Dean opened his eyes and blinked a few times sleepily. His vision was blurred a little, but he supposed that was because of that empty bottle of Johnnie Walker that would be on the table. He tried to rub his eyes but found that his hands were restrained to his sides. Looking down, his heart skipped a beat as he saw thick cuffs covering his wrists and ankles. He looked around frantically and realized that not only was Sam not there, he was in what looked like a private hospital room.

He tried not to panic, but his heart raced as he tried to get his hands out of the cuffs. He was sure that he had fell asleep in a motel room in some backwater town where he and Sam were working a case. He was sure that Sam would be next to him, snoring softly. He was sure that… that… how did he even get here? Where was Sam?

While all these thoughts were racing in his mind, he heard the door to the room open and he began to call for help when his voice caught in his throat.

"M-mom?" he said, looking at the woman in the nurses uniform. It couldn't be, she was dead.

Mary set a tray on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to Dean and smiled at him. "Dean? Baby, is that you?" she asked, slowly stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers.

"Mom, of course its me," Dean said, still startled. "H-how… mom, how are you alive?"

Mary's smile dimmed a little and she took a damp cloth and dabbed Dean's forehead. "Oh, Dean. You don't remember, do you?" she said sadly.

Dean looked at her with a frown beginning to show. "Remember what, mom? Wh-where's Sam?" he asked and Mary's face changed into soft smile. "Dean, baby, Sam isn't with us. He never has been, Dean."

Dean's heart almost stopped.

"Wh-what do you mean… Mom why are you saying these things?" he said, suddenly frantic. He tried to pull away from her, but the cuffs held him and all he could do was look at her with an expression of fear and sadness. "Mom, where is Sam," he said.

Mary looked down at her son and put the washcloth on the bedside table. "Sam is where he's been for the last 29 years, Dean. In a cemetery in Lawrence."

Time stood still. For what seemed like hours, Dean stared at Mary. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move.

When he finally could, his voice came out barely a whisper. "Wh-what…"

Mary sighed and looked out a window that was currently the only source of light in the room. "Dean, your life, the one with Sam, saving people, hunting supernatural beings, it's not real, Dean." She looked at him with a faraway expression, "There was a fire in our house, Dean. It did start in the nursery, but because of the faulty wiring. I didn't die, your father and brother did." A tear slid down her cheek then. "I got you out, but your father and brother, they… they didn't make it."

"Mom… no… wh-why are you saying these things…" Dean desperately wanted to get away, she couldn't be telling the truth, there was no way Sam wasn't here. Everything he had been living was a lie.

"Dean, the trauma from the fire made you create a world where your father and brother were alive, where I had died and you, darling, you were a hunter, and you killed vampires and werewolves." Her voice was breaking, but she continued on. "Honey, none of that was real. It was all in your mind."

Tears were freely flowing down Dean's cheeks now, but he still didn't believe her. "But, Azazel…" "Dr. Azazel is the doctor treating you for your schizophrenia. He's the one that's taken care of you from the start, Dean," she said.

Dean felt his heart breaking and he didn't know what to do. Here was his mother, alive and breathing, telling him that his life was a lie. That John never raised them. That supernatural beings didn't exist. That Sam didn't exist.

"Mom… please," he begged her, "please… get me out" he said, and tried to lift himself a little but found that he couldn't. He looked down at himself and almost passed out. He was so thin, no muscle holding to his skin. He looked like a rag doll, nothing but skin and bone.

His mother saw his distress and quickly took a syringe filled with morphine. She injected it into Dean's arm and put it back onto the table.

Dean slowly felt himself slipping and felt his body going limp. He looked at his mother, heartbroken and eyes full of grief and despair. "M-…mom…"

"Shh, baby, shh…" Mary said and stroked her son's hair as she saw her angel, her Dean slipping away into his world.

Days like these were hard, when Dean became lucid. But she knew that he was better off there in his mind with Sam. He was happy there, she knew it. As he slipped fully into unconsciousness, a final tear slid down his cheek and she brushed it away with her finger.

"Sleep, my darling boy. Stay with Sam."