.-.-.-.A Killer's Dream.-.-.-.

Summary: Dean has been having some pretty weird dreams lately - he seems to be playing the murderer in a sick game that is life and death. So now he and Sam have to figure things out before things take a turn for the worse for Dean.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the boys aren't mine... unfortunately.

A/N: Okay, so I know I just posted the previous chapter a couple of hours ago but I was determined to finish this tonight and saw no need to keep you guys hanging on and waiting for this final chapter any longer than you had to, seeing as you've all been so amazingly patient so far with how long this has taken me. I am extrememly grateful and you guys are amazing for sticking with this story. All I can say is thank you and here it is, the final chapter!

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20. Blinding

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After waking, Dean had dragged himself up to look at the sorry mess that was their motel room. Sam explained what had happened, fetching the first aid kit from one of the bags and searching inside it for aspirin for Dean. His head was throbbing, his entire body protesting every movement that he made. It reminded him of the hangover he had experienced one time in Atlanta, though the intensity was much worse now. He only hoped the painkillers would dull the ache. As for the piercing light that felt like needles being driven into his eyes, his shades would have to do.

"We need to break the connection completely," Sam noted, grabbing his laptop from the table. He was careful not to knock the bowl that held the holy water and knife he had been telling Dean about. Dean figured he was afraid that if he did, it would reverse the effects and Dean would fall back into the nightmare.

"You mean find the girl?" Dean questioned, taking a few painkillers over the recommended dosage and downing them with water whilst wishing it was whiskey. He rubbed at his temple before resting his head against the wall, making sure to keep his eyes open, almost afraid to close them. "And what happens to her when we do?"

He remembered the demon telling him that it needed the girl in order to keep Dean in the nightmare - that it needed her blood to be dripping. It made him wonder if getting her away from the demon was going to be enough and even then, what she had gone through… he cut his thoughts short and forced himself up, pacing the floor in front of him. He was aware of Sam watching and when his brother failed to answer his question about the girl, because really, he had no idea either, he spoke again. "There was a warehouse. At least I think it was a warehouse of some kind… old and empty."

It was his turn to watch Sam as he worked at the laptop, making it all seem so easy, which to Sam, it probably was. He'd had enough experience to know what to look for and where to look for it. It made things easier or at least a little less difficult. After several minutes, Dean returned to his seat on the bed, staring at the back of the laptop as if it could tell him the answers to what Sam was looking for. It couldn't.

Sam still sent glances his way, worried and anxious. It made Dean glad that what the demon had done to him in the nightmare hadn't appeared on his body outside of the dream. What Sam didn't know… he didn't need to know. The cuts, the carvings, the malicious words, Sam didn't need to know about any of it.

"There's an area just outside of town, seems our best bet. It has a few old buildings that could have been used as warehouses," Sam announced finally, closing the laptop up. It wasn't a certainty but it was better than nothing.

Dean pulled himself to his feet, wobbled a little and somehow managed to fight off the wave of nausea and light-headedness that overtook him. Fighting off Sam's grip was a different story. The youngest wasn't convinced they should be heading out so soon, Dean could tell. But he also couldn't risk not heading out. If he fell asleep again and fell back into the nightmare, there was no guarantee than Sam could pull him out again.

"I'm fine," he insisted for the umpteenth time as Sam shot him another sidelong glance in the Impala. It was an outright lie that was proven even more untrue by the fact he had to further shield his eyes from the streetlamps overhead because, even with his shades, the light still hurt like hell. He was glad when they got outside the town and the streetlamps became more sparse, the landscape darker.

By the time Sam pulled up outside the first of the old buildings, Dean knew what his brother was going to suggest. He would protest of course, fight him all the way but he knew he had no strength. He could barely even open the car door and that in itself left him feeling useless.

"You're staying here," Sam said, though it was more of an order than the suggestion Dean had expected. The younger Winchester was already out the car and rounding the back to gather weapons from the trunk.

Dean growled in reply. His door half open, he felt the light breeze from the night air, cool against his skin. It helped refresh him, keep him awake and aware enough to realise that Sam was right. He was staying there. To think or do otherwise would be suicide. He would not only endanger himself but Sam as well.

Sam came up to door and opened it wider, concern still etched deep into his expression. He handed Dean a shotgun and before Dean could say anything at all, he was gone, heading off toward the warehouse to search inside. Dean kept watch on the door the whole time, only moving to watch the second warehouse when Sam had emerged from the first unharmed and had proceeded with his search.

