"I don't think they know what the fuck to do," he mutters, dropping his hands away from his face and staring down at them. "I don't think they even know what the fuck it is."

He slumps back against the back of the couch, turning his numb gaze up to the ceiling. There are all kinds of avenues down with his thoughts could race if he lets them. And he can't. It's about his sanity.

"Dean said there isn't a cure. He said there isn't any hope." And while Dean might be wrong... The truth is that in that alley, Mike had believed him.

Believed him, and hadn't cared.