A/N: Oh, I suppose I should give a warning that some of this next bit might be a little graphic and yucky. Nothing the show hasn't done. Just don't eat ice cream while reading.

Chapter 2: Face Your Fears

Sam had cleared the cafeteria, laboratory, and several maintenance rooms by the time he reached the opposite end of the hospital. The only thing he'd found worth noting was a ratty sleeping bag tucked inside a janitor's closet, and there was no evidence to suggest it didn't belong to some random homeless person.

He came to a T-intersection and peeked around the corner. Both directions were clear. He hadn't heard anything from Dean or Cas, so maybe there was nothing here. Sam glanced at the time on his phone and sighed. It would be dark soon, and it was dim enough navigating the corridors with nothing but ambient light from distant windows. That would make the shoe factory fun later if this place turned out to be a dead end.

Pulling out his flashlight, Sam turned left hoping to meet up with Dean. He found a small wing adjacent to the main building, and paused to check it out. The sign posted next to the double steel doors was dusty and faded, but Sam made out the word "Morgue." He doubted a djinn would set up shop in a cold room where the only place to rest were cabinet drawers or an autopsy slab, but everything needed to be checked.

The distinct odor of decay immediately tipped him off. Morgues were always sanitized and disinfected, so even though this one was dirty and dilapidated, there wouldn't have been a lingering smell left over from the days when it was active. No, this was ripe.

Sam moved forward cautiously, fighting back the urge to gag as the putrid stench grew stronger. It wasn't coming from the autopsy room, however. Holding his knife up, he nudged open the door across the way, and nearly wretched. A body—or what was left of one—lay in an oozing puddle on a metal slab. Globs of blood and entrails dribbled off the sides to pool on the floor like melting ice cream. From the tattered clothes and grimy beanie, Sam guessed it was the homeless person who owned that sleeping bag. He couldn't even tell whether it was a man or woman though.

Coughing, Sam buried his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow as he scanned the rest of the room. It was empty. But this definitely had to be the djinn's lair.

Sam paused as his gaze landed on a green-paneled combustion system. The large square door to the chamber hung open, and there was a pile of ashes on the slab. Huh, if the djinn had an in-house method for getting rid of its victims, why had it started dumping them where it was bound to draw attention? Maybe this had been the djinn's hideout, but it'd moved…things almost looked like the monster had been interrupted in the middle of disposing of a couple bodies. Maybe the machine broke down.

Sam backed out of the crematory before his urge to vomit overwhelmed him. Pulling out his cell, he rapped his thumb across the buttons. "Found something. Morgue, west side."

He waited for Dean's response. One minute ticked by, then another. Sam's grip tightened, but even after five minutes, the phone hadn't vibrated with a new message. A knot formed in Sam's stomach. Shit.

The hellhounds bayed at the door, throwing their weight against the wood and splitting the grain with each impact. Dean scrabbled for his duffel and pulled out a gun. This couldn't be happening. He'd done his stint in Hell; they couldn't take him back. He couldn't go back. No one would be there to pull him out a second time, and he'd never survive another round of endless torture. The pit would twist his soul until there was nothing left but a wretched, ruined form of existence. He'd become a demon, the epitome of every thing he'd spent his life hunting.

Dean whirled, searching for an escape route. Vicious snarls punctuated the erratic pounding of his heart, and the wood gave a violent judder. He bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door.

No, no, no.

Blood roared in his ears, spurred by the panic coursing through him. There was a window above the sink, barely large enough for him to fit through, but dammit, he'd try. Dean climbed on top of the toilet and jiggled the lock. It was stuck.

The sound of the outer door crashing inward made him flinch so bad he nearly fell and cracked his head on the porcelain. Throwing one arm up to shield his face, Dean rammed the butt of his gun against the window, smashing it in a shower of glittering bits. He didn't bother wiping the sill clear of shards before using the sink as a launch pad and thrusting himself into the opening. The frame pressed against his shoulders as he tried to wriggle through. Fractured glass pierced his hands and arms, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror flooding through him at the thought of those claws and fangs ripping into his flesh.

The bathroom door shook with an impact tremor, and Dean hauled himself out the rest of the way, plummeting head first toward the cement ground. Pain jarred up his shoulder and back when he hit. Biting back a cry, he staggered to his feet and fled toward the parking lot.

The Impala was sitting only ten yards away…but Sam was walking toward their motel room, arms full of shopping bags.

"Sammy!"

His brother stopped short, eyes widening as Dean came tearing around the corner.

