This story is vaguely experimental in style (read: I left out tons of exposition) so if there are sorta... gaps? They are there for you to indulge your imaginations or, er, something else that's totally deep and meaningful :P

Also, this is my easy-does-it return toSupernatural fanfiction. When I said I was taking a break at the end of Emptiness Echoing, I didn't intend to be leaving off for eight months! That being said, don't expect any new multi-chaptered stories from me any time soon. Final year at university is a bitch.

General, blink and ya miss 'em spoilers for season 3.

Supernatural does not belong to me!

Oh, and I've tried to keep this sounding as American as possible so feel free to poke me if my British-isms get out of hand ;)

In a garden that's there but not there, Dean deals with a lonely spirit.

Night Garden

He opened his eyes, the sunlit world blurring in and out of focus as his sleep-drenched mind struggled to catch up. A breath of wind slipped over him, the grass he had been dozing on tickling his face. Bizarre though it was – waking up outside – Dean knew nothing was wrong. He had, after all, picked this place...

...Well, sort of...

Eyes finally focusing, he looked at the figure ahead of him. She stood in the sunshine, the shadow cast by the tree Dean rested under not touching her. Her pale body, swathed in a white summer dress, swayed with the warm breeze. Her hair, waist length and the color of fall leaves, stayed completely still.

“It stopped dancing a long time ago,” she murmured without turning to face him. She clasped her hands behind her and rocked forward and back, forward and back, her bare feet muddy and grass-stained. “But you already knew that, didn't you?” The wind blew again, leaves and petals spinning through the air. She stretched out a hand to catch whatever she could, voice a little amazed as she said,“You came for me.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, pushing himself upwards until he was sitting with his back against the tree trunk. “You know what you've been doing.”

To his immense surprise, her apology was intensely repentant even though she kept her back to him as she let it all out. “And I didn't meant to hurt your brother.” She cocked her head to one side, hair cascading. “I didn't think he'd be like me. I know he was trying to help. I'm sorry.”

Dean frowned as he pushed himself back to his feet, the girl's history playing out in his mind. “He's not like you.”

She idly braided long strands of vibrant hair. “He has been. He will be again.”

“No, he won't.”

The girl looked over her shoulder but her hair obscured her face. It didn't stop Dean from feeling her eyes lock onto his. “I hope you're right.” The sunlight caught her hair, so painfully bright it forced Dean to retreat further under the tree's shade. She finally turned around to face him, the front of her dress stained with old, old blood.

Stab wound, self inflicted. Tried to cut her own heart out... Lost love, black magic, madness. Which of the three? All of the three?

“Feeling like you're alone, being alone even when you're in crowds...” She wasn't just facing him now, no, she was tiptoed in front of him, hands on his chest as she leaned closer. Her blank gray eyes were still watery, her ashen yet freckled face stained with tears older than he was. “Nothing hurts more.” Her fingers slid up his neck, traced his chin before stopping on his cheek. “I think maybe you know how that feels too.”

She whipped her right hand back, holding it taut as she aimed it at his chest. Dean caught her wrist, flipping her around and pinning her against the tree before she could rip his heart out (as per her usual MO).

“You tried that on Sam. Lucky for him he's too tall for you to reach, but he didn't appreciate the hole you put in his gut either. Likes to keep his intestines on the inside, y'know?”

She flexed her fingers, tried to break Dean's grip that held her when no natural being should. “I just wanted him to feel less lonely.”

“By killing him? Interesting tactic.” His hand ducked into a pocket, slid around the lighter tucked in there. “Not your best move.”

“Oh, no?”

She pushed against him, throwing him backwards. He landed heavily on the grass, just barely keeping himself within the tree's shadow. He knew he couldn't step beyond it, knew that to cross into the sunlight would send him to hell that much earlier, so he threw himself forward, moving to grab her but catching air instead. She was back out in the light, her hair all but burning with the sunlight. Damnit, he needed her under the tree for everything to work...

“This is my garden Dean, my home!” She gestured at the proud white house that towered behind them, distanced by the immense wash of trees, flowers and grass that separated them from it. “You think you can stop me while I'm here?”

“Actually,” Dean commented, resting his left hand against the tree's harsh bark, “I was kinda counting on it being here.”

Her eyes went wide. “No.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah.”

“No you can't!”

Dean pulled the lighter out and flicked it open, its tiny flame bright in the shadow. “For someone who doesn't like being alone, you sure go out of your way to stay like that.”

She moved, too fast, too unreal, in front of him again. “Stop it!”

The flame hovered closer to the tree. “Why? Lotsa people where you're going darlin'.”

She fell back, uncertain and nervous. “But I... I'm going...”

“To hell? Maybe. You'll never know unless you let this place die too.”

The flame grabbed the tree, the summer-dried wood catching alight with ease. She began to scream, painfully loud with fear and rage as her Earthly body, bound to the tree's roots just below the surface, was licked by flame. Grey eyes suddenly alive, she reached for Dean desperately.

“No. Not there.Not there!”

Dean side-stepped her. “It was your choice.”

She screamed one more time before she was consumed by fire. With her gone, the sun died and the garden crumbled. Dean stumbled drunkenly as reality returned, bringing back the derelict house and the madly overgrown garden that toppled out under the moon. He winced as his hands throbbed thanks to the bleeding symbols he'd had to carve into them. He'd have a hard time explaining that to Sam when the kid woke up... Dean sighed, stooping down to pick up the book, assorted candles and tools that had taken him to her own little world. Damn bitch had to make her killing spree that much more complicated... Uttering the spell's closing words, Dean broke the ritual circle that enclosed him and stepped out. The warm summer fled from the dead of winter. Dean glanced at the tree, but the blackened hulk was now only smoking.

Job done.

Breath clouding, Dean pulled himself free of the tangled weeds binding him to the dead garden and began the trek to the car. He had to get back to Sam...