A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who review! My confidence is brittle, and you guys make all the difference :)

Warnings: Violence, torture, swearing...the usual.

A big thanx to amystar for an amazing beta job.

Chapter 5:

Dean grappled with the possessed pilot, trying to keep him still while Sam completed the exorcism. "Come on, Sam! I don't know how much longer I can hold him!"

And then the pilot disappeared. Just for a second, just a flicker. But he'd gone. Replaced by a cave. It could have been his vision jumping with the turbulence. But…

Dean's eyes widened as memories began to flood his mind, to untangle themselves from the black fog. Black fog…

"Whoa, wait a second." Dean released his grip on the pilot's arms and turned to Sam. "This has already happened."

"Dean! What are you doing?" Sam yelled, diving over the pilot's thrashing body as he tried to get up, wrestling him back to the floor.

"No, there's something…" Dean's frown deepened and he looked around. At the plane, those curtains, that discarded water bottle filled with holy water.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again, his voice shaking with every jolt from the struggling pilot. "Can we maybe figure out your déjà vu later?"

"You take care of this one." Dean hopped up and ripped back the curtain dividing the small area from the rest of the plane. His eyes carefully traveled over each passenger, looking for familiar blonde hair.

"What! Dean, I know you're scared of flying, but this is not the time to pull a crazy."

Dean let the curtain fall back and turned to his brother, but before he had a chance to explain, the plane abruptly tilted, throwing Dean across the aisle, slamming him into a corner. The lights blinked out and screams erupted from the passengers. Baggage rained down around Dean, hitting the floor and breaking open, spilling out clothes and books, laptops and food. Anything not bolted to the floor cascaded down the aisles, upended, plummeting along with the plane.

Dean's fingers clutched at the wall. His heart beat rapidly, and all he could see was flashes. Of dark and then people screaming, of dark and then baggage flying, of dark and then his brother scrambling across the floor, trying to find the journal.

Sam. The name broke through his panic. Help him find the journal, Dean commanded. But his limbs wouldn't respond. They remained frozen, clutching the wall, preparing for impact.

And then another name broke through the haze. Meg. And Dean remembered. Dean forced his eyes shut, forced his ears to block out the screams, the thuds, the panic. It's already happened. It's not real. I'm not plummeting to my death. On a plane 15,000 feet in the air. On one that's about to crash. Where I'll be identified by my teeth… Not happening, you hear me, brain? Goddamn it, you better hear me.

And then there was silence. A deep, abrupt silence.

Heaven has harps and shit, right? So, I'm not dead. Dean slowly opened one eye, and then the other, needing both to absorb the sight before him. The plane had frozen. Along with everyone in it. People were strapped to their seats, backs rigid, hands clutching the armrests. Not moving, not breathing. There were air masks frozen in mid-dangle. Baggage stuck in mid-tumble. All frozen.

Dean's muscles began to relax, his fingers inching away from the wall. This scene in front of him was some weird shit, but it beat the plummeting version. Dean absently smoothed his hair and pulled at his shirt, untangling it. "Meg, I am going to kick your scrawny ass," he muttered.

A noise from inbetween the aisles caught his attention. It was a small noise. Only a rustle of fabric, an intake of breath. But in this frozen scene it rang out like an explosion.

Dean quieted his breath and waited. A demon, Meg… by this stage he wouldn't be surprised if Jack Torrance popped up. But from the aisle, looking around with a gaping mouth, their dad's journal sitting forgotten in his hand, stood Sam.

Dean relaxed and pulled himself up from where he'd been thrown. He grabbed the back of a chair for support.

Sam eyes were wide with disbelief. "What happened?"

Dean shrugged, yanking down's the window's shutter. "Plane froze."

"Yeah, I can see that. But what happened to make it freeze? Do you think the demon had something to do with this?"

"What? No! Dude, that thing wasn't real."

Sam frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It wasn't?"

Dean shrugged, poking a frozen passenger in the head. No reaction. A mannequin. "Okay, yeah, I mean it was real. Once. But not that one you were just fighting."

"What was I fighting, then?" Sam asked, snatching away Dean's finger.

Dean threw his hands up in the air. "I don't know! A…memory. A figment thingy that she's using against me."

"She?"

"Yes, she. Man, are you going to respond to everything I say with a question?"

"Depends, are you going to start making sense?"

"I can't make sense! I don't know what's going on. Meg. God, I'm going to kill her. She's…possessing some demon thing – No, Sam, not the one from the plane – and using its powers to…get into my mind and make me think things are real that aren't real. And then they become real. Until I remember they aren't real." Dean glanced over Sam, appraising him. "I don't even know if you're real!"

