Cursed Dawn [Supernatural Fanfiction)

Winchester Season

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When Dean woke up, the first sensation that went through his body was the cold soil pressed against his cheek. Opening his good eye, he saw blurry blades of wheat swaying slowly in front of him. Their furry tops danced against the orange hue in the distance and the wind blowing them passed over Dean's face. Turning over onto his back, Dean caught sight of a tall figure approaching him in long strides. Hoisting his body up into the sitting position by scooting his elbows underneath him, Dean sat up and smirked.

"What's up, Saint Jerome?" Dean's head bobbled famously as he moistened his bottom lip and eyed the creature in an unimpressed manner.

The Slender Man reached over his shoulder, as if he was drawing for an arrow, and pulled out a shovel. Holding it firm in his hands, he walked over to Dean and stared down at him. His smooth white face studied Dean like a specimen with a doomed destiny. The Slender Man knelt down and helped Dean into the sitting position-- the long fingers fondled Dean's face and trailed down to the shoulder.

Dean lifted an eyebrow, but didn't move. There was something innocent about this creature-- it was as if it had never touched a human except to kill them. The way the head tilted to the right and then to the left reminded Dean of a dog trying to understand his master's language.

Dropping his hand to the side, the Slender Man stood up, still holding the shovel and straightened his shoulders. His opposite hand met his other hand around the shovel's stem. The fingers tightened and Dean knew what was coming.

As fast as he could, Dean rolled to the side, barely missing the edge of the descending shovel. His heart pounded as he heard the shovel whoosh back up into the air and the shadow hovered over him as the man steadied his aim. Dean stumbled to his feet and tried to run towards the edge of the wheat field. But before he could get a foot in front of him, the shovel swooped down and caught his right hip, sending him tumbling sideways to the ground.

The Slender Man picked up his pace and walked over to Dean. He stretched out his long arm and positioned Dean on his back with such ease that Dean even wondered if he fought back. Holding Dean with his foot, the man spoke to him. But not through his own, non-existant mouth, but through the assistance of a demon disguised as the wind.

"Dear Sam," the whispering began in the haunting voice of Dean himself.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, looking around his surroundings in search of the spirit. "Who's talking?"

The Slender Man grounded his foot harder into Dean's shoulder, silencing him.

"You know what I'm going to say, so I don't know why I'm even bothering writing this. But, I know it'll make you feel better. So, just want you to know that even though you think I'm being a heartless, selfish bastard, I want you to know that it's my choice. You've always had the stronger backbone-- you always saw things as they were. You had this way of reading people and knowing the truth and not hiding-- I was never like that. I tried to be someone different. To be wiser and stronger and learn how to be kind and listen to people. But, I failed everytime. I think I failed especially when it came to listening to you, Sam..."

"You're dead meat when the liar's done talkin'!" Dean threatened through gritted teeth before another twisting pain shot across his chest.

"...It was never easy taking Dad's orders and trying to find my own path. You know I said I'll always look after you, but, to be honest, deep down I knew I couldn't save one piece of your life. And I think that's why I'm writing this. And also, I'm just lonely. I'm tired and I'm lonely. I feel empty, hurt, and angry. And I can't let you see me like that-- you don't deserve it. I know you'll be a wuss for awhile without me, but, you'll do fine. Take care of Baby for me and tell Laurel I'll see her soon. And if I don't see her, tell her to visit me...she'll know where I am. Don't forget to look after yourself, Sammy. - Dean Winchester."

The voice disappeared and the creature's foot slipped off of Dean's shoulder.

Panting, Dean looked over at the Slender Man and saw the suited man holding a pen and a notepad. The first page had writing on it. Squinting, Dean read it: START WRITING. I'LL BE DIGGING.

"Why are you doing this? Why kill me? You know Sam is going to do everything to bring me back. As far as I know, my brother and I will never die here. We're the nightmare of your dreams. You shoot me or bury me, Tall Man, my blood will scream louder than I ever will."

The Slender Man's body shifted backwards for a moment, pondering what Dean had just said. And from the small tremor in the fingers, Dean swore the creature was now slightly frightened. The Slender Man tossed Dean the pen and paper and grabbed the shovel. He went off a couple of yards from Dean and began digging.

Dean watched and wondered why the thin man wasn't afraid about his victim escaping. Dean gnawed on the end of the pen and looked around at the ground, looking for some sort of magic or trap that was keeping him from escaping. But he couldn't find anything except the writing utensils in his hands. As Dean held the pen between his fingers and the rough pages in the other, the thought of writing a death note while his grave was being dug was very tempting. The recalling scene Sam finding him dead under the ground with no last words of hope was stronger than any trap.

Pressing the pen against the pages, Dean took one moment to accesses the situation. There had to be a catch-- there always was. Dean lifted the paper to his nose and sniffed it. He swiped a finger over it and rubbed the finger against his thumb. At first, all he felt was his skin against his skin. But the more he rubbed his fingers together, the more he began to feel particles growing. Dean lifted his fingers eye-level and saw, to his horror, sulfur. The paper was pressed in Hell.

Throwing the pen and paper against the ground and pushing himself to his feet, Dean started running. He knew that writing anything on demon paper would make it come true. If he wrote the death note, he would have sealed his fate even if he hadn't made the choice to die.

Dean crashed through the woods and tripped over several fallen limbs before finding a better pace and adjusting to using one eye. "Son of a bitch," Dean cursed as he slowed down to a walk. His eyes darted around in every direction, looking for a pathway. But no matter where he looked, every tree, stump, rock, and flower remained where they had grown. Pursing his lips, Dean decided to head north. But when he looked over his shoulder, just to make sure no one was following him, he was startled by a loud, crackling sound booming throughout the forest.

Hunkering down to the ground, Dean scuffled behind a large tree and pressed his back against it. The buzzing sound echode again. It was difficult for Dean to identify the noise, but after some time, he realised it was static. And it was getting closer...and closer...