"Wake up Dean."

Dean shifted in his sleep, pulling the pillow that he was clutching closer to his body. He rubbed his face against the sheets under his head trying to go back into the peaceful sleep he was slowly waking from. Curling up he shivered a bit, throwing his hand out trying to find the thick cover that kept the cold out like a shield. Dean's eye brows came together when he couldn't find it, his hand patting the whole bed before he finally opened his eyes, the blackness as total as when he had his eyes closed.

"Dean." The voice came from the shadows, echoing around the room so Dean didn't know where it was coming from. His eyes scanned the room, searching for something that would tell him where the voice came from. The only thing that Dean's eyes could make out was the end of his bed, everything else covered by a thick darkness that you could feel, it crawled into your body, oozing over bones and sticking to them like tar. Dean moved to get out of his bed to go and see who was there when the voice spoke again, "NO."

Dean stopped, freezing where he was, both legs hanging over the side of the bed, hands sitting on the outside of his hips. He didn't know why he stopped, he just had to. The voice said he had to, so he did, he had no choice. The voice was commanding, worse than anything he had ever heard out of his father's mouth, there was no option for disobedience. Dean shifted his weight, not sure as to what was happening, "Okay…why?"

The voice moved as it spoke, coming from one corner of the room then the other, moving in a random pattern, faster than a human could, "To see if you obeyed. Well done Dean, you have potential."

This sparked something in Dean, a rebellious nature if you please. He made another move to stand up, something a child would do just to spite their parents, just because they said not to.

"SIT." Dean sat down with a bounce, unable to stop himself. He was shocked, convinced that he was dreaming, why else would he not have the worlds greatest hangover?

"What do you want?" Dean's eyes keep looking around the room, making note that the window and door were shut, nothing within his arms reach other than pillows and a lot of good they would do for him. He would have to rely on surprise, making sure he could do SOMETHING before the, whatever, spoke again.

"I just want to talk. Is there something wrong with that?" The voice was getting closer, Dean becoming more on edge, his fingers tightening on the edge of the mattress.

"That's no good you know. You can't move, I had to make sure of that. I don't understand why people are convinced that they need to run from me. I really am a nice guy, well, I guess that depends on you. Do you want me to be a nice guy?" The voice was honest, truly curious. It took a few seconds before Dean realized that he was being asked a question, nodding his agreement, why wouldn't he want the voice to be nice?

"Good." The voice moved again, jumping to the corner near the door, "Now, do you know who I am?"

Dean was trying to keep up with the voice, his eyes following it as it bounced round and round, "Not in the Biblical sense."

The voice tisked, "Now Dean, that was entirely inappropriate. That's one strike. I assume I don't need to tell you what happens when you get three? No? Good. Now, do you know who I am?"

"Da Terminator?" Dean spoke with an accent, mimicking Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Suddenly a face appeared right before Dean, white eyes staring right at him, narrowing to tiny slits as the voice hissed, "You're not very good at this are you? That's two Dean. Answer my question."

Dean spoke through his teeth, sneering, "No clue creepy."

The face moved back from him, fading into the darkness, "You've heard of me before Dean. Think hard, Sam was very excited about meeting me. Imagine how disappointed he would be when he finds out you met me first…"

Dean struggled to move, fingers ripping the sheets, "You son-of-a-bitch!"

The voice chuckled, "Ah! So you have heard of me." The voice moved, making Dean jump as it come from beside the bed, "So you know why I am here then."

Dean refused to speak, biting back the comment that would earn him a third strike.

A shiver went down his spine as breath hit the side of his neck, the words dripping into his ear, "I'm here to give you a second chance."

Dean leaned as far as he could away, shuddering as much as his body would allow. The voice moved to the other side of his head, Dean feeling the light graze of the things mouth as it said, "Everyone gets one, deserving or not. It's what they do with it that discerns one from the other."

Dean remained staring forward, his face stone-like, "Who died and made you King?"

The face came back, expressionless it said, "The Devil died and I took his spot. Who needs a God when you have me? The defense, the jury, and the judge? But like every good consul, I do have rules to follow. Every good man does. But answer me this Dean, what do I follow?"

Dean didn't answer, looking straight into the things eyes. It smiled again, it's teeth just as white as it's eyes, "The book Dean. The book that trillions have read over the course of history, the book that millions worship sometimes even more than the God that it claims is real. There are rules that are outlined that each and every person should be following, believer or not. These are the rules that I abide by, judging all those who are with blame. This is my job Dean, my pride, my joy."

"But why me?" Dean looked into the eyes, his fear buried down deep within himself, "Why this town?"

The face backed up a bit, as if the question startled it. "Why not this town? Why not you? I heard you Dean, your confession to your brother. There was a lot of juicy detail in there. Your sins from the past years, each one laid out for me, each just as filthy as the next. I had a great deal of excitement when I heard you, it was a tad bit embarrassing I must say, my brothers thought me a fool for dancing the way that I did. You are blacker than the night itself, plagued with the sins of others, tainting your soul with the sins of today. You are veritable feasting ground, and I cannot wait to get started."

Dean opened his mouth to speak again before a black finger came up to the lips of the man, "Shh. No more speaking for now. Rest Dean, for tomorrow begins your redemption. You have one chance Dean, do not waste this gift."

The darkness consumed the beast, engulfing the white until the room was silent.

Dean woke the next morning, blanket over his body and a terrible pounding in his head. He had just enough warning to make it into the bathroom before emptying the contents of his stomach; as little as they were, they jubilantly made their reappearance. Leaning his head against the wall Dean groaned, his insides trying to turn themselves inside out and apparently doing a very good job at it too. It took a few minutes before Dean's stomach settled down enough for him to move to the sink, washing off his face and mouth, trying to rid himself of the taste of bile. He then walked back to his bed, shutting his eyes against the first rays of light that passed through his bedroom window, his headache lessening with the lack of light.

Dean woke for the second time that morning several hours later, the sun shinning directly into his room. He scrambled over, hissing against the burn, throwing the curtains shut. He stumbled in the darkness, trying to find his way back to the bathroom to get a drink of water. He managed to get the glass under that water after several tries, his wet hand a testament to it. He downed the glass, refilling it and taking it with him as he went back to the bed. He sat down heavily, rubbing his eyes with his free hand to get rid of some of the pain that insistently throbbed behind them. He took a drink from the glass then placed it on the side table only to find that something was in his way. Reaching out he took what ever it was in his free hand, placing the cup in the spot that the mystery item was in before.

Dean walked to the wall, moving his hand up and down looking for the light switch that he knew was there. Finding it Dean flipped it on, shutting his eyes before the light illuminated the room. He opened them slowly, making sure they could adjust so not to blind himself with another bout of searing pain. His eyes finally open Dean could see what had been resting on his side table.

It was another bag of cookies.

A/N: And they are back to their proper lengths!

I just quickly want to say that the Germans are some of the coolest people I have ever had the privilege to be descended from. I mean, who thinks to put a pickle in a tree? Only a German. They are fantastic.