The Runaway | Supernatural | ✓

Chapter X - Hallelujah

Chapter X - Hallelujah

    Dean rolled over in his sleep.

The demons flew through his head, and Leila's screams rang throughout the scenes. Dean was caught, the screams went farther away with each step he took towards her. She got farther away, he yelled for her but his calls were drowned out. The demons swirled around her, descending upon the teenager. She screamed, Dean was frozen. The scene shifted, black smoke enveloping Dean as the setting changed. He looked around, he was in the hotel. He turned around and looked, Leila was standing there looking as innocent as ever. Her arm was bleeding and Dean became extremely aware of the cold metal that was pinched between his fingers. Leila's makeup streaked her cheeks, tears running down as she looked up from her arm to Dean.

"You did this," Dream Leila breathed, taking in a deep sigh.

"Kid, I didn't mean to," Dean said, dropping the razor. His lip trembled softly, bumps forming in his chin as his lip pouted slightly.

"It's okay, Dean," Leila said, closing her eyes softly. When she opened them, they were black all over. No iris, no sclera. Just pitch black, staring back at Dean, as if she were looking directly into his soul. Her lips curled into a smile. "She would have done it herself if you hadn't."

"You get out of her, you son of a bitch," Dean snapped, hands balling into fists at his sides.

Leila noticed immediately and smirked. "Go ahead, Dean. Do it. The girl would probably like it anyways."

Dean's jaw clenched, he swallowed hard. He unballed his fists and started chanting with a deathly calmness to his voice. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-" He began, eyes glaring daggers at the demon.

Leila thrust her hand out, sending Dean flying into the wall. The wind was knocked out of him as he collapsed onto the floor. Dean forced "No!" She shouted, cackling. "I'm not going so easily." She crafted a dagger out of thin air, plunging it into her stomach.

Leila yelled as smoke erupted from her when the demon shot out into the air. Dean ignored the escaping demon and shakily sprinted to the teenager, who now knelt holding her stomach. Leila's face was deathly pale, her hand stained bright red. Dean fell to his knees, pulling her close. He ripped his jacket off and pressed it to her stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. Leila made a small exclamation of pain, wincing as Dean pushed on the wound. Leila shook her head, taking his white-knuckled hand with her blood-stained one. Dean met her eyes, and she looked at him, hoping that it told the story.

"You can't give up." Dean whispered, a tear spilling over his left cheek. "I can fix this."

"You've done enough," Leila breathed, her voice raspy. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Dean could feel her go limp in his arms. Why did his nightmares always have to have a soundtrack including Cutting Crew?

Dean stirred in his sleep, yelling for Leila. He shot up from the bed, his eyes wide.   

Dean's breathing was unsteady, sweat beaded his forehead. His shirt was sticky against his back. His eyes scanned the room, and he remembered where he'd slept. Separated. Alone. Angry. He sighed, standing up and running his hands through his hair.  His shirt lifted up a little, exposing a small amount of his stomach. Nails dragged against his scalp, he sighed. He shouldn't have been so harsh. That never changed anything. Hell, his and Sam's worst fights were normally because one of them was too harsh. Breathing another sigh, Dean walked to the door and grasped the cold brass doorknob. He needed a beer, but he didn't want to wake Sam.    

It had to have been late, Dean had spent the longest time just sitting and collecting his thoughts, at some point he had fallen asleep. Dean looked around, shuffling his feet across the floor. He grabbed his jeans and took his phone out of the pocket. 12:30. Dean would have to be quiet if he wanted his beer. Dean pulled his pants on, tossing his phone onto his bed. He gripped the doorknob again and swiftly opened it, keeping quiet as he made a beeline to the fridge. The door swung open and Dean did his best to block out the light so as not to wake up Sam. The second he got into the room, he felt like something was out of place. It didn't feel like it had before. Dean raised the bottle to his lips, cool whiskey meeting his tongue. Uneasiness churned in his gut, pulling at his intestines.