John studied his son, finally seeing the tension in him. "You're serious?"

"Deadly."

John considered Dean's plan for all of a nanosecond, determining if Dean found this movie that disturbing it most certainly was nothing he was interested in seeing. "Sorry, Dean. You're stuck as inside man." There are benefits to being the one in charge.

Dean deflated like the Snoopy balloon at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade after all the spectators went home and the remnants of the festivities were unceremoniously left to shrivel up and die. "Figures," he muttered.

"Well, that's the last showing of the night. Guess we'll just have to come back tomorrow."

"Oh, God, kill me now."

TBC

Like many 'Dean' fans, I confess to being an avid fan of Dark Angel S2. What an interesting coincidence, huh? Thanks for reading, B.J.