Breathe.

Dean stumbles, hands grasping for support against the garishly painted façade of the Fun House. His head is pounding and shadows blur his vision with each pulse of his heart, making each step unsteady as his struggles to stay conscious. Blood seeps out of the cut on his arm, throbbing painfully as it steadily drains what little energy he has left.

Come on, breathe. You gotta get away from those things back there and calm down…

He tries to steady the shaking of his chest, fighting to even out the heaving, irregular gulps as he sucks down air, but his muscles won't co-operate. Each breath feels like razor blades tearing at his throat, painfully refusing to even out into the deep, slow breaths he needs to steady his heart.

Focus, Dean! She's gonna bleed Sam dry if you don't get a handle on this.

From somewhere above him, breaking through the deafening pounding of his blood, he hears a crackle over the park's loudspeakers as they spring to life again. "Did my pets frighten you, Dean?" The voice is cold and taunting as it blares at him through the silence. "Your poor little heart sounds so scared…"

"Fuck you!" he snarls back, the words tasting of blood in his mouth. Fuck the monstrous little bitch. When he finds her, he's gonna rip her limb from limb and tear her own rotten heart out…

A laugh sounds over the speakers, chilling him to the bone. "No you won't, Dean." For a moment, he wonders if she can hear his thoughts now, just like she can hear his heart, but then he realises he shouted it out loud. "I don't have one."

Nausea creeps through his gut as he once again wonders what the hell he's dealing with. What kind of monster is capable of this? What is it that's captured Sam? "I'm still gonna tear you apart," he growls defiantly, but it's made infinitely less threatening as his knees give out from under him and he collapses to the floor.

She tuts at him. "Poor Sammy's not looking too hot here, Dean. If he loses any more blood, I think his heart might just stop."

"Please!" He loathes having to beg; despises it with all his being, but he's so out of his depth he doesn't know what options are left. If he can't get his heart rate to slow down she's just gonna bleed Sam faster and faster until there's nothing left, and he's too exhausted and terrified to get the muscle in his chest to co-operate. "I just need more time, alright? Please, stop bleeding him. My heart just needs time to slow down."

"Oh, I don't think it's going to be slowing for a while."

Dean swallows heavily, a fresh wave of horror sweeping over him as he stares down at the blood seeping from his arm and realises. "You poisoned the blade?!"

"Yep." She sounds positively amused. "Not enough to kill you, but I suspect you're going to be feeling ill for a bit. Your heart will definitely be racing for some time."

Anger bubbles up inside him, threatening to boil over despite his exhaustion. "That's fucking cheating!"

"It's my game, Dean; I make the rules."

"Look…please." He's desperate now. "If you're gonna do this, just take me, alright? I can't win now anyway, so please just take me and let Sam go."

A sigh rings out through the air. "No, Dean, you're not getting it. I don't want you. I just want a beating heart I can play with, and yours has been pretty fun so far. If you're a good sport, your reward is that I'll let Sam go. So how about instead of quitting on me, you keep playing the game?"

"How?" he gasps out breathlessly, all too aware of the traitorous pounding in his chest. That thumping is killing his brother, and he's helpless to stop it. "If I don't slow down my heart, you're just gonna bleed Sam dry in minutes."

"So slow it down, then," she drawls. "I'll even help, if you like."

That makes him suspicious. "Why?"

"This is a fun game, Dean. I'd be disappointed if we had to end it now."

He grimaces, hating everything about this, but he has little choice but to listen. "Alright, what do I do?"

"Fun House entrance booth," she directs him. "There's a syringe underneath the control panel. Just a little something I concocted from the flora around here. You inject yourself with it, it'll get your heartbeat back under control. Hurry, Dean. I don't think Sam has long." The speakers go dead.

This may well be another trap, but there isn't time to come up with a different plan. Straining, Dean hauls himself to his feet. His limbs are shaking and he has no idea how he's even managing to stay upright, but through his hazed vision he manages to hone in on the blurred shape of the entrance booth. It's only a few yards away, but in his current state, crossing the distance feels like a mile.

