To the normal person, November 2nd held no significance. It was just a date, like any other. However, November 2nd, 1983, had been the date of Mary's death and the even that would forever change the Winchester family. You weren't there on that fateful night — of course — but you were there for Jess's death. November 2nd, 2005. You'd traveled with Dean to pick up Sam from Stanford to begin your search for their father. Once the case was over, the sight that had greeted Sam was the same fiery death that his mother had endured. This time, his girlfriend was the victim.

You didn't know Jess, you only saw a glimpse of what happened, but the brief memory plagued your thoughts. That was an entire week ago, yet you were still having nightmares. In fact, they could hardly be called nightmares. They felt more like premonitions. Each night, you'd go to sleep and dream the exact same dream. You'd be up on that ceiling, stomach slashed by Yellow Eyes, and burn. It felt too real, and for the past six days, you'd awoken in a cold sweat.

You didn't talk to Dean about your dreams. Being back on the road hunting with Sam was enough on his plate. You didn't want to add to his list of burdens, but he could easily tell that something was wrong. You weren't yourself, and you barely spoke. It worried him, but he trusted that you'd come to him when you were ready.

Tonight was the seventh night, and just like the others, your dream repeated. You could feel your skin tearing, feel your feet lift off the floor, and the fire burn your skin—

You awoke with a start, gasping loudly as you shot upright. The frenzied movements were hard for Dean to miss, and he quickly woke as well, hand instinctively reaching for the gun underneath his pillow. He didn't know what the hell was going on, only that he needed to calm you down. “Hey, hey-” he demanded roughly, grasping your chin with his free hand, the other still holding the firearm. His eyes squinted against the dark. “Look at me, baby. Look at me, what's wrong?”