That taste . . . the lack of air . . . the feeling of drowning – or, more like being drown. He wanted to escape but the reality got him every time. Not even imagining being in a much nicer place – in the middle of the ring, holding the microphone – could help. His eyes were put under a lot of pressure when they were not allowed to shed a tear. Not that he'd cried. But he wished he could. The feeling of absolute helplessness surrounded him. He couldn't move; he could not go on. He wished to spit out the alien substance that had entered his environment by force. So hard and for so long he had tried to be the strongest, to make others see that he was no to be manipulated with, but ultimately he failed. He felt weak and used. They won; they used his personality against him. They caught him in this wicked game. They'd made him crawl.

A "click" sound saved Dean from his unsought thinking. What was that? Oh, just Seth taking a picture. He had to document this one-in-a-lifetime moment.

The sound made Roman open his eyes and lose the focus on Dean's work. Until now he had been trying to enjoy the show, but, to be honest, he couldn't; it did not feel right. Not at all. His principles were the only thing that made him go with it and prevented him from stopping this thing that was causing only suffering. Sure, how he felt could it no way be compared to Dean's disgust, but deeply inside he welcomed the distraction. On the outside, though, he was furious. "What do you think you're doing?"

Seth didn't choose to reply; he just stood there, smiling, being excited and all. It appeared that he was the only want liking what was happening. Had he looked away once? Or was he watching the whole time? When was the last time he blinked?

That was not important for it was over now. Meanwhile, Dean used the distraction to withdraw from the battle. He had long lost anyway. He couldn't take it anymore. It made him sick. Nauseated. When he finally opened his eyes, he wasn't even able to look at either of his friends. Solitude was what he demanded. For now, though, stepping back and getting some fresh air was enough. He ran to the nearest tree where he used the trunk to support his weakened body. He got as much air in his lungs as he could. It still wasn't enough. The smell was still with him. And that taste . . . salty . . . warm. "Argh!" he cried. He had to get it out of his head. He was already feeling pretty sick and thinking about the recent experience would not help.

Roman, somehow not noticing that his partner in crime had left him, cared more about Seth than Dean's discomfort. "Why?! Why do you always have to ruin it?!" he yelled. He was seriously upset about Seth's another causing the failure of his plan. He had enough. Also, he was still in possession of Dean's gun. And somehow he got used to using it . . . against Seth. He fired again.

"Would you stop shooting at me?" Now Seth got angry as well.

"Delete that picture. Immediately!"

"Pull up your pants. Immediately!'' Seth countered.

Only now Roman seemed to have noticed that the spectacle was over. He did cover the part of his body that had been receiving a lot of attention lately.

"Gimme that," Seth asked for the gun. No, he didn't need permission. He just took it. Then he threw it away.

"Delete the picture," Roman insisted, now fully dressed.

"What? You're suddenly ashamed of it, or what?"

"There doesn't need to be any evidence." Suddenly Roman realized the aggressive behavior was maybe not the best way to deal with Seth. He smiled when he a better idea popped into his head. There was another to way to change Seth's mind. Roman asked Seth, "Or do you need the picture for personal reasons? Something to warm you up at night when you're alone?"

Roman's approach delivered. Seth's smile disappeared and had been replaced with expression of discontent and disgust.

"No," he asserted awkwardly.

"Then why do you want it?"

"As evidence. A reminder that this really happened."

"Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll believe it."

Roman knew it wouldn't take long for Seth to delete that damn picture. If he refused, though, he was ready to offer him to finish what Dean started. But now that this problem had been resolved and his aggressive mood was gone, he looked to see where Dean disappeared.

Dean was still embracing the tree.

"Are you okay?" Roman asked, worried about his hopefully still friend.

But the sound of Roman's voice did not ease Dean's pain. What happened had a great impact on him. It affected him more than he thought. He did not want to see anything, hear anything, smell anything, taste anything, feel anything. He wanted to close his eyes and find himself in a vacuum. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Dean? Do you need help?" Roman asked when he did not get any response the first time.

Dean, although he felt far from fine, wanted to assure his friends that there was nothing to worry about. But when he looked behind to see them, a reaction came. He turned back to the tree to prevent the guys from seeing him puking.

Roman and Seth looked at it each. They put their disputes aside and set their priorities straight. Their friend, Dean, was what they needed to care about now. Seth put his head over his mouth in empathy. He felt bad for Dean. Maybe the joke went too far.

"I'll go to him; you stay here," Seth told Roman. He realized Seth presented lesser of two evils than Roman right now.

He walked fast, thinking what to say, but the only right word seemed to be sorry. Yet this was neither his idea nor his execution. But he felt guilty although he didn't do anything wrong. Well . . . He participated; he did not stop it from happening. Sure, Dean acted like it was no big deal but now he could see it was. What happened, that little practical joke Roman came up with was far from innocent. It was not something that would leave their minds in the morning. No. It had tremendous impact, on Dean in particular. And Seth couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Dean," Seth called once he was right behind him. "Are you okay?" he asked out of courtesy. But even he had to know if Dean answered yes, he would be lying.

Dean nodded his head yes, but did not say a word.

"I knew coming here was a bad idea."

Dean did not react. He was in his own world where the sky was bright and the birds were singing.

Seth tried to support him by patting him on the shoulder but touch was not something that Dean wanted right now. Or ever again. "I'll be alright," Dean assured him. "Just give me a sec."

It was hard to see how he would be alright. How he could be alright. Only now Seth looked at what happened to Dean in its complexity. He looked at Dean leaning on the tree and saw a broken man, physically and mentally abused. In a day . . . few hours really, he suffered so much that it was easy to sympathize with him. They made him think someone was going after him, after all of them, they made him think his friends were in danger, or, even worse, dead, they made him think he was being chased, and he they actually chased him, they hit him in the head so hard that he lost consciousness for a while, they made him suck cocks. He went through all of that, and now he was saying that he would be alright.

"I'm sorry," Seth apologized.