Sam's world was fuzzy as he pulled himself back into consciousness. "Wha…"He started to speak out loud, but a gag in front of his mouth prevented it. Damn… Where am I? He swore inwardly, maybe because of all the time he spent with Dean, and tugged at his arms and legs automatically, to no avail. Seriously, what the hell! He closed his eyes again, blinking a few times as his head cleared. He was in a very bright room, laying on something hard. The floor maybe?

He very slowly tilted his head to the side, his eyes coming across white walls and lots of granite countertops that offered lots of space under the roomy wooden white cabinets that gave way to glass inserts, showing various bottles, jars and boxes inside. Judging by his height compared to the countertops, he wasn't on the floor. He was on a table of some sort, like in a hosp- Hospital! Duh!

He looked around again, growing more and more confused. If he was in a hospital, why was he strapped to a table? And what was with the gag? He tugged at his restrains a bit more, trying unsuccessfully to spit out the gag. How did I even get here? He thought hard, trying to come up with something, anything, to explain how he ended up like this.

Okay think Sam… He concentrated, his head still fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was heading out to a bar to hustle pool with Dean – as they did every so often as to not go broke – and came back to their hotel room with easily a thousand bucks. It wasn't exactly honest work Sam knew, but considering all the lives they saved on a regular basis for free; this was a way to make money that seemed more than acceptable. Much to Dean's dismay, Sam had actually brought most of the money home this time. During the four months when Dean had been in hell, and the other six when the trickster had let Dean die, Sam had gotten pretty good at hustling pool and poker. That was, when he kept his head. And with his brother back, it was a lot easier to stay sober. Sam wasn't exactly innocent when it came to substance abuse, it kind of came with being a Winchester, but he had let most of it slide.

So when they got back to the hotel… What had happened? Oh yeah… Sam realized with a sigh. There had been that. The big fight. But considering how much Dean and Sam seemed to fight lately, it might have been considered a little fight to most people, but it was still pretty bad. It didn't really matter what they were fighting about – and at the moment Sam was too dizzy to remember – but he guessed it fell into one of their usual "fight-about" categories. It was either Sam's powers (people never really got sick of that… did they?), the whole religion discussion (again!), the why-would-you-spend-so-much-time-with-Ruby discussion (as if Sam hadn't heard that one before), or the fight that always seemed to come up about why Dean wouldn't open up about hell. Whatever it was really about… it hadn't ended well. There was yelling, maybe a punch or two, and maybe even some broken furniture. Their fights never really did end well. Sam had left to go get some air – Dean was never one to leave in the middle of a fight without getting his say, and Sam didn't want to give him that satisfaction. So that ended up with him leaving Dean alone in the motel room. Dean was then left brooding alone in the motel, and Sam had been brooding alone behind the gas station. Why does this sound familiar?

Then when Sam got back he had… Well… What had he done? Had he and Dean resolved their fight? Made up? Used the silent treatment? Sam hesitated, finding the flaw in his own mental story. Maybe he never went back. Maybe… He looked around again. Maybe he ended up here. What if someone… or something, had caught him off guard when he was out walking, knocked him out, and taken him back here? It didn't seem so crazy. But why the hospital, if that's where he really was?

Slowly, as if seeing it for the first time – he probably had, actually – he looked upon the heavy metal door that was locked, bolted, and seemed airtight enough to contain a nuclear bomb. So Sam had been taken to a hospital by who-knows-what for who-knows-what reason. But if he had ended up in here… then what did they want with him? And where, Sam wondered with a flare of panic, was Dean?

"Good morning Sam," a petite woman who appeared to be in her late twenties entered, carrying a clipboard and pushing a small trolley. Sam wasn't sure where she had come from, because the door was still closed, but it seemed that there was a door behind him also, but no matter how he strained his he couldn't see it. He turned his head to look at the woman, unsure if she was enemy or friend. Or if she was even human, although so far the answer seemed to be yes. She was attractive, with think wavy brunette hair pulled into a messy ponytail, thin-rimmed glasses that magnified startling brown eyes, and pouty lips that made her look like Angelina Joilie but with less makeup and slight dark circles under her eyes. "And how are we today?"

Sam frowned up at her, creasing his brow. He wasn't sure whether to glare or not because, even though he was strapped to a table, she technically hadn't done anything to hurt him. He went to speak again but choked on the gag, and the woman sighed softly to herself.

"Oh Sam you know that wont do any good," She scolded as if to a three-year-old, and turned her back on him to search her cart for something, humming a tune softly to herself as she did so. After a few seconds – during which Sam could have asked a million questions if he could talk – She pulled out a cord attached to what looked like a hairpin made of sewing needles. Sam felt his heartbeat race. What the heck was that? She wasn't going to use that on him, was she? The woman seemed to read his mind, clicking her tongue at him softly and shaking her head. "Now Sam, don't tell me you are afraid of a little needle, are you?"

