Not In Kansas Anymore Popo (Dean, Oz, Glory)

[Ziva David]

Everyone knows that feeling when something isn't right, right? Well when you're in a cool warehouse one second and all the sudden the heat gets cranked up and it smells like dust and you're staring straight at a wooden wall where there used to be a open pathway... Well lets just say that the 'something isn't right' sense kicked in pretty quick. With gun and flashlight still in hand she turned around to see if maybe she missed something but all she found was what looked like a barn from one of those movies Tony loved to watch.

The door to the barn was cracked open slightly, just enough to let the sunlight through and with careful steps she made her way to the exit, checking each stall on her way. After finding nothing she rested against the wall next to the door, trying to see the outside. A desert! Well there wasn't any deserts in Washington DC... There wasn't any close sounds and still she waited, just listening for any noise while trying to quiet the questions running through her mind, the biggest of which was how did she get here? One second she was with the team going to make the arrest and the next second she was here.

After standing by the door, gun still in hand she deemed it was safe to venture outside, only to find more of what she had seen from where she stood moments earlier; More desert.

The sun was harsh but nothing she wasn't used to. With no one around she decided to holster her gun and flashlight. A road no more than twenty paces out told her that a city or town of some sort shouldn't be far away. Finding a place with water and means of communication were top priority. The how and why would have to come later.

[Dean Winchester]

Lightning striking out of a clear blue sky wasn't the oddest thing about this afternoon in the outskirts of L.A. but it was definately up there with weird. No, the oddest thing was that as the lightning touched down in the dusty field, it brought with it an unexpected passenger in the form of a man. A very naked man.

Dean Winchester had, not moments before, been strung up in Hell, being mercilessly torn to bloody pieces by a demon because he'd sold his soul. And now...? Now he was uncerimoniously getting dropped out of the sky like a falling comet to land in a heavy heap amongst the rough, dry grass, with absolutely no explanation whatsoever. If he hadn't been so disorientated by the whole process, he might have had something to say about that.

As it was, he merely lay face down where he landed - or rather landed and rolled - trying not to breathe in too much of the dust his impact had thrown up. The fall had hurt, had jarred his body enough to make him not trust moving just yet, but really, in comparison to some of the things he'd suffered lately, it was akin to getting a papercut.

Last thing he remembered was Alastair offering him the deal. The one where he got off the rack and he put another soul on and started torturing them in place of himself getting cut up. He'd said yes and then the next thing he knew he was here. But where was here? And was this part of the deal?

Cautiously he lifted his head up, winced and squinted as the bright sunlight assualted eyes that had only seen the dim light of Hell in the last thirty years. Everything was a blinding, fuzzy blur but he could make out sky above and earth below, enough to know he wasn't where he had previously been. Underneath him the grass felt scratchy and sharp blades dried out by the hot sun poked into wounds that he'd been too distracted to think about until now.

With a grunt of pain, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and looked down at his body, unsurprised to find it still covered in his own blood, sticky and dark against sun-deprived pale skin. He was naked too, nothing unusual about that, Hell wasn't big on clothing. After a few days on the rack, most people tended to forget all about the humiliation of being nude and worried more about how they could stop their insides from being torn out through their chest. Sometimes you just have to ignore the small distractions and focus on the bigger picture.

What did concern him though, was the charred holes in his wrists, ankles, right shoulder and the left side of his abdomen where the hooks that held him up on the rack in Hell had once been plunged through his flesh. Before the lightning had struck, they were open, bloody holes that seeped everytime he moved, but now, now they were blackened and charred wounds, not healed but certainly not open anymore either. Which was good because he wasn't about to line up for losing more blood. After all that had spilled in the pit, he wasn't sure if there was even any left.

He remembered Alastair carving out the meat from his ribs too and sure enough, where the wounds had been were now chargrilled black gouges running in between where the bones should be, as though they had been cauterized by the heat of the lightning, sealing the wounds and stopping the bleeding. But Dean also remembered that some of his ribs had been snapped off and when he ran his fingers gingerly over the area, there was a dip where the missing ribs should have been.

"Ughh..." He grunted, the pressure of his fingers causing him discomfort where his lungs had been damaged underneath. Amazingly though, they too were no longer bleeding, or at least he assumed so since he could breathe fairly well and he wasn't coughing up lungfuls of blood. On the scale of things, that was a plus.

