Hello everyone! In celebration of me surviving the earthquake yesterday-which consisted of my house making weird noises and a fake plant shaking downstairs (I thought it was the cat, haha)-here is another chapter. Sam and Dean are reunited in a weird dream that resembles the freaky dreams I have. Add some Inception music, shake well. :)

"I've got a joke," Nick said, "Listen. A doctor, two bleeding men, an almost zombie, and a voodoo priest go down into the basement—"

"And kill the voodoo priest, the end," Sam said dryly.

"That's not funny."

"Tough," Sam said. He was carrying Dean—who was still disconcertingly unresponsive—with the help of Chris, who was still on the verge of a nervous breakdown. They rounded the bend first and stared down the final drop into darkness.

"We're not going down there…?" Chris said, stopping.

Sam reached out and flipped the switch on the wall. A naked bulb flickered to life at the base of the stairs, illuminating a pile of dusty crates and rows of crammed shelves. "Yes we are," he said, "Let's go; take it nice and easy."

Brandon trailed behind Sam, keeping his gun aimed between Nick's shoulder blades. He had reached the level of fatigue where he was either going to pass out or throw up (or, god forbid, both). "Doesn't this place have a dumbwaiter or something? We could ride down."

Sam coughed as he got a breath full of dust. He continued down slowly, one foot after the other, "Didn't see one," he said.

"It's not proper horror atmosphere without a haunted dumbwaiter," Brandon muttered, "I feel cheated."

Sam smirked.

"I could build you one, lead it straight to the furnace and cook you alive," Nick said, "I hear psychics are delicious flame roasted. I'd get the meat nice and tender, and there's a fiery barbeque sauce I bought at the Farmers Market this year that I've been meaning to try—"

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Chris griped suddenly, breaking the silence he had held since Brandon had shot Nick in the bathroom.

"Calling him what?"

"Psychic," Chris said, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That's enough chit-chat," Sam broke in, groaning inwardly, "Let's just focus on getting down the stairs."

"You don't know?" Nick said, stopping his descent and ignoring Sam, "How could you not know?"

Brandon jammed his gun in Nick's back. "Keep moving."

"No, this is important," Nick said, grinning widely.

"I said keep moving!"

"Why? I just want to clear up some misconceptions, shed some light on this psychic issue of yours. Chris, your brother—"

"That's enough," Sam broke in loudly, "Stop it."

"What's wrong with telling Chris that Brandon has visions of people getting killed? Or that he's a supernatural freak? I don't see the problem. Is there a problem? Oh dear, I do hope there isn't a problem."

Brandon could have shot the guy right then and there. His mouth opened to deny everything but Nick beat him to it.

"Of course, I don't know why he hasn't told you about all that. Not very brotherly, all these secretive—"

"Nick, I'm warning you," Sam said. Three more steps to the bottom, only three more steps.

"Did you know he can use a gun?" Nick continued brightly, "He can. It's true. He's shot me before, I can attest to that. Want to see? It's right here. See? It's alllll bloody! Who knows how many other people he's killed—"

"I haven't killed anyone," Brandon snapped.

"Says the psycho killer," Nick said. He smiled and continued off key, "You better run run run run run run run away. Oh oh oh oh oh—"

Sam reached the bottom. He shifted Dean's weight so that it was completely resting on Chris's shoulders for a moment. "Hold him," he said, and turned around.

"Psycho killer, Cu'est Que C'est, fa fa fa fa fa fa fa—"

Sam brought his fist back and delivered a heavy blow to Nick's face, knocking the older man back against the steps. "SHUT-UP!" he boomed, projecting his voice in a way that made the dust tumble off the shelves. "Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up!"

Nick blinked stupidly for a moment, silenced. "Ow," he said finally, scrunching up his nose, "Ow."

"You keep your mouth shut," Sam said, his voice low and piercing, "I am this close to slipping up and ending you."

"I think you knocked a tooth loose, man," Nick complained, pressing a hand over his mouth, "Damn. You did. Oh well, I hear the tooth fairy pays children better these days. Spoiled brats need to pay for their I-Pads and I-Phones and I-Crack."

