Hesitance and grief were the only emotions occupying the man's mind as he slowly raised himself up onto the ledge, his body heavy and movements delayed. He looked around at first, taking in the view of the roofs and vacant apartment windows, trying to calm himself down in order to concentrate and think. However, after scanning the perimeter and all the possible escape routes, the man came up with nothing. It didn't matter; the corpse laying only a meter or two away somehow ensured that the man couldn't flee, not without someone dying as a result. After another few minutes of reluctant glances down to the civilians and calm streets below, the man felt a feeling of dread settle in his gut. He slowly pulled out his phone, his hand numb and actions automatic. He started dialing a number, and placed the receiver to his ear, his heart beating faster after each uninterrupted interval of the ringback tone.

Someone answered, and the man quickly exchanged words with the person on the other end, their conversation inaudible. A few moments later the man peered down the ledge a bit farther to the right; his expression grew more pained and he gripped the phone tightly, quickly muttering another series of rushed words into the receiver. He extended his left hand as if to point, but his palm remained open, his fingers strained. It was as if he was reaching for something, or for someone.

Only a few seconds passed when the man abruptly ended the call, tossing the cell phone aside. The man extended his arms as if he was taking to the sky, and didn't even hesitate when he shifted his weight forward and teetered off the edge.

The ground drew nearer and nearer, a cold and bitter wind whipping at the man's face as he plummeted towards the pavement. At some point in his rapid descent, the man's mind went blank for the first time in years.

"SHERLOCK!" someone cried aloud, the shout as clear as glass.

In only a matter of a second the falling man collided with the ground; he slammed against the pavement with a sickening snap as his head and limbs smashed against the concrete. The man's skull splintered and cracked open, the blood from his brain splattering-

Sam Winchester's eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly with a shout, his heart racing and his breaths heavy. The hunter's whole body was lined in cold sweat, and he was shaking violently.

"Sam?" Dean asked, his voice laced with concern. Sam inhaled sharply and took in his surroundings with wide eyes, his head hurting terribly. He was in the Impala, and the sky outside was a grim shade of blue. Despite the reassuring visual, the hunter couldn't calm down. The image of a bloody and cracked skull intruded on Sam's thoughts ever since his abrupt awakening, and he couldn't shake the unpleasant sight away.

"What...in the hell..." Sam began, pinching the bridge of his nose as the pain in his head intensified. The tall man felt the car he was in gradually come to a stop, but he couldn't initially react to it.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean persisted. He clasped a hand onto his brother's shoulder, only to withdraw it after Sam shuddered at the touch and seemed to experience a larger wave of pain. The older Winchester began to panic, unsure of what to do. Sam, on the other hand, was growing more and more frightened while his headache progressed. The hunter had felt this kind of pain before - he had been through all this before. When the searing numbness in his brain temporarily lightened, Sam took the chance to grab his older brother's arm and grip it tight.

"Dean-" Sam stopped abruptly as the terrible sensations returned again.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Dean asked quickly.

"No...no..." Sam trailed off, hissing as a white-hot pain erupted in the frontal lobe of his pain. Despite the fact that his thoughts were scattered, Sam was sure of one thing: this wasn't any sort of migraine.

"Talk to me!" Dean cried, his eyebrows furrowed with extreme worry. Sam quickly looked up and his pained eyes met Dean's.

"Dean...it's the visions. They're back."