Considering all the damage his body had sustained though, Dean felt better than he had in a long while, mostly because no-one was adding to his pain. Sure, he was hurting right now, hard not to be with that many injuries, but after thirty years of constantly being tortured, this new found lack of abuse was rather...numbing. So with minimal grimacing, he was able to get to unsteady feet to look around at the vastness of where he'd landed.

Not that there was much to see. Just a field, not too far from a road with a barn in the distance. Definately not the Hell he was used to, but it had to be some part of Hell, right? You didn't just get zapped out of the underworld for agreeing to torture and maim, did you?

No...this is a trick...it has to be....they wouldn't let me leave, they'll never let me leave until I become like them...

"Alastair?" Dean tried to speak but found his voice barely worked, his throat so dry and over-used it wouldn't make any sounds above a hoarse whisper. He coughed and winced, bending at the waist to press his arm protectively against the black hole where his ribs used to be as though doing so would help. It didn't but that didn't really matter. Pain like this was just an annoying buzzing in the background of the real agony. This he could deal with easily, Blocking it out and pretending it wasn't there had become a skill in Hell. In fact he'd been perfecting that one even before he'd gone down there.

No demons were answering though and Dean found that absence of screaming souls around him far more disturbing than having one right in his face. This just wasn't right, where had he been moved to? What sick game was Alastair playing now? Was saying yes something that got him banished to wherever he was now? And if this was Hell, why on earth did it smell so fresh? No aroma of sulphur to make him choke, no stench of decay to make him gag. It was just plain creepy.

Unable to think of anything else to do and too confused and disorientated to focus on the questions rolling around in his head, Dean instinctively moved off towards the road, walking unevenly at first until he got used to even walking at all, and then mindlessly trudging down the side of the road until a better idea came to mind.

It didn't take long for him to feel exhausted, his path weaving a little into the middle of the road every now and then when his mind shut down and stopped trying to work. All he could think was how guilty he felt giving up and saying yes to Alastair, allowing himself to start on the path to becoming a monster just like the demons taunting him. Every once in a while an unfamiliar noise would startle him into alertness, making him skittish and scared because even if this looked like home, he knew it couldn't be. He wasn't back at all, this was just another form of torture, another way to make him suffer, he just didn't know what the big punchline was going to be. And that was terrifying.

[Oz]

Oz was very confused and starting to freak out a little as he drove through the outskirts of Los Angeles. He’d been driving down a discreet side road, trying to avoid traffic and people in general, when he saw a bright flash of light. That must have been it. That must have been what started whatever it was he was experiencing now.

At first everything had seemed fine. His radio had even started working again. But then he’d seen a group of teenage girls wearing Sunnydale High cheerleading uniforms. He might have been out of touch for a while, but he was pretty sure Sunnydale was non-existent these days, and there was no way an entire town could’ve been rebuilt in the span of two years without the news covering it.

Now he was driving toward Sunnydale, trying to tell himself there had to be an explanation. Maybe he’d imagined it – though he couldn’t trick himself into believing that, with his senses being so sharp. Maybe it was a different Sunnydale High. Well, that one didn’t even make any sense. He spent the whole drive trying to think of rational explanations, but all they did was reinforce the anxiety he was feeling. Sunnydale couldn’t be operational, but there wouldn’t be an active cheerleading team for a high school that didn’t exist. And if the high school did exist, it had to mean it had been rebuilt. But did that mean the town itself had been rebuilt? No, that still didn’t make any sense. The media would’ve covered it. Someone would’ve called him. Willow, Xander, somebody.

Oz peered through his windshield when he saw movement up ahead on the side of the road. As the van crept closer, he could see a man walking along the side of the road. Well, he was swaying and staggering more than walking and… was he naked?

That can’t be good, Oz thought.

He couldn’t count the number of times he’d staggered along the road naked. It was never a good sign.

Oz slowed the van and as he got closer to the man he saw that he was in horrible shape, caked in dried blood. He smelled it before he actually realized that was what he was seeing. He grimaced at the scent and recognized the man’s skittish demeanor as something animalistic. The thought that this could be a were crossed his mind, but there wasn’t any animal scent Oz could readily detect from the man. He just smelled… human, and he was afraid.

