Lightning rockets down from the sky and slams into the ground. The solid surface trembles. Thunder rumbles and the clouds roll along the grey scaled sky. A single bolt breaks through the ground and rips a circle in the terrain. The sound of the thunder is deafening, the force of it makes the tops of the trees sway slightly. The lightning's ends sparks flying every time it touches dirt, blasting giant chunks of rocks in every which direction. The smell of ozone is overwhelming. The air feels hot. With each lightning strike, it is as if the two men could feel the air moving faster, as if it is burning up.

Dean and Sam look up at the warring sky. The grey clouds, that seem as if they are smashing into each other, opens up. A massive dark cloud fights its way out from behind the others. It seems as if it's shoving the other clouds around, forcing room for it. Smoke starts bristling from the dark cloud.

Sam and Dean don't wait. They run over to the Impala, ripping open its door and slamming them shut.

Smoke fans out into a dome like shape. Its power spreading out further and further. Dean stares up, watching as the dark cloud starts to absorb the others. Becoming bigger and looking more ferocious. Dean swears by it, he saw the cloud turn, locking itself on him. Dean doesn't wait any more. He shoves the key into the ignition and tries to start it. Rapidly, the dark cloud races towards the two brothers. The army of clouds follows behind it, the force and power of them crushing everything.

"Go Dean, go!" Sam shouts at his brother.

Dean slams his foot on the clutch and tugs the gear shift into reverse. He slams his right foot down on the gas pedal and yanks his left foot off the clutch. The Impala shoots back into a pot-hole that's filled with water. Trying to shift into different gears, Dean hears nothing but the grinding of the clutch. They aren't going to move. They're stuck. All the two brothers can do is watch as the black smoke overtakes them.

The Darkness rumbles around the Impala. It scratches at Baby's paint and tries to pry open its doors. It shoves the car back, whipping Baby's passengers around. Dean and Sam are thrashed around, smashing into their doors, their heads slamming against their windows. Dean's head smacks into the steering wheel. Sam's upper body collides with the dashboard, knocking the breath out of him. Dean's arm is thrown toward Sam. He takes Dean's hand and tries to mouth something to his brother. But Dean isn't looking at him. There is blood in his eyes, streaming from a cut on his forehead.

The Impala is punched from underneath and then from the front. The car goes sailing through the air and mangles with the last group of trees standing up. Broken completely in half, the front end of the car is nose first in the ground, crumbled and smashed. The back end is laying upside, the driving axle broken and sticking up.

The Darkness settles. The ground stills. The thunder grows quiet. The lightning becomes nothing but crackles along the calming clouds. Smoke rises from the brutalized engine, nothing but a mangled mess of metal and covered in its fluids.

Dean is able to tear his legs from underneath the collapsed dashboard. The steering wheel is barely hanging on, only a couple of wires are holding it in. Dean slams his body against the crunched door. One. Two. Three times. The door hangs from its hinges and Dean just falls out, now that nothing is holding him up. On his back, he watches, in blurry haze, the black smoke dance around the clouds. The black of the Darkness and the grey sky mingle together. Swirling the two bland colors together as if Van Gogh is painting. As the world spins around him, Dean tries to find his equilibrium. But his arms slip and his legs aren't moving.

On his stomach, Dean forces his eyes to focus on singular, non-moving objects. He closes his eyes as he moves his head. He opens them, but everything keeps swaying in front of him, until his finds what he is looking for. Dean throws both his arms out and grabs the ripped up dirt and grass. He tugs himself out, but the pain makes him groan. He throws his arms out again, his shoulders feeling as if someone is holding a lighter to them and fire has been injected into his veins. But he can't stop now, he needs to move.

Dean throws and pulls. Throws and pulls. Throws and pulls. Throws and pulls.

Finally, Dean reaches the back end of the Impala.

"Sammy," Dean calls out as he stops for a breath.

But Sam doesn't respond. Dean looks up at his brother, hanging limply from the back window. Dean reaches his hands up and places them on the side of the Impala. He lets out a scream that echoes against the empty land as he pulls himself up. His upper body falls forward on the trunk.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean chokes out.

Dean grabs Sam's cold hands and tries to pull him out. There's no strength in his legs. Dean slips and hits his head against the trunk of his baby. He rolls onto his back, his arms and legs spread wide.

"Sam- ugh gah," Dean chokes on his blood.

Dean has enough energy to roll onto his side, but that's it. He's wheezing and blood is caught in his throat. He tries to cough it up again, but the warm liquid is stuck there.

He needs to get up. He has to get up. Sammy needs him. Sammy is waiting...

Dean's thoughts start to fade and blackness is outlining his sight. He hears a crunching sound. The dirt is being squished underneath someone's feet.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch,

The sound stops near him.

He forces his eyes to focus once more, but they're swimming too much. But it's a person. A smeared looking person.

That person starts pounding on his back. They hit pretty hard, making him cough. Dean lurches forward and a huge wad of blood lands underneath his chin. He can finally gulp down air. Dean's green eyes roll around and settle on the blobs face. Their eyes. He's able to focus on their eyes. They were green, like his. Except...they are different...very different...

He feels a cool hand on his forehead and a small warmth spreads from his head down to his fingertips. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, quiet sigh. The cool hand leaves his forehead, but the warmth stays, warming the coldest parts of him.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Dean lifts his eyes and watches as the person places their hand on Sam's back. Dean tries to call out his brother's name, but a gurgle of blood is all that comes out. The sound of a sharp intake of breath is the last thing that Dean hears. His eyes flutter close as he watches his brother's back start to move. Another sigh escapes Dean's mouth.

It's alright, Dean. It's going to be alright.

