A/N: This story assumes Sam's not quite as all right as he seems, for the record.

Deja Vu All Over Again
Chapter Seven

This wasn't real. It was a nightmare, had to be. Tony screwed his eyes shut and counted to five, slowly, before he opened them again. Those five seconds changed nothing. That hard, angular face he remembered as the stuff of actual nightmares was real, was still staring at him with eyes that didn't match his memories. He shivered as he took everything in and tried to process. The problem with that was he wasn't sure he couldn't still wake up. Sam Winchester blinked and leaned toward him, very real.

"No," Tony said. Squawked, actually, his throat closing slightly from panic. "Stay back."

Whatever reaction he might have expected wasn't what he got. The guy looked confused, then contrite and horrified, and then he slumped against the wall. It was only then Tony realized what else was going on. He had no clue where he was, or why he was there, but the man standing just beyond Winchester was grinning at him with teeth smeared red, bloody. He couldn't help it. He scrabbled on the ground for a bit, tried to crawl away. This was … this … he was so screwed. He got all of half a foot when progress was halted by a tug against his left ankle. Manacled. He was goddamn manacled to the wall of a dank, smelly cave with two monsters looking at him like he was next on their very unconventional menu.

"Jesus, what are you things?"

Winchester's face screwed up a little bit, almost looked like he might cry. This wasn't just a nightmare, it was wrong. Spots started to appear at the edge of his vision, and Tony knew he was about a second away from hyperventilating. His chest felt tight. He tried to regulate his breathing, calm himself down. He managed that, but the pressure in his chest remained. He shivered.

"It appears I was incorrect. He, too, is a bit fragile of the mind," the cannibal said. "How delightful."

"You get off on it, don't you? The fear," Winchester said, voice deep with emotion – anger or something else. "That's almost sicker than …"

Winchester's words trailed away, and all he did was glare at the other guy's face and then flicked his attention to the corpse.

"Finger food? Mmm. Hunter, you have nice hands."

Tony lost it when the cannibal (monster, monster, which monster was it of all the things he had read about?) bit the ring finger off the hanging body and nibbled at it like it was a Buffalo wing. He didn't remember the last meal he'd had, but he'd apparently had a lot to drink recently. Water and bile surged from his gut and spewed out of his mouth. He'd be embarrassed about it later. For the moment, all he could manage was retching until there was nothing left. The sound of his distress reverberated through the small space, and it was almost as if they mocked him.

The soft chuckles that Tony heard after his puke sounds faded didn't almost feel mocking; they were. Normally, he'd be pissed about that, but here and now all he felt was constriction around his chest and a pit in his stomach the vomit session hadn't relieved. The hand stroking his hair weren't doing much to relieve his anxiety either. He didn't want to look, didn't know which of them would be worse to have caressing him like he was a favored pet.

"Don't," Tony said as he shirked from the touch.

The cannibal stood above him, a fond look in its eyes. Or maybe it was hunger. Tony's eyes were watery, he couldn't tell for sure but neither would surprise him. What did surprise him was that deep down he'd thought for sure it was Winchester looming rather than the innocuous (except for the blood, the blood) whatever-it-was monster, and the tiny amount of relief at finding out he was wrong. That relief didn't last, as the smell of blood and decay wafted around him, had him gagging again. There was nothing left to puke.

"Poor thing," the cannibal said. "Stress makes humans taste peculiar. You need to calm yourself. Relax."

Calm himself? Relax? Those were insurmountable tasks as far as Tony was concerned. He immediately wondered if the dead guy had calmed, and how long it had taken to drum even the fear out of him. He thought of Ensign Yee's last hours, sure that this thing was responsible for him too. If panic made him taste funny, he was never going to not be panicked. Except there was a pinching sensation in his brain, then a Zen feeling flowed into him like some internal tide. He relaxed against the cool stone wall, about as stress-free as Cheech and Chong in every single one of their movies. He didn't even mind when a fingers coated with congealed blood traced down the side of his face.

