Well, that certainly took a lot longer than I expected. Sorry about that. Well, here we are…round three. Let's see the mess Dean has found himself sinking in. It won't be pretty! Hope you enjoy!

~o(Supernatural)o~

The flight from Hell continued. The steady rhythm of flapping wings echoed in his ears overlapping the roaring pulse of wind. Pain seethed with a fury in his upper body, singing soprano the longer he was air-born. Big Bird, or whatever the hell it was, let out another pterodactyl-like screech and the rate at which they were flying, if at all possible, sped up.

Dean screamed long and loud, clenching onto the talons embedded in his shoulders, fighting against the unstoppable dizziness enshrouding the edges of his sight and mind. Already blind from all the darkness, he squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the devastating impact he was sure to come. God knew what this thing was, and where it was taking him.

He shivered. Just the mere thought of being snatched to some nest, where about three or so fugly winged babies with giant heads, grouper-sized eyes, and ostrich necks about ready to play tug-of-war over his meat, had him convulse with disgust.

First Puppy Chow, and now wormfood, promised to be later birdshit!

That was a Hell to the NO!

Thinking fast, his hand instantly shot to his boot, where a tiny switchblade was daily kept. Hardly ever used, the small blade was kept there whenever times at a bar became a bit hostile and his fists were no longer contestants. There were times where he wanted to tell Lisa of his extracurricular activities, but some things, he supposed, were meant to be taken to the grave.

Not entirely sure if it would work, being but a figment in his brother's mind, Dean figured it was at least worth a shot. If he could bring in a talisman the size of one of Willy Wonka's golden eggs, why not his own personal insurance plan?

And sure enough, reality was put on hold for once.

Digging into the soggy leather, the tips of his fingers wrapped around the small plastic hilt, smoothly sliding it out, where he immediately plunged it into the underside of the big ass talons. The creature howled with pain, shaking him violently, as he yanked the blade out and plowed it again under another large curved claw.

And that's where it occurred to him that he didn't think the next part through.

Big Bird had let go, and he fell, his body completing several flexible gymnasts' somersaults-only without the bars.

And he thought he had overcome his fear of flying!

Dean braced himself, covering his head with his arms, contorting the rest of his body into a rugby player's defense curl. The whistling in his ears from his freefall made matters worse in that he couldn't hear the building he was heading steadily for. What felt like a solid hit to concrete, and then falling through crumpling debris, Dean still kept in his tightly fetal ball, as finally his body slammed down onto some hard flooring, knocking the wind right out of him.

With his world spinning off its axis for a sheer second, Dean coughed, a mass of dust spritzing out in a fan as he coughed again, struggling to pull in much needed air. Aches and pain ripped through all over, and he lied still for a minute, coveting the rapid dulling throbs.

What a freakin' ride! So far he didn't like what was in his brother's head. He'd have to get the snot one big ass happy pill after this little trip.

The flapping of wings was heard nearby and he immediately leapt to his feet, switchblade in hand, on the defensive. Shadows darted all around the walls, distorting into large and small shapes, on the floor, past the columns…wait? Columns?

So busy whirling around in tracking the fleeting shadows, it took him a moment to discern his surroundings. No longer in complete darkness, Dean recognized the beam of orange light filtering through, in the shape of striated arc. Turning around, his guess was proved to be right as the dark warehouse where Meg attacked him and his brother via Daevas stood before him.

Tiny whispers and hushed grunts of anger was heard in the corner and there he stood transfixed at seeing himself and Sam, bloody, tied to a column with the blonde haired demon bitch, Meg, sitting in front, smirking with malicious delight.

He watched himself turn to his brother. "Hey Sam, don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend? Is a bitch."

Dean shrugged. It was a cocky remark, sure, but damn did he sound good saying it!

"Let me guess, the whole thing was a trap," Sam went on to say, "Running into you at the bar, hearing what you had to say, it was all a setup…"

Dean stood by, obviously listening in on the memory. It finally occurred to him, hearing the demon bitch's chortle that they were in Chicago. This was the warehouse they followed Meg to, and in short, was beaten, slashed down to a pulp by Daevas, and served as a trap for their father. Only Sam was able to cut himself free, flip over the powering alter, and set the shadow demons loose on their boss.

Only it turned out the broken spell hadn't lasted long, and the demons were back, tearing into him, Sam, and their Dad. Nasty little shits!

Dean shuddered, hating that particular time, where it was he who has suggested they split up. After tracking and searching for their Dad for so long, after finally meeting up with him, only to break up the family reunion so that their Dad could escape in one piece. His frown turned into a frown of revulsion at hearing the demon's poisonous words echo "baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less."