"Shut-up!" Sam exploded again. He could feel a vein pounding in his temple, could practically taste the blood boiling inside of him, "Stop talking! Every second I spend next to you makes me want to jam a red-hot poker down your damn throat. I fucking loathe the sight of you. I want to rip your eyes from your skull, I want to reach through your throat and tear out your vocal cords with my bare hands."

"Anger issues, man," Nick said helpfully, "There are therapists for that kind of thing."

Sam hissed and grabbed him by the shoulder—the one with the bullet wound—and heaved him to his feet. "Get me the damn dream root," he said, and tossed him to the floor in front of the stairs. He watched him until he began half-crawling toward the shelves and then turned back to Chris, who had propped Dean up against a fairly clean wall. His expression was unreadable.

Brandon's was pretty clear, on the other hand. He was scared, and Sam didn't think it was the zombies this time. Poor kid.

"One of you help me with this," Sam said, sidestepping the elephant in the room as he made his way toward Nick. The Voodooist had taken a bottle from the back of a shelf. The liquid inside was brown and murky. "Is this it?"

"Dream root," Nick said, handing it to him, "It's trippy shit."

"Right," Sam said dismissively, "Now find the antidote."

"You're never satisfied, are you?"

"Now," Sam barked. He turned to Brandon, who was standing quietly beside him. "Shouldn't there be zombies down here?"

Brandon shrugged.

"They're underneath us," Nick said, gesturing to a trapdoor near the far wall, "I don't like the smell enough to fill my workroom with it."

Sam nodded. He glanced back at Chris. He hadn't moved from the staircase, but he was watching Brandon, his brow scrunched in thought. "Chris," Sam said, walking back over to him when he didn't get a reaction, "C'mon man I need you to focus."

Chris crossed his arms in reaction. "I don't know what's going on."

Yes you do. Sam bit back a retort and continued, "Right now, I just need you and Brandon to watch my back," he said, and sighed, "Brandon, over here."

Brandon walked over slowly, like he was making his way to a platform to be hung for treason.

Sam held up the bottle so they could see it. "This is dream root, okay? It allows someone to enter someone else's dream."

"Of course it does," Chris muttered.

Sam plunged on, "I'm going to use it to get into Dean's mind, make sure he's okay. To do that, I'm going to have to sleep, and I need you two to be in charge of things up here until I wake up."

Brandon shrugged. "So we watch Nick," he said despondently.

"Yes," Sam said, glad to have gotten any reaction from him at this point, "That's right. I shouldn't be long."

Chris hesitated, then nodded. "Fine," he said. "Do I at least get a gun too?"

"Can you shoot?"

Chris snorted. "Since I was born."

Sam hesitated for a moment. "Alright," he said, and handed over his pistol, "Don't fire unless it's absolutely necessary. And watch out for zombies."

They both shrugged.

Oh for crying out loud… Sam took a deep breath, "And…you know…maybe you should talk about things while I'm out."

Silence.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to drink this."

"Might be poison," Brandon said, speaking reluctantly.

"Noted. If it turns out to be a poison and I drop down dead, kill the bastard for me and burn his house."

"Okay," Brandon muttered.

Resisting the urge to shake the two brothers, hard, Sam sat down on the floor beside Dean. He ripped a few hairs from his brother's skull and swirled them into the mixture, raised it to his mouth.

"Wait," Chris said, "Wait. You're being stupid."

Sam almost laughed. "What?"

"It might be poison," Chris said, "It might be poison, and you're just gonna drink it anyway? Because that killer told you to do it? That's stupid. What's the point?"

Sam smiled. "I want to talk to my brother," he said, and downed the bottle in a few gulps. He leaned back against the wall, shut his eyes. "Watch Nick," he said, "Talk amongst yourselves."

Silence.

SNSNSN

Sam stood in the middle of Nick's dining room.

A body was laid out on the table in front of him, arms spread wide. It was a man. His chest and stomach were a ruin of tissue; ribs had been broken and wrenched upward, intestines were strewn in crisscrossing bunches all over the table. Several organs lay on the carpet, riddled with teeth marks, and blood dripped from the edge onto the carpet with a steady drip, drip, drip.

Only the face remained unmarred.

Sam hissed through his teeth. "Shit," he said.

A CRASH reverberated from a floor above, followed by the swift thuds of running feet. Sam tore his eyes from the carnage and took off, pleased to find that his injuries were gone in the dream world.

