Screams. The smell of blood. The smell of burning flesh. Unbelievable pain. Insane laughter. Being cut to pieces over and over again.

Nothing solid, just images and flashes.

Fear. Fear so intense, Dean was sure he was back. He couldn't be back. Cas had gotten him out. Had to be a dream. A nightmare.

'Wake up Winchester' he ordered himself. 'Wake up, snap out of it.' The screams were closer, coupled with the growls and obscenities he had come to associate with the various demons that spent their days tormenting him. The reddish smoky darkness kept him from being able to see clearly, but he could feel clawed hands on his body. Dean's own hands were numb from tight bindings, and refused to assist him in any way. 'Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup.' He chanted over and over in his head. There was just no way he could be here again. The angels needed him; surely he wouldn't have been carelessly tossed back into the pit.

There was an agonized scream nearby. A sadistic chuckle followed. A voice in his ear.

"Who knew sweet Sammy screamed as beautifully as you do?"

"NOOOOOOO!"

Dean sat straight up in bed, his legs tangled in the sheets. Sam sat up with him, alarmed by the blood curdling scream that had ripped from his brother. He quickly crossed the gap between their beds, surprised that Dean was still asleep, and still fighting the terrors he was seeing in his mind.

"Dean! Dean come on man, wake up!" Sam shook his brother's shoulders, terrified by the blank, unseeing gaze coming from Dean's half-open eyes. "Dean! It's just a dream! Wake up!" Sucking in a mammoth gasp of air, Dean's eyes opened wide, and he took a swing at his brother, who saw it coming and rolled out of his reach. "Shit, Dean it's me!" Sam hollered from the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean gasped. "It's really you?"

"Yeah, who the hell else would it be?" Sam switched on the bedside lamp, and Dean groaned and shaded his eyes with his hand. "Dude you scared the living crap out of me. What the hell was that?"

"Dream. Nightmare. A bad one." He heard Sam in the bathroom, running water, and then he was back and tucking a cool washcloth on his older brother's neck.

"Was it a memory?"

"No, this was something that hasn't happened. Won't happen," Dean clarified.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Hell no. Bad enough I'm letting you play nurse with the washcloth."

"Whatever. Why don't you lay back down and try to go back to sleep." Expecting an argument he was rather surprised when Dean compliantly flopped back down onto his belly. He was even more surprised when Dean started snoring about sixty seconds after his head hit the pillow. Sam chuckled. "Well that was easy." He grabbed the wet washcloth and tossed it in the sink.

Crossing the room, he shut the lamp off and curled up in his own bed. Hoping sleep would find him as quickly, he was disappointed after an hour went by and he found himself still wide awake. Sam had a lot on his mind, and he was finding it harder and harder to find any sleep at all these days. Dean's dream had shaken him more than he cared to admit. It troubled Sam that Dean refused to let him in, refused to share his pain. Didn't he know that Sam wanted to share the load? That he was more than willing to prop his brother up and get him through the anguish he was still dealing with? After their last hunt, the brain-sucking wraith in Oklahoma, and then the whole mess with Anna trying to kill them all, it was reasonable that Dean's emotions would be on edge, fragile even. Sam knew he himself wasn't 100%. Why would Dean be?

Especially seeing as how Dean had more than enough to be troubled by. Going to hell had changed Dean, and the things he did there put a terrible weight on his shoulders, but all of Sam's attempts to help Dean bear the weight had failed. Dean seemed determined to do it on his own. He refused to let Sam in.

And Sam knew it was Dean's way of protecting him, same as he had done since they were children, but why didn't Dean realize that Sam wanted to protect him too? Why couldn't he see that Sam wasn't a chubby little kid anymore? That he was as capable of protecting Dean as Dean was of protecting him? Dean's going to hell had forced that last little bit of Sammy to grow up. He was an adult, with troubles and failings of his own. God knew he had his own apocalypse related guilt to deal with. Not to mention the constant anger that thrived just below the surface.

On second thought, maybe that was why Dean was shutting him out. Maybe he still didn't trust his brother.

Sam huffed and tossed in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position that would help him fall asleep. He was almost there when he heard a rustle in the sheets behind him. Dean's breathing had changed, and Sam realized his brother was silently crying.

Had he feigned sleep so Sam would leave him alone? Had he been awake this whole time? For the first time in a long time, Sam wished he still had some of the abilities Azazel had forced on him. He would give anything to be able to read Dean's mind, to know what was going on in there. Wanting so badly to get up and offer comfort, Sam instead stayed in the bed, knowing that if Dean went as far as fake-snoring to keep Sam from knowing how upset he was, then his comfort would definitely not be welcome.

Dean was fairly sure Sam was still awake. The nightmare had disturbed him down to his very core. He had never dreamt of Sam being down there with him before tonight. For the past hour he replayed the dream over and over in his mind, grateful that he hadn't been able to see anything. The only thing worse than hearing Sam scream like that would have been seeing him scream.

After Sam had gone back to his own bed, Dean had laid on his; hoping sleep would claim him as quickly as he pretended it had. The chick flick moments were killing him. He couldn't stand to cry in front of Sam; and lately, his emotions had been right on the surface. It had been a rough couple of months, the trip to the asylum, Anna's attempt to snuff out his family, and being told by Famine that he was dead inside…it was all adding up to a very heavy load. And he already had a heavy load. He really didn't need any more weight.

Then there was the visit to his future self. Watching Lucifer use Sam's body to kill him had torn Dean apart. He hated the confidence in Lucifer's eyes as he declared that Sam would say 'yes' in Detroit. If only it were as simple a thing as keeping Sam out of Michigan.

As the days went on, Dean was breaking, falling apart piece by piece. He was starting to realize that saying 'yes' to Michael would be his only choice in the end. Not that he would actually have a choice when all was said and done.

The ghosts of his past were always there now, when he tried to sleep. His mom, his dad, Jess, Ash, Ellen, Jo, they were all waiting when he closed his eyes. Sometimes, even his future self would be there, begging him again and again to say 'yes' to Michael.

Most nights he was lucky to get an hour or two before the nightmares woke him. Most nights he was able to keep Sam from finding out. But tonight, he just couldn't hold it together. The tears rolled freely out of his tired eyes, and he did everything he could to regulate his breathing. He had to be strong. Strong for Sam.

Because, he knew, if he gave in, Sam would give in. And all would be lost.