This was the part where she revealed they were being used as a trap.

"You trapped us, good for you," his cocky voice rang out once again, bringing yet another smirk to his face, "It's Miller time. Why don't you kill us already?"

Loud ear-piercing squawks threw him off guard and he whirled around to watch the shadows on the wall swirl, like uncoiling smoke, but then took the shape of a large winged creature with a pointed head. His breathing became labored as panic slowly began to extend its gangly claws over him, but soon the quick inhales became short gasps as the shadow suddenly morphed into a man.

"Well hello Dean. It's been a while," a soft whispered sounded in his head.

The shadow remained on the wall, but he could see no man, no corporeal body to go with it. He turned and saw the three members on the floor, Meg sitting on his legs whispering taunts to his face.

"Nah, nah. Over here Dean," called the voice. He faced the wall again, almost in tears of apprehension, a bit terrified at the silhouette shaking a pointed finger. He already knew whom he was dealing with.

"I must admit, I didn't think to see you here. Of course, it doesn't entirely surprise me. Sammy always seems to be a needy bitch. But nevertheless…even to be here, you still must have friends in high places. Castiel, I bet?"

Dean said nothing, but carefully glanced around for an exit.

"Yes," the shadow continued, "Castiel was always a traitorous companion of yours. No doubt he may be lurking around here somehow. Hmmm, very interesting…" the pointed finger patted the outlines of a chin.

"Whatever dude," Dean's voice shook, "Where the hell is my brother?"

"Ah. It appears we're looking for the same person. Your brother and I do have a little bit of a tizzy to finish up," Lucifer rasped. "Unfortunately little Sammy certainly knows how to hide."

At that brief bit of information, Dean's heart lightened up. At least Sam was still alive.

"Ohhh, I wouldn't get too warm and fuzzy about that Dean. You see, we have all the time in the World. He let me in, and so I can just take over if I want to…"

"Then why don't you?"

"So we will have a replay like we did before. Come on Dean, you know what happened that day at the cemetery. However much it pains me to say this, times like that prove to me your brother is a lot stronger than I give him credit for. And I'm not taking any chances this time. I will find your brother and I will kill him. I've had enough of you Winchesters. It was all about you in the beginning, but now I've had my fair share…"

A pit of terror began to widen in Dean's gut at the ominous message the shadow was conveying to him. No doubt the guy had the power to take on and completely annihilate his brother in one blow, and him too, for that matter. Lucifer was pissed. Dean had to admit he wasn't surprised. He would be too, if the circumstances were reversed. But showing empathy towards the pissed off Fallen Angel wasn't going to get him out of this predicament.

"Don't count on finding Sam. It won't matter even if you did…because you see, I know we're out of Hell, and now it's open season!"

The elder Winchester began to feel a bit flushed with anxiety. In a situation like this, typically the protocol was to stall the enemy whilst simultaneously thinking of a solution to escape. But…since he was practically in the midst of an awful memory, somewhere in the dark recesses of his kid brother's head, and was talking to nothing but a shadow—and probably not the real guy, he had to think fast. There had to be a way out.

Dark seductive whispers sounded behind him. "Were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free…"

Meg's sinister voice cut into him like shredding cheese and he grimaced…that was until he recalled on what happened next.

"No. No. It's because I have a knife of my own," Sam replied back to her, and then Meg's loud howl of pain was heard as Sam rammed his head into hers, before dumping the demon on her ass.

"Sam! Get the alter," his handsome voice rang out.

That was it!

Dean backed up just as Lucifer's shadow began to transform into the large winged creature once more. A loud crash of memory Sam dumping Meg's alter sounded behind him and that was his cue. He took off the second the Daevas broke free, advancing on the small woman. Whilst Meg was dragged alongside the dust-ridden floor, he ran alongside. Lucifer screeched angrily as soon his shadow became entangled with the shadows of the Zoroastrian pitbulls, distorting his visage.

The window exploded with her screams and he jumped through, covering his face, preparing for the probable-crippling hit of the tarmac below.

Only…

The hard skull shattering impact never came.

Instead, his feet broke through a watery surface, his body torpedoing down smoothly through the murky surroundings. Holding his breath, he fought hard for the surface, relishing in the cool salty air as his head broke through. It was bright all around, a searing heat blazing into his skin, the blinding light burning into his corneas.

Totally against opening his eyes, partly in fear of his precious commodities bursting ablaze out of his skull, Dean turned around and slowly pried them open to slits, seeing…a lake?