Unfortunately, so were the stairs. There didn't seem to be any way to get to the second floor.

Sam ran until he reached a dead end. He skidded to a stop, bracing himself on the window that was mounted on the wall, and breathed. Something wet dripped on his hand, and he opened his eyes to find blood leaking through cracks in the pane. He stepped away just as a slender arm shattered through the depths and swiped at his face.

Sam backed away, putting a few yards between him and the reaching limb, before he turned around. The hallway lengthened dramatically, stretching until there was no end in sight. "Dean!" he called out, striding down the stretch. He turned for a moment and discovered that human shaped entities were contorting their bodies to crawl and scratch their way inside the window.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again, "Dean where are you?"

Nothing.

He continued running, trying to put as much distance between himself and the zombies behind him. Their growling got louder and louder with each step he took. Looking back, he saw that he hadn't moved any further away from the window—but they had gotten closer to him.

"Dean," Sam said again, thinking fast, "I found the body. In the dining room," he said, reaching down for his gun. It wasn't there. Neither were his knives. This dream sucked. "It's okay, Dean," he continued, "You're dreaming. I'm not dead, you didn't…you didn't rip me open. It's a dream."

A few zombies detangled themselves from where they had fallen in a heap at the base of the window and began lurching toward him, mouths gaping open. Sam cringed back. "Dean!"

A mahogany door materialized on the wall beside him. Sam reached for the doorknob, but before he could grab it the door opened a crack. A lone green eye stared at him through the gap.

Sam threw the door open and lunged inside, slamming it behind him and locking it. He stepped away from the door, bumping into someone in his path. Oh yeah. "Dean," he said, turning around. His brother stood in front of him, his shoulders slumped. Blood coated every inch of his clothing and dried in dark patches on his hands and around his mouth.

Dean looked ready to run.

"This is a dream," Sam said quickly, "You're dreaming."

Dean shook his head fervently, "No," he said, stepping back, "No, you can't be here."

"Nick had some dream root, and I used it."

"No."

"I'm not dead," Sam said, willing his brother to believe it, "The body on the table…it's not me."

"It looks like—"

"I know it looks like me," Sam interrupted, "But it isn't. You're dreaming, Dean. Think about it. You can see me, your eyes are fine, you're walking."

Behind them, the door rattled. Sam put his hands on his brother's shoulders and pushed him back gently. The door held. Sam glanced around; they were in an enormous attic lined with wooden cages. Statues of men and women filled the cages, all twisted into horrible positions. "This…is creepy," Sam said, looking back at Dean, "You're creepy, man. Your mind is creepy for thinking this stuff up."

Dean shook his head. "I don't understand," he said.

Sam looked back at the door. "You're dreaming," he said. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Dean shuddered. "Eating…eating…" he trailed off, unable to finish, and pointed at Sam.

Oh hell. "You didn't. Brandon shot Nick before…you know…but it didn't happen. Everything's fine. I'm fine."

"But I remember," Dean said, rubbing absently at his blood stained mouth. "I…I think. It's all blurry, but I think I…" he trailed off, suddenly looking hopeful. "I'm dreaming?"

"Look at the cages, dude. They're full of statues. Statues. You don't think that's a bit strange?"

"Well…yeah. I guess."

"You guess?" Sam said, teasing slightly.

"It's subtle," Dean said, "I mean…I suppose if a train had come barreling through the wall, that would've been more obvious."

"I'm sorry, would you like me to drive a train through the wall?"

"Nah," Dean said, "I know you're not Leonardo Dicaprio, and I'm mostly sure you're not his deranged wife, either."

Mostly sure?"

"Eighty percent."

"I'll take that," Sam said, grinning. He clapped Dean on the shoulder and squeezed. "Damn it's good talking to you."

"Tell me about it," Dean said. He smiled back, but his hand anxiously picked at the layer of dried blood around his mouth. "It sucks being stuck in my head…" he paused and then plunged on, forcing his tone to be lighter, "Especially with that doctor wannabe making stupid comments over and over and over again."

"Chris," Sam said, nodding, "He's not…handling things well. For a few minutes I seriously considered dragging him upstairs and showing him the cages. You know, as shock factor."

"That's what I wanted you to do."

