"Life As Dean Knows It"

Set after 6.07 "Family Matters"

Chapter One

Dean moaned as he tried to burrow his head further into his pillow.

What the hell happened last night? Dean wondered.

He and Sam had hunted down a vampire on a rampage. And Dean had had enough with vampires to last him for a long time, having recently been turned into a vampire and cured. The vampire had gotten pissed at Sam, thanks to Sam's cocky, I-don't-care attitude, had used him as a punching bag while Dean approached him from behind to decapitate him. The vampire had stopped Dean and hit him once or twice before Sam had decapitated him.

Dean had helped Sam back to the car, taken him back to the motel and patched him up. He'd forced Sam to get in bed to take it easy on the stitches.

"But, Dean, you know I'm not going to sleep," Sam had argued.

"I don't care," Dean had said, shoving Sam down onto the mattress. "Watch the TV, surf for porn, I don't care. Just rest and heal."

"Yes, Mom," Sam had growled.

"Hey, don't argue with me," Dean had said. "Stay in bed."

Dean had tossed the remote and laptop onto Sam's bed.

"Hey, watch it!" Sam had warned.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Dean had told him, heading for the bathroom. "Don't get up."

Dean had gotten into bed immediately after his shower. Now, however, it felt as though he had been the one the vampire had beat on instead of Sam.

What the hell? Dean thought.

His muscles ached…all over. He felt as though the vampire had thrown him down six flights of stairs after using his head as a bat. Not to mention, there was a strange sensation all over, a bugs-under-the-skin feeling that made him want to shake it off.

Dean raised a hand to his head, rubbing it back and forth across his forehead.

"Sam, what happened to me last night?" Dean asked.

Silence greeted him, and Dean was immediately confused. Sam couldn't have fallen asleep; he doesn't need to. And he wouldn't have just left while Dean was asleep—now, wait, that was exactly what Sam would have done. Without a soul, Sam didn't give a crap about Dean.

Dean tried to open his eyes to see if Sam was gone, but the light blinded him, and he slammed his eyes closed again.

Jeez, Sam, Dean thought. You could've at least left the light off.

Dean threw an arm over his eyes, listening to the room around him.

"Sam?" Dean called. There was no response. Dean raised his voice. "Sam, you still here?"

There was still no response, so Dean assumed Sam was probably out getting them breakfast.

"Dammit, Sam, I told you to stay put," Dean moaned.

Stubborn bastard, Dean thought. I can't wait till we get his soul back.

Dean was content to lie on the bed and relax for the moment. He listened to the sounds of the morning, expecting to hear the cars driving by on the highway next to the motel, the birds flying overhead, the couple fighting in the next room over. What Dean did not expect was the complete silence pressing in on him.

Dean frowned, analyzing the room around him. Not a sound reached Dean's ears. In fact, now that he thought about it, his voice had echoed in a strange way when he'd called Sam's name. There was even a strange smell, like disinfectant and disease, the same annoying smell hospital hallways gave off.

Now that Dean was giving all sense except his sight his full attention, he noticed the bed was not as hard as he remembered. And he seemed to be wearing pants. He could have sworn he went to sleep in his boxers. There was also some kind of plastic bracelet on his left wrist.

Did Sam take me to the hospital? Dean wondered. Was I hurt worse than I thought? Maybe someone attacked in the middle of the night.

Dean quickly dismissed the idea, knowing that if he was in the hospital, he would be hearing a heart monitor probably, commotion in the hallways, hushed conversation up and down the hallways…But all Dean heard was that disconcerting, unsettling silence.

There is no way anything was meant to be that quiet, Dean thought.

Dean finally took a chance and slit his eyes open, letting his pupils adjust to the light. When the light dimmed as his eyes adjusted, he was greeted by white.

Dean frowned as his eyes searched the room. White ceiling, white walls, white door, white floors…

"What the hell…" Dean muttered as he sat up, placing his feet on the floor next to the bed.

His feet met a padded floor. Looking closer, Dean saw that the walls and door were padded also. He looked down to see the plastic bracelet on his left wrist. It was a blue hospital band that read:

WINCHESTER, DEAN

01/24/1979

ALLERGIES: SHELLFISH

Dean frowned, pulling the white blanket and sheet back to see he was wearing blue scrub pants and a white t-shirt.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell?" Dean muttered.

He turned on his bed to see a window high in the wall next to the bed, bars over the glass.

"I am really getting a bad feeling about this," Dean muttered.

