Chapter Two
Dean felt that familiar pounding in his head as he came to. He lay still on the bed, eyes closed, and waited tensely.
Oh, please, let it have been a nightmare, he wished.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and let them adjust to the bright light, seeing that striking white again.
"Aw, son of a bitch," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.
He went to raise his hand to his head, but it wouldn't move, and he felt a pad wrapped around each wrist. Dean raised his head and looked down at his body.
"Son of a bitch…" Dean muttered again.
He was lying in the bed in his room, restraints on his wrists, ankles and across his chest, tying him to the bed.
Dean let his head fall back onto the pillow. "Terrific."
Dean had nothing to do but lay there and think. He could not figure out how all these things were still alive. His dad told him that the Colt kills things, which means Yellow-Eyes and Casey shouldn't be here. Ruby's knife killed anything—guaranteed—so why was she here? Sam's powers had been proven to kill demons—it worked on Lillith—but that didn't explain how she and Alistair were here. Jack had been torched to a crisp, and Gordon had been decapitated.
It was possible that Constance hadn't been destroyed—there was no guarantee that that was what had happened that night—but he and Sam had been pretty sure. The killings stopped, didn't they?
And, of course, Meg was still alive. She just had a different host. But, how had she gotten that Meg girl back to possess in the first place?
As far as Dean knew, it was impossible that they were all here. Maybe he was having another djinn nightmare like a couple months ago. But this wasn't really one of his fears—not like Yellow-Eyes coming for Lisa and Ben. It was just random.
Maybe they had all escaped from purgatory. After all, humans went to heaven or hell when they died, and Dean and Sam had both come back from heaven and hell. So, why not supernatural beings returning from purgatory? But how the hell did they get out? And what the hell were they trying to accomplish with the whole asylum thing?
A knock at the door interrupted Dean's thoughts. The door unlocked and opened, revealing Lillith in the doorway.
"How are you feeling this morning, Dean?" asked Lillith.
"Screw you, bitch," Dean growled through clenched teeth, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. Except, this time, there were no hellhounds and the bonds keeping Dean from charging at Lillith were very corporeal.
"Your doctor is here to see you, Dean," said Lillith.
She stepped into the room and looked toward the doorway as a man in black pants, black shoes, white shirt, black tie and white doctor coat walked into the room. Dean's eyes widened as he stared at him.
"Cas?" Dean said.
Castiel stood in the doorway, staring at Dean.
"Hello, Dean, how are we today?" Castiel asked in a warm tone. And was that actual compassion—emotion—in Cas' eyes?
"Cas, what's going on?" asked Dean.
Castiel walked further into the room. "Dean, it's me, Dr. Novak, remember?"
Dean frowned, wondering what game Cas was playing, when he realized the name Cas had given: Novak.
Of course, his vessel, Jimmy Novak, Dean thought. He couldn't just pop in here for some reason. He had to trick his way in.
Dean nodded, and Castiel turned to Lillith.
"Thank you, Katherine," said Castiel with a smile. "That will be all."
Dean frowned. Katherine? Oh, right, their cover.
Lillith smiled and left, closing the door.
Dean relaxed. "Thank God, Cas. Nice work with the subterfuge. Very convincing. Get me out of here."
Castiel sat on the edge of the foot of Dean's bed. "Dean, my name is Dr. Jimmy Novak."
"Cas, you can drop the act," Dean told him. "No one's watching anymore."
"This is not an act," said Castiel. "I am not Castiel."
Dean frowned. "What?"
"I have been your primary doctor for the past six years," said Castiel. "You're a patient at the Lawrence Psychiatric Hospital."
Dean felt the pit in his stomach drop into a dark, cold abyss. "No, no, no, no…they got to you. They got to you, didn't they? Cas, snap out of it! Your name is Castiel. You're an angel. Jimmy Novak is the name of—"
"The vessel," said Castiel with a nod.
Dean brightened a little. "Yes! It's coming back, isn't it? You remember."
Castiel sighed. "Dean, you are the most stubborn patient in this facility, and ultimately, the most dangerous. The…unfortunate beauty of your psychosis is that anything we say or do fits directly into your delusions. If we tell you you're insane, you assume we are simply possessed or shapeshifters. You believe you are held captive by supernatural beings—"
"Exactly!" said Dean. "Now, you have got to snap out of it and get me the hell out of here!"
