I Don't Want Your Photograph (Destiel)

Some Kind Of A Monster

Some Kind Of Monster -Metallica

Dean looked out to the gray field, he turned around at the sound of thunder behind him. Behind him a pale woman in a tattered nightgown stood just a few feet from him, whispering. Her hair blowing in the wind and framing her features and intense gaze towards him.

He called to her, but words didn't form from his lips, his voice muted beneath the harsh blowing wind and thunder. It whistled past him, stinging his eyes and tufting up his hair, he blinked away the tears that had begun to coat his eyes, the thunder rushing through his body like a bass drum. She screamed at him and his tears began to fall.

Screaming, shrieking, she was suddenly at the tree, standing on a bucket below a thick branch. He called to her again and ran to her, but his voice was projected into an empty void and he wasn't fast enough to get to her. She still continued to scream like he was some kind of monster.

She kicked the bucket below her and in that instant, the rope around her frail neck snapped from her weight and she was left hanging and swinging to the wind, she was brought to silence. Thunder sounded and a blinding stream of light struck the tree. The tree leaves emitted themselves into flame and the branches into an obsidian charcoal.

He fell to his knee, hot tears falling down his cheek and screamed at her. Lightning struck again, blinding him. It flashed before his very eyes beside him this time, giving him a buzzed feeling after it cracked a roar making his ears ring. He looked to the heavens seeing another stream of light barreling downwards to him. Right for him.

Dean woke up his chest heaving and aching in panic, he sat up and opened the drawer of his side table and relieved himself of the bile that came up from the pits of his stomach. He shakingly wiped his mouth and the chill of the wind on his drenched back sent goosebumps up onto his arms. His chest heaved again and he spits in the drawer, cringing at the acidic taste and the tears that beaded in his eyes.

He had that dream countless of nights lately, whenever he was in a new place that wasn't a motel, that dream...that nightmare came back to him. Came back more haunting and realistic it left him sicker each time. He could almost taste the smoke behind his tongue from the burning tree in his dream and could almost feel the ache for a solid, clean breath. It seemed that the heaviness of the smoke stuck in his lungs forever.

He rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. He closed the creaking door softly, turning the doorknob so it wouldn't click shut in the eerily quiet hallway and turned on the light after closing it. He turned the faucet, the knob squeaking, hurting his ears and the water fell into his hands. He managed to swish some in his mouth and spit it out, he repeated this process until the acid was from his mouth. He huffed and collected more, splashing his face. Head down he looked at himself.

His gaze met his reflection, his cheeks sallow and skin seemed grey under the lighting, the sweat on him gave his skin a sickish, green glow, he wasn't sure if the color was from his eyes or the horrid, green tile flooring. He swallowed as he looked at himself, he looked like a frail, broken boy, that was ready to break or who had done horrid things. He looked like some kind of monster. He sighed at himself and brushed his teeth.

After he finished he looked at his watch, it read 4:47 a.m. He huffed, bracing his arms on the counter, thumbs flat against the surface. Might as well stay up, John will be up to leave for work. He quietly made his way downstairs. The wooden steps creaked beneath his weight.

"Dean." John's voice bellowed, "Whattaya doin' up?"

Dean turned to his father who was at the top of the steps, "Gonna make a grocery list and get out there before Sammy wakes up."

His father stared, "You had that dream again, didn't ya?"

Dean sighed, looking at the wooden step, he was going need to sweep them or the dust and dirt sticking to his feet would drive him crazy, "Yes, sir." he answered.

"I assume you got sick then?"

"Yes, sir." He looked up, shoulders tensing up to stand straighter, "I was going down to make a list and then clean it up."

"Been takin' your medicine?"

"Yes, sir," Dean answered without hesitation, his eyes focusing on his fathers. His father hummed as he stared back, focusing on his son. Dean took his father's stare as a way of his father studying him to see if Dean was lying to his father.

"Well, continue..." John bellowed, turning to the restroom, "I'ma get ready for work."

"Yes, sir." Dean sighed out, continuing his way down the last of the creaking steps.

((I know this is slow, but I did put the tag as "slow burn" for a reason. Just be patient, love ya.))