Devilish hands gripped him tight, tugging and pulling and making Dean cry out in pain. He clawed at the cold wood floors beneath him, his fingertips digging at the grain, struggling to get purchase to escape this wretched hell.

He could his father's laughter echoing in his head, the walls of the room beginning to glow red, leaving Dean in a panic as he struggled. He was sliding back, his grip on the floor doing nothing against his father's strength.

Pain erupted along his leg, the heel of his father's boot grinding down on the calf. Dean bit his lip, forcing back a cry as he thrashed, struggling to get away. Harsh fingers dug into his hair, jerking his head back and forcing him to look up into his father's glowing yellow eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean jerked from his sleep, a gasp rushing from his lips as his eyes snapped open. He found himself staring at the ceiling, his heart racing in his chest. With a shiver, he rolled over, staring at his arm hanging off the bed before pushing himself up.

Chills ran through his spine as he pulled back the covers, staring at the faded scars that crossed over the skin. With a sigh, he looked away, running his hand through his greasy hair with a wrinkled nose before making his way to the bathroom.

The shower soothers his nightmare panic, allowing him to slowly relax in the steamy heat of the water. He washed himself, his fingers gently probing his skin, cleaning every inch of himself until he felt all the sweat from the night wash away.

Ten minutes later, and Dean stepped out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around his wast. He wiped away the steam from the mirror, frowning at what he saw.

He didn't even recognize himself. Gaunt cheeks, a beard on his face, dead green eyes surrounded by dark blue circles. There was a permanent frown etched on his features, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

He sighed, and looked away from the image, running his fingers over the hairs on his chin. He stared at his razor, trying to force himself to get the motivation to actually shave. Finally, he forced himself to pick it up and began the tedious task.

He had to admit, he felt better after shaving and brushing his teeth. The mintiness in his mouth refreshed him as he patter the towel over his face. There was stubble, but he preferred that as he walked out of the bathroom to get dressed for today's events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning, Dean." Mrs. Hill greeted as Dean took a seat, plush red cloth softening it and allowing him to sink in comfortable. He cast his gaze around the room, seeing the normal bookshelf perched behind a worn desk. The therapist sat in a chair behind it, a blank page on a clipboard in front of her.

"I'd hardly call it good." Dean mumbled, rubbing at his chin with a sigh. His therapist, a woman with long brown hair wrapped into a wild bun, looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"I had another nightmare." Dean finally said, after silence stretched between them for several seconds. She scribbled down a single word, though her handwriting was much too small to make it out clearly.

"Do you want to tell me about it? Was it your father?" The therapist pressed gently, as if speaking to a child. Dean hated it.

"It wasn't that important. Just my normal nightmare." Dean huffed, looking away from the woman and focusing on the dark brown color of his arm rest.

"If you are not ready to tell, that's fine." Mrs. Hill replied, making Dean's jaw clench and slowly look up. "Your reports throughout the week seemed fairly consistent, no highs or lows. Do you think there's anything you feel we need to work on today?"

"No, not really." Dean mumbled, just itching to get out of this session and go home. He didn't want to focus on getting better. There was no better, and only the numbing effect of alcohol gave him the faintest of hopes.

There was no light, and Dean had made his peace with that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was busy as he walked in, surrounded by warmth comparing to the cooler November air. He adjusted his jacket and took a seat, looking around the building.

It was a quaint place, with cream-colored walls trimmed through the middle with dark brown wood. His brother had told him about the bar, The Rose and Crown, and how friendly and good it was. Dean finally decided to check it out, finding it to be holding up to Sam's praise so far.

"What can I get you?" The bartender asked, catching Dean's attention. He turned to look at the man, meeting the glowing blue eyes framed by a strongly built face and wild black hair. Dean eased his arms on the bar, relaxing.

"Whiskey, please." Dean replied, letting his gaze wander as the bartender poured the drink. His eyes landed on a woman, her dark auburn hair falling in soft curls around her shoulders. The black dress she wore was tight, the neck pulled down and exposing cleavage. He studied her shamelessly, enjoying the sight until she glanced his way.

"You seem lonely." She commented, her doe-like eyes fluttering flirtatiously at Dean. He grinned, falling into his naturally charming way, only to be snapped back out as the bartender spilled his drink, half the contents soaking his lap.

"What the fuck man?!" Dean snapped, jumping away from the mess and slapping at his now wet jeans. He shot the bartender a dirty look, although he just stared blankly back.

"I apologize. There was some water on the floor." The bartender deadpanned as he took a rag and wiped down the counter, handing a clean rag to Dean as well. "I have some clothes in the back if you would like to change into them."

"Better than looking like I pissed myself." Dean grumbled, glancing towards the seat the woman had been sitting only to see her gone. "Great, you ruined my chances getting laid, dude."

"You should thank me for that. She has so many diseases." The bartender muttered, glancing over at Dean with those glowing eyes. "She goes home with a different guy each night then gets drunk and tells me all about it."

Dean paused at that, arching one eyebrow as the bartender motioned him to follow, another bartender taking his place. "Seriously" He asked.

"I am serious." The bartender replied, holding the door open to the employees' room. Dean stepped in, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

"Here's some pants. Do you need a shirt as well?" The bartender asked, tipping his head as he held out the sweats to Dean. He took the pair of sweats, feeling the soft cotton beneath his hand before glancing down at his shirt. Only the edges of his shirt was wet, so he wouldn't worry about it.

"No, I'll be fine. Thanks." Dean replied, shuffling his feet as his jeans rubbed in a very uncomfortable way. The bartender only watched him with mild interest.

"You can change here if you wish. I need to return to work." The bartender replied, dipping his head politely to Dean before taking a step back. "When you finish, I'll get you another drink, on the house."

"Thank you." Dean called as the bartender left the room, allowing Dean some privacy. He let out a sigh, wrinkling his nose as he unclasped the button of his jeans, loosening the fly and shuffling them down his legs. A soft growl left his throat as he realized his boxers were wet too, but he couldn't very well go without underwear.

He tugged the sweatpants up, relaxing as the soft fabric brushed his skin. He rolled up his jeans, glancing around before stashing it in the same locker the bartender had opened. He could always get it later.

He slid back into the bar unnoticed, the soft chatter that was muted by the door coming back full force, blaring in his right ear. He let out a soft sigh, running his hand over his hear when he felt a soft tap on his arm.

When he looked over, the bartender was setting a drink by his hand, watching Dean curiously. "I said, here's your drink." He said, his blue eyes full of curiosity as Dean flushed a little, grabbing the drink and pulling the rim of the glass to his lips.

"Sorry, I'm deaf in my left ear." Dean replied, his finger brushing over the scar that crossed the back of his ear. He forced back a shudder at the memory, meeting the bartender's gaze evenly.

"I see. I'll keep that in mind when we're speaking." The bartender replied, grabbing a glass and filling it with a drink. "What is your name anyways?"

"Dean Winchester." Dean responded, taking a sip of his drink and holding out his hand for the bartender. He stared at Dean's hand for a few seconds before taking it, his warmth contrasting against Dean's own chill skin.

"Castiel Novak."