"Hellhounds, Sam! Let's go!"

Sam immediately dropped the paper bags on the pavement and sprinted for the car. Dean scrambled behind the wheel and fumbled to stick the key in the ignition. Only when he turned it, the Impala gave a sputtering cough.

"No, no, come on!" A chill raced up his spine as a howl split the air.

Sam clambered into the passenger seat. "Hurry, Dean!"

"I'm trying!" He gave the key another twist, and this time the car rumbled to life. "Yes!" Dean threw the Impala in gear and rammed the gas. Tires squealed, and a burst of burnt rubber and exhaust enveloped them as the car careened onto the street.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirrors. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to see whether invisible hellhounds were gaining on them. He could only hear their telltale howling that meant they hadn't lost his scent. And never would.

"What the hell, man?" Sam exclaimed. "Why are hellhounds after us?"

Dean gritted his teeth. "After me, Sam. Looks like Hell isn't going to let me go that easily." He should've known it was too good to be true, getting out, getting his life back. Cas had saved him once, but wouldn't be able to again.

Speaking of the damn angel, where was he? Hadn't he been sticking closer lately? Helping on hunts? Only yesterday Cas had been working with them to track down some weird djinn. Wait, had it been yesterday? Dean didn't remember actually killing the monster…

Oh, shit.

The djinn—Dean had been caught. He was lying in that damn hospital bed, strapped down like a psychiatric patient while he hallucinated. But where was his wish-fulfilled fantasy? His deepest desire seemingly granted? Why were he and Sam running for their lives from Dean's worst nightmare?

"My kind prefers a different kind of diet."

Son-of-a-bitch. This type of djinn said she feeds on fear. That explained the nightmare. Okay, well, Dean knew how to beat the djinn's illusion. He just had to kill himself in the dream to wake up.

He jammed the gas pedal to the floor, revving the Impala with a lurch.

Sam was thrown back against his seat. "Whoa, Dean, what are you doing?"

"Sorry, Sam. You're not really here anyway."

Sam shot him a wide-eyed look. "What are you talking about? Slow down!"

Dean watched the rod on the tachometer climb in rpm as the Impala pushed ninety miles an hour. Sorry, Baby.

He cranked the wheel and drove straight into a large tree.

Castiel's phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't particularly like the sensation when the chunk of plastic did that, but it was better than the raucous shouting with drums and guitars Dean claimed was one of the best rock songs of all time. "Music" was a relative term, and while Castiel had grown accustomed to the eldest Winchester's tastes, that did not mean he wanted such chords yelling at him when one of the brothers called. But Dean had programmed the ringtone, and when Castiel protested the garish noise, the hunter had merely smirked and said he could change it if he figured out how. Which, of course, Castiel couldn't. So he had to endure the irritating vibrating instead. Or ask Sam for help when Dean wasn't around.

He fished the phone out of his pocket and read Sam's message.

"Dean's not answering. He might be in trouble."

Castiel tensed. Knowing the Winchesters' propensity for putting themselves in danger, there was no "might" about it. If only he could sense his charge as he once could. But he'd hidden the brothers from all angelic eyes, including his own. He'd thought it the best way to protect them at the time, but now it was proving to be an obstacle.

Castiel spread his wings and launched into the next hall, scanning each corridor and room with the speed of flight. Though the jumps were short distances, each landing came a little heavier. Flying wasn't effortless anymore. Since being cut off from Heaven, many things weren't easy as they had once been. But Castiel ignored his growing weariness and pushed faster. He had to find Dean.

In the brief moment of his next landing, he heard a shriek and crash from a room three doors down. With one last leap, he appeared in a large infirmary lined with old beds. Sam stood seven feet away, wrestling with a woman as she fought to press a glowing blue hand to his face.

Angling his knife, the Winchester thrust upward, slashing the blade along the djinn's forearm. She screeched and jerked back, momentarily releasing him. Before he could deliver another jab though, she grabbed him by the shirt and tossed him across the room. Sam thudded against the wall and crumpled onto a bed, too-long limbs flailing before landing on the floor in a heap.

Castiel strode toward the woman. She whirled at the sound of his footsteps, eyes flashing blue. He shoved his palm against her forehead, intending to push his grace into smiting her.

But nothing happened. There was no surge of energy, no flare of light. He was cut off.

Castiel and the djinn both stood like that for a prolonged moment, each stunned—Castiel at his failed power, the djinn at his odd attack. She recovered first, and struck him in the head.