"I figured you would," Sam said, "That's why I was considering it, but then Nick woke up and…I forgot about it."

"Because I started trying to eat you?"

Sam made a face. "Yeah," he said lightly, refusing to let him start brooding, "You know, if you were hungry, you could've just said so."

"I could have said so?" Dean shot back, following his brother's lead, "I can't talk, you idiot!"

"Yeah, well…you could have grunted a bit."

"You suck," Dean said, watching his brother laugh, "Maybe I should have just eaten Chris's arm, that would have driven the 'zombies are real' point home quicker than your pansy-assed psychiatrist routine."

"I do not have a pansy-assed psychiatrist routine."

"Gimme a break Sammy, you were ranting on about the American movie system and black pits of symbolical water."

"Symbolical water? Symbolical of what?"

"How the hell should I know? Your metaphors suck."

"I didn't see you coming up with any."

"I can't talk!"

"Could've grunted—"

Dean tackled him to the ground.

Still laughing, Sam squirmed against his brother's choke hold, managing to pull himself up and slam Dean back against one of the cages. "Geez," he gasped, "Your time of the month or something?"

"You're the damn girl," Dean shot back, twisting Sam's arm behind his back, "I've been trapped listening to your annoying voice since you found me in that cage. You had that coming."

"For being awesome?"

"Shut-up," Dean said, grinning as he released Sam's arm. He leaned back against the cage next to his brother. The pounding had escalated on the door, and was now loud enough to shake the frame. He wasn't worried. It was only a dream, after all. "So," he said, "You got some dream root?"

"Yep," Sam said.

"And the voodoo freak's got a cure for me?"

"Says he has one," Sam said, trying to ignore the wooden face peering at him through the bars behind his back, "Better have one."

"He won't just hand it over, even if he has it," Dean said, turning to Sam, "He'll want something."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe," he said, watching the door. "Don't worry."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, ran a hand over his face. "Sam?"

"Mmm?"

"Tell me you haven't done something stupid."

"I haven't done something stupid."

Not amused, Dean opened his eyes. "Sam."

"I'm serious," Sam said, pivoting his gaze from the vibrating door to his brother, "I've got this, Dean. I've got the bastard right where I want him."

"That sounds ominous."

Sam shrugged. "I guess."

One of the zombies managed to pound a fist through the door. The wood splintered and cracked.

Dean looked around, angry. "Why isn't there another door?"

"It's your dream. You made a door before."

"I don't know how I did that, I was freaking out," he snapped, "Now tell me what the hell you did before we get eaten."

"We don't have to get eaten, you just have to wake up," Sam said gently, avoiding the issue.

"I don't…" Dean said. He swallowed hard, "I don't want to wake up, Sam. I hate it. I'm blind. I can't move and I can't talk."

Sam winced. He bumped his shoulder against Dean's. "I'll fix it."

"That's what I'm worried about," Dean said, "Why is he so willingly giving you the antidote, Sam?"

"I shot off four of his fingers."

Thrown off guard, Dean shot him an exasperated look. "Don't change the damn subject."

"I'm not. I'm telling you why I set it up like I did."

"Set up what?"

"He wasn't going to hand it over, Dean. He wanted Brandon as a pet, but that wasn't happening so I had to improvise."

The walking dead had managed to clear most of the door. They were gnawing on the wood and clawing at each other, each of them simultaneously trying to reach the brothers.

"Might want to hurry it up," Dean said, "Cause I don't care if they start eating us, I'm not waking till you tell me."

"Remember the Benders?" Sam said directly, "It's like that, except we'll both be hunting each other down in the forest."

A few zombies stumbled across the threshold.

Dean wasn't ready to wake up. "You're injured!" he said angrily.

"Yeah. But so is he," Sam said, eying the zombies striding toward them, "Dean—"

"Don't do it," Dean begged, climbing to his feet as Sam pulled him to the far side of the room, "Don't."

"I have to," Sam said.

"It's not worth the chance! I might be too far gone anyway."

"You're not," Sam said firmly, "Besides, Brandon's infected too."

The ground started shaking. Statues in the cages began writing and seizing, and blood spurted from holes in their wooden flesh. All at once they turned toward Sam and Dean, eyes glowing.

Dean woke up.

Review please! Thanks. :)