Oz slowed the van to a crawl and leaned over to call out the open passenger window.

“Hey…”

Holy shit…

Oz had been about to ask “Are you alright?” but as soon as he got a good look at the guy it was obvious that he was nowhere near alright. He had wounds Oz had never even seen before. They were rough wounds, but they hadn’t been made by an animal or any kind of wild creature. They were too clean for that. And they looked cauterized.

This man had been tortured.

Oz had a decent poker face, but he was pretty sure his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged a little when he looked at the guy. His instincts told him to floor it and get as far away from him as possible. Torture mixed with primitive behavior probably meant this man was very dangerous in whatever state of mind he was currently in.

But if Oz were in this position, he’d want someone to help him.

“Uh… Bad day?”

It wasn’t the most tactful way to ask what the hell had happened, but there was a reason for that. He wanted to see how responsive the man would be to normal human conversation. If he was of sound mind, he’d be able to figure out this was Oz’s vague way of acknowledging that he needed help. There was a possibility the guy would just freak out and attack him. Oz didn’t have a plan for that scenario, but driving away seemed like a good way to go.

[Dean Winchester]

For the last half a mile, Dean had been mindlessly wandering down the road with his head tilted back, his attention on the sky above. Too long he'd gone without a blue sky for him to pass up the oppertunity to take in the beauty of one now, even if it wasn't real.

Sure, the sunlight stung his eyes with it's brightness and the faint wisps of white cloud looked fluffy enough to be there, but deep down he didn't dare believe it could actually be real. No, to think that would be foolish. It didn't matter how they dressed it up for him, he knew he was still in Hell. To him, this was the calm before the storm, the distraction just before they pulled the rug out from under him, dropping him onto the deadly trap beneath.

"'S'not real...." He whispered absently, swallowing and wincing at how desperately he needed water. If he kept reminding himself this was fake, then when it went away, he wouldn't be so disappointed.

But damn, this sky is beautiful...

In a strange way, the calming effect of the blue above him lulled Dean into a kind of trance, his body continuing its steady trudge down the road on autopilot while his mind checked out and strayed away for a rare few moments of peace. That was probably the only way the person driving the van had been able to get so close to him without spooking him from his daze.

“Hey…”

That single word of greeting shattered the waking dream and Dean abruptly reverted back to being massively freaked out again in the space of a second. The sudden, unexpected appearance of a person driving a van beside him made him freeze up, his mind uncertain whether or not this was a fight or flight situation. Like a frightened rabbit in the headlights, he stared hard at Oz with haunted eyes, shocked that who he was looking at wasn't another grotesque demon face, but an actual human face.

Fight or flight? Fight or flight? Fight or flight? ...Is he even real?

“Uh… Bad day?”

Unable to move from the rigid position he'd locked his body into, Dean swallowed again, appearing as though he were purposefully thinking through an answer to a difficult question. In his mind, he was trying to work out what kind of game Alastair was playing, putting him in this situation.

I said yes. This is because I said yes. Is this the soul I'm supposed to put on the rack or is this a trick to see if I won't go through with it? God, I don't want to do it but I'm so tired of the pain...I can't take it anymore...I just need a day, one day where I don't have to hurt...please?

The urge to run was overwhelming but it ocurred to him that there wasn't really anywhere to run to and he certainly couldn't outrun something with four wheels, not in this condition. Still undecided about his defensive response, and possibly too weak and numb to even have one right now, Dean's eyes drifted to the van itself, a degree of familiarity in hearing an engine ticking over.

I had a car once....I remember....it was black...

It was home....

He reached out a hand to touch the passenger side door, expecting it to disappear when he made contact, but gasping instead when the solidity of it under his fingers registered in his brain. That fact didn't help to reassure him that this wasn't going to end up as another nightmare come true, but it did provoke a response from his mouth that he wasn't even aware he'd made.

"Where am I?" He rasped, partly in demand but mostly a plea for answers because anything this man, or demon, or whatever kind of mirage he was could tell him might make more sense than the jumbled up thoughts in his head at this point. Even if he were to tell him he was screwed, then at least he'd be better prepared for the inevitable. All this waiting for the unknown was seriously troubling his nerves.