Sam scratched his head, watching Dean carefully. "I'm…a Ken doll?"

Dean sighed and hung his head. "You're an idiot doll. No, not that kind of fake, doofus. You could just be…a memory version of you. My memory's version of you! I don't really know how this all works."

"You'd never guess."

Dean punched Sam in the arm. "Hey, just because you're a part of my brain doesn't mean you can mouth off."

"Dean," Sam sighed, placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, forcing Dean to look at him. "You've gone insane."

Dean frowned, temporarily taken aback. "What the hell kind of brotherly reassurance is that?"

A flicker of a smile crossed Sam's face. "What I mean is, the demon on this plane must have been more powerful than we originally thought. The power to freeze time. To make you…babble."

"Babble? I don't babble. I'm trying to make you get it. Always were slow on the uptake, Sammy. At least my memory got that part right."

"Stop calling me a memory, Dean."

Dean leaned in closer. "Memory-boy." He smirked and moved back, comforted by the banter. It was something normal. Something he could rely on when the rest of the world was going insane. Or, you know, freezing.

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, leaving a few stray strands sticking up near the back. "You're impossible."

"Dude, look around. None of this should be possible. But it is! And anyway, I can prove you're not Sam, Sam."

"Oh yeah? How, Dean Dean?"

Dean ignored the dig, leaning casually against a plane chair and folding his arms, squinting at Sam like he was about to administer a pop quiz. "How did we end up killing this plane demon?"

"We haven't yet! The damn plane froze!"

"Ah ha! But we have! Okay, and do you remember the bug curse thing? The hookman? That chick that was totally into you that you took a skewering for? Eh?"

Sam stared at him blankly.

Dean pressed his hand against Sam's head. "Think, Sammy."

Sam slapped his hand away, annoyed. "I am thinking."

"And?"

"And…" Sam spread out his hands. "I still don't know what you're talking about."

Dean half smiled at this. He couldn't conjure up a triumphant one. Not when his triumph meant the guy in front of him was only a memory. That Sam was still tied up in a cave somewhere. That he was still tied up in a cave somewhere.

"I need to sit down," Dean sighed.

He turned to find the plane chair behind him occupied. He clicked his fingers.

"Now what are you doing?" Sam sighed.

"Trying to get my mind to…zap this chair free." He clicked his fingers again. "Why isn't my brain working? – Shut up," he said to Sam before his brother could respond sarcastically.

A smirk overpowered Sam's incredulous expression. "Try to cross your arms and blink."

Dean rolled his eyes and plunked onto an empty chair a few seats down instead. He closed his eyes and let himself sink back. A vague pounding was beginning to form behind his eyes and his body was tingling. He couldn't figure out why.

He heard Sam sit in the chair across from him. Dean opened one eye and looked over. Sam had his hands clasped and looked lost in thought. "Start from the beginning," he finally said.

"So you believe me?"

"No. I'm…doing the benefit of the doubt thing. What's this all about?"

Dean shrugged a little, tired. "I don't know. We're trapped in a cave. Bitcherella tricked us. Again. And she's controlling some supernatural being. Again. It runs on belief, or something Disney like that. She uses its power to get into your mind and make you believe bad stuff. And then because your mind believes that bad stuff, it becomes real. She tried making me envision a scenario where you were all lets-kill-Dean possessed boy again. But I didn't buy it. So then she hacked into my memories. Made me 'relive' all the bad parts."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I know!" Dean said. "Crazy, huh? But she's crazy and crazy is as crazy does. This whole goddamn thing is crazy. The only reason I'm not being sucked into this crazy abyss," and here Dean ignored Sam's skeptical look, "is because she went too far. She tried to make me believe you were getting all scratched up. And I heard you yell from, you know, outside my head, and that's when it all clicked. And now her little mind experiment is over. I know this is all fake, so I can stop it. See how the plane isn't doing the plummeting thing anymore? That's me hacking into Meg's brain hack."

Sam was frowning. He looked troubled, thoughtful. Mainly just confused. Dean didn't blame him. "So…who's this Meg person doing all this? Allegedly."

"Meg. She's…Meg. Your old flame. You two go way back."

Dean suddenly sat up straight and looked around the plane. "Speaking of, I bet her nosy little self is listening in right now. Meg!" Dean yelled, hopping up and stalking down the aisle, eyes scouring the seats and then looking up at the ceiling. "I bet you she's manifested as some security camera. Meg!" Dean began carefully searching the ceiling and walls.

