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DAMNED || LANDEL'S INSTITUTE

A Multifandom Asylum RPG


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Night 55: Disciplinary Therapy Room 1 [M-U for Dean Winchester]
damned_doctors wrote in damned


Someone once said that man's enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself. The doctor -- or rather, the demon temporarily inhabiting the willing doctor's body -- thought that was a rather interesting choice of words. It was true that they encompassed an array of flaws by virtue of their humanity. But that in turn made made it extremely easy to nudge them into behaving certain ways...under certain circumstances, at least. The demon had observed humans enough to understand that they could also be unpredictable. Give a man something he wants, and he may just be willing to sell his soul to acquire it.

That was what made meetings like these quite interesting.

Arms folded over his chest, the demon observed Dean Winchester with a steely gaze. He was propped up in his chair. Unlike most subjects brought in here, though, there was nothing holding him down. The procedure was unusual in that most doctors were quick to tie down their patients in order to make the experiment as smooth as possible. But there was no need to grow impatient and restrain Dean. If everything went according to plan, he was going to inflict enough pain on himself.

Although Dean had been injected with drugs, they weren't strong enough to keep him out the whole night. The demon sat across from him, watched, and waited.


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Dean would’ve thought he’d remember getting knocked on his ass by a drug.

His neck hurt. And his ass. Sitting unconscious for who knew how long on a chair and yeah, he wasn't too surprised his ass and neck are sore. Fighting awake took awhile, Dean giving a grunt and a shudder as he started to come to, his head still swimming and honestly, he was on the fence if he was gonna hurl just to get it out of the way. Probably shouldn't have wolfed down dinner, come to think of it, 'cause he was regretting it now in a big way. The first thing Dean saw was some shoes. The thing was, they were really, really damn nice shoes. Too nice to be army puke shoes, for one. Dean lifted his head.

He had no idea who this guy was. The guy was just short of checking him out and he had this habit of blurring in and out. Dean’s vision finally leveled out, just in time for him to get a real good look at his face.

Red eyes.

Oh hell. Dean froze and then tried to fumble to his feet, only to find that while the rest of him recovered, his legs were still trying to wobble out from under him. Dean staggered back against the chair, wishing in the back of his mind he’d really bothered to memorize his Latin like Sam. Grasping the armrest, Dean tried to get to his feet. So what was this gonna be? He figured it was just a matter of time before he ran into a demon but a crossroads one? He’d been obeying the terms of the contact, so what was this? Check up? That red-eyed bitch from Cold Oak hadn’t mentioned anything like this. Trying to work the taste of cotton out of his mouth, Dean was relieved to say at least he could talk, even if he doubted he could make it to the door, much less shove his foot up the demon’s – okay, he wasn’t going anywhere with his body getting funky like this.

“You the same one? Or she busy?” Dean’s eyes flicked about the room, trying to pick out exit points or at least something to brain the demon with. About the only thing he could do was trap it, but that was…basically assuming this thing just stood there and let him scratch circles in the floor, all polite-like.

Ah, it looked like he was awake. Good. The demon hadn't particularly wanted to wait all night, as he was eager to get to the point of their meeting. The drugs, it seemed, had done their work. Dean wasn't about to go anywhere, not as long as his legs couldn't even hold him up. In that sense, the chemicals flowing through his veins served the same purpose as restraints for the time being.

The way he looked around the room for an escape route didn't go unnoticed. Of course, the demon wasn't so sure Dean would want to leave once he learned the purpose of his being brought here.

Upon hearing the question, the demon gave a mirthless smile. "No, I'm quite different from your previous acquaintance." He leaned back in his seat and studied Dean. "I took the time to infiltrate this place so I could find you. You should be thanking me."

Awesome. Instead of the same douchebag, he got a different douchebag. Lucky him.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll be grateful you're using some dude as a meat suit just to hit me up."

Like it was backbreaking work for a demon to use someone else's body to get here. Well, Dean guessed, the good part was he was still alive and...actually, that was pretty much the only good part, Dean sinking against the chair warily and sizing Red Eyes here up. He wasn't exactly going to go on his knees and suck this guy off just 'cause he was supposed to be grateful one of these things came to see him. Dean watched the crossroads demon, waiting for that moment when the demon would change its mind or get to the point. If it'd really wanted to discuss terms or check up on him, why hadn't it swung by before?

