Hola!

You guys had better get ready for this chapter, 'cause this is where things really start to heat up and the fic takes a bit of a darker turn.

Disclaimer: We own nothing but our evil imaginations.

Warnings for this chapter: Flashbacks to Hell - obviously including gore and violence, it's Hell, invalidation of mental illnesses (for story purposes, not as either of the authors' beliefs), and some additional minor violence towards the end of the chapter. And of course, language, although if you haven't come to expect that by now…

Anyway, please enjoy!

"Wish You Were Here" -Pink Floyd

Somehow, the cafeteria was the same the next day, even after everything that'd happened. Same bland beige walls and plastic wacko-proof utensils, same chairs and tables bolted to the floor, and the same 'food' that couldn't technically be proved to be a sentient life-form.

Misha sat down next to him at the table, setting his tray down with the same goofy grin he always seemed to wear. "Hey, Jensen!"

Jensen forced a small smile, looking up at his friend. He really wasn't in the mood for optimism today. "Hey, Misha…"

The other man seemed to get the hint, his face quickly sobering up. "How's it going? Um… So I know this is going to sound nuts, but, um… I've been thinking."

Jensen took a deep breath, forcing out the words he'd been practicing all day now. "Yeah. Yeah, so have I." He tried his best, but dammit, he just couldn't find it in him to look his friend in the eye. "Misha, maybe you and I... I mean, it's not good for you to have me around; it triggers 'Cas.' And... And vice versa."

Misha shook his head, eyes glinting excitedly. "Unless… Unless Cas is the real thing." Jensen started to cut him off, but he just continued over the protests. "No, no, no, hear me out, okay? What if...What if the reason yours and my personalities know each other is because they're real? What if we're the ones who're fake?"

He seriously couldn't believe he was having this conversation right now. Right after Heyerdahl's warning, too. Maybe as douchey as he was, the guy had a point. He tried to speak, but all he could get out for a long time was a soft, "Oh, god…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off his pounding headache before he found the words he needed. "Misha... dude... this is what I'm talking about, okay?"

Misha kept going, rambling and spewing more nonsense. "But think about it! It makes sense. ...If you look at it right."

Jensen shook his head rapidly, halfway hoping that Misha was just playing some sort of prank on him. A really, really not funny one. "No. No, no no no, how the hell does that make any sense?!"

"I knew you before you even said anything," Misha stated, and Jensen could see the sincerity in his eyes. "Come on, Jensen. Multiple personalities don't just know other people's multiple personalities by coincidence."

Jensen scoffed bitterly. "Oh, it's not coincidence. We're crazy, Misha."

"But what if we're not?"

"Then we wouldn't be locked in a goddamn looney bin!" He slammed his tray down on the table angrily, not caring that he'd caught the attention of most of the other patients with the unexpected loud noise.

Misha leaned in close, blue eyes wide as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But what if they only want us to think we're crazy? What if that's why we can't remember all of it?" The man sitting across the table was hunched over, with tousled, greasy dark hair and dark bags under his eyes, and for the first time since Jensen had met him, Misha really looked crazy.

"Misha I am trying to get better, okay? I am trying to get outta here and go have a life." Jensen couldn't help but glare at his friend, spitting the next barb through gritted teeth, "Are you?"

"Yeah. Dean… But not the way you are." Misha shook his head, looking off into the distance as if trying to conjure up more memories. "I've… Cas has been remembering more and more. I'm telling you. What if Sam - that 'Jared' you were talking about - actually is your brother? Huh? What if he just doesn't remember it?"

Pain flashed in his temple, blinding him for a second, and he clenched his fists, the sting of his nails digging into his palms grounding him a little. "J-Jared is a nurse. At Deerwater. He's not my goddamn brother. So shut the hell up. Are you trying to make me relapse?!"

"What if it's not a relapse though? What if it's real?" The other patient shook his head. "Jensen… I've been having dreams, okay? Of Cas and Dean and…" His eyes lit up. "I can tell you what Jared looks like. And I've never met him, you know that. But I know what he looks like. Really tall, fairly long brown hair… Am I right?"