"Dean, are you sure you're okay?"

"Do I look okay!"

Dean stopped and frowned, looking from Sam's blank look to his unharmed, uncut, unbroken body. "Huh…" But then a rush of pain flooded his body, sparking through him, reopening the gashes on his face, his chest, his back. Cracking into his ribs and pooling into his broken finger. Suddenly it hurt to breathe, to move, to think.

"Dammit, you had to remind me."

He heard his brother yell his name and felt Sam catch him as he keeled over. He felt himself lowered to the floor – to the rough carpet. Or was it a rocky ground? No… he wouldn't go back to that cave. Here was good, here was safe. Here he could control the pain.

The floor became purple carpet again. And some of the pain retreated. His body still throbbed – a deep, continual ache, but it wasn't as sharp as it could've been. As it was in that cave.

"Jesus, what happened?" Sam was kneeling next to him, eyes wide.

"Got bitch slapped by my brain."

Sam leant back against the wall, next to Dean. Staring at nothing. He opened his mouth, but closed it again.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean glanced over.

"Just…if all this is just a part of your head. And once you realise it isn't real, it stops being real - And I'm not saying it is, just…if it is - then why aren't I frozen like everyone else?"

Dean shifted, straightening his back, lifting some pressure off his ribs. He shrugged slightly. "Coz you're the man of my dreams."

Sam snorted. "Even when you're bleeding to death, you're an ass."

Dean chuckled, ignoring how the action shot sparks through his ribs. "Yeah," he smirked. "You know you end up with some psychic mojo. Move over John Edward."

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean waved off, too tired to keep teasing. He could barely keep his eyes open. He'd been tired before – in his line of work, sleep didn't always come easy – but never like this. The exhaustion was eating into his mind – a fog clouding his vision. A black fog. It ate away at the scene in front of him, cave walls taking its place.

Dean heard Sam gasp and realised he too could see the plane flicker in and out of existence. "I suddenly have so much more sympathy for Kurt Russell's character in Vanilla Sky," Sam whispered, shaken.

"I don't know how I'm going to get us out of this, Sam," Dean said, the words coming out slurred, his body numbing. "I don't want you to find me like this. Don't want dad to find me like this. It's what she wants. She doesn't want to kill us. She wants to break us. Wants him to find us like that."

Sam turned to Dean, forcing his eyes away from the disintegrating scene before them. He gripped Dean's shoulder. "Dean, look at me."

Dean raised his eyes. Sam was a blur. But his voice was clear. His hand warm on his shoulder. "You're going to get through this. We always get through this."

Dean blinked and saw a cave. Blinked and felt cold air. Blinked and Sam's voice began to disappear. Blinked and he was alone again.


Dean jerked awake. He was back in that cave. Arms bound, Sam gone. Meg was here, though. She sat across from him, lazily leaning back on her hands, watching him. The warmth of the plane was gone. Dean was cold, freezing, in fact. The cave emanated a chill unlike anything Dean had felt before. It crept up his back like frozen fingers, like death's caress. He was shivering, shaking. Unable to feel his lips, the tips of his fingers. Was he going into shock? Was that it? The cold was racking his body, but the more he shivered the more bursts of heat shot up from his ribs. And that's when he realised what was wrong. It wasn't the cold cave, it was all his injuries. During his little mind trip, they'd had time to sit, fester, register.

Not good. He couldn't go into shock. Not while Sam was still stuck around that corner. Not while their dad still might still walk into this mousetrap. And not while he still had a barrel of insults sitting on his lips, ready to spit at Meg.

Despite the cold, a hot flush crept onto Dean's face. He could feel sweat dripping down his face. Or was it blood? He could feel blood run from the gashes crisscrossed along his chest, his back. It trickled down from the numerous tears in his arms, irritating him. His mouth tasted coppery. But it was the heat from his finger and from his ribs that engulfed him. His ribs were broken. They had to be. Angry sparks of pain exploded in his chest with every breath, every shiver. So Dean sat very still, kept his breaths very shallow. He was both cold and hot, shivering and sweating.

"Finally come back to us, have you?"

"Couldn't resist," he managed to say, trying his best to ignore his body's tremors. "You're like the friggin' Bermuda Triangle."

Meg smiled. Completely relaxed. "You and your imaginary brother had quite the chat there. Seems you uncovered my plan. Papa Winchester's going to find you, bloodied, broken, whimpering. And maybe he'll realise he doesn't have what it takes to see this little crusade through." Meg slid herself closer to Dean. "Maybe."

