WOW: slab. It's one of Dean's favourite movies, but perhaps he's watched it once too often?
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.
Flailing helplessly, Dean gasped for air as the noose tightened around his neck.
As consciousness receded, the rope slackened and unforgiving hands dragged him to a blood-drenched slab, tearing his tattered shirt open.
His drifting vision focused on a knife hovering over his stomach, and his world descended into agony as the blade carved him open; gutting him like a fish.
He gasped, eyes snapping open and latching onto Sam's concerned face, bathed amber in the nightlight's glow, hovering above him.
"You had a nightmare Dean; you were yelling blue murder."
"You shouldn't watch Braveheart just before bed, dude!"