[Oz]

Oz studied the man carefully, keeping his facial expression neutral. The guy looked startled and more than a little lost. But there was something else, something behind his eyes Oz couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was something beyond pain and fear that Oz vaguely recognized. Something like guilt, only deeper.

The man approached the van like he expected Oz to floor it and race off. He touched the passenger door and Oz expected him to open it, but he just looked at it for a long moment. There was a flicker of recognition in the man’s face Oz didn’t quite understand. The man’s voice was a low whisper.

“Where am I?”

Oz glanced through the windshield, not really concerned with keeping his attention on the road with his foot on the brake.

“Carmine Street, on the outskirts of L.A.,” he said.

Oz wondered where the guy had come from. He guessed he could’ve come from anywhere, but more likely someone had left him to die somewhere nearby.

He thought to offer the man a ride, but his instincts held him back. He didn’t know anything about the guy, and there was a possibility he could be dangerous. Instead, he shifted the car into Park and reached behind him for his duffle bag.

“I wish I had some water for you,” he muttered. “Unfortunately, I’m severely lacking in hydrating beverages. I do have pants, though.”

He pulled the duffle bag into his lap and started rummaging around in it.

[Dean Winchester]

L.A.?

Dean frowned in confusion, unable to understand why this younger man was lying to him. It was impossible to believe he was telling the truth, this was just part of the trick, the demon's were going trying to lull him into a false sense of security, making him think he had somehow escaped, and then when he got comfortable, they'd show up to rip his skin off and make the pain twice as agonising as it had been before.

It's not real. Don't believe him...

Lost in the myriad of horrific scenarios in his head, Dean was startled when the man suddenly turned in his seat to find something in the back of the van. The movement made Dean flinch, jerking back away from the vehicle as though it had suddenly become too hot to touch. His heart rate sped up, his breathing becoming more erratic as he expected Oz might turn back with a knife in his hands to carve new wounds into Dean's body.

"I said, yes!" He blurted out desperately, ignoring the roughness of his voice to try and beg for mercy. When he'd agreed to Alastair's deal, he hoped that the torture would stop straight away, but now he feared that the deal was just another ploy to break him, a glorious in-joke to humiliate him even further. Saying yes didn't mean he was off the hook - hooks - it just meant a change in scenery for his brutal punishment to continue.

[Oz]

Oz’s mind was working as he dug through his bag for a pair of pants. He thought through various scenarios that could’ve brought this guy to the side of the road naked. None of them were good and none of them made the right amount of sense.

He also couldn’t figure out what to do with this guy. Should he call the cops? Drive him to the hospital?

“I said, yes!”

Oz glanced up sharply, his hand gripping a pair of jogging pants pulled part-way out of the duffle bag.

Yes? Yes to what? The pants? The water? I don’t have any water…

He licked his lips to moisten them and nodded slowly, not really sure what to say to that.

“Yeah… Okay…” he said.

He pulled the pants out of the bag and leaned over to pass them to the man.

“Why don’t you put these on? And if you want to hop in I can give you a ride somewhere. The hospital, maybe, or if there’s someone you want to call I have a cell phone… somewhere.”

He looked around. He couldn’t remember where he’d put that stupid thing.

[Dean Winchester]

It wasn't an implement of torture that the guy pulled out of his bag, but an item of material, which as methods of causing pain went, was one of the more unusual options. Thoroughly confused by Oz's lack of aggression, Dean's eyes flicked to the pants he was offering, then back to the man's face several times as though he was waiting for something else to happen. When nothing did, Dean nervously began scanning the area around them, wondering if this was a little bit of demonic subterfuge instead of a harmless act of kindness.

A soft breeze picked up around them causing Dean to shiver despite the warm sun on his bloodied skin. It may have been California - or at least designed to make him think it was California - but the afternoon sun was no match for the heat of Hellfire and when you had been suddenly removed from the intensity of constant, suffocating, skin-melting heat and dumped naked into an open space like this, it tended to make you feel cold more than most. Suddenly, accepting the pants from a random stranger didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Still anxious about the situation, Dean waited until Oz turned his attention to looking for his cellphone before he reached out to snatch the jogging pants from his grasp, backing away from the van again so that there could be no oppertunity for the spiky haired driver to grab him. The move made him involuntarily wince at how it pulled on his cauterized wounds, but he didn't care, too wrapped up in how smooth the material was under his fingertips. It had been decades since he's felt anything this soft against his skin and it was easy to get distracted by the marvel of it.