"Leave him alone," Winchester said. "Just stop it."

Through his utter relaxation, Tony heard a rattle and scrape. A chain like the one attached to his ankle, but he swore he hadn't moved that time. He frowned, but couldn't be bothered to investigate further.

"I think you should be quiet," the cannibal said, "and still like a good boy, now."

And Winchester did both. Odd. Tony also thought it was strange the way Winchester tried to get the other one to stop feeling him up. If the pair of them were in cahoots, it didn't make sense. Maybe it was a game of good monster/bad monster. Tony didn't know, but thinking about it was stressful and that wasn't good for him, so he quit thinking. He drifted into comfortable numbness, the traces of concern relegated to the fringes of his thoughts but never fully dissipating.

"That's excellent."

Wet sounds, more chain rattling. Something heavy dragged across the floor a short distance. Tony wanted to see what was happening, and couldn't move. This was fucked up. That thought rolled around in the hazy, relaxed mush of Tony's brain and he wanted to do something about it. He wanted to relax, maybe take a nap, more. He drifted and it was nice, let the noises fade from his attention and that was nice too. The only thing that wasn't, was the chill seeping into his bones from all sides. He didn't let it bother him, and after a while, he dozed.

Someone grabbed his shoulder. Tony discovered things were not nearly so nice once he was awake enough to see more than blurred darkness. The face, that face, was far too close. Sleepiness beat a retreat fast as a shot of adrenaline had him trying to scuttle away even though he knew he had nowhere to go. His body, stiff from cold and who knew what else, did not think that a good idea anyway. His head throbbed dully.

"What, no," Tony said. "Stay away."

Winchester didn't glower, loom or threaten. He twitched and pulled back, the expression on his face started as alarmed and then settled into careful blankness. He raised a hand to his face, clamped thumb and middle finger on each temple like he had the world's largest headache.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Winchester said from behind his hand. "Believe me."

"Right, sure. Naturally."

Tony eased into a sitting position. The cavern remained lit. He glanced around, attention not lasting long on any one spot. Yep, he was still royally screwed. Dead guy hanging. A pile of finger-sized bones in the corner. Empty shackle to his left. Bloodstains fresh and old. A chained foot to his right.

"I always believe mass murderers who are dead and who … are fettered to the wall just like I am."

"Finally noticed that, huh?"

"I don't understand. You, you're…"

"Dead? Not quite, as it turns out."

"No, this is Halloween and nothing good happens on Halloween and you're a mon…"

"I know what you think, and it's not what you think. I remember you from … then." Winchester dropped his hand and stared at him. "It wasn't me. It was me, but it wasn't really me."

The eyes were wrong. Tony had noticed it before, before the other guy started munching on the dead man. He had no idea what was going on. None of it made sense. He held his head with both hands, thumbs massaged at his temples. He felt like his head was going to explode. No, not exactly. It was like someone had applied pressure to relieve the headache, the rush of blood afterward.

"This is not happening. This cannot be happening to me again."

"Hey, listen to me," Winchester said sharply.

Tony heart raced and his head snapped up. That was more like the voice he remembered, and instinct had him pressing his back against the wall as if he could pass right through it to safety. He blinked. As he looked at Winchester, he couldn't help noticing that the eyes still weren't the same as he remembered. He was so confused and wanted to not be confused. Hell, he wanted to not be monster food.

"You're going to have to pull it together, man." Winchester swept an arm out, highlighting their prison. "This is happening and you're stuck with me. Look, you don't have to believe me about before. I don't blame you, not for a minute. I can't explain it to you, but I am sorry it happened and it will not happen again. I am not that person. Those people."

For a fraction of a second, Winchester looked lost himself. Again. The repetition of this phenomenon was not lost on Tony, and it confused him every time. It was like Winchester left the building for a second or two, one of those complex partial seizures Jeanne once explained to him. That was from before, when he'd been a different person. Huh.

