Dean stepped away from the urinal, tugging his zipper into place, and turned to the sink. He swayed a bit because of the quick movement and had to latch onto the porcelain sink to steady himself, chuckling because, really, when was the last time he'd actually felt the light-headed effects of just plain ole beer. Dean opened the tap and let the water run until it was good a hot. Then he clumsily tugged the bandages from his hands and set about washing them, hissing instinctively when the blistering water hit his knuckles. He passed his thumb over his right hand, smearing the ointment clear, and then he stopped.

"What the Hell?"

He dipped both hands into the running water again, rinsed them, and shook them dry. Starring down at his hands, Dean gaped in disbelief. Flexing his hands, he felt the tight pull of skin over his knuckles – newly repaired, unblemished skin. He looked up into the mirror, gripped the edge of the sink for support and released a long shaky breath over pursed lips. Cas. Had James done this? Had he healed him?

Dean reached blindly up to the shoulder that had once been marred by the saving grace hand print permanently seared into his skin. Or at least he thought it had been permanent, until After, when Dean discovered that it wasn't. After Lucifer, in Sam's body, had beat Dean nearly to death. After Sammy had taken the dive. After Dean had made that stupid promise to leave the life and make a fresh start. After, he had peeled the bloody clothes from his body and washed it all away in the warm spray of a shower. Only then had he realized the scar was gone, and that realization had triggered a rush of emotion. He felt the loss of Sam and everyone and everything grab ahold of him and choke the air from his lungs. Dean had slumped to the floor of the tub then and wept like a child until the water ran cold. Afterwards he had pulled himself up, dressed, and gone to Lisa.

Dean wasn't blind to how his current situation mirrored the circumstances of two years before. Sam, Bobby and Cas; all gone to him. He was alone. Again.

Except that he wasn't.

Because Cas was right out there, sitting in a booth, guzzling another beer as if it were air and not having a clue who Dean was or who he really was.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, feeling a dull headache building beneath the beer haze. 'Now we figure what we do next.' Bobby's voice cut into his thoughts, soft and quiet and hitting Dean so hard, he gasped for breath. 'I said: What do we do next, Dean?'

"Right."

Looking into the bleary eyes of his reflection, Dean smacked his palm flat against the wall that surrounded the mirror, pushing himself away from the sink.

"Right," he repeated, decidedly. Dean left the restroom, walked quickly through the bar. He sat down hard, startling James who sloshed his beer over the rim of his glass and down the front of him.

"Dude!" James snatched up a handful of cocktail napkins and blotted at his wet shirt.

"We gotta talk. There-there's, uh…there's something I gotta ask you."


"Absolutely not." James leaned out of the passenger side window, to stare up from the street at the darkened psychiatric hospital. He'd let Dean pull him out of the bar without so much as an argument and they'd driven across town without a word between them, but now stopped here in front of MHI, an explanation was no longer necessary. James seemed to know instinctually what Dean had in mind, and yet, for some reason wasn't putting up too much of a fight, "No way. You're not dragging me in there in the middle of the night."

"Oh, come on," Dean groaned, "you sound like my brother. He doesn't know how to have any fun either."

"Fun? What part of this is fun?"

"The part where we get in there without getting caught," Dean grinned crookedly.

"How exactly do you think we're gonna get in there? What're you gonna do, pretend you need psychiatric help? Cuz, I'm pretty sure that's not pretending."

"We're gonna use the back door."

Dean dropped the Coronet into gear and pulled away from the curb, making an immediate right up the drive that led to the loading area of the hospital. At this time of night, Dean figured that short-staffed offered them a better opportunity of getting in unseen. He parked the car out of sight of the two security camera and climbed out from behind the wheel. James, however, wasn't as keen to follow.

Dean leaned in through the open driver's side window. "Come on," Dean encouraged, "it'll be a piece of cake."

"You say that like you've done this before."

"No, never had to break into a psyche ward before. Out once, but never in. They're pretty much the same."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," James whispered harshly, as he very reluctantly climbed out of the car; the quiet click of the car door closing, echoed through the darkness.

Moving skillfully quiet and staying trim to the dark shadows, they approached the building and the steel back door. Through the darkness, Dean could see James's eyes, glowing white in the moonlight and wide with panic and disbelief. Dean reached out and grasped James's forearm, squeezing firmly. "You're not gonna freak out on me, are ya?"

"I'm not gonna make any promises." The answer earned him a brilliant smile from Dean to which James could only roll his eyes in response. Dean tried to tone down his exuberance, but getting these kinds of reactions was just way too much fun and James could see that, he was sure, because a second later, James narrowed his eyes and asked, "Okay, smartass, how the Hell are you gonna break your way in? That's a key card reader and you –"

Dean reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a key card, and waved it tauntingly. "I swiped it off the orderly today when he pushed past me into my brother's room."

"Won't he miss that?"

"He already does. I saw him searching for it before I left and getting his ass chewed by the high-strung little thing at the nurses' station. They've probably been so busy hunting down the missing card, that…" Dean swiped the card through the reader and the little machine flashed green before releasing the lock, "they haven't deactivated this one yet." He snapped his fingers and tossed James a wink, "Easy as pie."

Checking the hallway first, Dean slipped in the door, reached back out and snagged James by the jacket and towed him inside as well.

"I don't feel good about this, Dean," James whispered over Dean's shoulder. They were walking down a side hall, making their way along the back route to Sam's room and James was riding so close behind, that he was practically on top of the hunter, crowding into Dean's space. Just like old times, Dean thought.

