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This is not happening. This is not happening. There has got to be some sort of logical explanation for this other than my brother and the old man trying to freak me the hell out. Okay, time to wake up now Dean. Wake up man.
Typical. It figures. Just my luck, this is no dream. Well then I have got to say it. I am having the weirdest day.
Okay man, just play it cool. That isn't for me. That can't be for me. They wouldn't hook me up to some sort of medieval torture device right? No way, of course not. Huh, no need to worry. After all, what is there to freak out about? The grip that they have on you, the one that seems to be tightening up wayyyyy too much? Nah. The way I feel like I've been dunked in cold water and that happy, not a care in the world feeling that I am sure I felt a few minutes ago has been ripped away? Absolutely not. The way my body feels like it has been coated in cement? Not really.
The way that Bobby and Sam seem to have their eyes glued on me, waiting to see what I will do next? Um, maybe. The guilt-ridden expression on those faces? Yahtzee. There it is. That is definitely the freak out moment.
"Uh, fellas? You are kinda starting to make me a bit nervous here... I might be a little woozy still from...um... well, whatever, but I know that you would never, ever think of strapping me down to some sort of contraption against my will. You wouldn't want to risk the fear of me opening a major can of whoop ass on ya right, so what gives? Who or what exactly is going to be the guinea pig for this experiment? Huh?"
Bobby, what are you doing man? What is in that damn bucket? Looks like... I don't know... looks bad... and nasty. And why won't you look at me anymore? Why do you keep looking at Sam...and the bed...and the... frick.. the restraints?
"Someone better start talking! Sammy, what are you doing? I can't... please... don't tie me down... I... why... what did I do? Why are you so mad at me? I'm sorry! Whatever I did I'm... I'm sorry! Whatever you are planning please don't do it. I'm... I'm..."
Damn. Silence is never ever good in these kinds of situations. Just loosen up the grip already you two. Relax Dean. Don't panic. What? I think, am I actually sweating here? Why? That is not good. I'm tingling, and not in the good way that I like. Everything. Tingling. Which means...
That fricken itch. Ugh. My arms. Cripes, can't get to them. Now the legs? Well, can't use my hands for that. Deep breaths dude. Deep breaths. It'll pass. God, please, let it pass.
"UGH...Let go!"
"Stop squirming Dean, I'm sorry but this is happening. Time is up."
Shit. Okay. Could you be any more ambiguous than that?
"WHAT is happening Sam? You and your sidekick over here haven't told me a damn thing! So why don't YOU relax for a minute and explain what the hell gives you the right to treat me like this! What could I possibly have done to make you..."
SON OF A BITCH! This fricken itch is starting to piss me off.
No, wait, the real piss off around here is that these two morons have got me positioned so I can't touch myself. Oh God, I really hope I didn't say that out loud, that sounded all kinds of dirty dude. Huh. There I go again, Mr. Floaty McFloatsALot. Please, just make it stop already. Focus. Think, think and think some more man. Come on, why exactly would the most important people in your life decide that you are guinea pig material again? Did I.. did I do something to make them angry. Grrr, this is so fricken frustrating and for the love of God, I want to rip my damn skin off!
"Itch... gotta scratch... it's everywhere... please... Sam? Bobby?"
Frick. Sadistic bastards. They aren't even looking at me... They don't even care.
Damn it. Not... please... not my neck... and back... and chest... God, what is happening? I want to scratch my skin raw. Make it stop already. Somebody. Make it stop.
Huh. No. Okay, this is bad. Don't feel so good. Stomach... oh no, please, don't want to spew. They will never let me out of here. Focus. Don't...
"S'm? gonna..."
Oh well. Ha, take that... that's what you get for messin' with me baby brother. Lookee there, Sammy needs a new pair of shoes. Awesome.
"Okay Sam, it's getting worse so let's do this already."
Oh nonono, no you don't...
"Time to let me go guys. Ha ha ha, you had your fun. You got me, I've been punk'd. Show me the cameras so we can all have a laugh. I mean, you really had me going there. I actually thought you were intent on strapping me down on that menacing looking bed there. But... I mean, that's ridiculous right? You would never... not..."
Somebody tell me I'm right! C'mon Sammy, since when do you clam up? I know you love to hear the sound of your own voice so anytime bro!
The silent treatment huh? And avoiding eye contact are we? So, I guess this means it is for me. Well, isn't that just fricken peachy. But please, don't tie me down... not that... and why would you want to? What did I do?
And God, if you tie me down then...oh no, I won't be able to scratch... Okay Dean, it's official. Time to panic.
"Pleeeease... I'm... I could really go for the use of my damn hands now, gotta scratch this damn itch! You can't do this Sammy! Bobby? Why are you doing this? Why are you letting me suffer? Why? No, please... PLEASE!"
Shit. Not again. Ugh. Stupid stomach. Traitor. Oh. That's bad. I hate that taste. Copper. Frick. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse. Welcome to my life.
"Bobby? Blood."
Sheesh, what gave it away college boy? The smell? The taste? The sound? NO! How about the distinctive red colour, you master of the understatement! You can be such a... I mean come on! It's me right? So of course there just has to be blood! The universe has it out for me so it just makes sense...I would start... cripes... hacking up blood... trying to get... away from Batman and fricken Robin over here. Hey guys, that reminds me, you can consider your superhero status officially revoked! Ha, take th...
Ow! "SHIT! SON OF A..." That hurt. "Sam? Please, what the hell is happening? My whole body... hates me..."
