Chapter 12

Sam's breath caught in his chest when he opened his eyes and saw the horrific decimation around him. For one wild second he thought is was snowing, but then he realized it was ash floating through the air, almost strangely serene. Tears welled up in his eyes, and fury flooded his heart.

"Damn it, Michael," Sam growled.

"We need to hurry," Cas said. "Dean's mind is crumbling. We need to find him. Now."

Sam nodded and hurried after the angel. His boots squelched in the messy ground, and the smells of smoke and blood assaulted his nose.

"Dean!" they called over and over again. "DEAN! Where are you?!"

But the only thing that ever answered them were the echoes of their own voices.

After what felt like hours of searching – Sam suspected time moved differently in this place – a flickering light somewhere far to the right caught his eye. Despite all the smoke and soot, this was the first sign of actual fire he had seen.

"Cas!" Sam said, pointing.

Castiel followed his gaze and nodded. The two took off running toward the light.

They drew closer and closer. And then Sam stopped dead in his tracks.

Flames leapt from the second floor of a house. Their house. The one Sam came home to as a baby. The one where their mother was killed and everything began.

Sam's jaw dropped when he recognized it. Cas stood next to him, watching the flames consume the house.

"This… this is…," Cas said.

"Home," Sam whispered. "This must be… the night…"

"It's a memory…," Cas said, then suddenly, pointed. "Sam."

Sam looked where Castiel was gesturing. A small figure was huddled on the front lawn.

Sam ran forward, Castiel hot on his heels. When Sam reached the figure, he fell to his knees, gripped with horror.

The child's messy blonde hair flopped into his bright green eyes. Tears coursed down the little boy's round cheeks, sobs wracking his tiny body.

"Mommy!" the child screamed. "Daddy!"

"Dean?" Sam whispered, tears pooling in his own eyes. He reached out to the boy, who didn't seem to notice his presence.

"SAMMY!" the little boy screamed, clutching a bundle to his chest.

Sam looked down. The blanket Dean held was empty.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed again, rocking back and forth on his knees, holding the blanket to his chest. "Where are you, Sammy?!"

Sam choked back sobs. "This… this is wrong…" he whispered. He looked up at Cas with pleading eyes. "I don't understand… This isn't how it happened…"

Cas looked from the house to the child, speechless.

Sam placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, but the child didn't seem to be able to feel him. "This isn't how it happened!" Sam cried. "You said this was a memory! But he carried me out of the house that night, he saved me!"

He turned to the child. "Dean!" he said, shaking the boy's shoulder. "Dean, this isn't real!"

But the boy just kept crying and rocking.

Realization dawned on Castiel. "That's it," he said quickly. "Michael, he… He must have tried to destroy Dean's memories, those most important to his identity, to his soul. But the soul can't just be broken up, he wouldn't have been able to fully destroy anything that deeply ingrained. He must have implanted manipulations, false memories… But Dean's mind can't bear the strain, which is what's causing his body to fail!"

"How do we fix it?" Sam demanded, unable to tear his eyes away from the four-year-old version of his brother. Hatred for Michael coursed through his veins.

"If we can find Dean – the true one, not a memory – if we can help him see what's real and what's of Michael's invention… We may be able to put the broken pieces back together."

Cas looked at Sam, hope shining in his eyes for the first time in days.

"We may be able to save him."