Dean dug his fingers into the walls of hell, black smoke filling his mouth and making him gag as he struggled. He drug himself up, only to be pulled back down by the chains and hooks digging into his skin. He shouted for his brother, but nothing came out except for the gurgle of iron blood on his tongue.

Brown eyes peered down at the flailing Winchester, long molasses hair framing the devilish smile of Sam. Dean reached towards him for help, only for clawed and knobby hands to drag his arms back down.

"Rot in hell for what you have done!" Sam growled, his voice joined by another, much more sinister, tone.

The hands began to drag Dean farther down, his brother getting farther and farther away. Dean struggled, jerking his hands from the monsters' grips and holding onto the fleshy wall with all he had, but he could not sustain the weight of the demons, his hold slipping as he fell into the chasm, staring up into the blue eyes that joined the brown.

The eyes disappeared long before he reached the bottom of the chasm. When he hit the ground, he felt his back snapping, and let out a low whine as the feeling fading from his waist down. He looked around, a light flickering overhead, casting a soft light. Only the walls around him were visible, a black mist coming over the ground and hiding ever nook and cranny.

The light flashed off for a moment, casting Dean in total darkness. When it came back on, red light flooded the room, and high-pitched screeches filled his ears as yellow-eyed rushed towards him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An aching tiredness seared through Dean's limps during work, his eyes barely able to stay open as he raked the leaves from the campus grounds of Stanford, leaning heavily on his rake as he looked around.

The skies seemed darker than normal, and Dean couldn't help but hope for a little rain, or maybe ever snow. The clouds were beginning to cover the sun, providing shade that chilled the air more and woke Dean up with a heavy shiver.

Turning his head back down, he spotted his brother chatting with a group of other students, completely unaware of his brother only a lawn away. Dean looked down at the ground, jerking his maintenance cap further down on his head to hide his face as he quickly began raking the leaves. Memories of last night's nightmare was rising in the back of his mind, leaving him winded and his throat crushing into itself.

But life had a cruel sense of humor, as he heard Sam call his name before he could fully escape. He let out a shaky sigh, slowly turning and facing his smiling brother. The smiled soon faded, replaced by one of concern at the sight of Dean.

"You look like hell." Sam commented, his brows furrowing together as Dean rolled his eyes.

"Hello to you too, bitch." Dean replied, his voice snarky with lack of sleep as he turned back to his raking. Sam let out an apologetic chuckle, patting Dean gently on the shoulder.

"Rough night?" Sam asked, making Dean pause in his raking before continuing. He gave a small nod, his body feeling tense around his brother.

"Maybe you could call in sick tomorrow, take a breather." Sam urged.

"I've never been a slacker, Sammy." Dean answered, refusing to look up at Sam. He knew that his brother would pull that puppy-eyes shit and he would cave.

"It's just one day, Dean. Besides, it's not slacking if you really need it." Sam argued, grabbing the handle of the rake and forcing Dean to stop. "Don't make me call Mrs. Hill."

Dean snapped his head up. ready to tear Sam a new one for that comment, but whatever he was going to say died on his lips, his eyes growing wide at the sight of his brother.

His skin was deathly pale, blood sliding from the corner of his mouth as he stared at Dean with dead, bloodshot eyes. A hole was in his chest, his shirt drenched in blood and seeping down his legs and pooling at his feet. Dean stumbled back, only a strangled sound leaving his lips as he felt a weight in his hand, looking down to see a knife dripping with blood.

"Dean?" He heard Sam's voice, but the growling undertone was back, filling his ears and leaving him shuddering. He dropped the knife, his hands stained in Sam's blood. There was a harsh jerk and hands on his shoulder, then the blood was gone.

"Hey? You okay?" Sam asked, his voice back to normal. Dean looked up, meeting the familiar face of his brother, the panic in his eyes bringing out a protectiveness in Dean that soothed his racing heart.

"I-I'm okay. I think I'll call in tomorrow after all." Dean replied, a shudder passing through his body. Sam made it clear he knew more was going on by the way he arched one eyebrow at Dean, but didn't comment as he gave a small sigh, giving Dean a gentle hug.

"Get better soon, okay?" Sam whispered, giving Dean the normal pat on the back before releasing Dean from the hug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweat dampened Dean's sheets as he let out sob after sob, his hands fisting the sheets. A shudder left his body, hot tears staining his cheeks and leaving it impossible to breath through his nose.

"S-Sammy." Dean whimpered, his throat scratching and making him cough. This was hell, and the day haven't even began yet.

It took several minutes for Dean to calm down, each shaky breath getting just slightly better as the minutes slowly passed. He heard his cell phone buzz on his nightstand, but ignored it, taking the effort to struggle into a sitting position, his stomach twisting nausea and his mind pounding in his skull.

The day passed by in a haze, dreadful and foggy to Dean's mind as he forced himself to eat, shower, and take his medicine. Yet, no matter what he did, each painful would move no faster than a snail's pace, slowly driving Dean mad.

Day faded into night and night faded back into day. Dean, however, gave no notice of his urgency to go back to work. No, with only a drink in his hand and a knife in the other, he sat at the table, staring at the letter to Sam he didn't remember writing.

For several hour, he sat there, sipping on whatever-the-hell he had grabbed, studying each angle and twist of the knife, letting the tip slowly rotate on the table. Three more calls came to his phone, all ignored, all forgotten as the afternoon wore on.

A knock at the door slowly brought Dean out his dead-like stupor. He hastily downed the rest of his drink, ripping out the note from the notebook and tossing it in the trash and the knife in the sink.

With a straightening of his clothes and a tug of his hair, he approached the door, taking a deep breath before pulling it open. He was greeted by Sam and Castiel, standing in the entranceway with worry etched in their features. Relief crossed both of their eyes at the sight of Dean.

"You had me so worried." Sam breathed out, pulling Dean into a hug. "You weren't answering you phone and when Cas couldn't get a hold of you, I thought..."

"I'm okay, Sammy. I won't do that to you again." Dean replied, feeling guilt stir in his chest as he thought of the knife lying in the sink. He looked past Sam to Castiel, who hadn't moved the entire time, an intense stare on the bartender's face.

"I haven't seen you in three days. Are you alright, Dean?" Castiel asked, his voice wary and almost cautious. Dean dipped his head, his nose brushing the top of Sam's shoulder as a light blush dusted his cheeks.

"Sorry." Dean mumbled, allowing Sam to release him from the hug. Castiel stepped forwards, running his hand along Dean's cheek before giving him a gentle hug.

"It's alright." Castiel replied softly, pecking Dean on the cheek before pulling away. Dean gave them a strained smile, not wanting to admit how much was pouring from their bodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How was your week so far?" Mrs. Hill asked. Dean let out a soft sigh, his throat feeling thick with a burning sensation.

"It's been going good." Dean lied, giving his therapist a reassuring smile. She nodded in agreement, writing something on her clipboard. Dean just hoped the glint in her eyes wasn't important.

"No nightmares? No depression?" Mrs. Hill pressed gently. Dean shook his head, and she wrote only a moment on her board before resting it on the table.

"Then, for this week, I want you to take the depression test everyday and send me your results." The therapist replied, giving him a smile. "Otherwise, keep taking your medicine and I'll see you next week."

Dean paused, a sudden rush coming through his heart. This was his last time to tell her, to get just in case he couldn't handle it.

"I'll see you." He replied, standing and making his way out of the door. He could do it without her help. It was the only thing he could believe.