"Where is the boy?"

The dark figure that was cloaked in the shadows of the very badly lit room had asked the same question at least a dozen times now, and every time, the answer was the same. Dean had no idea what he was talking about, and he was starting to get frustrated. "I don't know how many times I have to say it. I don't know what you're talking about."

Again, as all the times before, a hand - if you could really call it that - flew out in anger and struck Dean across the cheek. As all the times before, Dean felt like his face had exploded. There was something about the hits that just made his whole head feel like it was being put through a meat grinder. Dammit, if he survived this at all, he'd have one hell of a headache to deal with.

The thing that was in the room with him – Dean really wasn't sure what to call the thing. It was almost like evil personified. Not really a demon, but not really an evil spirit, either. It was a solid form, but it had no real shape, no real way of identifying what it was. It was just a form, a dark, ugly, unidentifiable form. Whatever it was, though, it could verbalize and it could hit – and hit hard.

Dean spit out the mouthful of blood, and his head rolled forward, his chin very nearly touching his chest. He was trying so hard to hold it together, but the beating that he was getting was rapidly depleting his brain of the ability to think coherent thoughts. He tried once again to reason with the thing, even though he knew it was in vain.

"Look, if you just tell me what the fuck you're talking about, maybe I can help you out here."

The form hovered in front of Dean, its non-existent "eyes" staring at the bloodied Winchester before him. There were no restraints to hold the eldest of two in the seat. None were needed. The spiritual force the dark creature possessed was more than enough to keep Dean exactly where it wanted him to be. Finally, and for the first time since the interrogation had begun, the being spoke something other than the same question it had repeated so many times. "Your son, Dean. Where is your son? I know you know where he is."

Dean's head shot up despite the pain he felt. His eyes, nearly swollen shut now, were as wide as they could possibly be under the circumstances. This thing was crazy! He had no son! Lisa Braeden had assured him beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ben was not his. Dean's body began to shake slightly, appearing at first like he was having some sort of small seizure. But then his lips curled up and a rough, gravelly sounding laughter began to spill out. He grinned as much as he could through the busted lip and sore spots that seemed to cover most of his face. "You're so full of shit!" he spat out. "You've been beating the shit out of me to get information about a kid that doesn't exist. I have no son, Dude."

The being in the room took on an action similar to Dean's. It began to shake slowly at first, then a little more before an awful, evil kind of laughter trickled out. "Oh Dean, you really expect us to believe that you don't know about your own son's existence? If we believed that, even for a second, you might be a free man right now. As it stands, though, you are on your own here. You're only chance of survival is to tell us what we want to know."

Dean felt a trickle of something akin to fear run up his spine. What if they were telling him the truth? What if he really did have a son out there? Was it Ben and Lisa just lied to him? Or was it someone else – a one night stand that he'd never heard from again. Lord knew he'd had enough of those. Any one of the women he'd been with could have gotten pregnant and he'd never have known about it. If they were telling the truth, what did they want with the boy? That thought scared him perhaps more than any other. What in heaven or hell could they possibly want with a child of his, other than to hold it over his head in attempt to make him do their bidding. Surely they wouldn't go through all this trouble of taking Sam, then him, of torturing him like this – just to have a bargaining chip. The demons knew Dean's world better than that. If they wanted a bargaining chip, they wouldn't have released Sam in exchange for him. This boy had to mean something more than even Dean could comprehend right now. If the boy even existed.

"Okay, okay. So, assuming I do know something, what makes you think I'm going to tell you anything?"

Another punch across the face and Dean was certain he'd heard a crack. He could be mistaken, but he knew what bones being broken sounded like by now. The figure above him shook with fury, and its voice echoed off the walls, seeming to come not from the creature, but from hell itself. "Where is the boy?!"

"I don't know!" Dean shouted back, not really caring about the consequences of finally losing the restraint he had on himself. He was sick and tired of being beaten for information that he simply didn't have. "If you want to kill me, then do it already and quit this pansy-ass shit!"

The being hovered over Dean for a moment longer before finally, it began to quiver and move in a way that was really indescribable. Dean watched as the form began to take shape, and within seconds, it assumed the form of Ruby. Dean's eyes grew dark as he stared at the dark headed bitch. He'd never liked Ruby, regardless of what she might have done for them in the past. She was a demon, bottom line. Sam had some big soft spot for her, so Dean had hesitated in sending her straight back to hell, but now… Dean was certain that the figure before him was only using the likeness of Ruby to get under Dean's skin, but there was still that hint of doubt in the back of his mind. What if it wasn't faking? What if the one before him was really Ruby? He was losing his mind, that much was certain. Too much time in a pitch black room was getting to him, and he couldn't see straight enough to know if the girl before him was real or make believe. "Ruby," he said simply, his voice dripping with venom.

"Now Dean. Is that any way to address an old friend? Come on. We've got more of a friendly bond than that, now don't we?"

Dean practically snarled as he looked up at her. "Go to hell, Bitch."

Once again, a hand flew forward and made contact with Dean's cheek. It was definitely different this time – much weaker and more human – but with the other wounds that had already been inflicted, that little girly slap still hurt like hell.

Ruby's hand reached out and grabbed a handful of Dean's short hair and yanked his head back. She leaned over him, inches away from his face with dark, unearthly black eyes staring down at him. "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not nice to call a girl a bitch?" She gave his hair a hard yank, pulling his head back even further before she released the grip, causing his head to snap forward painfully.

Dean spit out another mouthful of blood. This was really getting old fast. And now they were bringing his mother into the fight. If there was one subject you stayed away from with Dean, it was his mother. "Fuck you! You leave my mother out of this!"

Ruby stood back, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Dean with a sarcastic expression. "Tisk, tisk. Such a potty mouth, Dean. I guess she didn't teach you that it wasn't nice to curse in front of a girl, either."

"You're not a girl," he snarled.

"Aw, Dean. Now you've just hurt my feelings. But you know what? I'm in a forgiving mood. So I'm gonna forget that you're being an asshole, and I'm just going to let you go back to your room, for now. But you think long and hard about whether or not you really know where that boy is. Because I can promise you one simple thing." Ruby again stepped forward and leaned close to Dean. She pressed her cheek against his and her breath was hot on his ear when she whispered, "I will kill everyone you love, starting with your precious Sam, until you tell me where that kid is. It's up to you." With that, Ruby turned her head and ran her tongue along the contours of Dean's ear.

Dean tried to jerk his head away, but before he could even blink, he was once again swallowed in darkness. The invisible, supernatural restraints that had held him down were no more, and he was once again sitting on the hard floor of the cell he was being kept in. He knew he was alone again. He leaned back against the wall, staring up into a blackness that was impossible to penetrate. He didn't even try to look for the flashlight just yet. Tears filled his eyes as he stared upwards, and for the first time in a long time, Dean actually prayed. "God, if you're still there, you gotta get me out of this."