When Dean had punched Castiel, the angel hadn't felt it. And though the djinn had superior strength compared to the hunter, Cas still wasn't expecting the jarring vibration that rattled his skull. It wasn't enough to black out his vision, but it still smarted.

Dropping his angel blade from his sleeve into his hand, he slashed at the djinn. She leaped back and grabbed a metal pole, swinging it around. This time Castiel thought to throw his arm up to block. The impact made him grit his teeth, but the resounding thwack wasn't enough to break bone—he hadn't fallen that far. He twisted his wrist to grab hold of the rod. The djinn tried to yank it back, yet even her strength couldn't outmatch an angel's, failing powers or no. Castiel slashed his blade toward her throat. She flung herself away at the last second, and the sword arced through air.

As the woman circled around to attack again, Castiel caught sight of Sam sneaking up behind her, silver knife raised. Castiel tossed the pole and angel blade aside with a clatter, drawing his shoulders back. The djinn sneered before launching herself at him. Castiel caught her by the arms, and they grappled, though Cas focused more on holding her in place than trying to wrestle her to the ground.

The markings along her arms began glowing indigo, and snaked down to her palms. She wrenched Castiel to the side, attempting to break his hold and grab his neck. Digging his feet in, he shook her upright, and a second later her body went rigid, a choked gasp tearing from her throat. The preternatural blue light in her eyes dimmed and she went limp. Castiel dropped her on the floor. Standing behind her, Sam looked up and met Cas's gaze. The silver knife gleamed crimson; a few drops dribbled down to splatter on the woman's white silk shirt.

Sam gave Castiel a nod, and then his eyes widened as they snapped to something over the angel's shoulder. He broke into a run.

Castiel pivoted and spotted Dean lying on one of the hospital beds, not moving. He surged after Sam, who was already un-cinching two sets of restraints holding the hunter down.

The younger Winchester swore under his breath, and pointed to a blue handprint glowing on Dean's arm. Sam shot Cas a panicked look. "He should've woken up—Dean's been poisoned by a djinn before; he knows how to beat it."

Castiel frowned as he studied the unconscious hunter's face and the all too familiar facial tremors. "This djinn hasn't trapped him in a wish-fulfilled fantasy."

Sam glanced at his brother again. "What do you mean?"

"Dean's experiencing a nightmare," he responded. "The normal method for escaping may not work in this case, since this is a different type of djinn." Castiel's jaw tightened. "And I can't heal him."

Dean pried his eyelids open groggily. A constant, low moaning reached his ears, and when he held his breath to listen, he realized it had been him. Other sounds slowly filtered in, including a steady hiss. He forced his eyes open, squinting as a splay of green sticks separated into crisp pine needles that blocked out the sky.

Dean turned his head and winced. Several feet away, the Impala was crunched against a tree, the entire front hood wrapped around the trunk. The faint whistling was the sound of steam escaping the crushed radiator.

Son-of-a-bitch, who'd done that to his baby?

With a groan, Dean pushed himself up on his elbows. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. What the hell happened? Sam? Where was Sam?

Dean staggered to his feet and hobbled around the back bumper. The breath stole from his lungs when he spotted Sam half-sprawled on the ground, legs still in the Impala.

"Sam?" he shouted, and dropped to his knees next to his brother. Sam was covered in small cuts streaming blood down his cheeks and chin. Pieces of glass embedded in his face glittered crimson.

"Sam!" Dean pressed two fingers to his neck, but couldn't separate a throb from his own frantic pulse.

Sam's chest suddenly rose with a sharp inhalation. "Mhm, Dean?" he croaked.

"Right here. Take it easy, you'll be okay."

"What'd you do?" he moaned, eyes still closed.

"What?" Dean blinked, and then went rigid as he remembered ramming the Impala's gas and steering them into the tree. He'd done this. But…he was trying to wake up from a nightmare.

Oh god, had he been wrong? Was this real all along? Had he just tried to kill his brother? Except, there was no way they should be alive after that. One look at the busted Impala and body-sized hole in the windshield, and Dean knew he should be dead, or at the very least paralyzed. But then why hadn't it worked? Was he still dreaming?

A howl sounded in the distance. Shit, not again.

Dean started pulling at Sam's jacket. "Come on, man, you gotta get up." If this were real, he'd be worried about broken bones and internal injuries, but this had to be a dream. Because if it wasn't…they were both dead. They'd never outrun the hellhounds. And if it was just a nightmare, Dean was dying anyway, being fed upon by a crazed djinn.

