Hello again! I'm back with another installment. I hope it is enjoyable, I had a fun time writing it. Angst, isn't it awesome! :-) I know I sound like a broken record sometimes but I feel the need to say it again... THANK YOU ALL... for your wonderful reviews, comments, for just riding along with me through this latest journey and taking time out to give this story a looksee. As always, I deeply appreciate it and would love to hear any thoughts you have on this chapter. Enjoy! Until next time! :)

Dean does his best to relax, he does, but something feels off. Yeah, his head hurts like a son of a bitch, his ribs ache and he's sure he's got bruises upon bruises, not to mention only having one eye in fully functional condition which currently makes things look wonky, but still. Something else is off. Something else is not right. Something about him still being here makes him feel very uneasy and he feels himself thrust into defensive mode. Really, he has survived far worse injuries than these. What's a swollen eye here and some gashes and bruised ribs there? Harmless inconveniences compared to some of the doozies the brothers have withstood together. Hardly seems worth the time and effort to shack up in this joint, taking the doctors away from some poor sap who actually does need help. This stuff is nothing his totally capable baby brother couldn't handle, maybe even with one hand tied behind his back. So what gives? Why are we still here? "Okay Sam. I'm rested now. All better. I'm good. Now let's get moving. You know I hate these places bro and something about this one is giving it a 20 on the 10 scale of creepiness."

Dean feels on edge when he hears his brother sigh and as he gazes upon Sam's face he can tell. His younger brother is on edge too. But why? What is Dean missing in this equation? His eyes glance around the room. It's so clean, so quiet, almost too quiet. Yeah, that's it, it is too damn quiet in here. Huh, there is a saying like that isn't there? A saying that people voice outloud and that occurs right before something bad happens? Too much quiet is just wrong, and bad. It's not right. Where is the constant interruptions by all those annoying nurses and doctors? In his experience, every hospital can't function without them. It's so damn odd. He's been a guest in these places far too many times for his liking but this time it seems so very different. It's just strange. Where are the sounds? Of people scurrying about in the hall? Where is that annoying beeping monitor designed specifically to piss the older Winchester off? Not there. There's just nothing. Nothing but the bed he is laying on, the chair Sam is sitting on and a bedside table. Weird.

His eyes look around again, over to every corner of the room. Okay, this has now been catapulted into the area of super weird. There isn't even a bathroom? So what, if a person needs to take a leak they gotta cry out for help from some damned nurse? What kind of room in a hospital doesn't even have a toilet? That's crazy! That. Is. Crazy. Oh no. Crazy? Dean feels his breaths come out more rapidly, his eyes dart around the room, and he just wants to wake the hell up. God No. No! I am not crazy!

Determined to get out and, as he decides that this is definitely somewhere he doesn't want or need to be, Dean moves again to get off of the bed. He knows Sam is right there, ready to push him back down but he just can't allow that to happen. Why is Sammy just sitting there? Why doesn't he help him? Why? If he doesn't escape right now he isn't sure he will have any strength left to try it again. This whole place, this whole situation screams Leave Now, While you Still Can!

"Don't touch me Sam. Don't. Just move. Let me get up damn it." He looks to his younger brother and sees the stress there. The worry. He manages to rise to a seated position and stares directly at Sam with questioning eyes. "Please Sammy, tell me. Why am I still here? I'm not hurt that bad. I'm fine. I'm awesome right? Always awesome and always fine? That's me! So please, let's just get out of here while we can, before they come." Pause. Dean lowers his voice when he speaks next. "They want to keep me here don't they? They think I'm crazy right? Well, I'm not crazy! It's all so fuzzy. I just can't think right now. Can't get my head around it. I'm all cloudy. I don't know exactly what happened but I sure as hell know what I need. I need to get out of here Sammy and back out on the road. I am not crazy. Right? You don't think I'm crazy do you Sammy? Not you. Right? Sammy?"