He climbed to his feet, heading past the foot of the bed towards the door. Dean placed a hand on the padding, seeing now that it was a very sturdy door. Dean's heart began to pound when he saw that there was no doorknob on his side.

"Oh, not good…" Dean said.

He began to throw himself at the door, shoving his shoulder into it. The padding cushioned most of his momentum, but if the ache in his shoulder was anything to go by, the door was made of solid steel. He soon gave up, chest heaving, and sat down on the bed.

Okay, Dean, he thought. Calm down. Get a handle on the situation.

Dean began to take stock of the situation.

What he knew:

1. He and Sam had hunted a vampire the night previously.

2. He and Sam had fallen asleep in their motel room.

3. He had woken up some place he didn't recognize.

4. He hurt…a lot.

5. There were pads on every surface, bars on the window, and no way out.

6. He was fairly certain now that he knew where he was, but it absolutely did not make him feel any better.

Dean could only think of two possibilities: some demon or other creature had gotten hold of him and brought him here, or someone had overheard he and Sam while they were discussing a hunt and locked him in here. Both scenarios still proposed a very pertinent question: where was Sam?

Dean had no way of knowing or finding out where Sam was, or if he was even safe. If they had gotten to Dean, they had most certainly gotten Sam. Or maybe not. Dean had been asleep. Sam, of course, had not. So, the question still stood: where was Sam?

Dean could still feel the annoying crawling skin sensation now that he sat still. He wondered what was causing it, because it was something he'd never experienced before. It caused his limbs to constantly move in jittery, nervous movements to dissipate the feeling, but it never worked. His head kept twitching to the sides and towards his shoulders, the biggest skin-crawling twinges being in his neck. It was a common movement Dean had seen from crazy people, making them appear even more insane.

It unnerved Dean to a level he was really not comfortable with. As a big brother, and especially as a hunter, Dean had a sixth sense, an intuition that warned him when his brother was in danger or a monster was near. And right now…that intuition was screaming at him.

Dean looked around his small, lonely confines, but there was absolutely no weapon whatsoever. The only objects in the room were the bed, the two blankets, the barred window, the locked door and the doorway past the head of the bed—

Doorway? Dean thought.

He hadn't noticed it before, but who could blame him, what with waking up here and those damn twitches.

Dean moved from the bed, heading to the doorway. It led to a small room with a toilet and a sink.

"Well…better than prison," Dean muttered.

He walked back to his bed, sitting down and twitching his head to the side again.

He desperately wished for someone to come give him answers, but he also wanted to be left alone, knowing that the answers given him would only make things worse. Because, really, since when is waking up in an insane asylum a good thing?

A knock came at the door, and Dean jolted up from the bed, plastering his back to the wall next to the door.

"Dean," a female voice called. "It's Casey. I'm here with your breakfast."

Dean waited with held breath as a key turned in the lock. He held his whole body tense and ready, prepared to attack whatever walked in. The door unbolted and creaked open, swinging towards Dean. He stayed quiet behind the door, waiting for the newcomer to walk further in. The door came to a sudden stop perpendicular to the wall before a woman walked around the door to face Dean.

"Now, Dean, you know better than to hide," she said, her hand on her hip.

Dean stared in shock at her. It was like she was expecting him to be behind that door. But that wasn't what shocked Dean. He was staring at Casey: the demon he'd been trapped in a cellar with four years ago…and that Sam had then killed with the Colt. She wore blue Nursing scrubs.

"You?" asked Dean.

Casey smiled. "Yes, me. Come on, now. It's time for breakfast."

Casey reached a hand forward towards Dean's elbow, but he backed away from her touch.

"You're dead," said Dean, shaking his head. "Sam shot you. I watched you die."

"No, Dean," said Casey. "I'm perfectly fine. Be a good boy and come eat for me."

"What did you do to me?" demanded Dean, still tense. "Where's Sam?"

"Dean, it's breakfast time," said Casey in a calm, placating tone, completely ignoring his questions. "If you don't behave, you don't get breakfast."

Dean frowned, still glaring at her. "Just back the hell up, bitch."

Casey frowned and looked over her shoulder. A man walked up behind Casey, dressed in orderly whites.

Dean's eyes widened. "Gordon?"

The last time he'd seen Gordon Walker, the hunter-turned-vampire had taken a chunk out of his neck before Sam had decapitated him. The funny thing was, the two of them now had something in common: they'd been turned into vampires. The difference between Dean and Gordon was that Dean had been cured.

Gordon Smiled calmly at Dean. "Come on, buddy. You know Casey hates it when you're stubborn."

