Dean knew something was wrong, but he didn't say anything. He was the good son and that meant being what his father wanted.
He looked over at Sammy as the eleven-year old pushed his way into the already crowed room. John, Dean and Sam looked around.
"I don't like it here, Daddy something isn't right." Sammy said as he tugged on his father's jacket.
Dean rolled his eyes as he moved deeper into the house. He stopped moving when he heard creaking floorboards. He bit his lip, concentrating on the sound. He looked back towards the other room, scowling, when he failed to spot his father or brother. Sighing deeply he moved forward, frowning at the creaking sound that filled the air.
"I hate playful ghosts," He whispered as he inched into the house. Again the creaking sound filled his ears. He froze and spun, scanning the room. He chuckled softly at himself then closed his eyes.
"Come on Dean, get a grip on yourself." He said, unconsciously opening and closing his hands.
He felt a presence in the room and shivered. "Finally!" he exclaimed as he opened his eyes and pulled his shotgun up cocking it and taking aim.
"Soooo small and youngggg," hissed a voice in the shadows. Dean shivered trying to spot the presence.
"I might be young, but I can still kick your ass," Dean informed it as he licked his lips nervously.
"Sooo brave…" The creature hissed, the sound surrounding him, the air cold enough that Dean could see his breath. "Will you be brave when you are all by yourself?" It asked the air directly in front of him, swaying. He fired his shotgun.
It was almost, as if, the air around him chuckled.
Dean shivered and took a step back something was amiss but he could not place what it was. He moved towards the gaping door, it slammed shut in front of him. He jumped, spinning on his heels, looking for an escape. And he now faced and empty but cold room.
"What do you want from me?" He asked the air shivering, pulling his jean jacket closer trying to warm himself unconsciously.
"Your life…"It replied as a wind slashed out at the sixteen-year-old boy. Dean screamed in pain when his side was deeply cut by an unseen force.
"Stop it." He screamed into the room.
"Fine." It hissed as the room went back to normal. Dean blinked he hadn't been ready for this, but he wouldn't look a horse in the mouth. He spun around and pulled at the door. He growled when it wouldn't open.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!" He screamed spinning around tossing his gun aside, he knew that his father would punish him for letting go of his weapon but it was not having any effect.
"I have already told you. Your Death." With that, Dean heard scratching. He frowned concentrating on the sound he walked over to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Biting his lip he walked over and squatted down beside the wall.
"What the hell is that?" he asked himself as the sound continued. He moved backwards holding his side where he has been cut. He scrambled for his gun pointing it at the wall. He fired. An animal screamed and Dean dropped to his knees firing again. Another scream. Then suddenly the lights flickered on and he saw a wave of black flowing out of the wall. He froze looking at them as they swarmed around him.
"Shit." He whispered as he crab-walked backwards to the door. He scrambled up pulling on the door. Giving up he began to pound on the door screaming for his father.
"DEAN!" He heard as he stopped pounding.
"Dad?" he asked looking up to where his fathers face would be.
"Dean, hold on."
"Dad, I'm scared." Then he felt a bit on his leg just above his shoe. He wailed in agony.
"DEAN!" His father screamed, pounding on the door harder. More of the rats climbed onto Dean. He screamed again trying to brush all the rats off, but he couldn't get them all. They began to bite him. Dean yelled out for help and his only reply a maniacal laughter that filled the room.
Miles away and eleven-years later Dean woke up with a jolt.
He hated dreams.
He rolled over looking at his sleeping brother. Licking his lips he stood up and walked into the bedroom turning the water on he took a deep breath and stripped. He knew that it had been years ago but Dean could still feel the bites all over his body. Once this job was done maybe Sam and him could take a break. Something was getting to him and he didn't want to deal with it.
He stepped in the shower making a quick job of washing himself, he didn't notice that the scar from that night was red and there were rat bites all over his back.