“Why don’t you put these on? And if you want to hop in I can give you a ride somewhere. The hospital, maybe, or if there’s someone you want to call I have a cell phone… somewhere.”

Put them on? For a second he forgot what pants were for, having gone thirty years without them, but after holding them by the waistband and seeing what they looked like not folded up, the memories came flooding back. It was almost an automatic obedient reaction to follow Oz's instructions and Dean nodded slowly, struggling to get even one leg into them without falling off balance and having to use the van to keep himself upright. Finally though, with a minimal amount of hissing and pained grunts, he was once again decent enough to be out in public - so to speak - all be it a little more out of breath for the effort.

He wasn't sure what else to do after that, whether to get into the van with the guy or not. He could have carried on walking the same way he had been before pants-man arrived, but he had no idea where he was heading and he was rapidly running out of energy to keep going. But there was a downside to taking a ride with the guy, in that he still didn't trust him. If he got into the van with him, who knew where he might take him or what he might do to him.

What if there're demons in the back? What if Alastair's hiding, just waiting for me to let my guard down?

Though it's not like I haven't given up already, you don't have anything left to lose Dean...

Cautiously, like an easily spooked animal, Dean reached out and opened the van door, letting it swing open completely before he dared to go any closer. After a minute or so of expectant looks at both Oz and the tail end of the van, Dean gradually approached, maintaining his observation of anything that moved as he leant his head inside. Seeing no-one lurking behind the passenger seat, he decided that he would climb in and risk it, if only to take the weight off his throbbing ankles.

"Sam." He whispered, recognising Oz's cellphone and making the connection between it and his brother. Sam had always been the person he spoke to the most on his phone, though when he tried to remember his number, he ended up with a headache realising that after all this time, Sam probably wouldn't even have the same number, if he was even in the same place Dean was.

[Oz]

The guy looked a little tense as Oz held out the pants. It wasn’t until Oz looked away from him to try to find his phone that he felt the fabric slip from his fingers. Oz waited for him to pull them on, but he just stared at them, examining them like he’d never seen pants before.

Oh, man. I hope you don’t have brain damage…

Oz could drive him to the hospital, but he had no idea what to do with a brain damaged guy during the drive to the hospital. Thankfully, the guy pulled it together and started pulling on the pants, slowly but surely. He didn’t look any more comfortable after he was pants-clad, and he stood there for a few seconds, looking like he was debating.

Oz was about to ask again if the guy wanted a ride when he tentatively reached out to open the door. Oz waited patiently while the man looked around cautiously, taking everything in. He approached the van and peeked inside. Oz vaguely wondered if the guy was looking to rob him. He did have a pretty decent amplifier in the back…

The man climbed in and Oz was half relieved, half uncertain.

“Sam.”

Oz frowned. His new passenger sat staring at something on the floor. Oz looked over and saw his cell phone lying there. It was a disposable, out-dated Nokia.

“Oh, there it is,” he muttered. “If you wanna call anybody, feel free. I don’t know how many minutes I have left on that thing, though. Just a heads up.”

He shifted the car back into drive and eased his foot onto the gas to move forward along the road.

“I’m Oz,” he said.

[Dean Winchester]

The cellphone had caught his attention and curiousity demanded that he pick it up and at least attempt to call his brother if only to prove that he wasn't out of Hell. No carrier in the world was that good that they could get a signal in a sub-dimension. Toeing it closer with one dirty, bare foot, Dean bent down awkwardly to retrieve it, shedding flakes of dried blood as the motion flexed muscles and sinew underneath his caked skin.

Something internal disagreed with the move though and he automatically sucked in a breath and clamped his free hand over the spot just below his ribs where a meat hook had once been gouged into the flesh. Now it was just a crispy, black mess, not unlike a neglected chunk of barbequed meat, indicating the two holes where the rusty hook had been inserted and had protruded on the other side. Still, he merely endured whatever it was causing him pain and snagged the phone first before moving to alleviate his discomfort.

"...'m Dean." He mumbled when his brain had finally processed the fact Oz had introduced himself. He didn't know why he bothered to reply though, Oz was just another Hell lacky, surely he would know who Dean was by now anyway. But, since this was at least a change in the routine of pain, pain, more pain and then agony, he figured playing along with this ruse might give him something to break up his otherwise horrific day.