Right. He was right. How the hell was he right? But Jensen gritted his teeth and pushed the thoughts away. "I could've told you that. Any time. I don't remember. Or 'Dean' mighta told you or 'Cas.' Maybe you remembered something I told you when one of us didn't realize. But Misha, c'mon. You have to realize how crazy you sound right now." He forced himself to look his friend in the eye, desperately trying to bring him back to reality.

Misha sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know… But at the same time...What if they're not dreams, Jensen? What if they're memories? Dean thought Dr. Heyerdahl was some sort of… I dunno, monster or something. What if he is?"

Jensen scoffed, rolling his eyes. "'Dean' doesn't get a vote. Considering he's not real."

"What if he is though?" God, he was so sick of hearing that. Anything he said could be apparently countered with 'but what if it is?' and it was getting old. "C'mon, don't you get the headaches from time to time?"

His eyes went wide as another surge of pain chose that moment to rip through his temples. How the hell did Misha know…? "Y-Yeah... Dr. Heyerdahl says they're side effects from the meds."

"What if they're not?"

Jensen let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Okay. Pretend for a moment you're right. Why kidnap us? What's the motive?" Seriously, none of this made any sense. He couldn't help but wonder if Misha had taken his medication when he was supposed to have...

Misha frowned, considering for a moment. "Well… Um… Think about it. What does Dean think he is? Some sort of hunter, yeah? Goes after demons?"

This was ridiculous. Was he seriously going to play along with this crazy idea? "Yup. That's him."

"Yeah well, what if they're demons? Must not like you."

"Then why am I still breathing?"

Misha fumbled for a minute. "Maybe they need you for something."

Jensen couldn't keep this up anymore. "Misha. Listen to yourself, okay?" The man wasn't dumb, if he just took a second to think about it, he'd realize… He was almost sure Misha hadn't taken his meds that day, though Jensen couldn't really judge him for it when his own alternate personality had pulled the same trick before.

"Look, I know it sounds bad, but…" Misha sighed. "Jensen, it just feels right. Righter than anything else has for a long time."

"Mish... dude, please don't make me do this." Jensen was begging now, he was literally begging, but he didn't care - he couldn't go through this alone.

"Do what? Jensen, just hear me out, okay? I… I think we've both just forgotten. Cas and Dean may be the real ones... What if we're the fakes?" And his friend was looking at him so intently that something broke inside him.

"I've gotta get better, Misha. Whatever it takes. And right now…" He had to say it. "...you aren't doing much to help with that."

Misha shook the commen off easily, not missing a beat. "What if 'better' is actually remembering that you're Dean? What if the meds are only suppressing real memories?"

"We aren't the fakes, okay? Cas and Dean aren't real. Demons, monsters, crazy plots... how on earth does that sound logical?"

For the first time, a hint of doubt crept into Misha's wild, bright eyes. "I… I dunno, man, but… Come on… It could be real. Please, Jensen… I need you to believe me." He met Jensen's gaze, with a look of his own, just as pleading. "You're the only one I've got here. The only one who might possibly take me seriously."

This was bad. This was really bad. Worse than Jensen knew how to handle. A thick knot started to form in his stomach. "Misha, if you keep talking like this I'm gonna call Dr. Heyerdahl, dude. I really don't wanna, but I want what's best for you."

Misha looked at him, hurt written plainly all over his face, blinking once. "He'd sedate me. You'd know that. He'd make me shut up, one way or another… You'd tell on me just because I was discussing a theory?"

Jensen couldn't help but flinch at the betrayed look Misha had given him, casting his eyes down to his tray again. "I want us both to get better. To get outta here. This 'theory...' It's crazy, even you gotta see that. And talking about it isn't helping either of us."

Misha swallowed, chastised and humiliated. "Please, Jensen… I-I need you to at least listen to me. No one does. Even when I'm not spouting off some crazy 'theory.'No one ever listens to me, Jensen. Just because I'm in this stupid place." He looked up again. "Please…"

Jensen blinked hard, trying to keep tears out of his eyes at his friend's sudden backslide. So this was what it felt like for his family and friends to watch him throw his life away… He thought he might puke. It was harder than he could have ever imagined. "I-I'm listening, Misha, you're just... you're not making any sense. I'm worried about you; you're scaring me. Look, if 'Dean' doesn't start going away more, Heyerdahl's gonna separate us, okay? This is like, down to the wire now."