And was it really necessary to hit him with this stuff? Dean wished he was nauseous enough to puke on Red Eye's damn nice shoes. Friggen shame.

"Okay, so you got me. What's the deal?"

One would think Dean ought to show a little more gratitude. Surely he knew how many people were strapped to tables, cut open and drugged against their will, and in some cases altered beyond recognition in the name of science. But here he was, taking the time to talk to him, and this guy here just wanted to cut to the chase.

Well, then, they'd get to the point soon enough. But it was going to be on the demon's terms. He had to keep some control over their little exchange, after all.

"That depends entirely on you," he replied with a simple shrug. "But first, why don't you tell me a little bit about what you've been doing lately? I understand you received a visitor not too long ago." He gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's nice, isn't it."

Dean eyed the demon and his pearly smile. Goddamn, those were some friggen white teeth there. Like Tom Cruise pearly.

And, y’know, just about as creepy.

"If you know about that, you got to know what else I've been up to," Dean said, more to stall for time than anything else. It wasn't like he could get too far with whatever Ken here pumped him full of. "Buddy of yours or something?"

He thought he'd seen a flash of white eyes, but he didn't know of any demon with eyes like those. Black, red and that one yellow were about the only colors he knew about and at this stage, Dean wasn’t even sure if he’d seen anything at all. Great time to start cracking up here. Maybe he’d imagined it. Except the crossroads demon here was still smiling his creepy Tom Cruise smile at him, almost like he knew something Dean didn’t, and Dean was suddenly having second thoughts about the whole Maybe I’m Going Crazy thing. Considering this red-eyed sonuvabitch could’ve shanked him anytime he wanted, this was a pretty roundabout way of going about things.

Dean pushed himself up in his chair, annoyed to find his arms were working – if you could count sorta-kinda as “working” – but not enough to actually do much more than that. He made a point not to slump over too much. “Look, can we cut to the chase here? I’ve been stuck here wasting my year, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not piss more of it down the drain ‘cause you feel Carebear today. If you really wanted to know about my day, you didn't need to drag me here.”

Wherever here, exactly, was. Dean had a sneaking suspicion he knew where, but he'd been under the impression there'd be more straps and less small talk here. Small talk with a demon. Who knew?

It was true that he already knew quite a bit about Dean's actions within the Institute. Although he already had access to quite a bit of information on his own, all the subjects here were kept under strict observation by the staff. How convenient, then, that their goals should fit together so neatly. Folding his arms over his chest, he listened to Dean respond, and none too favorably at that.

"You could say that," he answered with a light shrug. "More of an acquaintance, really, but those sorts of details aren't important right now."

If Dean was that anxious to move onto other things, then he would indulge him. One would think he'd be more eager to have a chance to talk to someone who technically wasn't affiliated with the patients or the Institute, but he supposed the nature of his kind made it difficult for him to want to have anything beyond business dealings with a demon. That was acceptable, and perhaps a bit promising. After all, whatever happened tonight would be Dean's choice.

"You see," he said, leaning forward in his seat and intertwining his pale fingers together, "I've come to talk to you about your brother."

Maybe that would pique his interest.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, what about him? I've been following the terms of the deal, so he's none of your business."

And he was sure Sam understood he couldn't push his luck another time; the kid hadn't been happy about it, but c'mon, future dying wish here. All he asked of Sam was that the kid not do something balls out stupid about this whole deal and going to hell thing. Dean was dealing with it - or he acted to Sam like he was, which was good enough - and he expected Sam to have to eventually do the same. Job like this it was bound to happen, one of them eating it. He figured this way, at least he had some time left, so it kinda beat coughing on his own blood in some backwater town.

Dean tried to adjust his position on the chair, his legs still Jello and not seeming to want to do what he told them to. So what was with the check up? If they were following him that close, they knew he hadn't tried to get out of the deal.

So what the hell was this then?

A nasty thought occured to Dean: what if they were changing the terms? Demons were dicks in his book. Despite all that talk about obeying rules and contracts and We're too good for signatures, how about swapping spit? stuff, in the end, he only had a demon's word.

