Defenders of the Night

54. Lazarus Rising

Season Four

Dean was in a dark place breathing heavily and flicked his lighter on. He was inside a wooden coffin.

His voice was hoarse as he cried, "Help! Help! Help!"

He pounded on the wood above his head and dirt rained down on his face, yet he still continued pounding.

FIELD

In the middle of a grassy field, a simple wooden cross had been planted. A hand burst from the dirt, followed by another. It was Dean, and he crawled his way out of the ground, groaning and gasping. He laid on his back, panting. He stood and looked around in the glaring sunlight. Around the crude headstones was a perfect circle, lying on the ground as though something not of the world had felled them.

Dean found a road and started walking along it, soon coming upon an abandoned gas station. He pounded on the door and called out in a hoarse voice, "Hello?"

He rolled up his outer shirt over his right and and broke the glass on the door. Inside, he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and gulped it, gasping. He found a newspaper and saw the date which read, Thursday, September 18th.

"September," Dean said.

He made his way into to the bathroom.

MEN'S RESTROOM

Dean washed his face in a dingy sink, then looked up and stared at his reflection. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt. He frowned, stood, and pulled the shirt up to expose his chest.

He remembered his chest being ripped open by the Hellhound.

Dean stared at his unblemished, unscarred chest in the dingy gas station mirror. He turned his left shoulder to the mirror and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a large, raw handprint brand.

He exited the bathroom and reentered the main part of the gas station mart.

Dean pulled snacks and energy bars from the shelves, along with several bottles of water and stashed them into a plastic bag. He stopped in front of a magazine stand and grinned slowly. On the stand was an adult magazine - Busty Asian Beauties. He picked it up, smirked, flipped through it, and stuffed it in his bag.

He went to the counter, set down the bag, and hit a single button on the register, snapping his fingers in satisfaction when it popped open. As he was looting cash, the TV to his left, showing only static. He shut it off, only to have a radio to his right turn on to white noise. Not wasting a moment, he went to another shelf, grabbed a carton of salt, opened it, and began pouring it along the windowsill.

A high-pitch tone began and Dean clutched his left ear in pain as he continued pouring salt with his right hand. As it continued, he dropped the salt and crouched the floor and groaned in agony. The window above his head shattered as the sound continued and he dropped to the floor. He leapt to his feet as the sound continued and more glass on the ceiling and walls shattered. Dean looked around cautiously.

PHONE BOOTH

Dean dialed a number and heard only an alert tone.

"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected."

He inserted another coin, and dialed another number. It rang once, then was picked up.

"Yeah?" Bobby asked.

"Bobby?" Dean called.

"Yeah?"

"It's me."

"Who's "me"?"