Without A Trace >> Dean Winchester

06 | Dream A Little Dream Of Me

"There ain't no me if there ain't you."
-Dean Winchester

x x x

06 | Dream A Little Dream Of Me

"DAD, MOM, WHY ARE YOU BOTH painting weird drawings on the floors and walls? And you even told me not to draw on the walls, too!" I say, flinging my tiny arms to the air to emphasise how confused I actually am.

Dad smiles, "Well, glad you asked, honey! these are Angel Sigils, Devil's—"

"Goddammit, George!" Mom screeches, "she's 8!"

She faces me and her features soften. Her piercing blue eyes I inherited from gaze at me worriedly, and she kneels down in front of me, clasping her hands against my small, petite ones. Dad mimics her actions, not before sending mom a sheepish look. "I think it's time to tell you what's this all about. After all, you're 8, now. My big girl, right?" Dad ruffles my hair and a fruity giggle escapes my lips as I nod enthusiastically. Mom doesn't look too keen on that idea, as she bites her lip nervously, and doesn't comment.

"I'm a prophet. Prophets are selected primarily by high ranking angels or arch-angels. The speak of events to come, or instructions from heaven."

"Woah!" I exclaim. "That's cool!" I say, even though I don't understand anything. But I'm still amazed by the fancy words dad used.

"Not exactly, honey. You see, there could be demons and angels that would come after to me so that they could achieve a certain goal of theirs using me. And these 'drawings',"he gestures to the walls and floors, both splattered with a bright crimson, "are Angel Sigils and Demon Traps. They keep away demons and angels."

"What? Angels? Demons? They're real? I thought they existed only in the story books?"

Dad scrunches up his nose, " 'story books?' What kind of story books have you been reading, young la—"

Mom chuckles while inserting a brunette lock of mine behind my ear. "See? I told you we should've told her when she's in her late teenage years, George."

"She needs to know any time sooner, though."

Dad's face fell serious as he stares at me and I stare right back with my large, blue eyes. "We love you very much. No matter what happens, no matter where you are, we will, and will always be, watching over you. Never forget that." A tear cascades down my father's cheeks and with my small thumb, I wipe it off. "Don't cry, daddy! Smile, smile, smile!"

Just when he parts open his lips to talk, the door is kicked down and the heavy material of it clangs on the floor. I flinch a little as the unpleasant sound rings in our ears. Our heads whip to the entrance and our attention focuses on the shadow slowly approaching.

"Oops, did I just interrupt a heartfelt scene? Doesn't matter. Hello, George. My favourite chew toy! How many times do I have to tell you that you can't run away from me?"

x x x

My eyelids fly open and I sit up. Beads of cold sweat trickling down my back and forehead. I jump out of the bed, frantically looking around. Everything seems like a blur and my clothes are drenched with sweat. I clutch on one of the bedposts, regaining my balance. I shudder as a sudden sharp pain throbbing at the back of my head.

The hairs on my arm stand to attention, as a militia of chills march down my spine. I could feel my heartbeat...every single pound in my chest.

I take deep breaths, calming myself. I whisper repeatedly to myself that it was merely a dream. A nightmare.

x x x