A hard pounding bangs behind his eyes. The quietness of wherever he's at makes the pounding worse. Just trying to even think about moving is killing his head. Dean would move his head, but his neck isn't cooperate. It is stiff and sore. It's as if something is holding his head in place, like a neck brace or something. But Dean doesn't care, he has to find Sam. He squeezes his eyes tighter, but the small amount of light that goes through his lids made the billions of pin pricks in his head worse. Or maybe just scrunching his face like that hurts his head more.

There isn't much strength left. Dean took in as much air as his lungs would allow and sat up. He didn't stay that way. His upper torso flops down onto his legs. He doesn't remember being this flexible, ever, but at least he moved. However, his head doesn't care much for it. The pounding intensifies. Now it feels like a fucking jack hammer is trying to break through his skull.

Using his floppy arms, Dean tries to push himself up into a sitting position. His muscles burn from the exertion and his elbows lock once straight. He takes a couple of quick breathes and imagines his legs moving. His toes only twitch. A deep breath and a quiet groan later, Dean is able to finally touch the cold floor with the tip of his toes. The fire from before is coursing through his veins, making them feel as if they are constricting.

What the hell? Dean thinks to himself.

Clutching his hands close, Dean uses the top of his fists to propel himself forward, towards the wall. His legs buckle and his body falls forward, his head smashing into the wall. Surprisingly, the hit made his migraine go away, for a few brief seconds. But it is enough. Using his hands, he drags his right leg up beneath him. Pulling it forward enough where his bare foot is flat on the ground. Gritting his teeth, Dean stumbles as he tries to stand up. But he's high enough, his left foot instinctively places itself beneath him, making him stable enough to lean against the wall.

His breath is quick and his head is about to explode. But if he can keep moving, he can find Sam. Keeping one hand on the wall and one in front of him, Dean takes a shaky step forward. Almost falling over, Dean is able to catch himself with his one hand. Sweat is forming on his forehead and his breathing is becoming more labored. He can't remember the last time just taking a step is this hard. His muscles are screaming at him to stop, to give them a break. He can't. He won't. Sam needs him and Dean needs to be there.

Gritting his teeth once more, Dean pushes himself back up the wall. He's a god damn Winchester! He's been to Hell and back, literally. If he can survive that, he can make his fucking legs work! He takes the anger that's building up and uses it to move his left leg. Then his right.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Dean lunges toward his bedroom door and grasps on to the door frame. Breathing deep, Dean's eyes are closed. All he has to do is check and make sure no one is standing guard. He just needs to move his head. Okay. He can do this. Alright man, open your eyes. They don't. Come on! Fucking open! After a few more "encouraging" words, Dean's eyes manage to open. His neck makes cracking sounds as he turns his head to one side, then the other.

There's no one there.

Okay, now all he has to do is move his feet. How hard could it possibly be? Don't be kidding yourself. To his left, there's some hooks, but to his right, there's a few tables lining the wall. He can use those to support himself. Dean can just propel himself over and land his upper body on top of the table. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.

As Dean goes to shove himself to the right, his left foot catches on his right foot and fwump! Dean falls on his face, using the stone floor as a landing surface.

The trinkets on the nearest table topple over. Dean tries to move his arms, but he can't feel them now. Which is fucking great! His legs refuse to move and his head is about to detonation point. He'll just lie on the floor and wait for his head to explode. Sam will just have to learn to live by himself. At least Dean tried.

Click, click, click.

Shoes running on the stone floor seem to rush toward him. A black pair of converse shoes stop in front of his face. They're scuffed at the toes and the laces are frayed. He watches as jean covered knees move to his level, until they're flat on the ground. Something blue obscures his eyesight as he feels warm hands moving from his head to the middle of his back. The jean clad knees scuttles over to his side. Warm hands stay on his back and he can feel something moving through his spine. It feels like warm tendrils swimming from nerve ending to nerve ending.

His fingers twitched and his migraine is reigned back. The count down is back to 30 seconds. All of his muscles, from his face to his back, relaxes. They just let go and went limp. He's never felt so relaxed, it is a blessing. The hands move from his back to his side and tries to push him on to his back. Dean is able to help, just a little bit, and rolls over. His eyes, staying closed, feels strands of hair on his face as the hands start rubbing his temples.

"Shh, now," a soft voice whispers. "Shh, it's alright now."

There is something wrong with the voice. It sounds like it has an accent of some kind.

"What," Dean takes a deep breath, "What happened?"

The hands move his head into a lap and they gently run through his sweat drenched hair.

"It's alright now," the voice whispers again, "Ye and yer brother are safe."

"Sam," Dean croaks.

His eyes snap open and there, staring down at him is the strangest pair of eyes. They're green, with gold outlining the pupil. Her skin is a golden color, with long, dark hair framing her face and gently touching his. There is worry in her eyes, but they seem so strange in a young face. That's it. Her eyes, they seem so old. Too old, for the young woman's face.

"Who are you?" Dean whispers.

She tightens her mouth, as if thinking on how to answer him. "Maire."

Her hands are back to rubbing his temple and the thousands of needles are starting to ebb away from his eyes.

"I didn't expect ye and yer brother to survive." Maire continues to whispers. She doesn't want to make his headache worse. "Ye both have healed nicely."

Dean tries to move his arms, but they're just twitching and rolling around. He can't left them yet.

"Sammy," Dean groans, trying again to move his head, "Where's Sammy."

"In bed," Maire answers, her voice less of a whisper, but still fairly soft. "He's a bit in a coma. Ye were just sleeping."

"How," Dean gasps for breath, "How long?"

"About half a month."

"What happened?"

Maire tightens her mouth again, thinking if she should tell him. Her green and gold eyes harden for just a second, but Dean sees her decision is made.

"Well, Dean," Maire hesitates. "Ye both died."