Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing. I'll put'em back when I'm done.

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Sam's not the only freak in the family. Dean has a weird realization when a demon tries to possess him.

It's when she slips her hand behind his neck, grabbing on hard, that he starts to suspect what she has in mind. He grins tightly at her, fully convinced that she can't do what she seems to be aiming at. Then she presses her lips to his, forces his mouth open and jams her essence down his throat. He fights her as much as he can, but she's relentless, forces herself into him, and he has the distinct impression that he now knows what rape is. It's not sex, it's being forced into a situation outside your control, a situation that makes you feel weak and helpless.

And then she withdraws, releases her hold suddenly, and the body she once possessed slumps to the ground, unconscious or dead, and he feels violated and disgusted and scared out of his mind. He's still in control, but not of his extremities. She can't possess him properly. He thinks its because of the sigil stenciled onto his shoulder, but he's not sure. He can feel her wiggling inside, can feel the essence fighting his willpower. He holds tight, assumes he's in for a long night and has no idea how hard it's going to get.

He staggers back a step, deprived of the unwanted support she offered, and without control he drops to his knees, painfully hard, keels over and hits the floor face down. He can see and feel and he can groan, but that's about it. There's not much more that's left under his control. But she doesn't control him either, because he stays down, feels her buck inside him, feels her trying to take control, and something stops her. It hurts and he grunts halfheartedly.

One of the others wants to know why he's not getting up, now that he has a new body. He realizes they're talking to her, not him. He can hear the muted complaints from Sam; Sam who's been drugged so he can't use his mind, gagged so he can't use his voice. He wants to reassure his brother, wants to let him know that this bitch isn't taking him alive, but he can't say anything. His tongue won't respond to his brain's command. 'Son of a bitch' he thinks viciously.

She kicks inside, like liquid silver under his skin, and he groans again because it hurts like hell. It feels like she's trying to skin him from the inside out, like she's trying to lift his skin off his flesh and it burns. But she doesn't get further than that, can't take control.

The others roll him over, inspect him, look into his eyes, then glance at each other, bewildered, concerned. He can watch them in turn, feels in complete control of his brain even though he isn't in control of much else. She shifts inside and he groans again, tries to will her to be still, but she fights him and he fights her, wishes it would stop hurting so goddamn much.

One of them, a tall gangly guy with vicious eyes pulls a knife. Then sets about peeling off the tattoo and that hurts even worse, but he can't voice his pain properly, can only curse at them from inside his head. They're taking away his protection. Or so they think. Because once the tattoo is gone, she's still kicking for control and he's still holding her back. 'I'll beat you, bitch!' he thinks and wishes for a moment he could die because of the pain.

Even though she kicks and claws and bites inside him, his body stays still. She's not in control, she's trapped inside. So is he, but he belongs here and feels secure in his residency. She's the intruder and he wills his body to fight her, to treat her like a damned virus that his body has to find a cure for.

He loses track of time, only notices that it gets dark and the others leave; leave Sam tied to that damned pillar and him lying there on the floor. Sam is muttering into his gag, trying to speak words around it that would drive her out of him, but with the gag so firmly in place and Sam's mind so muddled, it doesn't come out right and Sam can't help.

For a long time after it gets dark he lies there. He's cold now because he doesn't move and she stops kicking for a while. Then she starts moving again, slithering through him like a damned snake, and he knows that if he gets out of this, he'll have nightmares about this. They will be quiet nightmares, but he'll remember and it will gross him out. It grosses him out now. He wants her gone and he hates that slithering feeling. But she's still not in control.

He rolls his eyes to his brother, tries to focus on him and manages. Sam, who's sitting on the floor, his arms tied behind him to that pillar, the gag firmly in place, his lids half-closed. His eyes a red-rimmed, confused and sad at the same time. The kid's really in a bad place right now.

The pain comes and goes, but he holds on to what he knows is his. 'My body', he snarls in his head. 'Get the fuck out, bitch.'

He envisions himself kicking her and her essence jerks inside him. 'Mind over matter,' he thinks and would have smirked if he'd been able to. Demons don't back each other up and the others are gone. Nobody knows what he's doing. He kicks her again in his mind and she jerks again. He envisions her, in her host body, the way she looked the first time he saw her, and he hammers an imaginary fist into her face and she recoils, jerks inside him. 'Take that, bitch!' He does it again, kicks her, slugs her, picks up an imaginary bat and starts beating her into a pulp and she feels it. He knows she does because she recoils and jerks and tries to pull away, but she's stuck inside him and he's in control of what happens to his body right now. He can't move, but he's in control.