"Breathe Dean, it'll all be better soon. I promise man. We are gonna take care of you. But you have to let us."
"Feel...so tired S'm..."
Woah. Wait. No. Am I? How did I get... No, get me off the bed... don't wanna be strapped down... please Sammy! PLEASE! Fight Dean!
"Sammy please? Bobby? Don't... don't tie me down... I hate... need to have... some... control..."
Damn, stupid eyes are starting to get foggy. Wait. Double damn it. Tears? For the love of, what is... grow some balls already Winchester.
"LET. GO. OF. ME. NOW! Not gonna ask twice Sam." Huh, saw you flinch for a second, must have my patented death glare working on its maximum setting.
"Bobby, he's too tense. His muscles and joints are locked up. I can't... little help here... can't get his arms..."
Yeah, never underestimate the power of the adrenaline rush bro. What did you think, I was just gonna lie back and take it? LET the two of you strap me down and do God knows what to me? Not damn likely. I don't even feel that damn itch right now so I guess I should thank you for that. You've got me so pissed off that all I can concentrate on is making your job in this freak show a nightmare.
"Ah hell Sam, maybe he's right."
"What?"
"What?"
Cool. Stereo.
"Try to look at it from his point of view. He doesn't really remember much about the poison..."
Sure I do. Um... spittle... from that ugly mofo..
"...or jumping out of his car..."
Say what?
"...or the trip back here..."
Crap. Yeah, how did I get here? Well this bites.
"...or about the cure for that damn itch..."
Cure? Wait... Wait, I remember something... in the car... shit. Needles... no way... there has to be another way.
"...so what is he supposed to think when we drag him in here and he sees the restraints? Poor kid, I'd be freaked out too."
Yeah Sam, poor me! Thank God, finally a voice of reason around here. A gravelly, gruff kind of voice... but still... Ha, in your face Sammy. Let's see you try and rationally defend your actions now. Bobby is on MY side! Go Bobby Go!
"But Bobby, come on. I don't think..."
"No buts kid. Your brother just needs to rest for a minute to clear his head. We owe him that much. He has been under a lot of stress and this, well this ain't helpin' any. We'll just leave him be for a couple of minutes, it'll give all of us a chance to cool our jets, and then we can talk calm and rational like. We can explain exactly what we are doing and why."
"Bobby, I really don't think that's a good idea."
"Sam. Look at me. Listen. To. Me. Are you listening?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. If you let him go... He...Will...Relax."
Come on Sammy. Come on.
"Oh yeah. Okay. Yes, right Bobby. I guess, I didn't really think of it that way."
Good boy.
"Yeah, listen to your elders Sam. Time to let me go dude."
"Okay Dean. Sorry man, I... I got a little carried away but Bobby's right. It won't do you any good if you hyperventilate or something cuz you don't know what's happening and why."
"S'okay Sammy. Just need a minute..."
...to get the hell out of here...
"Dean, your brother and I are just gonna head to the other room for a minute okay? Just close your eyes and try to rest. We'll be back in a few."
Play along Dean. This is your chance. Close your eyes, just for a minute.
"Okay Bobby."
Keep your eyes shut for another minute in case they are watching. Then it is finally time to get the hell out of Dodge. They'll never see it coming.
Wait. Huh. Did the bed just dip? No, I am just imagining things. No. There it is again. So.. that would... that would mean... Crap! No. You sneaky piece of shit mother fricken back stabbing bastards! Damn it to hell! My arms? And my feet?
Shit. I can't fricken believe it. I have just been psychologized. By Bobby no less.
What the hell? Okay, this is getting more and more disturbing. Sam?
"Sam, lay off dude.
"Sorry bro. Pretty sure you weren't just gonna strip if I asked nicely so you can kiss this outfit goodbye."
"Damn it. Stop cutting my clothes! This is so wrong on so many levels. Just.. let me out of these Sam! Bobby!"
"Sorry son but there was no way I am gonna let you just walk out the door. You are in serious trouble and we are gonna fix it. But you may want to shut your eyes for this. I ain't gonna sugar coat it for you, this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch."
I do not like the sounds of that. Or the look of Bobby right now. He's got his game face on and the fact that he is now holding that bucket of sludge and a rag in his hand is not helping.
"C'mon guys... let's talk about this... let's..."
"Here Sam."
What in the fricken hell? A gag? No. You are not... damn it Bobby, let go of my damn head.
"Bite down Dean."
God. What is that shit. Can you see me? I hope you can both see the glare. I am never fricken talking...
"Hold on to him Sam."
Why? I'm already strapped in here like some kind of... I don't know... guy who's strapped in... and I have a damn muzzle in my mouth. How could that shit in your hand possibly require this much...
AHHHHHHHHHH... SHIT! God, AM I ON FIRE? My damn neck is on fire! STOP! PLEASE! STOP! STOP!
Okay, shit. What. The. Hell. Was. That?
"How's he doing Sam?"
Breathe. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
"You're gonna have to wait a minute Bobby, his breathing is out of control."
"Dean, you're okay bro. You're okay. It'll pass. Just focus on my voice, concentrate on it. That's good. You're doing great. I bet you wanna kick my ass huh?"
Another... damn... understatement...
"Well, just need to get through this and you can give it your best shot... Good to go Bobby."
What? No Bobby. I am soooooo NOT good to go. No more, please... no more... Please Bobby, put it down... don't... don't...
TBC... Thanks again to all of you who have given this story a look. I appreciate it very, very much! Until next time...