where everybody
Dean was drifting in an endless expanse of darkness, an eternal hell. There was no end and no beginning, just pain and grief and emptiness... And yet there were audible sounds, nagging at the back of his mind, distant and faint. Voices talking and something beating, breathing... If only he could focus-
"Bombing...came yesterday...create world where...heroes, flawed but noble." A middle-aged man, and a professional by the sound of it. They kind of sounded like the therapists that Dean had to see when he was in that one high school (what was the name again?) for a bit, trying to take him away from his family and claiming that there was something wrong with both of them. Sammy had gotten him out of that mess, and he remembers rustling the unruly brown hair on his short-stack of a brother...Papers rustled. Two sets of breathing. A beeping in the background seemed to get faster and more urgent, but the man speaking didn't seem to be able to notice. "It appears to be genetic: his father, John Winchester, was hauling the two boys across the country, hunting something. A some sort of "yellow-eyed demon" from the looks of his old files, from the Bermuda Institute. Perhaps his death is what caused the violent trigger of the younger Winchester's schizophrenia. Honestly, I don't even know why they let him out. After the death of his wife, the visions became, to mildly put it, extremely vivid. It would seem that Dean Winchester is building upon the world his father left for him, though his younger brother seemed fine. An excellent though mentally normal law student at Stanford." They were talking about Sam, though as if he wasn't here. Where was he? He needed to tell him that father was missing. The beeping become more insistent as the time went by. Dean wasn't sure, but he thought that the beeping matched his heartbeats, loud and overwhelming in his ears. Where was he? Who were these people? He needed to leave. He needed to get out.
The second person started to talk. "Then, do you think, perhaps if we convince him that his father's world wasn't a reality-"
Dean jumped up from the bed, pulling a vital monitor and the IV with him. The two talking doctors-one African-American with a consistent frown and the other Caucasian with shocked blue eyes-immediately got to their feet as well. The one with blue eyes spoke up first, voice low and yet comforting; he was the second person. Strangely, he spoke as if they had met before, as if they had known each other for a very long time. "Dean, don't worry. You're in someplace safe-" Said man cut him off, throwing the IV needle and bag at him. He pulled out the vital machine, and it screamed with the lack of a heartbeat to measure. "My name is Castiel, and this is Uriel..." It was obvious that he was trying to calm him down.
Yet instead of calming down, the green-eyed male raged. They took his Sammy, the sweet little nerd boy who was too smart for his own good and like to question things a lot and thrived off of morality, and if someone or something takes his Sammy, they were going to pay. "Where is he? Where the hell is my brother?! Where did you demons take him?!" Dean saw red and grabbed the closest thing to a weapon he could grab-a chair-and started to swing at everywhere, upsetting the bed and the machines though the two spawns of hell managed to evade his every move. The blue-eyed one ducked just as the chair flew above his head and into the door. His eyes were wide in shock, but not panic. Dean, against all his will, felt himself admire the man. (If he was a man at all.) Usually when a flying chair was rushing towards them, they screamed or ran. This "Castiel" was taking it like a soldier; his father would've been impressed with his skills in dodging a flying objectile in such a small space, but Dean's interest was piqued in the way his deep voice stayed steady and calm.
He mentally scolded himself. He was probably a monster. They all were. And they took Sammy. He was looking for another chair to grab when two more men ran into the room, and as Dean's attention flew to them Castiel jumped and tackled him to the bed, trying to avoid flinging limbs and flying fists. The other doctor pushed down his arm and pushed the needle into his arm. In his mad rage, Dean couldn't feel the pinch or the blood as he tried to escape the grip of the horrifying monsters. Were they wendigos? Vampires? He doubted they were spirits of a short, perhaps maybe they were demons but he couldn't tell from this viewpoint...
After a few moments, his movements became sluggish and he couldn't help but to thump his head down onto the bed. Dark spots filled his vision, and he knew he was losing his grip. Though his movements slowed and his eyes narrowed, his panic rose until they could no more. His brother was captured, his father was dead, these demons were going to kill him, no they were going to drag his soul down to torture him, to try and get him to beg for mercy, to try and get him to pray for the "God" that he could never see or hear or feel
A low voice, compelling him back towards the deep and endless darkness, towards his own personal hell, towards... "Sleep. Please." And those sad blue eyes were the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.
is safe
