Then, randomly, what Dean could only assume was a motherfucking troll. Just for a second. Running by. Like that's normal.
Thunder cracked the sky. What fucking sky? This was Harry's living room! Standing in the rain, between a beautiful dark-skinned woman and a large, toad-like demon, Harry raises one arm to the storm. Lightning streaks into his hand, and out the other, destroying the demon. Fried.
Then fire, fire Dean could pretty much feel. A house. Harry is within, falling under hundreds of vampires, most of them in black bodies, bat-like features, and slimy, drooling jaws. They ravage his body, tear away his clothes, and feast upon him until they're sick. Somehow, Dean understands this is because of Harry's blood, not anything else. Waking up, dying, to find the dark-skinned woman staring at him with black eyes and a vampire smile. Something inside Dean's chest sank the way it did when he said goodbye to Jo.
An enormous table of stone, with two armies of faeries swarming across and over it. One group stands bitter, white, and more beautiful and terrifying. Dean wants to run, but can't. The other is warm, green, and pulsing with equal beauty and ferocity.
The faeries recede, and Harry is handcuffed to a pipe overhead as ice-cold water flows over him. A thin man with a grey tie stands, knife in hand, to slit Harry's throat. An old Japanese man in a white gi appears, and the thin man pushes Harry away to take the old man in his place. The man is now draped over a chapel altar, his body ravaged and torn, with occult symbols and runes carved into his skin, every inch of his body covered in sores, blood, cuts, or bruises. Several fingers are missing, his eyes swollen shut and crusted with blood.
Then, behind all this, there was a young girl. Dark hair. Pretty little thing. Crying. Exhausted. Chained. Dean made an audible noise of frustration and annoyance.
Then she was gone. Just like that. And a big thing with elongated limbs and wiry dark fur, dragging an attractive black-haired man by one ankle. The man is unconscious. He's got an amulet like Harry's. It feels like... like he's... The creature's fur writhes and ripples as though something is pulsing under its skin. Harry attacks it, screaming the names of his fallen friends, silver fire coming from his hands as he battles the creature, which keeps changing shape and trying to attack.
Then a large stone pyramid, a stepped one, and lightning in the sky. Dead bodies in piles all around. Rib cages ripped open, heads severed... vampires. They go up and down the steps. It looks like one of the Mortal Kombat video games Dean and Sam used to play as kids. Harry's on top, and there's an altar, and the beautiful dark-haired woman that made Dean's chest hurt. Dean knew. Before it happened. He tried not to see it. But he saw her throat slit, watched Harry do it. In the back, away from the altar, Molly's curled up crying. A blond woman is off to the side with a kitana, looking shocked and scared and her mouth is moving but... white armor. The sense that these were the good guys.
Blood dripped off of Harry's hands. It was from all those vampires, and from the knife he held, and then that all melted away, and another version of Harry, well-dressed, somehow different... with chains at his feet and broken manacles on his hands, hurling fire back and forth. Pretty much because he could.
Then it was quiet, and Dean was on a boat splattered with Harry's blood, and he was falling into icy water until a burning cold hand gripped him and yanks him back. "Mine!"
Dean blinked. He knew Jo was talking but... he couldn't hear her, really. He took two steps backward, half-staggered.