Misha looked down again, his own eyes glistening and his face red with the all-too-familiar flush of shame Jensen had so often felt on his own cheeks. "I get it… I mean, I'm lucky you even want to be around me. Not many people want to befriend a nutcase, even if they're one themselves…"

Oh, come on… Jensen rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not like that. It's just... Don't you wanna get outta here?"

"I also wanna know the truth, Jensen." Misha shrugged slightly, seemingly resigned. "And right now Cas and Dean… They sound like it."

Jensen shook his head disbelievingly. "How? How the hell does that sound more like the truth? That we've been captured and brainwashed by... by demons? Doesn't it make more sense that we're two sad nutjobs?"

"I don't feel crazy, Jensen." And damn it all at that argument, because Jensen had nothing to counter it, heaven knows he'd used it enough himself.

Jensen swallowed, telling him earnestly, "And you aren't. You just have a problem."

And then Misha freaking sniffled, and Jensen swore mentally, cursing his inability to deal with with things like this. He officially had no idea how to handle this situation.

"Oh, god… Um…" He reached over, patting Misha awkwardly on the shoulder a few times and trying not to grimace. Grimacing would probably just make things worse right now.

"Not a kid, Jensen…" Misha jerked away from the touch, quickly wiping the moisture from his eyes and staring down at his still-untouched tray.

Jensen pulled his hand back quickly, empty space suddenly stretching miles wide between them. "I know. I know, I'm sorry. You're a grown man, and I didn't mean it like that. I'm just... I'm not so great at y'know... emotions. That sorta stuff." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, hoping Misha would understand. Jeez, Jensen of all people would never patronize someone for their delusions. He had enough of that himself with Heyerdahl.

When his friend's only response was a tired shrug, Jensen sighed. "God, I screw everything up, don't I?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

"No, you don't…" Misha answered him anyway, either not noticing or not caring that the question didn't really ask for an answer. He shook his head and buried his face in his hands, causing his voice to come out slightly muffled. "Shouldn't have said anything. 'M sorry."

Sympathy spiked in Jensen, and he softened his tone even farther. "Hey, it's okay. We all have bad days. Things'll be clearer tomorrow, swear it. We aren't gonna get you sedated, and here-" He shoved his tray across the checkered table, trying to smile. "You can have my pudding. I think it's alive anyhow."

Misha looked up slowly, raising an eyebrow, and for a second, Jensen's stomach clenched at the thought that his friend was about to really let him have it. But then the goofy grin was back as if it had never left, and the world was right again."You think psycho pudding is going to make me feel better?" He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm crazy. Not that crazy."

Jensen let out a small, relieved laugh, a real smile breaking out across his face. "Y' never know. I mean, it's pudding, right? How bad can pudding be?"

"I thought the same thing about the jello a few months back… Ugh…" Misha shook his head rapidly, his expression clearly showing that he had made a horrible mistake.

Hospital jello. Jensen let out a shudder at the thought. "Oh, god." He glanced over at Misha, needing to be sure. "So... are we cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool…" Misha gave him a playful grin, adding, "Mishamigo."

Jensen groaned. "Mishamigo? Seriously, dude?" He rolled his eyes, elbowing Misha teasingly in the ribs. He thought about it for a moment, then his grin spread wickedly. "Actually, y'know what? I will literally pay you to call Heyerdahl your 'Mishamigo.'" He considered - he was pretty much broke in here - then rephrased. "Like a nickel or something, but still."

Misha frowned, grimacing. "Ooh… Ouch. Not sure if I can take that bet…" Jensen opened his mouth, fully prepared to make squawking chicken noises, and the other man let out a sharp laugh, cutting him off. "Fine. I'll do it next time I see him."

Jensen's grin widened as he pumped his fist in victory. "I wanna see the dude's face. You think he'll pop a blood vessel?" Now that would be a sight for sore eyes...

Misha considered it for a moment. "I think he might sedate me."

Jensen just shrugged, snickering as he shot a glance over at the grizzled old doctor, who was watching from his usual corner. "He'd probably do that anyway; the trigger-happy old coot."