"Don't wuss out on me now, man. We're almost –"

Dean squeaked as he was yanked out of the hall and into the shallow office doorway. There James pinned him to the wall with his forearm, a finger held to his own lips entreating silence, and a stern look cutting off any argument that Dean might have had. They waited, unmoving and silent until James sagged in relief.

"What was that?" Dean demanded, pushing James away from him.

"That was me saving your ass…again. Can't you hear the two guys coming down the far hall?"

"No, and what do you mean, 'Again'?"

"Don't act so offended. I know we just met, but I can already tell that you get into more trouble than you get out of. I'm sure this won't be the last time."

"Don't…" Dean pointed an accusing finger at James, "I'm not…" but his argument faltered beneath James's logic. "Just…come on."

They continued down the hall, using the stolen key card to enter the wing on which Sam's room was located. The wing was quiet and the hallway, dim; whole sections of the overheard light having been cut off to better provide the darkness for sleeping. Dean made a beeline for Sam's room and pulled a leather case from his back pocket.

"What is that?"

Dean assessed the lock quickly and then pulled a half diamond pick and a torsion wrench from the case, waved them in answer to James and then set to work picking the pin and tumbler. With a satisfying click, the door sprung open and Dean and James piled in before anyone could happen upon them.

"Sammy," Dean crossed to the far side of the bed, pinned his brother's hands to his chest, and then lightly tapped the younger man's cheek. "Wakeup, Sammy. Look, I brought a visitor. Sammy?"

At Dean's quiet urging, Sam roused from his chemically aided sleep, reacting slowly to the presence leaning into him.

"Hey there, sleepy head," Dean ran a hand briskly up and down Sam's arm, trying to rub the sleep out of his system, and it seemed to work. Sam took a deep, cleansing breath and met Dean's eyes…and then immediately cringed.

"You promised," he whimpered, pulling in on himself and wrapping his long arms around his body; shielding his eyes from the sight of Dean sitting there beside him on the bed.

"Promised what, Sam?" Dean asked, confused. He tugged gently on Sam's arms, peeling his hands away from his face, "What did I promise?"

Sam sealed his eyes shut, turning his face away from his brother. "You promised," Sam accused, choking on a sob, "promised not to wear 'him' anymore."

It didn't take long for the words to sink in; Dean had heard them enough in the last week or better to know what they meant. When Sam looked at him, he didn't see Dean; wasn't seeing brother or love or safety, he was seeing Lucifer, and not just Lucifer, but Lucifer wearing Dean as a suit.

It was the worst possible nightmare; to be tormented by the one person you hold above all others. Dean knew first hand, having been there, done that. During his forty year tour in Hell, Alastair had taken particular pleasure in using Sam's visage as psychological torture. Alastair had come up behind Dean, strung up on the rack, and whispering into his ear using Sam's voice, made Dean promises of peace and rest and togetherness. Wearing Sam's likeness, he had leaned into Dean, wrapping arms and hands that felt warm and alive around Dean's bare and bloodied chest; looking and smelling and feeling so much like Sam that Dean had begged and pleaded for him to stop, and cried for more.

Even now, Dean could still feel it; could still hear Alastair stealing Sam's voice, "Do you love me, Dean?"

"Yes," Dean had sobbed, not daring to open his eyes to see the truth before him as Alastair circled around to stand in front of him. He hadn't needed to see to know that Alastair was sneering in delight at Dean's admission, "Yes."

"Then let me help you. I can make this all go away, if you'll just consent."

"No." Dean's grip tightened around Sam's wrists when his brother made to pull out of his grasp. "Please Sammy, don't fight me. Listen. Listen." Making a feeble attempt to secure Sam's arms, Dean clapped a hand over Sam's eyes, reducing the sensory overload, and just as a wild animal is soothed by the action, Sam was too; settling quietly into the mattress.

"Listen to my voice. I know things are too far gone for you to trust what you see, but I need you to hear me and know that I'm not him. Do you understand? It's just me, Sammy. I'm all Dean and no one else, okay?"

When Dean felt Sam calm beneath his hands, he nudged his shoulder up to wipe the sweat from his own brow and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Dean, this is a very bad idea."

Sam was immediately startled by the additional voice, his eyes snapping open. He locked onto James's gravelly tenor, and turned wild, terrified eyes on him and then back to Dean. But a moment later, the fear dissipated; the only thing left was blind fury.

"How are you doing that?" Sam demanded, sounding as angry as Dean had heard him in ages. Before either Dean or James knew what was happening, Sam was up and out of the bed, crowding Dean into the wall with a large hand wrapped around Dean's throat. Dean grabbed ahold of Sam's forearm, hanging on, but not putting up enough of a struggle to deter Sam.

"Sammy, I'm not –"

"You can't do that!" Sam bellowed, cutting Dean off with both his voice and the thumb he pressed further into his brother's windpipe. "You can't change the rules."

He pulled Dean away from the wall, only to slam him back into it. Hard.

"People and demons; yes, but you can't taunt me with Angels."

And again.

"You can't!"

And again. Dean's head smacking against the wall with a resounding crack.

"You said you couldn't."

The strength went out of Dean's legs and had Sam not been holding him up, he might have slumped to the floor.

"So, why is he here?"

"Stop," James commanded with a strangely calm, even voice.

Sam glanced down at the hand that closed around his elbow and then back up at the man who was wedging himself in between the brothers.

"That's enough, Sam."