Dean waits. And waits a bit more. Sam doesn't even look at him now, he just holds his hands in his lap and stares at them. Dean can tell that he is contemplating again. Trying to come up with the right words, he always tends to overthink certain situations. But this particular situation? There should not be any hesitation, no contemplation to be done. The answer should be automatic. So, what the hell Sam? Why didn't you jump on the Dean isn't crazy bandwagon? You don't really have to deduce and ponder the sanity of your own brother do you? You can't possibly believe that he has flipped his lid, can you? That he's lost his marbles? His sanity? No Sam. Not you! "SAM!" The younger Winchester flinches at his brothers tone and looks up to face him. "What the hell? Why are you actually sitting there THINKING about your answer? Well here, let me help. I'll imitate you saying what should have come out of your mouth as naturally as your ability to perform the duty of mother hen does. Ready, maybe you should write this down? Here is the proper response to that kind of question Sam. 'Of course I don't think you're crazy Dean. The idea of that is well, a bit crazy. Hardy, har, har. Now, let's get outta here you good looking brother of mine and go kill some evil sons of bitches in the next town or something.' See Sammy? Not so hard right?"

Dean feels his pulse quicken. From fear? Or adrenaline? Or panic? Or maybe anger at his brother's lack of enthusiasm towards his plan to escape? Whatever the reason it makes his head start to throb. And throb. No, no, just relax. Don't make a scene, don't give them a reason to keep you here. But, I guess that would just be too damn simple. Instead, the throb continues, and gains momentum until he can no longer contain the gasp that has built up within him from escaping into the outside world. "God...did someone.. take a hammer...to my head? It's killin' me." His vision begins to blur, as if the pain now wants to take a shot at shutting down his other eye, to make it a matching pair of useless ocular senses. For now Dean can still see his brother, his Sammy, and also sees the concern and fear that his eyes contain. And the sight of that hurts. Cuts him to the core. His baby brother should not have to witness this. To see him out of control, in pain. C'mon Dean, be strong, keep your pain, don't share it. As if on cue, the blurriness increases and even so, he swears Sam is talking to him. He watches his mouth as it moves but no sound reaches his ears. Sam's voice is drowned out by the sound of the constant drum. The drum of Dean's blood as it pumps, faster and faster, through his veins. The older of the siblings squeezes his eyes shut in some sort of last ditch effort to halt it's progression. As he continues to struggle, to ride out his most current wave of agony, he feels the comforting touch of Sam's hand on his shoulder, followed by a gentle squeeze to accompany it. It has to stop. The pain, why is there always so much pain?

It doesn't seem possible but somehow, somewhere the agony that has taken root within his head seems to intensify. As his control falters, as his world turns upside down and he wishes that blackness would claim him just for a moment or two, the pain seems to stop. Not because he suddenly recovers, not because he wakes up and realizes it was all just a dream. No. The pain stops but is immediately replaced by another sensation conjured up by an injured mind. Because, at that moment, Dean starts to experience something within him which, simply put, extinguishes any ability for him to acknowledge even one rational thought.

Images. Dozens of them. They flash, in a continuous stream, a continuous frenzy, seen only by him. Behind Dean's eyes. Contained within Dean's mind. Flash. Dean is back on the rack in Hell. Flash. Dean is confronted by some losers in a back alley some where. Flash. Dean stares into the yellow eyes of his father, possessed and unleashing all of the demon's fury on the older Winchester son. Flash. Dean looks at his wrists and sees the blood ooze out of them. Flash. Dean tortures untold scores of souls to free himself from the rack. Flash. Hellhound, snarling as he waits to pounce. Flash. His mother, burning, dying. Flash. Sam's lifeless body.

He is helpless to stop them. He is forced, over and over again, to endure an unrelenting stream of nightmare after nightmare, image after image. Every moment of pain that has ever been seared into his psyche is shown to him by his own mind, and it unleashes the very deepest of the anguish he has spent every waking moment trying to bury within him. As he withstands and relives moment after moment, as his grip on reality has all but disappeared, the descent seems to have begun. The journey has started. The path that he now travels begins to take him down the slow and winding road. The spiral. Into madness.

TBC...