The woman took a few steps towards Sam, the needle-contraption in hand, and Sam tried to pull away, tugging at his bonds and shaking violently, his muscles tensing up. The woman stopped, sighing. "Now Sam, I was under the impression that we were going to have a pleasant day together. I'd rather not have you disappoint me." At first Sam had been wondering if the woman was insane, but after a while he began to wonder if the tone in the woman's voice was mocking him. Maybe it wasn't hysteria at all. It could just be pure menace. Or both. It didn't really matter, Sam realized. She still wanted to hurt him. He thrashed around for another minute hopelessly, during which the woman shook her head in disgust. "Now Sam, I can see that you aren't being very cooperative in our little experiment. I was so exited to meet you, and now you are starting to put a downer on my mood. The only one of your kind left with demon blood, you should be exited to be a part of this experiment."

Stop saying experiment! Sam looked worriedly around the room, wondering how he could break free. How did she know about his demon blood? What was she going to do? Experiment how?

The woman grabbed a needle from the table, and pushed the tip into a vial of a clear liquid, filling it half full before turning to Sam. "Now I don't want you ruining this and hurting yourself again, okay?" She started towards him.

Again? What is she talking about? What is that?! Sam tried to pull away but it was no use. The woman reached for his head, and for a second he thought she was going to put the needle in his neck, but she merely pulled away the gag, throwing the cloth on the floor.

"What do you want with me? What are you doing?" Sam gasped, trying to reason with the woman. He looked her over desperately. She was wearing a nametag that said Jane. "Jane, listen, I didn't do anything. I didn't" –

"Shh…"She put a hand over his mouth, silencing him with a surprisingly strong grip for someone of her size. " It will all be okay Sam. It's okay." She turned her head to the side and shoved the needle into his bicep, releasing the liquid into his bloodstream. Pulling her hand away, Jane watched with curiosity as Sam fought for another minute, trying harder than ever to break free.

"What do you want with me," Sam repeated urgently, trying to fight back panic. "I didn't… I'm not… Where's my brother?" He jerked again, trying to pull free.

"You are just going to make it work faster," She offered, as if a teacher informing her student of information he should know but didn't. " The faster your heart beats, the faster the blood pumps and the faster it will spread."

"Where's my… Dean…"Sam slowed, his body shutting down. He was sending the signals, but his limbs weren't getting them. She had paralyzed him! "Dean…"Sam felt his head slump to one side as the liquid took its effect and he let it, unable to stop his head from hitting the side of the table. He concentrated as hard as he could, thinking about his feet, his hands, trying without avail to move.

"Good now, are you going to cooperate?" The woman's voice was cheerful again, which somehow did nothing for Sam's nerves. He could only lay there in despair as she turned to the table again, picking up the needle-tube-machine. "This might sting a bit dear." She lifted his head a bit – Sam felt himself panicking – and slumped it forwards, the back of his neck showing, and felt with her fingers along his spine.

Oh no… Please God no… Sam felt as something pressed against one of his vertebrae. Something was triggered – he heard her push it into place – and the needles slid crosswise back, locking the tube against his spine. A shock of pain ran up into his hairline and down into his torso, causing a feeling of nausea to overcome Sam's limp form. If what Sam thought was happening was what was really happening, then he was screwed. He remembered seeing in some movie or other - Spiderman, maybe - some man lock a machine into his spine just below the brain like the one that Sam had just had inserted into his body. No, no please no… He heard another slide and felt something pierce the skin at the back of his neck, and for a moment everything went silent. Sam was screaming mentally, yelling every curse word and vile horrible thing that he knew Dean would say and more, but he couldn't move. His lips didn't flicker; his eyes didn't blink of their own accord. He was paralyzed.

Slowly, the woman laid Sam's head back down, careful not to disrupt her invention, and moved to the table again, pulling out two more tubes. Sam, who was still screaming to no one's ears, heard his heart rate increase; unable to stop what he knew was coming. The woman approached him and, somewhat to Sam's relief, did not try to stick anything into his spine but simply stuck two needles into his chest, one under each collarbone. Sam recognized the spots with confusion. They were pressure points. Nerve endings. But why…

Back to the table the woman went, and Sam wanted to look her way but found he couldn't. Even his eyes were stuck looking at the ceiling without his control. The anesthetic had finally taken complete hold of him. When Jane came back into his line of vision, she had a small machine on the cart with wires and tubes attached. It looked like it had been altered somehow, with extra wires and pieces of copper taped into places that didn't seem natural. Sam couldn't focus on the words across the front very well, but he thought he saw "Shock Treatment" . Sam was panicking inside again, but he found that not even his heartbeat would change. She had been altering the machine somehow, changing it. Sam knew that shock treatments didn't involve tapping into the spine, but apparently this one did. The woman leaned over him again, and he tried his hardest to glare but couldn't. He realized with a pang that he hadn't blinked in over a minute. The woman, seeming to sense this, smiled. She rested her fingers on his eyelids, closing them softly. "It's okay Sam," Her voice was gentle, but Sam heard the menace in it. She was enjoying this. Please… No… He heard her footsteps fall away from him in the direction of the machine and he heard the sound of electricity buzzing, then sparks where heard. After a few seconds, it sounded like a car engine being revved up. Then the sound of her flicking a switch. Suddenly pain was everywhere, trailing from his spine all across his unmoving body. He screamed in his head, but no one could hear him. After a while, he couldn't even hear himself.