Clumsily he turned the phone over in his hands, unsure why he thought it was old when in theory it should have been more upto date than the last cell Dean had ever owned. Thirty years later and this was what they still looked like? So much for progress. Ignoring Oz for the moment, Dean started to punch in a phone number on the keypad, frustratedly frowning at himself when he couldn't quite think of what the sequence was. It had been so long, too long and he felt as though he was letting Sam down by not holding onto every memory he'd ever had of him.

"I don't...can't remember." He growled in annoyance, his grip tightening on the phone so hard his knuckles turned white where the skin was visible under the blood stains. It felt good to let out some emotion in such a way and part of him wished he could crush the damn thing in his hand. Instead, he flung it across the dashboard where it skidded with a hard 'thunk' into the windscreen. Suddenly his breathing was up a notch, fire in his veins and freedom of being able to do something destructive after so long being at the hands of others doing it to him was overwhelming.

"Quit playing games with me!" He shouted out loud, his focus still on the phone rather than directing it towards Oz. Alastair was no doubt over-seeing this whole set-up, if Dean shouted, he'd hear it, no matter where he was. Bastard was probably laughing at him even now.

[Oz]

Oz saw his passenger move out of the corner of his eyes. He glanced over and noticed the guy had the cell phone in his hands. An odd sound made Oz nervous as the guy clutched his abdomen and made a painful hissing noise.

“…‘m Dean.”

Oz nodded and focused his gaze on the road. He could see what looked like an old, run-down barn far up ahead. Oz wondered vaguely if they should pull over so Dean could rest for a bit. Maybe they’d find some water.

“I don’t…can’t remember.”

Not quite sure what the guy was talking about, Oz glanced over for a brief second, about to say something like, ‘Huh?’ or ‘Can’t remember what?’ He jumped in surprise when he saw his cell phone fly through the air into the windshield.

“Quit playing games with me!”

Oz turned his gaze quickly back to the road and blinked for a moment. What was this guy’s issue?

“Uh… Yeah. That phone gives me sass all the time,” he muttered, his dry wit a disguise for the pang of nervousness he felt.

Pull over at the barn, he thought. Try to get him inside, see if he calms down. If he freaks out, just drive away and call the cops.

His expression was cool and neutral even though his brain was working through his next move.

[Dean Winchester]

"I don't know what it is you want me to do!" He shouted again, breathing harder and clenching his hands into tight fists without even realising it. Now that he'd had a taste of letting three decades of pain and anger out, Dean was unable to stop himself from allowing it to continue and he turned in his seat to fix Oz with a hard stare. If no-one was going to make it obvious what game he was meant to be playing now, he'd have to get some answers the only way he knew how. By using fear and pain to get them.

"Why's Alastair doing this to me?" Dean demanded, forcing his dry throat to co-operate enough to sound menacing.

"Is this what happens when you say yes? Is this some kind of test? Tell me!" Maintaining his tone was difficult when his body was desperate for water and the raspy demands turned rapidly into throat ravaging coughs that made him curl in on himself until he was able to get his breath back.

When it had passed and he glanced up through the windscreen, he noticed that Oz was pulling up along side what looked like a barn and natural paranoia about what could be inside, waiting for him, took hold.

"Why are you stopping? Where are you taking me?"

Pushing aside his pain and using his fear to fuel his actions, Dean launched himself at Oz in the driver's seat, pinning him into the corner between the seat and the door with his forearm against the guy's throat. He didn't care if doing so meant they ran off the road since in his mind, none of this was real anyway. All he wanted was to know what was going on.

"I said yes, dammit! The knife's supposed to be in my hand now!"

[Oz]

Oz glanced over as Dean shouted again.

“I don’t know what it is you want me to do!”

Oz frowned and was about to ask what it was he was supposed to want Dean to do when the guy turned to shout directly at him. Oz tried to keep his attention on the road, but couldn’t help glancing over periodically with a quizzical or dumbfounded look on his face, as Dean spoke.

“Why’s Alastair doing this to me?” he asked. “Is this what happens when you say yes? Is this some kind of test? Tell me!”

