Escaping Hell

Think

I have become accustomed to nightmares recently. It's hellish, and I often wake either in a cold sweat or in a screaming fit. Sometimes when Cas senses that I'm having a bad dream, he'll pop in and wake me up before it gets too bad. He still hasn't read my journal yet. Personally, I think that he somehow learned the concept of privacy, and he thinks that my journal is off limits to him. To be honest, the only reason I write in my journal is so that Cas can read it. Lately, he hasn't been around much, but he every so often has enough time to read my entries so far.

It's been a month since we found John and the demon Devon. John and Devon were common players in the chorus of horrors in my sleep for a few weeks after everything happened, but now my dreams have gotten so much more personal. It's not a fear of my own personal safety anymore; it's the fear of my friends and family getting hurt.

One night, when I bolted upright in my bed after a nightmare, I started crying. I had dreamed about accidentally setting fire to a street corner in a fit of rage, and I could hear the screams of everyone as I stood there, helpless to the cause. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get everyone out in time. I didn't fall back asleep that night.

Lately, I have been extremely worried about my powers. I have been using them as little as possible. I try to hold everything in, because the second I let it out, I will break something or hurt someone with my mind. Living in fear of something I should be able to control is an awful lifestyle, but I don't have too many choices.

Tonight is different. We had a day off today, mostly because Sam and Dean got drunk after celebrating the success on our last hunt. We killed a few vamps who had a particular liking for the flesh of children. We were so relieved to kill those bastards that we celebrated all night; I couldn't drink because of my age, so I settled for being the designated driver for the two biggest drunk klutzes the world has ever seen. I like driving Baby though; that car is so freaking sexy.

But tonight, I am not celebrating. Tonight, I am having one of the worst nightmares I have had yet.

Hell could never even begin to compare to this. I'm crammed into a small metal box, staring at myself in a mirror. Around the box, I can see Dean and Sam. They are chained to the walls of the pristine white room that we're in. I try to force the box to let me free, but I can't get more than my left hand unstuck. I see John come in the room, and he looks livid. In the reflection of the mirror, his eyes are a different color. He turns to face Sam and Dean. He briefly smiles at Dean, and then he punches him in the face. A shriek escapes my lips, but then I immediately silence myself, for he could kill all of us in about ten seconds if he wanted to. The mirror is my only way of seeing Sam and Dean, and I can see John just keep hitting and hitting Dean everywhere. I can hear Dean suppress howls of pain, and it is excruciating. Sam looks pissed; more pissed than usual. When John gets out of the way and I can see Dean, my jaw drops at the sight of how bloody and bruised he is. He looks at me through swollen eyes, almost as if he is asking me why I didn't say anything. Then, John walks over to Sam and starts to punch him, too. I'm crying and overly emotional, and I finally choke out, "Please, just stop hurting them! What did they ever do to you?"

John turns to me and says, "You should know that you aren't supposed to say anything while I'm disciplining them."

"This isn't discipline. This is fucking abuse. I don't care if you do it to me. Just please; stop hurting them," I plead.

John then laughs at me in the mirror, and he says, "Silly girl. I already am hurting you."

He takes out Dean's gun from his back pocket, and says to me, "How ironic is it that Dean should die from his own gun?"

I scream for him to stop, but he pulls the trigger. In an instant, he's gone, the sound of the gun still ringing in my ears.

I wake with a weak scream. God, after all the things that Dean has done for me. All he ever wanted was to protect Sam and I.

I breathe in deep breaths, trying to slow my heart rate. The pitch black motel room feels scarier than it did when I fell asleep. I'm surprised to see Dean sitting up on the couch instead of asleep; I think he's looking right at me.

"Hey, kiddo, are you okay?" he whispers, trying not to wake up Sam, even though Sam sleeps like a log anyway.

"I guess. It was another nightmare," I shakily reply.

"Are you sure?" he asks, "You were mumbling in your sleep for a long time and then the next thing I know you scream my name and wake up. Tell me what happened."

I sigh, "It was a dream about you and Sam getting tortured. You got shot in the head afterward, and that's when I woke up."

"Well, I'm obviously okay. You don't have to worry about me or Sam getting blown away by anybody. Go back to sleep and get some rest," he says, sounding more like a parent than a brother.

"What about you? Why don't you get some sleep?" I ask, tilting my head

"You've been to Hell. You know how it can leave you with lots of sleepless nights," he shakes his head in the darkness.

"True, but I chose not to let that rule me. Dean, they're just dreams. They can't kill you. They don't define you. What either of us did in the Pit doesn't matter now, okay?" I explain.

He nods slightly, "Thanks, kid. God, I never thought I'd be getting life advice from a freakin' 19-year-old girl."

"Yeah, well that's what happens when you have siblings. You listen to them because you know they care," I shrug, and I bury myself back in my covers.