Dean hears someone cry out his name. It's a voice he would know in his sleep-- deeper than he remembers, but still recognizable. They call his name again, but this it's layered over. His voice at six, twelve, nineteen; echoing in his head. All calling Dean's name.

He strains to sit himself up but something is in the way. Oh, he's still holding an axe in his right hand. He'd forgotten. He lets go and props himself up by his elbows. It takes a few tries before he's even a little stable. His vision is going in and out of focus, but he can see someone running toward him. Someone big.

For a moment, he thinks Dad? But as he gets closer he can just make out the familiar face.

"Sammy?"