Sam stared up at the departures board, trying to decide whether to base his destination on which flight left sooner, or which destination was further away. He'd dismissed the idea of stealing a car because, although that would have been convenient for him in the short term, it would have ended up being more trouble than it was worth. And he hadn't even bothered with buses, as it would have been way too easy for Dean track him down, and once Dean had a direction to drive in no Greyhound was ever going to out run the Impala.

Sam felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Dean so suddenly but felt in his heart that it had to be done. All this worry, all this anger and frustration... Sam knew if he took himself out of the picture, forced himself to ignore the looming threat... Maybe Dean would be able to get back to basics, simplify. "If it's evil, kill it", and not have to worry about what side of the war his forsaken little brother would end up on.

Yep, he was making the right decision. By taking himself away from this mess, no "boy king" crap to deal with... everything would be simpler. He nodded his head subconsciously, agreeing with his own arguments as he selected his flight out of Chicago; it left within the hour and went damn near half way across the country. It'd be a week, at best, before Dean even reached Miami, but it didn't matter, Sam wouldn't be there when he arrived anyway.


Somewhere in the darkness of his mind a door slammed shut and Dean woke with a start.


He was sitting bolt upright in bed, a shocked but genuinely concerned Morgan beside him, one hand resting on the tattoo on his chest, the other running its fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

"Hey, hey... shhhh... it's okay. You're awake now, it's all okay."

Dean stared into her pale green eyes and felt his unease start to melt away, along with the memories of his dream.

"Sorry..." he managed in between gulping air, "Sorry if I scared you... I didn't mean to."

"Jesus Christ, Dean..." she muttered, hand pressed on his chest, "You heart's about to leap out of your chest, are you okay?"

"Yeah..." Dean replied weakly, "Just a nightmare. I'm fine."

"You sure?" she asked, hand still stroking his hair.

"Yeah..." Dean said straightening up, adjusting the sheet to create a bit of modesty, "Listen, I gotta go." He said simply, bending over to get his boxer briefs off the floor. He put them on and started walking around Morgan's bedroom collecting the rest of his clothes, quickly putting them on.

The dream had already faded away but the feeling in the pit of his stomach remained. He needed to see Sam as soon as possible, talk it out, or not, just get in the car and drive and soon the awkward silence would become a comfortable one and they'd save their impending argument for another day.

"You sure you're okay? You know you don't have to leave right this second. You could have a shower, have some breakfast? Coffee at least," Morgan implored, kneeling on the bed, pulling a bed sheet up to her chest. It barely covered her breasts and Dean found his eyes wandering from there down to her tiny waist and the curve of her hips. "I'm sorry," Morgan said, shaking her head and brushing the stray chocolate strands from her eyes, "I don't mean to sound needy, it's just that you seem kinda freaked out – are you sure you're ok?"

Dean paused as he adjusted the collar on his leather jacket and glanced over at Morgan for a moment. She looked unbelievably sexy; her dark curls tumbling over her bare shoulders, and her emerald orbs were wide with concerned. Dean considered shedding the jacket immediately and walking over to comfort her and then some. He would quite happily spend the day in Morgan's bed, and the next day, and the next... but he couldn't.

"No, I'm not ok," he replied truthfully, "I had a fight with my brother before I ended up in that bar last night. I just had a really bad dream. Something..." Dean mumbled, trying to cling to the remnants, "Something bad happened, I think. I don't know," he said, hating himself for sounding so weird, "I just know I gotta go talk to my brother, make sure he's ok."

He glanced at Morgan solemnly as he backed out of her bedroom. Without another word he left, the front door slamming behind him. Morgan knelt on her bed for a few moments, shocked that any man could simply walk away from her naked body. Eventually she started breathing again and removed herself from the bed, covering herself with a crimson kimono. She opened a drawer in her bedside table and pulled out a small ornament, a silver heart, and walked to her bathroom and stood before the bathroom mirror. Morgan held the small silver trinket before her, almost like an offering, and flicked the top half revealing it to be a cigarette lighter. She ran her thumb over it and with a click a small green flame appeared. Morgan held it out to the mirror and a cigarette materialised to accept the offer of a light.

"You failed," stated a creamy voice from the other side of the mirror.

"I know. I'm sorry Mistress." Morgan replied to the now smoke filled room.

"You should have handcuffed him to the bed," the voice continued, a twinge of venom now audible in its melodic words.

"But..." Morgan stammered, torn between being honest and enraging her invisible employer, "But that wouldn't be of his own free will. You said... you told me I was just supposed to make contact and his lust would take care of the rest."

"I also said..." the disembodied voice replied, cutting Morgan like a knife, "That I wanted to win - at any cost. And you, my pathetic temptress, were supposed to ensure my victory. But since I can't even trust you with keeping a man in your bed for more than 10 hours I have no further use for you..."

"No Mistress please!" Morgan begged, clutching at her heart as the pain of the dismissal became unbearable.

"Morgan, you remember my sister..."

"No please..." Morgan pleaded, tears began streaming down her face as a dark voice whispered to her of all her failures, of how useless she was, how undesirable, how everything would be better if her presence was erased from the face of the earth.

Morgan blinked away her tears and stared at her reflection in the mirror, a new resolve on her face. She returned to her bed, holding the lighter in her hands, staring at the neon flame. Without a seconds hesitation she dropped the lighter onto her bed sheets, staring at it with a calm eerie smile and waited for the flames to ease her pain.

On the other side of the mirror, in a realm of mirrors, Desire stood beside her twin and watched as green flames devoured her minion, an eerie smile playing on her face.

"Hello, anyone here?" a cheery voice called out. Its black boots crunched on the blackening floorboards, its skin did not flinch at the heat of the fire. It walked around the edges of the bedroom its eyes on the charred body of Morgana Nesky as it lay lifeless on what remained of the mattress.

"She killed me," Morgan's soul whispered, "I did everything she ever asked of me... and she killed me."

"I know Morgan," Death replied, smiling sadly, "Desire can be very cruel." Death turned and glared at the now vacant mirror, "Come on, let's get you out of here."