For notes, summary and disclaimers, please see Chapter/Part One - and as always, I hope you enjoy!

But that was then, wasn't it? They'd done this dance before.

As soon as he realised this, the road shimmered, blinked and came back into focus - his mind envisioning bright sunlight, complete with the baking, dancing warmth that goes with it - the night melting as if it had never been.

It's easier to see things in the light, after all - though it was also easier to hide, in oh-so-many ways...

He forced that thought away as the Guardian (for that's what this particular creature was) hissed It's displeasure, facing rippling back to It's true form - made even more hideous and horrifying by the wash of bright light pervading the close comfort of the Impala. He breathed deep and shook off the remnants of nausea and pain - challenging them for the memories they actually were, and almost recoiled in disgust from the abomination sitting beside him. It most certainly did NOT belong where it was sitting - that place was reserved for -

"-Sam?" It chuckled, it's voice a slithery hiss of metallic vowels and crystalline consonants - grating and irritating in it's almost soothing impact of sound. It petrified and reassured Dean all at once. The damned thing was trying to reassert control and it was almost working - almost. Several years ago it would have. He gritted his teeth in anger as another wave of nausea slammed into him, pain ratcheting up a notch on his neck, head and shoulders - a reminder of his position, and not a very subtle one either. It almost had him - but almost was the key word nowadays. This Thing, this SLUG had-

" - no right to speak his name." Dean ground out, using every trick he knew to force away the imposed sensations - recognising them for the illusions and petty artifices that they were. " And you have no right to be here now."

" My rights," The Guardian hissed. " Such as they are - are not dictated by YOU, Winchester - and are therefore no concern of yours. So I'd keep that pretty mouth shut and a civil tongue in that head of yours, such as it is, when addressing your elders and betters."

Dean rolled his eyes, mildly noting the flicker of annoyance that sifted across the Guardian's alien features, rolling his fingers at him in a 'hurry up' gesture.

" Whatever you have to say, slime-ball, start saying it now - I have too little time and not enough-"

"Death." It cackled, watching him carefully as he struggled to keep all the sensations and emotions that one simple word could conjure up under tight wraps. Fear, hatred, agony and lust burned under his skin and he dreaded the thought that he might have to end this now and go face the music further Downstairs. It wasn't as if this leave was actually sanctioned. Right now, he was-

"-the fair-haired boy." The Thing cooed. " Daddy sent me to check on you - and let you know he misses you. He's sure that you are disappointed that he is having so much fun without you - he recently went...fishing - and he wanted to know if you wanted to join him here in a little while to go...fishing again?"

Hooks curved and razor-sharp, stained with endless amounts of gore and blood. Shining, twisted lengths of steel brushed to a fine sheen - then heated or chilled before being used in oh-so-many ways upon the hapless victim. No matter what, the end result was always the same: Matted hair, entrails and thin twists of skin splashed and streaked against iron-gray 'walls' and 'floor'. Screams of pain, pleasure and that odd mix in between, then echoes of that ever-hateful enemy of Noise called Silence. In Silence, you could slide away, just for a moment - take a breather, take a time out - and maybe, just maybe (if you were clever enough) you could 'go home' to your brother and just be DEAN again.

Oh, yes - he had gone fishing before, on both sides of that Hook - and the thought of it brought a hot, physically oily taste of dread and excitement flooding across his tongue, brought the blood rushing to his cheeks - but if it was in shame or want, he couldn't tell anymore. And that was what made this so much more terrible. He honestly couldn't tell. Pleasure, pain, ecstasy, agony - it was all rapidly becoming the same. He didn't know how long it had been that way - didn't know when he could no longer suss out the real difference, or if he could ever tell that there even was a difference. But when that stopped, that ability to just know...

He swallowed hard and turned to look out of the windshield - the serene flare of light and heat of midday causing him to momentarily close his eyes and bask, just for a second. If he forgot -

If he forgot...

He waved off the bolt of irritation that surfaced when the Creature in the passenger side (Sam's side) smirked at him pompously - as if it knew what he was thinking - what he was feeling.

Right.

Guardians had usually been around so long, that if they felt anything at all it was a miracle in itself - so why It presumed to know him OR his feelings -

He quashed it again, that flash of anger and arranged his mannerisms in a posture of boredom - hooded, sleepy eyes studying the Guardian thoughtfully.

" Nahhh... I'm doin' my own thing here - kind of a...fishing...expedition of my own, you know? Tell Ali thanks from me, though - maybe next time -" He moved as if to start the car again, and was frozen by the wave of cold blasted at him from the right. Whoever said that Hell was hot, didn't know jack-shit.

" It is not wise, Winchester, to make assumptions on your status here. Daddy may not look upon this...invitation to join him as a request, see?"

There it was again, that hot, burning outrage that he now seemed to carry with him at all times, just below the surface. His eyes, his head, his heart burned with it - and no matter how he fought, he couldn't stop the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth - the singing joy that the Rage brought as he turned his wrath and fear onto the slime-monger in Sam's seat.

" So...do YOU presume to know Alistair's mind, Guardian?" His voice rang deep and firm in the shrinking confines of the Chevy - crackling with fury and no small amount of insanity. Joy had its price here - and sanity was a commodity that was rare in the Pit - it was usually the first thing you sold while on the Rack - and Dean was no small exception.

The Guardian was fully aware of all of this - though It's own humanity was most likely centuries gone. A threat was a threat after all, no matter how it was issued, or who issued it - and It hesitated, eyes flicking from deep blue, to black, to blue again - a beacon of wariness and mild distress. It offered a smile and tried to back down like a whipped dog - but Dean knew where THAT road led as well - and he wasn't having it.

" Quit cowering, maggot - and don't even try to kiss my ass. Did you come down here to deliver a message, or just ruin my day with your stupid tricks and bullshit?"

" Daddy says-"

" And he is not my father." Dean hissed, scrambling to keep his nervousness, panic and fear from resurfacing. You could only push one of these things so far - and though Rage helped, in the end, you only lost more of yourself when you used it. Not to mention that it only kept creatures like these intimidated for so long.