Sam tumbled the rest of the way out of the car, and Dean hauled him to his feet, ignoring his pained protests. Slinging one of Sam's arms over his shoulder, Dean bowed forward and began stumbling into the woods.

The baying of the hell beasts drove spikes through his ears, and he thought his chest would explode from the force of his thundering heart. Maybe because in his physical body it was about to. He tried not to think of the mess that would be for Sam to find, probably worse than when the hounds had torn him apart for real.

Dean glanced at the Sam apparition faltering beside him. His brother's limping was definitely slowing him down. Still, even though he wasn't real, Dean couldn't not try to protect him. He'd never abandon Sam to the wolves in order to save his own skin. Dean let out a mental snort. Protect him, right. That's why he just drove them both into a friggin' tree.

Dean tripped and face planted in some bushes. Sam tottered, but caught himself, and grasped at Dean's arms to heave him up. The bramble tangled around his legs, however, dragging him back down.

"Keep going, Sam!" Dean shoved him away. Sam had to escape. As much as being mauled by hellhounds terrified him, Dean couldn't watch it happen to his brother. The bastards would sink their teeth into his flesh and rip him to shreds. His intestines would spill out over the ground and he'd choke on a fountain of blood. Dean almost threw up at the memory of it happening to him, but swallowed against the bile.

"Sam, run!"

His brother gripped his arm tightly. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Dammit, this is the way it's supposed to be!"

Dean wondered if he'd go straight back to Hell, and if the angels would mount another rescue operation, now that he was the Michael Sword. Or had the angels fixed it so that he'd go to Heaven when he died? That almost seemed worse than the pit, and boy wasn't that sayin' something. Dammit, either way, dying was not a good option.

Dean struggled to his feet, just as a twig snapped in the underbrush ahead. He froze. No, the dogs couldn't have surrounded them already.

Two amber orbs flashed between the branches before blinking out. A shadow moved among the foliage, too amorphous and vague to get a good look at. Wait a second, since when were hellhounds visible?

"Dean."

He nearly jumped out of his skin, and tumbled into the bushes again. Slapping sprigs out of his face, Dean looked up, jaw going slack. "Cas?"

Castiel tilted his head at the Sam apparition, and then swept his gaze around the forest. His brows knitted together when a hellhound bayed in the distance. "Dean, we have to find a way to break the dream."

He staggered to his feet. "So, it's really you? In my head?"

"Yes." Castiel stepped closer. "You have to wake up, before the djinn's poison kills you."

"No kidding, but this ain't a normal djinn. Psycho bitch said her kind feeds on fear, so welcome to Hellhounds on Parade."

Cas squinted before shaking his head. "Sam killed her, so we can't force her to undo the dream universe." His eyes drifted to consider the Dream Sam again, who was shifting his weight nervously.

"Dean, we have to go," he pleaded.

Dean ran both hands over his hair, hating the slight tremor in his fingers. Running wasn't working. Dammit, think!

A thought niggled the back of his mind, and he tensed. "Cas, I beat a djinn's poison before by killing myself. I already tried that here and it didn't work, but…by killing myself, I was letting go of my fulfilled wish, of being with my mom again. So…" He swallowed hard. "I have to let go of my fear, don't I?"

Which meant what? Stop fighting? Stand back and let the hellhounds tear him and Sam to shreds? That was not in Dean's nature. And who was to say he still wouldn't die in the process?

Cas studied Dean, eyes pinched with concern and understanding. "That makes sense. You'll have to try it."

Dean blanched and took a step back, regretting even suggesting it. "I don't know if I can, Cas." The howls and yips were drawing closer, igniting the urge to run again.

"Dean, please," Sam begged, sending a fresh burst of panic through him.

"You're dying, Dean." Castiel glanced over his shoulder toward the source of the echoing snarls, and then stepped closer to Dean. "I know how hard this is for you. But I will stay by your side."

Dean stared back at Cas, not caring about the sudden lack of personal space. He would die if he didn't do this, and Sam—the real Sam—was waiting for him back in the real world. Dean couldn't let him down.

"Okay," he said hoarsely. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face the oncoming wolves. His heart jackhammered in his chest, and the terror threatened to white out his vision, but Dean stood his ground. He could do this.

Castiel turned to look at something behind Dean, a frown tightening the angel's mouth. So it'd be a rear assault as well. No more running. No more escape. A scattering of leaves on the rise ahead and swishing of branches heralded the pack's arrival. Dean took a deep breath and forced his arms to go slack. Cas's hand settled on his shoulder a moment before the snarling hounds descended on him.