Touchy, touchy. Dean seemed to think this somehow had to do with the deal he'd made. He could be curt all he wanted, but ultimately they weren't going to do anything he didn't agree to. Typically, it was humans who tried to weasel out of their contract. All the demon did was lay out the appropriate terms, make certain the exchange was complete, and made certain someone collected the payment when it was due. That was simply good business, was it not?

It was this matter-of-fact way of looking at things that left the demon unruffled by Dean's suspicious response. "That's true," he said with a hollow smile. "You've been honoring the terms quite admirably, which is partly why I decided to risk coming to see you this evening."

Of course, Dean wasn't too thrilled with it, but that was beside the point. The main issue was to bring up the matter at hand.

"It seems there's a lot about your brother you don't know about," he added. "After some consideration, I realized it would be in everyone's better interest if someone finally explained it to you."

He’d been ready for the veiled threats. Maybe even a little attempted gutting on the side. Having a friggen demon sitting him down for story time was kinda out of left field there.

“Best interest? Whose, yours? Your coworkers?” Dean wasn’t even sure how much to believe here. Still, he figured they both knew he wasn’t going anywhere, so truth or not, the demon had a captive audience here. “Look, I already know he’s…different, so that’s not exactly news of the century.”

“Different” was a huge understatement but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna start listing off all of Sam’s freaky abilities in convenient bullet-point just ‘cause he wanted to prove Sam was covered and there wasn’t anything new this demon could wave over him. Dean’s eyes flicked away from the demon, glanced on those damn nice shoes (it was hard not to keep noticing them, they were just far too nice for a doctor – he guessed maybe the demon was a vain mother too), and then back around the room. Maybe it was the drugs still in his system, but he had a hard time seeing the other end of the room. It swam a little, blurry. Spun. He thought he saw something on the walls, like a circle. Couldn’t be sure.

Dean dragged his attention back to the demon. There wasn’t exactly an easy way to flop back into his chair with his best go ahead, shoot slouch: he still tried. These things lived off fear, way he saw it, so the last thing he was gonna do was let them see his panties in a twist just ‘cause he was cornered.

And what was this about it being a risk to get here? It wasn't exactly hard to sneak past, apparently, and you better believe he'd stuck on that contract's balls.

"Ours and yours, of course," the demon simply replied. He had said everyone, hadn't he? He hated having to clarify himself about things that were quite self-explanatory, but now wasn't the time to let such inconsequential annoyances get in the way of his true objective.

"You may think you understand your brother," he continued as he started as Dean with an unwavering gaze, "but there's a great deal you aren't aware of."

Of course, it wasn't as though Dean was going to simply take his word for it. No, he needed something much more tangible and real, particularly when it came to dear Sam Winchester. It was bothersome, but not unreasonable. In fact, the demon had already devised what he believed to be a suitable course of action.

Leaning forward, the demon raised a pale hand. "Here," he said in a quiet tone, "I'll make it easier for both of us and just show you."

Without waiting for permission, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across the surface of Dean's forehead.

Yeah, really? ‘Cause Sam had told him what happened when he was a baby and –

Dean rocked backward at the touch, part of it ‘cause he didn’t want to get touched by a demon if he could help it and most of it from that getting kneed in the gut feeling suddenly hitting him. He rocked right back into a wall that hadn’t been there before, on legs that were suddenly functioning. His head rung and he had to wonder if maybe, maybe, the crossroads demon had done one of those hand-waving telekinesis things at him. Probably could kill a guy if it was real up close. He threw out a hand to steady himself, found himself with a handful of demon shoulder, and jerked it back, stung. Yeah, he recovered a lot faster after that.

Looking up, he was in some crappy shack in what he’d been totally willing to guess was smack in the middle of nowhere, Shithole, USA. He swore whoever owned these shacks or cabins or sheds passed tips around, like how to get theirs to look even more creepy and about to fall to pieces (probably on you. Right in the middle of a hunt. Sounded about right). So dark, creepy, all kinds of hidey holes for a goblin or a spirit’s remains to be stashed. Dean started to turn toward the demon when he paused.

Hey, was there someone in here with them? Dean cocked his head. It sounded an awful lot like someone panting in pain in a chair. Trust him: he’d been hurt enough and seen plenty of folks they saved in bad shape to know that sound.