"And maybe he'll knock your block off." God, he hated her. That smile. That calm tone. He hated that she was doing this to him – to his family. That she was kicking his ass! If this was some universal payback for all the girls he'd pulled a bad pick-up line on, he had one helluva bone to pick with karma.

"Baby, not if I knock yours off first." She stood up and kicked him, her foot connecting with Dean's ribs, jolting them. Dean felt them grind against each other, felt them press against his lungs. Felt all this a second before the pain exploded, shooting up his body; bursting behind his eyes in spots of black, white, blue, red. The pain robbed him off his breath, his sight, his hearing. He couldn't scream or cry out. All he could do was wait for some of the pain to pass. Or to pass out.

"See what happens when you don't sit quiet like a good little hostage?"

Dean didn't answer. His eyes shone with tears that refused to fall, tears that he didn't give permission to appear. Tears which the pain and exhaustion called forth, blurring his vision, choking him in their attempt to escape. Making his hazel eyes shimmer; washing away the veneer of strength he carefully placed in front of those eyes, leaving a collage of broken, sparkling bits in its place. But he wouldn't let those tears fall – Dean would hold onto that one victory. His hands hung useless, his lips were burning, his chest constricting and cutting off his air, but he still had control over this. He always had control over this. And he'd be damned if he was going to let this bitch break his resolve too.

Meg crouched in front of him and placed her hand gently against his cheek. Dean jerked his head away, disgusted by the way his heart sped up and by how shallow and weak his breaths sounded. His energy was draining, and soon it'd leave a cold corpse behind.

"You're no use to me anymore," Meg said. "Your mind won't play along. And if it doesn't play along, then how else I am going to pass the time until Papa bear joins us?" She tilted her head to the side and watched him carefully. "Maybe Sam's head won't be so quick to close me off. Those college kids have open minds, you know. Oh…wait, no, you don't know."

Dean froze. "No," he said. "You can't kill both of us. You need one of us alive. You need Sam alive."

Meg smiled. "Aw, I think you misunderstand me in your…weakened…state. I'm not going to kill Sam. Yet. I'm going to use his mind to kill you."

Her words sunk in, pulling him down with them.

"That's what's great about my new demon toy. It doesn't matter who's doing the believing. As long as that person thinks it's real, it becomes real." Meg straightened Dean's shirt, smoothing down some of the creases. "Think you can fight off your own brother? Think you can stand seeing what he really thinks of you? Who knows? Maybe you'll realise that he wants you gone."

Through heavy eyelids, Dean watched Meg, the fear eating through his pain. He knew that he didn't have the strength to fight off Sam. "Don't," he whispered. Knowing that the second she entered Sam's mind, it was over. Sam didn't know what was going on, Sam wouldn't know that he was stuck re-living his own memories. He was going to die at his brother's unwilling hands. "Please, don't." Not this way, any other way. Just not this one. Sam would never forgive himself.

Meg's smile widened and she hopped up. She gestured at the corpse and it followed her out.

Dean shut his eyes, the tears finally escaping, sliding down his cheeks and falling from them without a sound.


Sam used his shoulder to wipe some sweat off his face. His breath was labored and his muscles tired. But he kept struggling to maneuver his bound arms over his legs so that they'd sit in front of him instead. It was more difficult than he'd expected.

"Why'd I have to be the tall one?" Sam muttered, managing to shimmy his arms up to the back of his knees before getting stuck. Great, just great. Now he felt like a stuffed pig. Sam rolled to the side, focusing on sliding his bound legs through his arms inch by inch. Where was David Blaine when you needed him?

He felt ridiculous, knew he looked ridiculous. His face warmed up at the thought of Dean or Meg walking in to find him like this. If Dean couldstill walk…

Sam mentally shook off the thought. He hadn't heard a peep from Dean since that scream, but that didn't have to mean anything. Dean could be fine. Meg had probably just gagged him to stop him spitting bad puns her way. Hell, Sam would've.

But that thought didn't relax him. He cried out in relief when he finally got his arms over his legs. Now he was a bit better equipped to stave off another attack. His arm and face still stung from where the invisible claws had torn into him. They'd come from nowhere and disappeared almost as fast. Or, he assumed they'd disappeared. You could never tell with the invisible ones.

Sam's eyes slid over to the bend where Dean had disappeared. It was killing him not knowing what was going on. He couldn't just keep sitting here, waiting. Yeah, and what are you going to do? Hop to his rescue?