Stunned, Dean looked up and, sure enough, he was floating in a lake…a much too familiar lake.

Splashes alerted him to the left and what he saw, his heart suddenly felt twisted and wrung out to dry.

It was him, only as a young boy, keeping afloat a five-year-old Sammy. The young boy kicked his little legs ferociously, swinging his little arms in a hasty swimmer's stroke, the splashes of the orange Floaties smacking Dean's younger self in the face. But the little boy never seemed to stop smiling. He instantly remembered it as the time he was teaching his little brother how to swim.

"Hold me Dean," Sammy let out a tiny fearful shriek.

"I gotcha Sammy. I won't letcha go," young Dean reassured.

The tiny arms swat and beat at the water faster, his little legs picking up a tempo. His younger self donned his infamous shit-eating grin and he let the youngster go without the little guy's knowledge.

"There you go Sammy, you're swimming."

"Huh?"

"Look no hands," Dean brought his hands up. "You're doing it."

"I'm doing it," Sam looked down, noticing he was still afloat. "I'M DOING IT! Dean," and then he stopped, his bottom instantly sinking like a dropped stone…but before the youngster could scream bloody-murder; nine-year-old Dean had him in his arms, propping him up again, and ready for the next part of the lesson.

Little Sammy laughed.

There had to have been extra salt in the air, because Dean had to wipe his eyes. This had to be at the lake near the Pastor's home in Minnesota. His father had left them in Pastor Jim's care for a couple weeks, and his little brother had been—painstakingly—excited to learn how to swim. Dean hadn't been too keen to take up the role as swim teacher, but as the Pastor had clergy duty, and Sam was prone to loud temper tantrums that included a lot of waterworks back then, Dean relented.

However, sensing the youngster's excitement brought about a big old toothy grin, and he rather enjoyed himself for the most part of the day.

That was until a group of minnows swam into Sammy's swimtrunks, effectively scaring the shit out of the five-year-old, and in reaction accidentally broke Dean's nose.

But the shit-eating grin remained…albeit painfully.

Dean laughed at that memory. It was one of the finer times of his childhood, one he couldn't believe Sam had remembered.

But soon his laughter died at seeing the sky darken and clumping clouds fraught with lightning and thunder build up all around them, confusion taking place. He didn't remember a storm ever rolling in. There were no longer splashes and playful giggles, and he saw the memory was gone. Both he and younger Sammy had vanished, nothing left but the dead calm of the water. He took that as another cue to leave and he began to swim towards the open shore.

Sopping wet, Dean lumbered up the sandy beach, shaking himself out like a wet dog. The brewing storm grew in scale and he ran, where instantly the beach scenery changed and he found himself in a scarcely wooded forest…or really…

Completing a double take, he didn't see that he was in a set of woods, but was actually in an apple orchard. Thinking back to the recent orchard he last knew he was in, he was half-expecting to see himself, Sam, and, whomever that chick was, in running from the Pagan God dressed as one fugly scarecrow.

But boy was he in for a surprise?

Loud ferocious barks echoed from a distance and he turned in time to see, yet again, himself, only slightly older than last time, carrying a broken legged Sammy over his shoulder, running his little ass off. Dean stood stock-still, watching wide-eyed as his younger self ran from a pack of wild dogs, while little Sammy pelted apple-flavored jellybeans at the rampant mutts.

"Hurry Dean! They're gaining on us," little Sammy yelled, throwing another jellybean, which bounced off a German Shepard's head.

"I'm…go…going," his younger self panted.

A little amused over what just ran past, Dean shook his head, also in silent laughter over the memory. He jogged after the group, needing to get to Sammy. He had to find his brother before Lucifer did. And if that accumulating storm were anything to judge by, he'd say Lucy was drawing in close.

"Sammy," he called.

The little boy didn't answer, only continued chucking jellybeans, and issuing out tiny curses at the dogs.

"Sam. Hey wait up," he took off at a run, following the boys to one of the apple trees, where Dean began to climb (to older Dean's surprise) fast like a spider monkey, still keeping his brother suspended. The dogs all surrounded the base of the tree, barking like starving maniacs, in anger and frustration at their prey escaping from their grasp.

"What are we going to do Dean?" he heard little Sammy squeak.

"We'll stay right here and wait for Dad. Dad will take care of these Hell mutts for us Sammy." Once again, Dean was reassuring his little brother.

"You don't think they can get to us, do ya?" Sam peered up at him with those large glossy eyes.

"Nah. Wouldn't bet on it. We're pretty far up," little Dean smiled. "And what did I tell you about meddling with the Gunnerson's dogs, huh?"

