More of my surplus of Supernatural crossovers with scifi shows. This story takes the premise that when Castiel raised Dean from Hell, he made his body a bit too well, so Dean doesn't really age (just goes on and on, unless something kills him), but human minds aren't designed to handle that exactly. Also part of the story is supposed to take place during the B5 episode 1.22 Chrysalis, and might not make much sense unless you're familiar with it.

They say – whoever they are – that hindsight's twenty-twenty, at least... they used to, he thinks. This time hindsight tells him that it was pretty much inevitable that he'd end up here, sooner or later. After all, this place does seem to be a halfway home for more than one kind of lost soul. For most of them, there's only one place to go from here, he doesn't know why, but he'd swear on any holy book they gave him, that that's not where he's going. It doesn't make him feel any better about any of it.

The vids would have you believe that this place is some bright and shining beacon of hope and peace and fluffy puppies, except there's not exactly a lot of pets around here – and that's good, because he doesn't like dogs anyway. If there ever was any shine to this place, it's long since worn away, and if there's any hope at all to be found in Downbelow, he hasn't found it yet. Not that he's been searching or anything.

The whole place is nothing so much as it's a spinning death trap in space. Like he said, most of the people stuck here only have one place to go, and that doesn't include leaving here alive. He spends a lot of his time not thinking about any of that at all. After all, space travel is nothing at all like flying. Really. And this place ain't going nowhere anyway. Funny, how on the real bad days that thought just doesn't help at all.

Funny, how these days all the days are bad. Some are just worse than others.

So, yeah. Him ending up here seems like something that had to happen at some point. He fits right in, like he hasn't anywhere in a real long time. But that's just because no one here gives a shit, they've all got their own problems to deal with. Besides, no one else here really fits anywhere either. They're all a bunch of misfits.

He's making it sound like he'd had no choice but to come here. Of course he had a choice. He paid more than he could really afford for the Identicard that got him here – not to mention the ride on top of that. He's still got the card, just in case he needs it, but he doesn't use it – or the name on it. Some things are just for emergencies, and that sure as hell ain't his name anyway.

It's not like anyone here would care enough to go asking about his name most of the time.

Well, someone did ask once, not too long ago, he thinks. Little girl that didn't know any better, dressed in patched up clothes, and a mother followed soon after, shushing her and hurrying away without ever looking straight at him.

He'd said: "Logan" and then he laughed. He isn't sure himself why that's so funny. Next time, he thinks, he'll just tell the truth. That's just as funny really.

"I don't know," he answers and grins. The face looking at him seems doubtful, but it's an alien and all, and he's not too sure they work the same way that humans do. Then again, he read this one fine enough during poker – even if it wasn't easy – and maybe that means it's close enough at least. It's okay any which way, he's not sure he'd believe himself either.

No, actually. That's wrong. He's pretty sure he wouldn't.

"That seems... unusual, yes?"

He shrugs. "I suppose, but... I don't." And that's truer than he's comfortable with.

"Ah. Well then, my nameless friend," the alien tells him and claps him on the shoulder. He freezes for a moment, instincts... muscle memory... something telling him to do something, anything, and he has to force himself not to. There's not a lot of friendly touching going on in his life. "Let me buy you a drink in honour of the excellent game."

And why not, he thinks. A drink, after all, is never wrong. Besides, some friendly company isn't too bad either, even if it is only temporary. Or, because it's only temporary.

"So tell me," he says, "does your hair grow like that naturally?"

And that's the gist of it, really. He doesn't remember. Funny, right?

It's not like he's lost his memories exactly. There's things he knows, but where he comes from and who he is aren't part of that. It all just gets fuzzy at some point. But he thinks they have to be there somewhere in his head.

There are times still when he wakes up – covered in cold sweat, a scream just fading into the background – from dreams that are painted red, and smell of sulphur. He doesn't know where they come from, doesn't remember what they were about when he wakes. In those moments he thinks, he's better off without the memories. There has to be a reason, right? For why he doesn't remember.

It's a good thing that there are enough screams around here anyway. No one pays too much attention to a couple more.

He supposes he could hire a telepath to find out what's going on inside his head. They don't come cheap, but give him a bit of time and he's sure he could hustle up the credits. It's not like he's in much of a hurry. But he doesn't want to. There's no way he's going to voluntarily let someone go poke around in his head.

So, there's nothing really that he needs the credits for, but it's nice to keep your hand in anyway. You never know when he'll actually need it. Besides the credits are always good for a drink if nothing else. And the games at least offer some friendly seeming company for a while.

There aren't that many places for gambling around here, not if you want to stay out of too much trouble anyway, and it's good to get away from the worst of the despair for a moment or two. He doesn't make friends, but some people keep turning up in the same places and they end up being... cordial, at least. Not that they'd greet him if he ever happened to pass one of them in one of the better kept corridors – some of them have no business elsewhere – and that's just fine with him.

It's not like he doesn't know how it's supposed to go. Some people especially can't afford to know him publicly. And that's just part of what makes this place its own brand of special, that even someone like him can mix it up with the high muckety-mucks. So him sneaking around close to Green Sector, just so he can happen to walk into a transport tube alone with someone he's not supposed to know at all... that was never supposed to happen.

He's not supposed to care.

But there might be lots of things that are fuzzy in his mind – things he should know, but doesn't – but there are some things that he still knows, even when he doesn't remember it. And that's why now, he can't leave well enough alone.

"Ambassador," he says and it's the first time he's ever mentioned the alien's rank. He's still never used his name.

The look he gets is surprised and... annoyed, he thinks. That's no surprise of course, he'd expected anger and so, that's already better than he thought this would go. It's stupid of him to get involved, and he doesn't even think it can go well. Still, he has to.

There are things you can't unsee.

"What do you want?" The voice sounds harried, he thinks. And yes, there's a shit load of annoyance there too. No wonder, considering how things have been lately.

He might not remember his own name, but he isn't stupid, or deaf. And rumours fly around this place like flies around shit.

"Nothing," he says. "I'm just here to give you some... friendly advice." He crooks his lips in a self-deprecating smile. "Call it payback for the drink you bought me once, if you need a reason for it."

"So what do you want to tell me then?"

There's no reason at all for delay, and transport tubes don't take very long to move from level to level.

"That slick looking human you were talking to," he says and doesn't specify who he means, he doesn't think he'll need to. "Don't go making any deals with him, it never ends well." The last he adds with a conviction that he didn't know he had, doesn't remember where it comes from, but he knows it for truth.

The ambassador looks startled. That's when he knows; he's already too late.

The doors to the transport tube open. "I'm sorry," he says and steps out, leaving a confused and annoyed looking alien behind.

He leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a moment. He hadn't meant to see anything. Definitely not the man walking through the Zocalo, with dark things following after him. Hadn't wanted to stir up forgotten truths about things no one else could see, things that made him follow and see.

He hadn't meant to be too late.