Dean blinked his eyes, then closed them tightly. There was something about closing them as tightly as possible that made colors dance within his head. It was odd to him how that worked. Even in absolute darkness, that simple action could bring in color and light. The small flashlight he'd found in the room had long ago lost all battery power and now laid in the corner of the room, taken apart and each piece laid as neatly as his sense of feel would allow it to be. He'd even gone as far once as to test the battery by sticking his tongue to it, but nothing had happened. It was truly dead. Just as he was, he thought. The only difference was that the battery knew when to give up the ghost. Dean, on the other hand, was still alive. Still breathing, still moving, even though he didn't want to.
Dean no longer found himself praying for rescue. Now, it was death that he begged God for. It appeared that at least that prayer might actually be answered. He had no idea when the last meal he'd had was, but it had certainly been long enough. He could feel the stomach acid churning in his stomach, begging for something besides the lining of his stomach to feed upon. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd thrown up that acidic liquid in the last few hours. It was a lot, though.
Now was one of the quieter moments his stomach allowed him now and then. He laid on the hard floor, flat on his back, his arms and legs stretched out as far as they could possibly go. He'd lost track of the numbers he'd tried to start counting earlier around three thousand and twenty-one, or was it twenty-two? He couldn't remember. Dean began to cackle to himself as he tried to remember. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? He actually began to sing the numbers out loud to himself. "Twenty-one? Twenty-two! Twenty-one? Twenty-two!"
Dean rolled over on his side and pulled his legs up, curling himself up into a small ball and laying in the fetal position. His left hand played with the silver ring on his right finger. "Twenty-one. Twenty-two." The song continued quietly as he twirled the ring around on his finger.
The craziest part about being crazy, is that Dean knew he was crazy. He knew that he'd lost it and wasn't thinking clearly anymore. He'd known it the moment he'd lost coherent thought. What really freaked him out, though, was that he hadn't fought it, not even a little. In fact, he embraced it. He knew that if he allowed himself to go crazy, he wouldn't have to think anymore about where he was nor what was happening to him. He could just lose himself in his own little world and let the wonders of his mind take him places he'd never allowed himself to go before.
As the song continued, back and fourth, "Twenty-one? Twenty-two." Dean could feel himself getting sleepy. Must be the rhythm of the music he thought to himself. An old 80's pop song popped into his mind and he found himself starting to sing the chorus. "Feel the beat of the rhythm of the night!"
Dean stopped himself at that point and sat straight up. He stretched his legs out straight in front of him and stared straight ahead into the darkness of the room.
"Dean Winchester!" he shouted out loud to himself. "You will NOT start singing El DeBarge songs, no matter how mad hatter you've become!"
Dean raised a hand to his forehead in a stern salute. "Yes, Sir!" he shouted back to himself.
He held the salute for a moment before he finally released and fell back to floor in a fit of giggles. He let the giggles continue as long as he thought was necessary for an insane person.
Dean stopped laughing very suddenly and the sudden quiet in the room was stark. He held his breath so that not even his own breathing would penetrate the absolute silence.
He listened, for what he didn't know. He just listened. Listened to the absolute nothing that surrounded him.
When he couldn't hold his breath another second and he was certain his lungs were going to implode, Dean exhaled with a shout and took in a lungful of air with a loud gasp.
He was going to die in here. Damn, he just wished it would hurry up and happen.