He reaches it eventually, stumbling through the doorway and hands immediately fumbling for the control panel. Panic grips him as he can't find the syringe that was promised, but then feels a mild surge of relief as his eyes land on the shape of a needle and plunger lying on the plastic chair. With trembling hands, he grasps onto it and then collapses to the ground again.

Now what? he finds himself thinking. He doesn't know how he's supposed to use it, but he's spared having to guess as the speaker of the booth's intercom crackles to life.

"Well done, Dean. You made it!" Sickeningly, she does actually sound pleased. "And Sammy's hanging in there, too. You're both doing so well."

"Alright, shut up!" he snaps in desperation. "Now what do I do?"

"You need to inject it into a vein," she instructs, sounding like she's mocking him. "You know how junkies shoot themselves up. Use your belt as a tourniquet, get your veins to pop, then just stab it in."

His head is swimming, but he just about has enough lucidity left to slip his belt off and then tighten it around his left upper arm, pushing up his sleeve. He knows what he's supposed to do, but his hands are shaking and vision clouded and he doesn't know if he can pull it off. Still, there's nothing else for him to do but try.

Okay, Dean, focus! Got to find a vein…

He's gripping the syringe in his right hand, thumb on the plunger as he brings the needle to hover over the exposed skin of his inside elbow. The metal point is horribly wide, but it barely even registers with him.

Need a vein. This won't work if I miss. Come on…

He presses a fingertip to the thin skin, trying to feel for a pulse, but he honestly can't distinguish between the throbbing in his head and that in his arm. It isn't helped when a moment later the dull percussion of a heartbeat fills his ears, much too sluggish to be his own, as it blasts out over the intercom. "Sammy's heart's getting awful slow," comes her sickening voice again. "I think you need to get yours to do something similar before it stops completely…"

"I'm trying!" Dean tries to shout, but he's so nauseated and panicked he's not sure how much of that actually comes out.

There's no time to be precise. He's got to do it now.

Stab.

In an instant, the needle sinks in, punching past the thin fleshy barrier to the tissues underneath. Dean stares down at it, blinking as he tries to focus on the narrow rod of metal protruding from his arm and realising he can barely feel the pain. He has just enough strength and presence of mind left to depress the plunger.

Come on come on…

He holds his breath. Waits. A second passes. Two. Maybe it takes time to work, but in his gut Dean already knows he missed. His heart's still beating a bruising tattoo against his ribs, mocking him with each beat, and Dean knows he failed.

No no no no no no no…

The panic has barely had time to take hold before the heartbeat on the intercom stops.

Dean's breath catches. The pit of his stomach drops out, and for the first time in what feels like hours, he swears his heart skips a beat.

No.

That can't have been Sam's heart stopping. It's just her fucking with him. Please… don't let Sam be dead.

"No!" he screams out, desperate to hear her talking again and telling him this is all part of the game, but all he's met with is static. "No, let me try again! I'll get it right!"

He's trying to crawl over to the intercom, yelling at it as if that will help, but as he does so a shadow falls over him. His head twists to turn towards the doorway, and horror clenches in his gut as he sees the silhouette of one of the same monsters from earlier looming over him.

With pure panic flooding every inch of his body, he turns to scream into the intercom again. "This isn't over, you bitch! Not now! If Sammy's dead I'll fucking kill you!"

His cries are answered by nothing but white noise before he feels the monster's grotesque hand on his back, fisting in his jacket as it yanks him upwards and flips him to slam him down hard onto the control panel. The breath is forced from Dean's body and he grunts, feeling blood spill into his mouth as darkness washes over his vision.

"No…" It's the only word he can manage, leaving his lips in a faint gurgle as he stares up at the creature above him. He can see nothing save for the blank, painted-on eyes and the faint shadow of its arm raising to strike. As its hand descends, the last thing Dean is aware of is the pain of something sharp and narrow penetrating his chest before everything goes black.