12. Nightmare Evaded, Nightmare Remains

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Dean opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, to see the grubby face of a middle-aged man looking at him. He smiled maliciously, yellow teeth seeming to add a glint of demonic black into his already dark eyes. "So," he said as he toyed idly with Dean's gun, "you're the famous Dean." Not knowing what else to do, Dean resorted to his second weapon of choice--pure cheek.

"Famous, well I wouldn't say that," he smirked as he discreetly gripped Melody and Sam tighter still. "I'd say I'm more of the legend type." Dean refused to show it, but he was dead terrified. Here, in a former moment of peace there was still the danger of death. He looked down at Sam and Melody and made a silent vow to protect them. Only one will die tonight, he recited in his head, and it sure as hell won't be any of us.

"Legends never die, boy, but you will. You and your little devil's spawn." Only one.

"Devil's spawn, these kids? Nah, I know they can be a pain in the ass but they're not that bad." The man shook his head and scoffed, as if to say how clueless Dean was.

"So you don't know the little secret then," he teased, swinging the gun around his finger. "About these little abominations."

"No, I can't say that I do," said Dean in a falsely confident voice. He was worried about the implications the man was making, after all, what could be so horrible that he was compelled to speak about teenagers as if they were a violation of nature? Maybe they are, nagged a small voice at the far back of Dean's mind.

"They're demons, well, partly demons to be exact. Got demon blood flowing ever so ruthlessly in those veins of theirs. Makes 'em freaks, too, did ya know that? These two especially; worst case we'd ever seen. Psychic twins or something. They can feel the same things and oh, you can imagine the fun we had torturing them," the man said as he threw his head back in what appeared to be very sick ecstasy. Dean glared poisoned daggers at the man; pleasure from pain, the idea of it all made him sick to his core.

"For every cut we made on Sam, Melody would feel it too, and versa vice. Twice the enjoyment, and half the cleaning--quite the bargain. It was such an experience to feel them writhing beneath me and the screams, mmm, there never was a sweeter song." Dean's glare increased by a tenfold of strength and low tones were starting to vibrate in the back of his throat.

"Oh come now, you would do the same thing to a monster too. You've felt the same joys in their thrashing and the same pleasure in their gasps of pain."

Dean didn't even notice he was twitching and full-on growling like a rabid wolf until the man stopped speaking. A pure hate clouded his every thought and his vision became tunneled. Red consumed his vision and he lunged at the man, forcing Sam and Melody apart for a brief second.

Dean took advantage of the man's temporary shock and wrestled with him for a short ten seconds before getting the gun and aiming it at the man's head. "You're not going to kill me," he chuckled as a bit of blood trickled from his mouth, "not in front of the fiends you so care for."

"Enjoy your trip back to hell, you bastard." Without another word or thought, Dean fired. Two shots rang out and the man fell dead to the floor, blood pooling around his head in a much undeserved halo.

Dean stowed his gun and ran to Sam and Melody, who had somehow stayed locked in each other's arms even after Dean pushed them aside.

"It's time to go," he said softly. Melody and Sam rose to their feet as quickly as they could, Sam was leaning against Melody for support, and followed behind Dean out of the room that had contained them for so long.


Much to their surprise, the rest of the mission was incredibly simple. They escaped out one of the back doors and made it back to the impala to find Bobby waiting for them. His face brightened considerably when he saw Sam, but said nothing other than a very breathy "Sam". Dean figured the reason for his silence was that he was too overcome with emotion, and he proved correct when he saw a few tears slip down Bobby's hardened face.

No one talked much on the ride home. From the looks of it, Bobby was focusing a little too hard on the open road ahead and Sam and Melody were curled up in each other's arms, fast asleep, wincing occasionally for reasons unbeknownst to Dean. He was replaying, several times over, the things the man had said about his brother and Melody. Could it be true that they were psychic? Or was it just a ruse he had set up? The latter didn't seem too likely though. Everything would have added up if the first thought was true. How Melody knew Sam, how she knew exactly where he was, why they were tortured then and so seemingly inseparable now--too many pieces fit together too perfectly.

He couldn't seem to place exactly how and why they were connected though. His mother only had a son, he knew that much, so they weren't true twins. Was it simply a side-effect from being held up and tortured with the same person for a long period of time? Did the sick-minded people at the Hunter's House create it for more "pleasure" while they tortured the children? Dean couldn't find a fitting answer for the life of him and soon found himself falling asleep to the soft music Bobby had picked and the sound of Melody and Sam's whisper-like breathing.

He drifted down a long corridor not unlike the one he had been in only hours ago. There was a murmuring around him he couldn't make out, but soon deciphered a small whimper coming from behind a bolted door. Dean glided through it with ease, but what he saw made him wish he hadn't. A much younger Sam was kneeling next to an equally younger Melody, both appearing no more than ten ("Eleven," whispered a voice from somewhere).

Melody was lying down on the hard cement floor with her shirt partially off and blood oozing from various cuts on her stomach. Sam was trying to tend to her wounds as best he could, and he was doing quite well considering most of the injuries were a bit too close to comfort to her covered breasts. He, from the looks on his face when he poured alcohol into the cuts, could feel every bit of pain she felt. "Sammy," she whimpered as he hissed through his teeth and scrunched his eyes, "stop."

"No, you'll only hurt yourself," he said, accidentally pouring a large amount of alcohol on a particularly nasty cut. He dropped the bottle of alcohol as they both cried out in pain. Sam tried to continue, but Melody grabbed his hand instead.

"You're...hurting...yourself...too," she gasped through her tears. She tried to reach up to touch him, but the pain caused her to fall back against the floor. Sam got hit with a fresh volley as well, but he pushed past it as best he could. With careful movements, he tore off a piece of his shirt and soaked up some of the alcohol that had spilled. He then positioned Melody's head on his lap and began to stroke her face with one hand while dabbing at her wounds with another.

Dean began to fade out of the dream, but still saw the two of them wincing as Sam cared for Melody. He had begun to understand now about their mysterious connection and why they seemed so stuck together now. No two people with that kind of history could bear to be apart, not even as they slept.

Twelve down, an unknown number left to go. One plotline is done, but I feel something more, erm, impactful coming this way. I'll try not to be too cruel to the characters, especially Melody. I don't write supernatural episodes, after all....-Stella

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