Dean started to head around the corner, only to come up short before he hit the doorway. Lit by a single flickering bulb was his brother. And he was standing over a guy who was pretty much on his last legs and gasping.

What the hell? His first thought was routine exorcism. Devil’s trap on the floor, Sam neatly outside it.

There wasn’t any Latin.

Sam had his hand out, eyes closed, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say that demon was puking its guts up from the way it was convulsing in the chair. In a way, it kinda was: black smoke was billowing out, only to get sucked back in.

The shift had obviously disoriented Dean, as witnessed by the grab at his shoulder. Thankfully, he managed to get his bearings sooner than later, particularly after he'd been forced to touch such an evil creature. The demon inwardly gave a long-suffering sigh, but gave no comment.

Instead, his eyes fixed on the sight a short distance away, silently focusing his attention on the reason they were here. Dean got the picture pretty quick, and the demon slowly approached him from behind.

He knew the man would recognize what was happening, but would likely be a bit put off by some of the details. "I don't suppose I have to explain much to you," the demon said after a moment. "You can already see what's wrong with this picture."

Dean didn’t bother answering the guy, striding out for Sam. Reaching to stop him and demand to know what the hell was going on, Dean came up with air – or more like his hand just passed through Sam like he was a spirit or something. Huh. So he wasn’t real. Or this was some actual astral projection of the involuntary kind and he had no idea a demon could do this. Then again, there was plenty of stuff he didn’t know about demons, even with Bobby and his books, and the moment you started thinking about it, the more it started getting scary. Dean spent a lot of this job not thinking about all the crap they didn’t know. Helped him sleep at nights.

He was about to try again when Sam opened his eyes.

They were black. They were friggen black.

The captive demon, this one with eyes as black as Sam’s, convulsed and shivered and shook as Dean watched, continuing to puke up black smoke into a glowing ring that had formed beneath his chair.

Dean backed up, staring, unable to take his eyes away as he watched Sam do what shouldn’t have been possible: exorcising one of this damn things by literally looking at it wrong. Or, he guessed, Force powers, except this wasn’t even remotely funny. Dean turned on the crossroads demon.

“The hell’s this?”

"Something I thought you needed to see," the demon replied, his gaze unwavering as he observed Sam alongside Dean. The fact he was reacting so strongly to what he was witnessing was proof enough of that, wasn't it? From Dean's perspective, this was quite unnatural -- and on top of that, his brother hadn't been forthcoming about it.

"You were right about your brother being different, but I don't think you realized just how different he is," he added. Then, he tore his gaze away from the unpleasant scene in front of them, and stared at Dean, his red eyes unblinking.

"Although I suppose I can't blame him for not being more open with you about this," he said with a hollow smile. "You don't seem to be taking it well. Are you surprised?"

"Surprised - you're kidding, right?" Dean caught that smile. Dumb friggen question.

Of course he wasn't kidding. Demons lived for the whole shock factor, usually by making some more SOB watch as they gutted him alive. Why this one was playing good cop was still downright weird. “Is this ‘cause of that demon blood in him? Sam told me about it.”

He fixed the demon with a defiant look, as if to say “maybe Sam’s been telling me more than you thought”. Okay, so he could get not the whole really awkward story but he figured if their places were switched, he probably wouldn’t wanted to keep it to himself too. It was pretty freaky, even before you got to the whole black eyes part. Or so that was what Dean told himself. It was a lot easier to do that than actually believe it and he’d be lying if he said seeing Sam with black eyes didn’t make his blood run real cold. Dean wanted to give himself a shake from that chill going up his back but with that demon watching, he resisted the urge. Demons loved a reactive audience from his experience. He’d yet to meet one of these things that didn’t love to hear their own (stolen) voice.

Still, he was trying to figure out just why he needed to see this. So what did this mean? Sam was going to full on go demon? He hadn’t been stopped by the salt lines or the devil’s trap, so Dean figured maybe this was some kind of future thing considering the other two options weren't holding up to any other theories here.

It would be almost touching to see how much faith Dean had in his brother -- that is, if the demon cared for such things outside of how it affected him and the deals he made with people too desperate to lose something. He already knew Dean was aware of the demon's blood flowing through Sam's veins, but did he really understand what he was seeing right now?