"Eh, gotta point," Misha snorted. "I'll totally do it. Maybe he'll sedate you too. Just for the fun of it. We'll be, ah, Sedative Buddies."

"Bonding time, huh?" He stuck out his fist for Misha to bump - and the other man obliged enthusiastically. "Besides, what is there to miss around this place?" One thing about prison hospitals - they taught you how to appreciate what you could get.

Misha nodded in agreement. "Nothing like an argument and psycho pudding to strengthen a friendship…" He looked at him. "Seriously, I wouldn't eat that if I were you. I'd rather wear a wormstache than eat it."

Jensen raised both eyebrows. "A wormstache." He stood up, dumping out his tray in a nearby trashcan. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Misha admitted, shrugging.

Jensen laughed. "Then I won't ask. See you tomorrow for breakfast, dude."

Misha nodded, waving slightly. "Yeah, see you."

Jensen hobbled his way out of the cafeteria, lost in his own thoughts. He may have entered it with the intentions of telling Misha that it wasn't the best idea for them to continue sitting together, but after this… Jensen had a feeling that Misha needed a friend more than anything else at the moment, and frankly, he could use one himself too.

Jared had found the guts to get down on one knee and propose to the love of his life. He'd somehow managed to make it through the first six years of fatherhood. And he dealt with Sheppard as a boss on a daily basis. So after all that, he should totally have the will to be able to pick up a goddamn phone and make a stupid call. He didn't even know why he was getting so nervous in the first place.

With slightly shaking hands, he picked the phone from its charging cradle and punched in the number he'd managed to memorize without even realizing it, just from repeating the digits over and over in his mind. After a few moments, someone picked up, answering with a slightly raspy, nasal voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Kansas State Psychiatric Hospital; Dr. Heyerdahl speaking."

"Hello, this is Jared Padalecki. I was wondering if I could speak to one of your patients. He used to attend Deerwater Institution, where I work. I was hoping to see how he was getting along." He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, proud of how steady his voice was.

The man on the other end of the line - Dr. Heyerdahl - let out a long sigh. "Which patient, Mr. Padalecki? It isn't really our policy…"

Jared grimaced a bit. He should've been expecting that, after all, he would never give out a patient's confidential information to a stranger over the phone. "I know. I apologize for the inconvenience. I'm assuming you have a Jensen Ackles at your facility currently?"

There was a pause, and then - "Yes... yes, Mr. Ackles is one of our patients here. But I'm afraid he isn't available right now. There was... an slight incident and we had to sedate him."

"Sedate him? I see…" That hadn't exactly been what he'd hoped to hear. "What was the incident? If you don't mind saying…" Jared trailed off, of course the doctor would mind, stupid.

"Oh, it's not really the institute's policy to discuss this sort of thing over the phone. For the privacy and protection of our patients, you understand." There was another pause, and Jared could've sworn the other man chuckled quietly. "He's received appropriate medical care, I assure you."

Jared frowned, chewing on the inside of his lip. "...Does this happen often? I know you can't give out details, but… These incidents… Has he been getting into trouble often?"

Another long sigh. "Mr. Ackles is having... a difficult time adjusting to this facility. We're doing all we can for him right now. It's really just a matter of him taking his recovery into his own hands and trying to fight the split personality."

Jared paused, taking a second to process the information. It was normal, setbacks happened, and no one said recovery was an easy road. "I… I was concerned that might happen. Er...Thank you for letting me know. He's not doing well then?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll get through to him, Mr. Padalecki," the doctor assured him. "As soon as the new medications begin to take effect he should be much more… docile."

"'Docile?'" Somehow, something about that word didn't sit right with Jared, like it left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he shook the vague feeling off. "I-I suppose that's a good thing. Thank you, Dr. Heyerdahl. I realize this phone call may have violated your policy a bit."

The man on the other line seemed to pick up on his distress, rephrasing quickly. "Perhaps I used the wrong word. The split personality has the potential to become… violent." Dr. Heyerdahl delivered the information nonchalantly, but Jared's eyes widened further the more he listened. "He's convinced he knows one of the other patients; that they know each other in his fantasy world. Once he's able to stay calm for extended periods of time, we can begin to work on his psychosis."