The man erupted into a coughing fit and Oz was slightly relieved to have a second to get a word in. Though, he had no idea what it was the guy wanted him to say.

“Woah, take it easy,” Oz said, his voice still sounding calm and even despite the anxiety beginning to creep up within him. “Uh, you didn’t happen to drop any acid or do any LSD in the past twelve hours or so, did you?”

Oz’s tone wasn’t rude or even teasing. He’d been to some parties in his day, and done a little of this and a little of that. Whatever this guy was talking about, it sounded like a bad trip and a half.

That still didn’t explain all the scorched-looking scarring, though. Something was definitely up with that.

As Oz got closer to the barn, Dean seemed to go from uneasy and potentially tripping to raging psycho in about two seconds.

“Why are you stopping? Where are you taking me?”

“I’m just –”

Oz was trying to say “I’m just gonna pull up to this barn to see if we can find some water,” but he barely made it into the sentence before the left side of his body slammed against the driver’s side door. This caused him to involuntarily jerk the steering wheel abruptly to the left, which made the van drift over to the wrong side of the road. Oz’s right hand was yanked off the steering wheel completely as Dean pinned him against the driver’s side door and jammed his forearm into Oz’s throat. Oz struggled to stomp the brake as hard as he could.

“I said yes, dammit! The knife’s supposed to be in my hand now!”

Knife? The guy had a knife? No. The guy wanted a knife. Oz was too confused to make much sense of what the man was saying, and he was too busy trying to keep them from crashing to think too hard about it. The tires screeched as he stomped on the brake pedal and the van jerked to a wobbly, uneasy stop. A glance through the windshield informed Oz that, thankfully, they hadn’t hit anything. But they were positioned at an odd angle across the left lane of the road. He couldn’t speak easily with Dean’s arm against his throat and all his weight pressed against him, but he gave it a shot.

“Listen, man,” he gasped, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He swallowed back the cough that wanted to take over his lungs and throat and continued.

“I get that you’re freaked out… but… you need… to back off.”

Oz was pretty sure he wasn’t going to wolf out any time soon. He felt anxious and scared, but not enough to lose control of himself. But, if the guy actually tried to kill him, it would be an entirely different story.

((This looks like a good point for Ziva to pop in! Dean, if you want to reply next go for it, but after that I’m going to wait a bit to let Ziva get in there. If you want to wait for Ziva just do an OOC post saying that, or PM her to let her know.))

[Ziva David]

((I'm posting XD ))

From where Ziva stood she could hear a car coming down the road. Having been half way to the road she stopped, turning towards the road. to watch the car until it swerved. Great, cause that was normal! In a quick movement she pulled her gun back out, sprinting towards the van while pulling out her badge in her other hand. Granted she had no idea where she was, let alone if she had any jurisdiction in the area but that hardly mattered if there was some trouble going on.

"Freeze, NCIS," her voice came out nice a steady not betraying all the questions and worry that had been building up in her mind up until that point. From the passenger side window she could see a man who seemed to be covered in various wounds pinning another man to the side of the car.

"Is there a problem here?" Obviously there was but it had become a habit.

[Dean Winchester]

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

"Don't lie to me! You're just another demon like the rest of them down here!"

He wasn't thinking rationally anymore, hadn't done that for a while now, which considering his recent circumstances was to be expected. Caught up in the sliver of control he'd managed to create for himself here, he hadn't noticed that someone else was approaching the van behind him until she shouted out.

"Freeze, NCIS,"

Automatically, Dean turned his head to try and see who it was, taking some of his weight from Oz as he did so. He didn't want to let go of him, but in order to see the new threat clearly, he had to move his arm away from his throat.

"Is there a problem here?"

Standing on the other side of the passenger door was a woman holding a gun and the first thing that sprang to mind for Dean was that this had been an ambush. They'd tried to lull him into a false sense of security to get him here, and now this woman - this demon - was going to shoot him. Later he would reflect how strange it was that a demon in Hell would carry a gun when predominantly the method of torture down here invloved more personal devices such as knives and whips and hooks. Right now though, all he saw was the threat and his mind raced to find a way to escape it.

I knew it wasn't real....too good to be true...

"You stay away!" He shouted to the newcomer, his voice shaking a little now the feeling of being trapped was taking hold again.

Please....leave me alone!