"I know," little Sammy drawled, casting his eyes down in shame. "And it sucks too, cuz that was all my jellybeans."

"Eh that's okay squirt, we'll getcha some more when Dad comes and gets us. I'm just hoping it won't be for long, cuz I gotta take a piss…well…"

Oh no, it didn't surprise Dean at all to see his younger self stand up on a lofty branch, unzip his fly, and went about doing his business all over the raging Fidos. He had to turn away in an attempt to suppress his laughter, quite in fact thoroughly entertained.

Sammy chuckled when Dean finished and sat back down. "Thank you big brother. You saved me," little Sammy leaned over and gave his younger self a big hug.

Okay…where's a God Damn tissue when you need one? This was becoming too much on his already fragile emotional state. Were these Sam's happy memories? It intrigued him that they were…well, in a way he hoped they were. At least all of Sam's happy memories weren't about running away.

He shook his head, fearing anymore lingering thoughts in Happy-Land, he'd have taken up a permanent residence. He probably wouldn't have minded—he hadn't been filled with this much blithe, since…well, it's been a while—but there were more pressing issues at hand.

"Sammy! Come on little dude, I need to talk to you," he called up, kicking at the barking dogs, "Get out of here. Get out of here. Sammy?"

And what do you know, the little snot didn't answer. He kept hugging onto his brother like he was his own life preserver, swinging his cast leg.

"Sammy! Seriously! The devil's coming to town, and he's going to beat the dog snot out of you if you don't get out of that tree!"

Nope, that didn't take either.

"Sam?"

"Hey Dean! Over here! Whatcha doing?" someone called from behind.

Dean turned to see an older Sam, just barely seventeen, lean, gangly, obviously having suffered from a Hellish growth spurt, stomp over to him. The teenager grasped his arm and steered him away from the tree, heading down the orchard's path…no, wait…it changed.

The wooded area was gone, and now he was taking a stroll down a carpeted aisle with padded seats on either side, heading towards a large curtained stage to the front, complete with an archaic rectangular podium. Immediately noticing the emerald satin gowns a large number of kids wore, all wearing square hats and enthusiastic expressions, Dean recognized this was Sam's high-school graduation.

Boy was he beginning to get dizzy.

"Remember I got you a seat somewhere in the front, okay?" teenage Sam said to him.

He shunted forward at Sam's push, his legs a mess, obviously still trying to adjust to the current transition. He looked to his brother and was amazed at the happiness emanating from him. It was like the kid had just gotten laid or something; he was glowing, lit up like a July Fourth fireworks extravaganza.

"Winchester, are they here?" A harsh voice barked. Dean saw it was the school's principal Mr. Lawson, he remembered as a miserable old coot, who acted more like a snobbish Military General.

"Yes sir," his brother replied. "My family is here."

"All of them?" Lawson glared down at him with his overly bulbous black eyes.

"Yes sir. All of them."

"Good. Now move your ass and get your robe on, so we can get this thing on the go," the general ordered.

Dean was puzzled. Glancing all around, it only struck him that it was just he that was there, no John. Then he remembered their father was off on some hunting expedition and had yet to return, completely missing the graduation. And with the way Sam had replied with "all of them", it was like he knew that. Instantly Dean felt a slight tingle of remorse, but said nothing.

Sam then stashed him in a seat in the front row, still with that radiant smile, "So glad you're here Dean. Get comfortable. It's going to be awhile."

"That's cool man," he heard himself say…but instantly became confused, realizing those words didn't come from his mouth. He turned and frowned, seeing himself yet again in the seat next to him, his opposite self holding a very smug grin, checking out the buxom blonde two seats down. "I'll be fine."

Dean rolled his eyes at his own frivolous antics, watching his brother take leave and settling in line with the rest of the graduates. But instead of staying and taking part in his brother's happiness again, he got up from his chair and headed for a spotted doorway. If ever he wanted Sam to be this happy again, he had to get a move on it. Sam's life was in jeopardy, and no way was he going down without a fair fight.

Barging through the door, he stopped dead in seeing more darkness. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he saw he was in a furnished room. Terror crept in, chilling his core, a bit shaken in that this place might be part of Lucifer's lair, or something.

Could it be that?

Oh no, as he slowly became aware of just where exactly he was. It was something way worse.

Instead of being on some torture table, he found himself actually lying in a comfy bed under very thin blankets. The bed suddenly quaked, and he'd have thought he was in some devastating earthquake, but finally catching the large lump under the sheets, and the undeniable coitus making sounds beneath, it all became too clear.