Castiel sighed again. "Dean, there are no such thing as angels. At least, not the literal ones you speak of. I am a human being. There are no such thing as monsters."
"Then what do you call all them?" asked Dean, with a gesture of his head towards the door. "Meg and Yellow-Eyes and Ruby and—"
"They are not the demons you imagine them to be," said Castiel.
Dean rolled his eyes. Okay, I think Cas has lost it.
"The man you call Yellow-Eyes is named Frederic Lane," said Castiel. "He started working here five years ago."
About the time of the semi accident, Dean thought.
"Meg Masters started work here six years ago," said Castiel.
When she ran into Sam on the side of the road…
"Alistair's real name is Christopher Heyerdahl," said Castiel. "He began work three years ago."
When I was in hell…
"Ruby Cassidy started here four years ago."
When she began talking to Sam…
"Lillith's real name is Katherine Boecher. She began working here two years ago."
When she came to make a deal with Sam…
"You've built a fantasy world based on the people around you," said Castiel. "Your mother died in a house fire, and you couldn't live with yourself knowing you couldn't do anything about it. You invented a supernatural world where you could exact revenge on your mother's killer and any evil creature who hurt people. You turned yourself from a tragic victim to the hero of your own story."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on—"
"Dean, you slipped permanently into your delusions when you were twenty-six, and your father had you committed here," said Castiel. "You were dangerous. You hurt people."
Dean looked at him, eyes narrowed. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew one thing: this was not Castiel.
"Look, whatever you're trying to do, it's not gonna work," said Dean. "I know my own life. You can't trick me."
"I'm not trying to trick you," said Castiel—no, Dr. Novak. "It's facts. The papers covered it for weeks. You murdered three young girls, claiming they were evil witches, responsible for several freak accidents in town. You were found next to their bodies, a gun on the ground, dowsing them with gasoline and salt."
Dean turned wide eyes onto him.
Did I really do that? Dean wondered.
Dean mentally shook himself, snapping him out of that thought.
Of course it didn't happen! Don't let them get to you!
Whatever was going on, they were trying to get him to think he was insane. And no way was Dean gonna fall for that. They would have to try a lot harder.
"That never happened," said Dean, jaw tight.
"It was August 2005," said Dr. Novak. "Rebecca Smith, Catherine Dents, and Tabby Reskill."
Dean remembered that hunt. It was shortly before his father had disappeared, and John had sent Dean to take care of a coven of witches. They'd been killing the locals for their black magic sacrifices. Dean had shot them, and then salted and burned them just in case.
Dean had to hand it to whoever was behind this whole act: they were good.
"They were witches," said Dean. "I watched them fling me across the street when I was questioning them."
"You harassed them," said Dr. Novak. "You posed as an FBI agent and questioned them twice before showing up at their apartment in the middle of the night. They called the poclie—terrified—saying you were breaking into the apartment and screaming at them. Then, suddenly, you threw yourself out their window and into the street. Probably to keep up your delusion."
My God, he's still at it.
"You treated many of your 'cases' this way," said Dr. Novak. "You posed as a government official to question civilians about deaths you read about in the newspaper. You would pretend to kill the creature and move onto the next hunt. Your father did not want to acknowledge your illness, because he had already lost a wife. He did not want to see his son dragged away to an institution. But when your condition progressed further and you killed those girls, your father had no choice."
Dean had to admit that the story was believable. His family's life of hunting sounded like a crazy person's worst nightmare. But Dean knew his life had bee real.
"You're never gonna get away with this," growled Dean. "My brother will find me."
"Even though he has no soul," Dr. Novak told him. "This bond with Sam is probably the healthiest part of your condition. It gives you a family that will stick with you even though he has no emotion for you whatsoever."
Dr. Novak climbed to his feet, looking down at Dean. "Your family will not be allowed to visit until you calm down. We will not remove the restraints until that is so. With your father's military training, you are too dangerous. You hurt three orderlies and a nurse, and that's not counting the previous escape attempts."
Dr. Novak glanced at his watch. "I must tend to my other patients. I hope you feel better."
As Dr. Novak walked toward the door and knocked on it, Dean began struggling with the restrains again.
"Let me out of here!" Dean yelled, the cords in his neck straining.
The door opened, and Dr. Novak walked into the doorway.
"Let me out of here, or I swear you will regret it!" Dean threatened, teeth clenched.
Dr. Novak looked back at Dean, eyes sad. "No, Dean, you will."
He closed the door on Dean's yells and struggles.