"Dean-" He coughed slightly, correcting himself. "Mr. Ackles's split personality thinks he knows one of the other patients?" He sucked in a deep breath. This was exactly why they'd sent Jensen away in the first place, dammit, and it wasn't even helping! "I'm sorry to hear that. Thank you for informing me of his condition."

"Yes, it's incredibly sad." The sympathy was practically oozing from the doctor's voice through the phone, but there was still something… off about it, sickly-sweet and cloying like eating a spoonful of raw molasses. "We have to keep him on room lock, to keep him from hurting the staff or other patients. Tell me, since you worked with him before, did 'Dean' think he knew anyone at your facility?"

"Room lock?" Jared repeated dumbly before shaking himself out of it enough to answer the question. "Erm, yes. 'Dean' did believe he knew multiple people here."

Dr. Heyerdahl sighed, again picking up on Jared's unease. "Room lock's just a policy of ours," he explained. "Only until we have the medication stabilized. It's so we don't need to have him sedated or in restraints 24/7."

Jared frowned, but nodded anyway, despite the fact that the doctor couldn't see him. How bad could Jensen have gotten in a few short weeks? "I understand."

"Don't worry, Mr. Padalecki," Heyerdahl assured him, "Mr. Ackles is progressing nicely. We've begun to allow him to eat meals in the general cafeteria again."

Jared nodded again, trying to ignore the tightness that was starting to grow behind his eyes. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Padalecki. I'll have Mr. Ackles call you when he feels up to it, shall I?"

"I'd appreciate that; thank you." The back and forth was stiff as a board, and Jared contemplated throwing the receiver across the room.

"No trouble at all, Mr. Padalecki," the nasally man assured him, and before he could say anything else - click! - and the line was dead.

Jared sighed, resting the phone in its cradle again, and rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to ease the pain that seemed determined to make a permanent home there. Ten a.m. and already time for Advil. Great. He stood with a long-suffering sigh. Headache or not, 'Dean' or not, he was a nurse. He had patients to attend to.

When it was finally time for lunch, Jensen entered the cafeteria again, by this point moving easily on his crutches. He looked around, noticing that Misha hadn't arrived yet, and sat down at their usual table after he got his food.

The blandly painted room offered nothing interesting to occupy his attention, so as he waited for Misha to walk in, he prodded his lump of mystery meat with his plastic fork, trying to decide if it was edible or not - unlikely.

After five minutes, Jensen started to wonder what was taking Misha so long. After ten minutes, he started getting worried. He eventually went ahead and tried to eat something after fifteen minutes, frowning slightly - and not just at the taste.

By the time he'd finished everything that didn't look like it was going to poison him and Misha had still failed to show up, he caved. His doctor was standing in his usual corner, and Jensen waved at him slightly, calling, "Uh, Dr. Heyerdahl?"

Heyerdahl walked over almost immediately with a smug, knowing grin on his face. "Is there a problem, Mr. Ackles?"

Jensen sighed. He wasn't really in the mood to talk to the doctor - much less be polite to the guy - but he wasn't going to get any answers if he didn't. "I was just wondering if Mish—Mr. Collins was alright. Was he having a… delusion? Is that why he can't come down?"

The doctor nodded. "Oh, of course, Mr. Ackles. I wouldn't worry about it."

Jensen frowned. Heyerdahl might not worry about it, but Jensen would, and that's what he was doing. "But he's alright, isn't he? Did you have to sedate him?"

Heyerdahl shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not at liberty to say, I'm afraid. Perhaps that's for the best, hm?"

Jensen couldn't hold back the low growl that came from the back of his throat at the other man's less-than-helpful answer, and he mentally shoved away the urge to violently wipe Heyerdahl's oh-so-irritating smirk off of his face. "Don't 'hm' me, you sonofabitch. Just tell me. I gotta know he's okay."

"Temper, temper, Mr. Ackles," Heyerdahl chided, tutting mockingly. "No need to get aggravated."

Jensen forced a placid smile on his face. "Sorry, you're right. Now about 'Mr. Collins,' you were saying?"

"I believe I was saying that he won't make it to lunch today." And there was that grin again.

