WARNING: Graphic depictions of torture... again. See the end for a summary if this isn't your cup of tea.

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"You ready there, Doctor?" Alistair sneers the name, but he's smiling.

I look down at the woman on the rack and hesitate. She has curly blonde hair, pulled into pigtails with jewels outlining them. Her dress is green and red with strawberries on it and it falls just barely past her knees. A large belt keeps it clenched around her waist and it's only a matter of time before I'm going to remove it. The woman's face… she's petrified. She's frozen so completely that she can't even scream. It won't do her much good, of course, but she should be screaming. Alistair likes it when they scream. If she doesn't, he'll make me make her.

The makeup that was applied heavily to her face makes tracks down her cheeks and everything else is smeared. She's familiar, but she looks different than I remember. Her eyes are a little too wide, her lips too small. A large birthmark shows on her shoulder that I don't remember ever seeing before. Other than that, she's still the same.

"What do I do?" I find myself asking, though I already know the answer. I've been on the rack too long not to know how it's supposed to go down.

"She's your new pet," Alistair answers, trailing a finger up her arm until it rests on her cheek. He strokes the tear marks , smearing the makeup further. "All pets need a name."

"She already has a name," I say.

The look Alistair gives me sends shivers down my spine. I bow my head, hoping its enough to appease him. When he speaks again, I know I'm forgiven. "Not anymore, she doesn't. Her name, like everything else, is going to…" he flitted his hand, "disappear. She's your pet so you get to name her. Stake your claim, boy."

I look back at the girl tied to the bed frame and I can only think of one name, one woman. "Pen," I say to her. "Your new name is Pen."

Her screams echo loudly through The Pit and Alistair smiles and laughs. He's absolutely giddy as I partially filet the skin from her shoulder. It's the birthmark I want to get rid of. It doesn't belong. So her skin comes off. It's much easier than I expected it to be. The knife is sharp and removing the first few layers is easy. There's blood—a lot of blood—but Alistair is on me, making sure I treat her right, not letting her bleed to death or suffer from infection. A new shipment of supplies came in yesterday so there's plenty to keep her alive for a while.

Alistair wants me to keep going, keep up with the skinning, but I'm done with that. I wanted the birthmark removed and, now that it's gone, there's no reason for me to keep going except that I'm relaxed and ready for more. I don't like the screaming like Alistair does, but maybe I will eventually. The thought fills me with equal parts dread and gleeful anticipation. I put the knife down much to Alistair's dismay, but he perks right up when I grab the scalpel instead. It's the precision of the blade that I want.

I carve the letters P-E-N into her arm so she won't forget—so I won't forget—and I trail the blade up, up until it hits her skinned shoulder, leaving a line of fresh blood along the way. I play with her a little there, letting my fingers scrape gently over the sensitive flesh. The goose bumps that appear on her arm when I do that make me smile for the first time in years. I repeat the process, dragging the scalpel through the flesh of her arm down to the wrist and bringing it back up again to carve into her shoulder.

"Doc," Alistair says, pulling me from my focus. I look at him, curious as to why he called my name. He hasn't said anything for a while. I thought he was letting me lead on this.

"Yes?" I question.

"You were a little too rough with your playmate," he says, but he looks proud.

I frown in confusion and Alistair points at the arm bearing the girl's new name. I look in horror at the blood gushing from her wrist where I cut a little too deep. She'll be dead in minutes. Even if I could get the supplies out in time to fix her, the cut is covered in too much blood for me to do anything about it. Her sobs die down to low whimpers that become slower and quieter until they stop altogether.

"You need to be more careful with your toys," Azazel says chidingly, resting his hand on my shoulder.

Pen's limbs lie slack against the restraints. I thought that once she was gone, she would just go still, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Her leg gives off a twitch and hope swells in my chest at the thought that she's still alive, but her chest doesn't rise and her eyes never flutter open. I watch the small twitches until they're gone, leaving me with a body to contend to.

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Loud knocking woke Dean from his fitful sleep. He gasped, startled and panicked momentarily at the unfamiliar room around him. He remembered passing out when he saw Pen alive and safe. They must have brought him to the hospital. He'd refused before—Dean had already been to a hospital in Idaho and he didn't need to go back—and Hotch had tentatively agreed at the time. All of that seemed to fly right out the window when he passed out, leaving him in that awful, half-real memory. It was different than it had actually happened, but somehow the dream was even worse. Sometimes, the imagination can be worse than reality.

Dean looked up to see a nurse in the doorway. She was a tall brunette in maroon scrubs, but Dean couldn't tell whether she was attractive or not. She was just a woman. "Are you alright?" she asked him seriously.

"Peachy," Dean said, rubbing his face.

"Well if you're up to it, you have visitors."

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RECAP: Dean has another dream/flashback in which woman resembling Penelope Garcia is put on the rack under Dean and he tortures and kills her. A nurse wakes him up and tells him he has visitors.