"I don't think he'll like what he'll find." The voice was cold as ice beside him and Dean span in his seat, finding enough strength to raise the shotgun and aim it at the demon's chest. He didn't pull the trigger, instead he snarled at the demon.

"Am I dreaming?" He didn't feel like he was but then with how tired his whole body was feeling, he wouldn't have put it past it to have shut down temporarily without his consent.

"No, not this time." The demon grinned that crooked grin, his eyes flashing white for a moment before returning back to a more acceptable colour. Though even that colour seemed to be tainted, a murkier brown than most people's eyes held, almost empty and dead.

"I swear to God," Dean started, his finger tightening on the trigger, ready to pull, "If you even think of going anywhere near my brother – I won't just kill you."

The words were a promise of torture far worse than what the demon had given him in the nightmare and the look in the demon's eyes said he understood perfectly what Dean was getting at. In fact, it was worse than that. The look said that was what the demon was banking on. It made Dean feel sick.

"Maybe sometime in the future," the demon answered, before casting a distasteful look around the area and down at his meatsuit as if he was tired of it already and eager to be somewhere else. "But for now, I'll be waiting for you. Got a space ready on the rack, waiting for your broken shell of a soul."

Before Dean could answer, his attention was pulled back to the warehouse where he heard Sam call out. He couldn't make out the words at first but when he finally saw his brother emerge, he guessed it had something to do with him finding the girl. He turned to snarl at the demon again, ready to pull the trigger if Sam got the girl back to the car only for her to be dead, but it was gone as if it hadn't even been there in the first place.

"She's alive, barely," Sam said as he got close enough for Dean to hear. By the look in his eyes, Dean was sure he hadn't seen the demon which meant it was yet another thing that Sam didn't have to know about.

Dean nodded, his eyes unfocused as he half watched Sam bundle her into the back of the car and half watched to see if the demon reappeared. Deep in thought, thinking of what the demon had said and of the look it had given him, the silence stretched on well past them taking the girl to the hospital and heading for the nearest exit of town.

Sam had called Bobby and had done something with the girl before the hospital but Dean hadn't paid attention. It had probably involved Latin and holy water but with his head still partly in the nightmare that had been Alastair, Dean couldn't be sure.

"What did he do?" Sam finally asked, several miles after the pretty 'now leaving' sign that had sat at the side of the road.

Dean had removed his shades and was staring blankly at the passing scenery. The headache was disappearing, along with the weariness and overwhelming need to sleep. But the aching was still there, the silent twinge of pain that echoed out through his body. He ignored it and glanced to Sam before looking back out the window. "I don't remember."

Sam remained silent and Dean could feel his eyes still on him. He didn't believe the lie and Dean wished so badly that he would. He wished the lie were true. What he had experienced was only a taste of what he would get in Hell. And he knew, more than anything, that he didn't want to experience it again. "It's all kind of hazy," he added, trying to sound more convincing as he sent Sam a sad smile.

Sam, his kid brother, the one he always looked out for… Dean had sold his soul for his life. If there had been any other way to save him, he would have done that instead, but there hadn't and now Hell awaited him. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to go to Hell and he definitely didn't want to face Alastair again. But he couldn't get out of his deal. If he even tried, Sam would die and that… that wasn't on option.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Somehow, knowing what was waiting, knowing those cold white eyes of his torturer… it made it worse and he didn't want Sam to know just how much worse it made it all.

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Katie Del Toro lay in the hospital bed, staring unseeing at the blank white ceiling above. She heard someone move close to her bed and shivered, wishing she had the strength to move away but the staff had restrained her. She had been frantic, screaming about demons and blood and pale white eyes that she would never forget. It made her wish the ceiling wasn't white, or the walls or the floor or anything that she would ever see again.

The person by the bed placed their hand on her shoulder and she jerked beneath their touch, turning wild eyes onto a pair of soft blue. A kind smile of the officer that stood there had her calming but only slightly. They spoke to her but she barely comprehended what they were saying, the drugs that the nurses had given her still fogging up her mind.

His hand became a little heavier, his speech a little clearer. "What do you remember?" he asked, still so kind, so soft.

"He was a demon," she whimpered, aware of how crazy it sounded and how insane it made her look. "He was a demon. You… I – please, you have to believe me."

He smiled and leaned in closer. That was when she saw a flash of silver in his other hand and she strained to look down only to see nothing but white curtains drawn closed and white sheets quickly turning red. "Of course I believe you," he whispered in her ear and he stood up tall. She could see his eyes turn clearly white before he turned away, unhooking the pain medication attached to her drip and the alarm that would have allowed her to call for help, leaving her to die alone and in pain.

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