"Oh, really!" he said, raising his eyebrows at Dean. "Did he tell you he could perform exorcisms with his own power, then? That must be awfully useful for a pair of hunters such as yourselves. Much more efficient than having to memorize all that pesky Latin, wouldn't you agree?"

Of course, he knew Dean likely wouldn't see it that way. The problem with his kind is that they didn't always care about what was better for business. Many of them were more concerned with stamping out the things they hated most, without giving any thought of how they could use their knowledge and expertise to truly further their gains.

Unfortunately for Dean, his brother was beginning to look more and more like what he hoped to destroy. That put him in quite the predicament, didn't it?

Dean's eyes narrowed. Decking this demon for being a little smartass wasn't gonna do anyone any good, least of all him, but he figured he'd feel a little better. Standing here felt real enough. The floor creaked, he could hear that other demon choking on itself, even smell that faint scent of ozone from the exorcism. But how was he to know if he wasn't just trapped in his own mind?

He didn't. Dean didn't exactly have defenses for this kinda thing and no matter how he looked at it, he was this crossroad demon's prisoner, whether he got beamed somewhere or he was still slumped in that chair.

Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to slug the demon. He hated to admit it, but the thing was his ride back to Landels; he'd rather not be stuck drooling in that lab if he could help it. Considering how he couldn't touch Sam, Dean was thinking this was all in his head or another out of body experience. Felt real, though. Too real. Once he was sure he wasn't gonna knock the demon onto his ass and do something about this nice shoes, Dean decided it was safe to get to the whole asking questions thing again.

"So what's the point of you showing me this?" Dean was proud to say he didn't rise up to the demon being a prick about this, 'cause the demon was right. Sam hadn't breathed a word about his whole Force powers thing getting to this level and it scared him all over again.

He caught himself thinking maybe Dad was onto something and cut that line of thinking before it go too far. Sure, he missed Dad, but the guy was wrong about Sam. Ganking him 'cause of this wasn't the answer and Dean didn't care if it was his dying wish he carry that kind of thing on his shoulders. He hadn't intended to kill Sam before this and he wasn't gonna start now.

The point of showing this to him? Ah, now they were finally getting to the heart of the matter. As much as the demon hadn't wanted to lay things out from the get go, he had to admit that he was satisfied by the conversation's progression so far. Turning to look at Dean, he wore a calm, controlled expression that contrasted with the gruesome scene playing out in front of them.

"Well, I thought it was something you'd like to know," he answered. "A hunter with a brother who isn't quite human anymore. It poses a bit of a problem for you. Am I wrong?" Folding his arms over his chest, he glanced over at Sam for a moment.

"But perhaps we're not entirely different," he added. "It poses a bit of a problem for me, too. The people who captured you have access to power they shouldn't. They obviously intend to use your brother's abilities for their own purposes, and I can't say I'm entirely...pleased with that."

Returning his attention to Dean, he wore no hollow smile, and showed no signs of any pretenses. "Since I imagine neither of us want to see him become a tool of the institute's, I thought we could come to some sort of understanding."

The distracting thing was the closer he stood to this other Sam, the more he felt like…well, he couldn’t quite say. Almost like he could tell what the kid was thinking, and not just in the “we’re brothers and I grew up with the guy” way.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “What kind of understanding?”

This was starting to sound like that crossroads bitch, except with less gloating and more of a can-do business attitude. Dean couldn’t tell which skeeved him out more. And he figured it was only a matter of time before demons got their shit into gear and decided Martin Landel was a threat, even if even this thing didn’t seem to know what he was. He’d say “people” but people didn’t have this amount of power. People backed up with some insane mojo and something else, maybe. Seriously, if they had to get cavalry, why did it have to be demons? He wasn’t even sure if this was a better alternative. Everything told him to do his damndest to exorcise this thing.

Times like this and he seriously wished he’d bothered to memorize his Latin. Maybe Sam had something going with the whole nerd thing.

It’s still not good enough, I’ve --

Dean staggered then as a thought that wasn’t his suddenly slid into his mind. It wasn’t even a thought. Just this – this feeling and all he knew was it wasn’t from him. He steadied himself, shooting the crossroads demon a suspicious glare.

“Was that you?”

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