Sam was gaping, completely taken aback by Dean's implication. He practically laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you, Dean."

"Why not? I should be dead right now anyway."

"That doesn't make any difference. You're still here and it's my job to protect you. I'm going to fix this."

"Oh yeah? And how do you think you're gonna manage that?"

"I don't know. But I will find a way. Whatever it takes."

"And what if something like this happens again? I don't think you get just how hard it is to keep controlled right now."

"Nothing's going to happen." Sam said confidently.

"How can you know that?"

"Because we're going to Bobby's right now."

"Bobby's? You're gonna lock me up, aren't you?"

"Are you gonna make a big deal about it? Because if you're not playing nice, I don't have to either."

Dean thought for a moment. If he agreed, he'd be locked in a specially designed demon prison for who-knows-how-long. On the other hand, he didn't really want to die, he just saw it as the only alternative. Truthfully, he didn't trust himself at the moment either, he thought perhaps a prison would be the best option. If he couldn't get out, he wouldn't be able to do any harm. He finally nodded, "alright. It's a plan, I guess. It's crazy and it's probably not going to work, but it's a plan."

After Sam called to give Bobby a heads up, they were quickly on the road to Sioux Falls. It was only a few hours' drive and they arrived sometime around midnight. Sam parked the car in front of the old house and turned to his brother, who had been silent the whole ride and was currently tightly gripping the door and staring out the window.

"You sure you want to do this?"

Dean didn't move when he responded, his voice grave. "Don't really have a choice, do I? You really think you can find something?"

"I'm gonna do my best. There has to be something out there." He knew that the possibility of some miracle fix was astronomically slim, but now wasn't really the time for the truth. He just needed to persuade Dean into the panic room with as little commotion as possible. The last thing they needed was for him to lose it again and disappear.

Dean nodded slightly, sensing Sam's doubt. "Just promise me one thing," he finally turned to face his brother, "don't sell your soul. No matter how good the deal might seem. I don't want you to end up like this."

"Alright." Sam said softly.

"I'm serious."

"I won't. I promise." It was, of course, a hollow promise. Even as he said it, Sam knew that if some crossroads demon was willing and able to help Dean, he would seriously consider a deal, whatever the cost.

"And you can't lock me up forever. If you can't find anything in a month or so, I want you to come back and finish it. Can you do that?"

That wasn't going to happen either. There was no way in hell Sam would be able to kill his own brother, demon or not. He nodded anyway. Again, this wasn't a time for truth.

"Well," Dean said, finally opening the door, "ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

Sam rang the doorbell and Bobby answered seconds later. He warily eyed Dean before letting them inside and leading them downstairs.

No one really had anything to say. Bobby had known this would happen eventually, but avoided I-told-you-so's while Dean was within earshot. Sam felt bad for locking Dean away, but knew that it was the only way to both be safe and keep his brother alive. He was silent as he stooped to scratch the paint of the first devil's trap off the floor so that Dean could walk through.

Dean felt like a fugitive. Yes, he was willingly walking into a prison cell, but that wasn't the reason. It was the way Sam and Bobby were acting towards him; like he was a stranger. A dangerous stranger. Which, to some degree, was true. He was dangerous, but even with minimal control, that stubborn little human portion would never let him hurt them: the little brother that he'd raised and the most stable father figure in his life. He could feel their fear, mistrust, and slight guilt and sadness from Sam's side. Dean had nothing more to say. He'd made his parting comments before getting out of the car, fully expecting to not make it out of this whole thing alive or sane. He gave the large circular pattern on the floor a pensive glare before resolutely stepping into it. He soberly looked over the two as they shut and bolted the salted-iron door, leaving the window-like hatch open. As if that would make it feel any less like a prison.

Sam gave a weak smile through the small opening and Dean silently responded with a final nod. He watched Sam and Bobby walk upstairs before settling onto the cot in the middle of the room. He knew that he shouldn't feel so resentful, this was for his own good. He just worried about how long he'd stay sane locked up like this.

It reminded him of Hell somewhat. If he imagined blood streaked and splattered across the walls, miscellaneous instruments of torture, and dim red light, then he could all but hear the familiar chorus of screams, smell the bitter tang of freshly spilled blood. Now that he thought about it, he saw no point in trying to think or act like a human now that there was no penalty for his thoughts. Dean could feel all of his power stripped away by the sigil, so he figured that losing control now would make no difference. Besides, he needed some source of entertainment while locked up. He closed his eyes and let himself slip into the dark daydream. Maybe sanity wasn't so precious after all...