Jensen gritted his teeth impatiently. "Well, will he be at dinner?"

Heyerdahl shrugged, seemingly amused. "We'll have to see. It all depends on him, unfortunately. Anything else?"

"How bad is it? I know he said he was having a hard time lately…" He had to know. Despite everything, Misha was still his only friend at the state institute.

Heyerdahl shook his head. "I actually like to keep information private between myself and my patients, Mr. Ackles."

Well that was rich. "Oh, so what? You're Mr. Professionalism now?"

Heyerdahl rolled his eyes. "Don't be immature. All I'm doing is my job."

What he was doing was being a major pain in the neck. Jensen let out a sigh of irritation. "Look, he told me, okay? The whole 'maybe Cas's real' thing. I already know what's going on, so just tell me."

"I'm afraid you don't, Mr. Ackles." Heyerdahl shook his head. "His condition has… worsened greatly since you last saw him; let's put it that way, shall we?"

Jensen took a deep breath, his brow furrowing in concern, before asking, "Is he lucid?"

Heyerdahl simply shrugged. "At times."

It was just his luck for him to suddenly have a major headache before he could ask for any more details on Misha's situation. He inhaled sharply, reaching up and clutching his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It felt like someone was stabbing his brain with an ice pick repeatedly. He swore under his breath as the pain worsened, clenching his jaw.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Ackles?"

"J-just... just a migraine…" He blinked, trying to clear his head, only for the pain to grow even worse. "Son of a bitch…"

Heyerdahl tilted his head to the side. "I think it's time for your medication."

Jensen shook his head slightly, wincing at the movement. "N-no, it's not that, it's just... Just a headache. Really, I'm fine."

The doctor hummed. "Mm. Glad to hear it. Another… fit would be very tragic, considering you've been doing so well keeping it under control." The words were praising, but the tone was mocking; Jensen could tell that even through the haze of pain.

Distantly, he heard his voice repeating itself. "Just. A h-headache." A pained gasp. "It's f-fine…" God, no, no, no, not again, he couldn't do this again, he couldn't, but it hurt so bad and Dean was so strong-

"...Mr. Ackles?"

The voice was so familiar, and he flinched instinctively, not entirely understanding why.

"...Dean?"

And then he knew. He remembered.

Dean looked up slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the burning light before fixing the doctor with an icy glare. "Bingo, Alastair." It only took him a split second to throw himself at the demon, pinning him to the floor in a choke hold. "What'd you do with Cas, you sonofabitch?!"

Finally, Alastair gave up his entire 'Heyerdahl' charade, laughing harshly, the sound coarse and painful on Dean's ears. "Oh, can I just say that I've missed our little chats?"

Alastair's words sparked dozens of memories to rise up… Memories that Dean had tried so very hard to keep buried. The same memories that had haunted his dreams for weeks after he'd come back...

Hooks digging into his shoulders, his thigh, his side, holding him suspended over sulfuric fire...

He swallowed, trying to push the memories away. "Yeah, well-" But he couldn't manage to keep from remembering everything; remembering Hell.

A knife carving into his chest, tearing his ribcage out bone by bone. The sick cracking noises that came from his ribs splintering, sharp enough to cut through flesh. Being sliced open with his own bones... oh God, Sam, Sam, please...

"I was never really sentimental..."

It was Sam. It was Sammy. His little brother had done it; Sam'd saved him. They were gonna get outta here; he had Sam so he was alright now... But then Sam's eyes. They were black. Sam with eyes blacker than the night… It wasn't Sam. It wasn't. He told Alastair that. He told him, and then everything hurt… It hurt so much...

His voice wavered. "Y-You know me." How the hell was this happening? Alastair was dead; Dean had watched him die. Sam had killed him.

Alastair cackled - like he would when Dean had a soul on the rack, and like he did when he watched Dean rip the poor bastard to shreds, and just like when - "I'd say otherwise, considering. Missing Sam yet, are we?"

Dean sucked in a fast breath, all memories shoved aside at the thought of his brother. God, Sam was still at the first looney bin - with Crowley.

"Oh, I am gonna kill you. Slowly." He fumbled for something, anything to use as a weapon, grabbing a salt packet from his tray and tearing it open with his teeth, still keeping one hand fisted in the demon's collar. He wasn't about to waste his chance now that he was lucid.