Dean had to cover his mouth, finally understanding where here was. The curly blonde hair jutting out from the covers said it all. He had to be at Stanford…and under the sheets?

Yeah! Awkward.

Dean didn't know how best to get out of this situation. But more or less, he really had had enough of Sammy's happy time. He emitted out a cough.

The rustling under the covers stopped, and a sweaty Sam came out, wide-eyed. "Dean? What the hell are you doing here?"

Forget stunned! Dean was well over in the deathly stages of shock. Sam could see him, was looking at him right now.

How was it that this piece of memory could actually see him? Either one of the others could…but most importantly, why this one?

"Yea…um. Wow! Hi," he stuttered sheepishly, growing crimson in the face. "How ya doing?"

"Just peachy Dean," Sam squawked. "Now get out of here. This is happy time. If you're looking for me, I'm not here."

Dean shot the memory a serious glance. "What?"

Giggles sounded, and Sam laughed, squirming a bit. "Y-yeah. Lucifer has already checked in, but I had to decline. Sam's not here. If you don't believe me, you can go right ahead and look under the covers…though I don't think you want to see what's under there."

He squirmed again and Jessica let out a teeth-chattering howl. Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from saying…or rather thinking anything. But he couldn't help but be impressed…

"See what I mean?" Sam replied to him breathlessly. "Now go, out that door," he nodded towards the bedroom exit. "But just FYI, not only do you have to find him, but you need to convince him that it's you, otherwise he'll blow your balls off."

"Huh? Why? Won't he know it's me? You did!"

"Erm…not exactly. I mean, Hell, you might be Lucifer right now. That dude has many tricks. I don't know why he keeps dropping in. He's such a pervert…" his sentence slurred into an eruption of chuckles, and his kid brother went back down under, exploring the world of sexual fantasy.

Having enough of the two lovers, Dean shot out of the bed, hustling towards the door as suggested. Now prepared for another change in atmosphere, he wasn't surprised in seeing that he was now in Bobby's upstairs hallway. The red walls and several black doors with antiquated lighting fixtures were the dead giveaway. Now in a different place, a very interesting question captured his attention: Now what?

Touching his right breast, feeling the hardened metal of the talisman, he felt relieved in that it was there, lodged in his pocket. A small part of him wanted to say those words Cass told him and get the hell out of here…but the other large part of him wanted nothing more than to find his brother. He was scared. That he would happily admit. But…this was Sam. He couldn't leave him. He would much rather die…odds were, he would die, but that wasn't the point!

Figuring standing in the middle of the hallway like an idiot, as if waiting for a replay of the Shining, Dean figured he might try all of the doors. Coming to the first door, he learned very quickly it was locked. Ramming his shoulder into it did nothing. The damn thing wouldn't budge.

And unfortunately, none of the other doors would either.

Well, this is something, Dean thought. What was that about I wanted to stay?

He let out a sigh, already having a fair share of this journey.

That was until there was a loud BOOM! The entire hallway vibrated and shook roughly and he nearly lost his balance. The booms continued, in more consistency, and Dean grabbed a hold of the wall.

"What the Hell?"

There was another loud canon noise and then the door down at the opposite end opened. And to his shock, in emerged a bloody and sweaty Sam, carrying a shotgun, slamming the door behind him. The man, gasping for air, clutched his side where a large spot of red blossomed, and he glided smoothly down the wall. A stitch grew in Dean's side. His brother was hurt.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, gazing wildly at his sibling. His instincts were singing, and in his gut and his heart, he knew for a fact this was the real Sam, the one had been looking for.

Sam gasped once more in seeing the other guy in the hallway. Immediately he jumped to his feet, aiming the gun. "Stay where you are," he directed.

"Sam, it's me," Dean stepped forward.

"Stay back, or so help me," the mossy green eyes shone with a powering vigor, one that was full of fear and distrust.

"Sammy, it's me Dean," he took another step forward…

…and his brother, in sheer mistrust, squeezed the trigger.

~o(Supernatural)o~

Uh oh, there I go again! I must be stopped, I swear. All right, I didn't want to, but I decided to put make this part into two chapters. It became too long. So in that case, there will be a quicker update…yay! And oh yeah, you can bet a whole lot more shit is happening. Poor boys!

And yes there were a lot of memories in here…but that's because I had some tiny issues in the recent episode "Dark Side of the Moon". I sort of wanted to explore that a bit, because I don't believe all of Sam's happy times were just of running away. Cheers Dean, I do think you would have appreciated it. ;p