"Shut up, brain," Sam muttered, using the wall to leverage himself up. Sometimes you had to throw reason to the wind. Especially when your family was in trouble. Dean lived by this philosophy, it was about time Sam did too.

"Going so soon?"

Sam's head snapped up find Meg sauntering up to him, the corpse not far behind.

"Where's Dean?" Sam demanded.

Meg smiled, her eyes glinting. "He's a little tied up right now."

"If you hurt him, even a bit…" Sam trailed off, his voice too shaky. He let the resolve show in his face instead.

Meg's smile grew wider. "I hurt him a lot."

Sam's breath froze in his lungs as a cold crept over him. "What did you do, Meg?" he whispered.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" She pressed her hand against his cheek and Sam winced as he felt it sizzle. And then fell to the ground as the world began to waver and spin.


"Come with us tonight!"

Sam chuckled and shoved some more fries into his mouth. "I already have plans," he said, laughing at the look John shot him. "Seriously."

"Dude, let me guess, you've got a big date with the librarian lined up?"

Sam chucked a fry at him. "You know, if you studied a bit more ad partied a bit less you wouldn't have to keep stealing my notes."

"I wouldn't have to steal them if you'd just lend them to me."

"You're an idiot," Gemma said.

"Thank you!" Sam exclaimed. "Someone else here agrees."

"We all agree," Pete added, from where he lay on the grass near their benches, his face shaded from the sun with an open Law book.

John kicked Pete's leg before turning back to Sam. "Man, you always get perfect grades anyways. One night ain't gonna make a difference."

"Let him study," Jess said from next to Sam. "If he finishes early, then he'll come by, won't you Sam?"

"That's right." Sam shot Jess a grateful smile.

John sighed. "If you're gonna keep taking his side, hook up already."

Sam laughed, embarrassed. He turned to Jess who shot him a mischievous look. Sam looked away, knowing a goofy smile had invaded his face. He was about to kick John under the table when he felt a familiar presence. He turned around and saw a figure standing in the distance. Sam squinted and held his hand up to shade his eyes from the sun. Dean?

"Hey, guys, I'll be back in a second, okay?" He hopped up and moved towards the figure.

Sure enough, it was Dean. Staring around with a frown.

"Dean? What are you doing here?" Sam asked, annoyed. And a little confused.

Dean looked away from the bright sky, glancing at the table where Sam had walked from, then back to Sam. "We're in Stanford? What are we doing here?"

"I know why I'm here. But what are you doing here?" Sam laughed suddenly, running his hands through his hair. "God, dad sent you, didn't he? It hasn't even been a year and he's already trying to get me back."

"What?" Dean said. He paused suddenly, eyes dimming in thought. "Why the hell would Meg give you a memory of Stanford," he muttered. "One of your college pals doesn't have a black belt in karate, do they?"

Sam frowned, watching Dean carefully. "No. Dean, what's this about? Why are you here?"

Dean shook his head a little, wiping the confusion from his face. "Okay, don't ask me how she's done it, but somehow I'm jacked into your memories. Because I was sure as hell never here in real life." Dean glanced back over at Sam's table of friends. "Geez, man, you know you look like a yuppie hanging out with those polo-shirt geeks?"

"You came all this way just to insult me?" Sam asked, growing frustrated.

"Okay, look, Sam. This," he pointed gestured around them, "isn't real. It's just a memory. It's important that you get this. Meg – remember Meg? She's using your brain against me. Polo shirts and bright-assed skies will do it – that toothpick got that much right. But you're really stuck in a cave. With me. Okay? Any of this coming back to you?"

Sam stared at Dean blankly.

Dean sighed. "You think I'm insane, don't you?"

"No, of course not. Meg. Cave. Brain. Got it. Makes perfect sense. Can I go back to lunch now?"

"Come on, Sam! Think! You've already done the college thing! Remember dad? He went missing? You came with me to find him? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam's face suddenly softened and he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Hey, are you okay? Did something happen to dad?"

Dean looked from Sam's hand to his concerned face. He rolled his eyes. "Of course it's not ringing a bell. If you had to choose between your life now and your life back then, you'd choose Stanford in a heartbeat. So how the hell am I meant to convince you none of this is real anymore?"

Sam dropped his hand. "Look, I'm going back my friends. I'm sorry you and dad didn't want me to leave, but acting crazy isn't going to change that." Sam turned his back on Dean and headed over to his friends.

Dean watched, a twinge of hurt – or was it envy? – pinching his chest. And then the world spun away.