Panicked, struggling, and still in pain, Dean didn't even notice the orderlies coming up behind him until it was too late and they had him by his upper arms, one on each side and the third preparing a needle of sedative.

"I don't think so, Dean-o," Alastair informed him with a smirk. "Not today, at least."

"NO! No, you get back here, you sonofabitch!" He fought the sturdy hands that held him, slamming a knee into one guard's stomach and jerking away when the stunned man let go, before punching another in the jaw.

The guards quickly realized Dean was a bit out of their league, two more running over to help forcibly pull him under control.

And the whole time, Alastair was laughing. "Oh, don't make me sedate you, Dean."

"I will rip your fucking lungs out, you hear me?!" Dean grunted as one of the orderlies got a solid hit in, but still managed a glare as he pushed the woman back.

Alastair tutted. "Is that really the best threat you can come up with? I thought I trained you better than that. Disappointing as always, Grasshopper…"

Ignoring the snide joke, Dean tried to send a man sprawling with a sweep kick, only to gasp in pain as he put too much weight on his casted leg and crumpled to the ground. He'd nearly forgotten the injury for a second - but that had been enough. Almost instantly, three burly guards were on him, at his shoulders, his waist, and his knees, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Alastair grinned, looking down at him, relishing in his powerlessness. "Your little brother called recently, by the way. Of course, he thought he was Jared, but… He seemed very concerned."

Dean refused to rise to take the bait, struggling in the guards' grip. "What's the big plan here?" he growled. "What do you fucking want?"

'Dr. Heyerdahl' put on an attempt at an innocent face that came out far too predatory for Dean's liking. "Oh, just trying to do as I'm told."

Shit, that was never a good sign. "Whose orders?" He needed information - to get himself out of this mess, he'd have to know what he was dealing with.

"Lucifer's, actually. Currently posing as… a janitor, believe it or not, at Deerwater. Right where little Sammy is working." Alastair smirked, tilting his head to the side as if to gauge Dean's reaction.

"You freaky sonofabitch…" Dean bit out. No way was his brother going down like this. "Sam's gonna figure it out, you know that, right?"

"Well, he would," the demon agreed, almost conversationally, allowing his wicked grin to grow even wider. "If he remembered anything. Which is a shame, because Lucifer needs him to remember just a bit. Not everything, of course, but just enough to be able to say yes…"

Dean's eyes widen in horror as he slowly processed the information. No… With Sam's brain turned to demon-goo, he was a perfect target for Lucifer's careful persuasion. All he needed was to be just lucid enough to say 'yes,' but not himself enough to recognize the importance and… "Go to Hell." And he meant literally. "Exorciamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanicas potestas, omnis incursio infernaliis adversarii…"

And then there was the sharp sting of a sedative needle in his arm, sending cool numbness throughout his body despite his frantic struggles to get away. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, none of that…" No no no no no...

He fought the sedative as best he could, forcing his eyes open each time he caught them sagging, but it was a losing battle, and he didn't even notice when the needle was ripped from the muscle of his arm. "Omnis... congregatio... 'tsecta... d'bolica…"

Alastair's voice was light and mocking, floating somewhere over his head. "Give up, Dean… You won't win."

Vaguely, he realized he was still mumbling the words to the exorcism he'd memorized years back. "Ergo... draco... mal'dicte... ergo... ergo…" Words weren't coming right- what came next? Exorciamus te… potestas satanicas…? Giving up on the botched failure of an exorcism, he gathered all the defiance he could muster and packed it into a weak glare. "G-Gon'... gon' hunt you down... 'n kill you…"

"Mmmm, no." The demon was laughing; Alastair was laughing - just like he'd laughed in Hell - and Dean distantly appreciated the fact that his life sucked ass.

Dean's eyes closed slowly, despite his best efforts. His consciousness fading, he managed to choke out one more word - a reminder to himself and a plea for help rolled into one. "S'mmy…"

So we hope you liked the chapter! Like we said last week, the chapters will start to get a bit longer than they had been previously from now on, for the most part. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to drop us a review! -Mimzy and Pixie