Dean had no idea what was going on, or why these two were acting like he was five years old. All Dean knew was these two were dead—killed by Sam's own hands—and now they were here. Dean had to figure out a way out of this.

"I don't want breakfast," Dean told them, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them.

"Dean, you need to eat and take your medicine," Casey said.

Dean rolled his eyes, nodding his head. Of course, there was medicine. An insane asylum had to dish out medicine at some point.

Dean shook his head. "I don't want the medicine."

"Dean, the medicine makes you calm," said Casey.

"I am calm," Dean told her, his panicked, unsettled tone betraying his emotions.

"Dean, you have to take your medicine," Casey instructed.

"But I don't need it," said Dean. "I'm calm, I'm relaxed, I'm not crazy. I don't need it."

"Dean, we cannot leave until your medicine has been taken," said Casey.

"Great, problem solved," Dean told her. "You take it."

Casey stifled a laughing smile. "Dean, you take your medicine on your own, or we'll have to give it to you."

Dean knew what that meant: restraints, sedation and a shot—the complete absence of free will. They would give him no choice: it was their way, or…their way. And Casey's habit of saying his name first whenever she spoke to him was beginning to grate on his nerves.

Dean tried to make one last ditch effort.

"Casey," said Dean. "I know we've had kind of a rocky past, but—"

"Dean, we've always gotten long," Casey told him.

Dean huffed out a breath in a small chuckle. "I don't think you'd call trapped in a basement waiting for our partners to get there to kill each other getting along."

Casey's eyes fell to the floor in what looked like sorrow before masking her face and looking back up at him.

"Casey, look at me," said Dean, an untimely neck twitch betraying his words, "I am not crazy. You have to see that. Trust me, I am not crazy."

Casey looked into his eyes. "No, you're not."

Dean felt a small weight flee his chest, feeling like he was finally getting somewhere.

"You're just confused," Casey told him.

And the weight was back.

"Come with us, Dean," said Casey. "We'll help you."

She began inching closer, Gordon a step behind her. Dean knew now that he had to fight his way out, probably knew it from the moment she had knocked on the door. He saw a way out of this room, and he had to take it.

Dean let his jittery limbs take over, making it appear as though he were shaking. He let his eyes shift back and forth all over the place.

Dean nodded. "Yeah…yeah…"

Casey slowly stepped forward, and when she and Gordon were two feet in front of him, Dean made his move.

Dean shoved Casey hard into the wall, knocking her head against it. As Gordon rushed Dean, raising a club he'd drawn from his belt, Dean blocked the club against his right forearm. Dean kept his arm moving, circling it around the outside of Gordon's arm and under it, pulling the club under his own arm. Pinning the club between his upper arm and his ribs, he pulled down on Gordon's arm while twisting, breaking Gordon's grip on the club.

Dean swung his left hand towards Gordon's jaw, punching him twice. Gordon's body backed away a couple inches with each punch, letting Dean swing the club around in a perfect grip. Dean swung the club up across Gordon's nose, knocking him out.

Dean glanced at Casey, who was also knocked out. Dean bent over Gordon, rummaging in his pockets until he found a set of keys. Dean rushed to the doorway, crouched on bent legs, and peered into the hallway in both directions.

It was a long hallway, doors every dozen feet or so on either side, the same blinding white everywhere. No one was in the hallway, so Dean darted out of his room, rushing down the hall towards his right. Halfway down the hall, Dean saw another hall on his left, a door at the very end that looked different than the others.

Dean rushed to the door to find it locked. He looked through the window to see the room on the other side. It appeared to be a common room where the patients mingled: chairs, couches, tables, bookshelf, TV…

Dean rummaged through the key ring, finding one that looked like it fit. He tried it, and the door came open. There were no patients in the room at this time, and Dean began to move to the door that led towards the lobby and freedom. Through the windows beside that door, Dean saw a nurse's station. Halfway across the room, the nurse stood up in the station, and Dean hid behind a pillar near the right wall.

"Dammit," Dean muttered, his back against the pillar.

Dean looked to see the nurse turned away, so he darted for a different door in the wall near him. He fumbled with the keys before finding the right one. When he opened the door, he saw what appeared to be a crew lounge filled with people in white uniforms.

Three fucking doors and I gotta pick the one that leads to the nurses and orderlies?

Dean darted back out the door and into the common room as a nurse called out his name from the room. Dean turned to see two orderlies standing at the open lobby door.

They must have cameras, Dean thought.

Dean charged at them, swinging his club and knocking them both out. But the lobby door had closed and locked as he was fighting them, and before he could reach for the keys, a voice called out.

"Dean!"

