Dean stumbled into work the next morning, exhausted with red, puffy eyes. He sniffled every few seconds, refusing to look at those hands as he gathered the things to fix the broken ice machine in the college cafeteria. One of his workers, a spritely fellow despite his age, gave him a heart good morning, but it passed over dead ears as Dean made his way outside.

The sun had fully risen since he had to up and he screwed his eyes shut, holding his hand as shade as he let his eyes adjust.

Blue bruises in the shape of fingers around Sam's neck...

Dean made his way down the sidewalk, his berth misting in a billowing cloud of December air. Early rising students passed by him sleepily, their backpacks slung across their shoulders in that haphazard way.

Dead blue eyes watched him from the shadows, blood pooling along the next of his throat...

The cafeteria was warm, but inviting compared to the biting chill of outside. The ice maker sat in the corner, abandoned and seeming a bit darker compared to the rest of the room. As he made his way over to the machine, a man with tussled black hair passed, and he wondered if he go see Castiel after work.

Dead blue eyes....

It was a quiet time as he began searching for the king in the machine. At first, he thought it was truly broken, to be thrown away with the rest of useless items. Yet, as he continued, he found the issue and as the machine dispensed ice as he pressed the button, he couldn't help but feel the accomplishment. Of course, no one cared whether the machine worker or not, and his pride faded as he packed up his tools, ready to head onto the next chore.

Shattering glass echoed across the room, pulling Dean from his thoughts. He turned towards the noise, finding a girl standing with a glass of what looked like orange juice scattered about her feet. He glanced towards the cafeteria worker, who stared expectantly back, before he let out an annoyed sigh.

"Here, let me help you." Dean offered, walking over to the girl with a polite smile. The relief that covered her face was immense, and was soon followed by a light dusting of her cheeks.

"Thank you." She mumbled in embarrassment, taking a slow step back to avoid stepping on any glass or orange juice. Dean crouched down, picking up the larger pieces and setting them in his hand.

"Go get some paper towels or a rag to help clean this up." He told the girl, not looking up. He heard her tiny steps putter towards the workers, followed by soft conversation. It was easy for Dean to ignore, continuing to pick up the pieces.

Shards of glass shattering around his head....

Dean could feel a headache beginning to form in the back of his skull. He stood, throwing what shards he had collected away with a shaky intake of breath.

One of the shards was picked up, yellow eyes staring down at him as he was cut by the shard again and again...

It was beginning to get harder and harder to breathe for Dean, each intake stinging his throat like thorns. He left what was left of the mess for the others to clean up, leaving the room. He didn't remember when his hands grew cold and thin film of clammy sweat had began to make its way onto his skin.

Screams of pain filled his head as he cowered under the bloody glass of his father's hand...

Dean began to shake all over, nausea twisting his stomach as he opened a janitor's closet, ignoring the looks he got as he stumbled in. His arms wrapped around himself as he tripped over one of the large brooms, falling to his knees.

Blood fell into his vision and he could only here the cries of his brother as he felt a piercing pain in his arm...

Dean couldn't pull back to his feet, curling on the floor with a quivering lip. A soft sob wracked his throat, pulling his knees to his rapidly beating chest as the first tears began to fall.

Sneaking into the kitchen that night with a bandaged head and a deep depression...

The sobs grew louder as the thoughts in his head became clearer. He dug his fingers into his skyll, rocking back and forth as he begged for Sam.

Knife in one hand; note in the other. A plunging pain in his stomach before he fell forwards...

The door to the closet opened, and Dean let out a whimper, his eyes screwing shut as his heart rate grew faster. A hand touched his shoulder, a voice of concern asking if he was okay, but he pushed it away in a jerky panic, feeling nothing but pain.

The fear in Sam's eyes as he called 911...

He heard the voice in front of him turn to a commanding one, the quick steps of feet just outside the closet echoing through the room before fading away. Dean pulled himself further into the corner, his breaths coming in short but heavy.

Sam begging to Dean to not leave him...

The hand was back, a firm warmth on his shoulder as the voice told him to breathe. Dean couldn't understand, couldn't hear anything clearly anymore.

The screams of Sam as their father dragged him from Dean...

The footsteps came back, followed by another. A new presence came into the closet, a professional voice asking the others to move back.

The thump of a body...

A hand was on his chin, and a rough voice telling him to open his eyes. The room was blurry from tears, but he could still make out the color of graying red hair.

A knife in John's head. Sam repeating that everything will be okay as the siren of an ambulance and police grew closer...

"Breathe with me." He heard the man say before he took a breath. Dean tried to match it, cutting short as another wave of panic washed over him. Still, the man held on stubbornly, telling him to breath with him again.

Dean managed to follow his breath once, following out with a breath through the noise. He did it again, feeling the panic lessen just a little each time. Eventually, he could breathe normally again, his vision clearing as he slowly blinked, feeling out of place of his body.

"Sir, do you feel okay now?" The red-haired man asked. Dean now recognized the man, swallowing nervously as he met the eyes of the college doctor.

"I...forgot to take my medicine this morning. I was...running late." Dean lied, his throat feeling raw and scratched as he sat up, his knees moving from his chest. The two students behind the door watched him with wide eyes.

"Well, take it when you get home if you can." The doctor replied, pulling a small pad out of his lab coat pocket. "Please, give me your name so I can let management know what happened."

"Oh, please don't. I can't lose my job now." Dean replied, a momentary rush of panic coming back to him. He didn't think he could handle another blow like that at this point without losing his mind.

"Sir, you know I have to report employee incidences. It's part of the college's policy." The doctor replied, meeting Dean's panicked stare evenly. Dean swallowed, shaking his head and forcing himself to his feet.

"It was just a stupid mistake. Please, I need this job." Dean begged, his pride long gone after that attack. The doctor stood from his crouched position as well, a conflicted look on his face.

Finally, the doctor sighed, and Dean thought he was going to burst from suspense. "Fine, I'll let it slide this time." The doctor said, a breath of relief leaving Dean's lips. "This is your only warning though."

"Yes sir." Dean replied, giving the doctor a look that just showed how grateful he was. "I'll be getting back to work now." 

At that, the doctor and two students stepped back, allowing Dean to escape the small space. He walked quickly, eager to get away from those prying eyes and get back to work.

He was extremely careful in avoiding Sam today.