Sam backed away from the shapeshifter, watching it carefully, arms raised. He'd been trained as a warrior, and even if this thing did have his brother's face, Sam knew he could defend himself.

Dean looked from Sam's defensive stance to the room around them. His eyes widened. "You think I'm the shapeshifter!"

"Not going to work," Sam growled. "You better not have hurt my brother."

"Jesus, Sam, that's sweet and all, but I am your brother!"

Sam scoffed and stepped forward, expertly flinging out his arm. Dean ducked to the side, Sam's fist grazing his jaw as he stepped back.

"Woah!" Dean cried out, holding out his hands. "Dude, I am not going to fight you, so snap out of it!"

Sam swung his fist again. Dean caught Sam's arm and used it to propel Sam away from him. "Sam! I mean it! Stop trying to kick my ass! You couldn't do it when we were kids, and you wont be able to now."

"Tell me where Dean is," Sam said, glaring at him, fists clenched in front of him.

"What's that?" Dean said mimicking Sam's pose. "No wonder the shapeshifter beat your ass; are you trying to be Mike Tyson? The bad guys don't play fair, Sam. We don't fight them in boxing rings."

Sam frowned and stepped back, lowering his fists slightly. "You're insane."

Dean sighed. "Yeah well, I may be loony, but what does that make you?"

"Sane."

"Smart ass," Dean muttered.

Sam's frown deepened. He lowered his fists completely and cocked his head. "Dean?"

Dean grinned, relief washing through him. "You're a bit slow on the uptake, but you get there eventually."

Sam laughed softly, disbelief robbing him off his voice. But then he felt his cheek sizzle and for a second he saw Dean tied up somewhere, along with Rebecca.

Sam shook his head, clearing it, and stared at this…thing…in front of him with renewed anger. It had almost tricked him.

Sam swung his fist and it connected with Dean's nose with a deafening crack.


Dean landed on the floor of the asylum with a gasp.

"Oh, goddamn it," he lifted his hand to feel his nose. It was tender, swelling, bloodied. He pulled his hand away with a wince. "This day sucks."

But he froze when he heard a gun cocked above him. He looked up and couldn't help the spike of fear that ran down his back. Sam held a gun to his head.

"Sam," Dean soothed, holding out his hands, slowly sliding up and into a sitting position. "You're being possessed, okay? By two things this time – your memory of Ellicott and Meg. I know you think you're angry with me, but trust me, you don't want to pull that trigger."

Sam watched Dean, his breath labored, his muscles tense. There was something to what Dean was saying, something familiar…but his confusion was instantly engulfed by the blind, red, rage consuming him, shaking his vision, eating at his soul.

"Put the gun down," Dean said. "I'm serious, man. I'm using cop show phrases here, so you know I mean it."

"Shut up," Sam responded calmly. "It's your fault we're stuck in this fucking cave. You just had to follow the scream. Couldn't wait five seconds to work out a plan. Now we're all going to die."

Dean froze, looking at Sam in shock. "You remember all that?"

Sam did and he didn't. All he could really feel was the rage. The words spilling out of his mouth were coming from somewhere distant, somewhere his consciousness didn't have access to.

"Do you even care that she's going to kill us both?" Sam continued, blood dripping from his nose. "That dad's going to find us butchered? That you're going to die and leave me to hunt this thing alone? I never wanted this!"

Dean was watching Sam with a growing sense of despair. Was it rock salt or bullets in that gun? Was he about to die? At his brother's hands, from his brother's anger? Heat emanated from his chest, flushing his cheeks. He was panicking.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Sam snarled.

"Sam, listen to me. I'm sorry, okay? I'll…I'll get us out of this. Just…Give me a chance to get us out of this."

"How?"

Dean couldn't answer. And Sam pulled the trigger.

Dean felt the rock salt collide with his chest, burning him, sending him flying backwards. Sam believed it was his fault, that he deserved that rock salt burning his chest. And then Dean believed it. And his chest burned stronger and longer than he could've imagined possible, and he was being shot, again and again, being flung back – from that cave, from the asylum, from these memories, and into a black void that crept into his head and leeched away his consciousness. Swinging past him, faster than he could catch or hold on to, were images –memories, feelings, moments. And the black crept into Dean's mind – deep and dark. Swallowing those memories, those feelings, those thoughts. Swallowing the pain racking his body. Swallowing everything. And Dean didn't fight it. He let it come, he welcomed it, he willed it forward. He entered it without looking back. And then there was nothing.


TBC