Dean froze at the voice behind him. It surely came from one of the employees from the lounge. Dean gripped the club tighter and spun to face them, crouched low in readiness and muscles tensed. He froze once again when he saw the several nurses and orderlies framing the room around him.

What the… Dean wondered.

He recognized each and every one of them. There was a short, slim nurse with short blonde hair.

Meg… Dean realized. How did she get her original host back?

As far as he knew, Meg Master's family had cremated her body when she died after the exorcism.

The next nurse was a little taller, pale, and had long brown hair.

Constance Welch… Dean realized.

Her spirit had been destroyed when Sam had driven the Impala into her house.

The next man was a portly, middle-aged orderly with sandy hair and eyes so hazel you could swear they were yellow.

Yellow-Eyed Demon…

That host body—not to mention the demon itself—had been destroyed when Dean shot him with the Colt.

The next orderly was very tall—as tall as Sam—with short brown hair and a bear.

Alistair…

He and this host had been killed when Sam used his psychic mojo to kill him.

The next nurse was tall, blonde and had a round, beautiful face.

Lillith…

Her and the host had been killed by Sam in St. Mary's Convent.

The last orderly was middle-aged with sallow skin and black hair.

Jack Montgomery…

Sam had roasted-n-toasted him after he'd successfully turned himself into a rugaru.

And the last nurse was someone Dean had hoped never to see again. She was as tall as Dean, blonde, slender, and had a sadistic smirk that was just waiting to come out.

Ruby… Dean thought with a hidden growl.

He wished he had her knife so he could kill her again.

Dean did not understand; every single one of these people were dead, with the exception of Meg. But that host should not be here; she was nothing but ashes.

Something weird's going on here…

"Dean, calm down," Ruby told him. "Just put the club down and walk away."

"So you guys can kill me?" said Dean. He chuckled. "Not a chance."

"Dean, no one is going to hurt you," said Azazel.

What is with them using my name at the beginning of every sentence? Dean wondered.

"Bullshit," Dean muttered.

They were all inching closer, cornering him at that end of the room, and that intuition was screaming inside Dean's head again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much evil in one room…well, at least not this diverse.

"Dean, come with us," said Alistair with that stupid lisp. "No one has to get hurt."

Apparently, using his name was supposed to calm him. All it was doing was pissing him off.

"Except me, right?" said Dean, standing his ground as the orderlies got closer.

"Everything's going to be alright, Dean," said Lillith.

They kept coming, so Dean took his chances. He swung the club at the closest orderly—Jack—and swung it at Azazel. He felt someone grab his arms from behind, so he brought his foot down on theirs. The person released him, but Jack grabbed his club arm, breaking his grip on the club.

Dean punched him, but Alistair grabbed his arm, and Jack grabbed his other arm. They brought him to his knees, but Dean head-butted Alistair. Alistair reeled back, but Azazel jumped him, pushing on his back until Dean was face-down on the floor. Dean struggled in their grasp as he looked up to see Gordon joining them. Jack and Alistair each had an arm, Azazel dug his knees into Dean's back, and Gordon held his legs down.

The four orderlies struggled to keep him down, and Dean would have smirked inwardly that it took four big guys to take him down…if he wasn't so focused on getting away.

"Let me go!" Dean yelled at them. "You evil sons of bitches! Get off me!"

"Dean, calm down!" Azazel yelled in his ear.

"I'll kill you all!" Dean yelled as he tried to throw Yellow-Eyes off him, moving his shoulders back and forth, but Jack and Alistair held his arms tight. He also tried kicking his legs, but Gordon had a good hold on them. "I will rip every one of your hearts out!"

"Meg," said Alistair, "you got it?"

"Yeah," said Meg.

Dean tilted his head to see Meg approaching him with a needle and syringe.

"No!" Dean yelled, renewing his struggles to get free. "Get away from me!"

"Hold him," said Meg, approaching the group.

Dean looked up at the needle as Meg knelt by his head. Real fear began to creep into Dean's heart. If they drugged him, he knew he would never get out of here.

"No!" Dean yelled, straining his head away from Meg and trying to get away from her. "No, don't! Get away from me!"

"It'll be alright, Dean," Meg coaxed. "This will make everything better."

Yeah, better for you, Dean thought.

"No!" Dean yelled as Azazel placed a hand on Dean's head to hold him still. "Stop, no! Get away!"

Dean felt the prick of the needle in the side of his neck.

"No!"

The cool rush of drugs, the dizzying spin of the relaxant, and the blackout of sedation.

So, what do you guys think? Review please!