"There isn't time to rehash what's done, what's in the past. What I need you to do is trust me now. We're going to have to work together to get out of here." Winchester seemed so earnest it was disconcerting. "Or survive long enough for my brother to find us."

All Tony wanted to say was nonononoNO, but he nodded. He didn't like it, but if he went beyond his gut's terrified reaction every time he looked at the guy, right now Winchester was the lesser of two evils. It didn't mean he was going to drop his guard, at all, ever, around him, but the fact he was a prisoner not captor meant something. Tony didn't know what, yet. He wasn't sure he cared. He wanted out and he wanted to not end up hanging from meathooks with his cold blood pooling into his extremities.

"I remember your brother too," Tony said. "Somewhat more fond memories of him than of you. Almost."

Winchester continued to confound him by letting out a short laugh. Tony realized how utterly bizarre it was to think fondly of being kidnapped, molested and nearly killed by vampires. He wished, oh, he wished he'd been able to keep that memory tucked safely away behind lies he and Gibbs had told regarding that whole incident. He had to think maybe he was some kind of supernatural magnet.

"Dean leaves impressions wherever he goes," Winchester said.

"You both do. What are we dealing with here?" Tony pretended he was talking to someone else entirely, a temporary trick. "He looked harmless. He obviously isn't."

"Nix."

"No, I'd really like for you to answer the question."

"I did." Winchester started moving and searching around, maybe looking for a way out, even though no one outside the Incredible Hulk could smash the heavy manacles. "It's a Nix."

"A Nix."

"That's what I said. All I know for sure is Nixes get people to take a spontaneous swim in the water, without the swimming. They use moderate mind control. This whole eating humans thing is news to me, though."

Tony's brain itched.

"Mind control. Like when he told us to relax and I suddenly felt like I was in college again and had just smoked a fat one."

"Not how I'd have put it, but yeah. It seems to require proximity, though, so as long as he's not here, we or you should be able to think straight," Winchester said. He paused from all the fidgeting. "Don't take this the wrong way, because I do remember you. I just don't remember a name."

"DiNozzo," Tony said. Not Tony, never. This was, unbelievably, becoming more bizarre. He was holding a conversation with an undead whatever-he-was that had haunted his dreams for a year, and the guy was freaking him out less and less. "Special Agent."

"Sam, but you knew that."

"Yes, unfortunately." Tony felt like he should contribute something to whatever Winchester was hoping to do. He tugged at his own chained ankle. "I don't suppose you've seen the first Saw movie."

"It won't come to that," Winchester said. "Listen, everything's kind of a blur after it whammied us. I don't remember when it left, or where it went. My guess would be to collect the dessert course. I'm not sure we have a lot of time, and as much as I'm enjoying the conversation, we really should focus."

Tony agreed. What he didn't know was what to focus on. They weren't going anywhere. His phone, if it still worked, was in his jacket. His jacket was over in a pile of other jackets, a rather large pile. Souvenirs from years and years of murder.

"If we get out before it comes back, what if it has been out grabbing another person?" Tony said. "We can't just leave them."

"We won't. If I can escape, my brother and I will handle the Nix."

"You said your brother would find us."

"He will." Winchester paused to look somewhere beyond Tony, an intense expression on his face. When he spoke again, it started off to that spot. "He will. I'm not sure how fast he can get here, though. I don't know about you, but I don't want to stick around any longer than I have to."

It took them two minutes to realize they had no choice about sticking around. They were stuck. No amount of tugging was going to free the chains from the wall, and short of breaking their feet beyond repair, they weren't going to slip free. Almost worse, the more he became accustomed to this new reality, the more Tony had a sneaking suspicion his underwater adventures combined with putting off his annual flu shot was why his chest felt tight. He fought the urge to cough.

"I mean, if we only had a wheelbarrow, that would be something," Tony muttered.

Winchester gave him a funny look, and then without any kind of warning at all, everything went scary in a way Tony never imagined possible, and never wanted to experience ever again in his life. Ever.