His throat begins to burn then and he keeps up the barrage he's imagining while her essence, step by agonizing step, is forced out of his mouth, oozing like fog from his lips, in bursts. He's kicking her to hell and she can't stop him. It makes him feel powerful despite the pain. He'll be hurting for days if he even survives this, but he'll be victorious. He will win. He has to. He has to save Sam. That's what he does. That's all he does. So he keeps kicking and hitting and shoving her essence, imagines her being evicted from him and she is, little by little.

Sam is more together. The drug is wearing off. He's watching, eyes wide, surprise there and something more. Maybe Sam's powers aren't that bad after all. Maybe it's a good thing that he can use his mind to evict demons, because – isn't that what he's doing right now?

The more of her he kicks out, the more control he gains. He can wiggle his fingers now, claws them painfully into the wooden floor beneath him, and he ups the fight, ups the beating, until he can move his head, roll it to the side, and coughs out black smoke. Sam makes the host vomit the smoke out. He settles for coughing it up, like something that went down the wrong way and has to come out.

When the final sliver of demonic essence inside him is out, he draws in a deep breath and coughs violently, rolls over on his side and pushes himself up on one elbow. He clears his throat and stares for a moment, then gets up on his hands and knees and crawls over to his brother. He can't get up and walk. Not yet. He's too spent from fighting for ownership of his own body.

He's learned a valuable lesson today, though. He can do what Sam does, but only if it happens to him. If they try to possess him again, he'll know what to do now. It'll hurt, but he can get rid of the possession without it taking him over. He doesn't want to do this again, not if he can help it, but he knows he can do it now and that changes things. Maybe he's not like Sam, but he's got his own demon-fighting power now and that's weird, because he would have balked half a year ago. He would have been terrified. But now he just feels like he kicked ass and that he came out on top and that's what matters.

With numb fingers, he fumbles with the rope holding Sam and manages to unknot it, pulls the coils free until Sam can do the rest himself. Sam is much more together and he gives up, just sags to the floor and wonders if he'll fall apart if Sam tries to get him up. He suddenly feels fragile and decides that he doesn't want to try that again.

Sam pulls the gag out of his mouth, staggers to his feet. He's unsteady, still affected by the drug, but more together.

***

He doesn't remember getting up and getting out, only realizes he's away from that place when he feels the rumble of the engine of his beloved car and realizes he's sitting next to Sam, his head and shoulder resting against the passenger side door, while the world whisks by in darkness and rain outside. He breathes slowly, in, out, in, out, flexes his fingers experimentally to make sure he's still in control.

"Dean?" Sam sounds anxious. Maybe he's tried to talk to him before and he didn't hear? "Are you with me?"

"Mmhh," is all he can manage. His vocal cords might still be possessed. He snorts helplessly at the thought and figures it's probably more a matter of being thoroughly wrung out and hung up to dry.

Sam's hand settles on the back of his neck, either to look for a pulse – 'not there, dimwit' he thinks lazily – or just to keep some sort of connection going. "Dean?"

He rolls his eyes in the direction of his brother, manages to turn his head just a little bit, and swallows hard. Sam looks as anxious as he sounds, which is never good news. "'m okay," he finally manages. He closes his eyes and realizes Sam's hand is still on his neck, warm, comforting, and he makes no move to shrug it off because he wants the connection just as much as Sam does right now.

***

Fading world, in and out, out and in. It's hard to keep track of where he is or what's happening. He doesn't even try very hard, because he's not alone, his brother is there.

Something cool shocks him awake and he blinks up at Sam leaning over him, something heavy cold on his brow. He squints briefly, then focuses on Sam; Sam who looks worse than before. "You look like shit."

Sam smirks despite the fatigue. "You should see yourself."

Predictable answer there. If he looks half as bad as he feels, he knows he looks like shit. "Thanks." It comes from the heart, really it does.

***

When the sun's up again he feels better, not so wasted. He has slept, dreamless, but the moment between sleep and awakening is filled with a creepy-crawly sensation under his skin, something he wants to scratch at to remove. He doesn't. He wakes up instead.

They have breakfast after Sam goes out to get it. Sam looks better. Not so wasted any more. He has slept too.

They sit in silence for a bit, drinking coffee and just being. Then Sam shifts, glances at him. "What happened?"

He shrugs. What can he really say? "Don't know." It's true, really. He doesn't really know what happened. He glances at Sam, unsure of how to approach what's on his mind. He's not good with apologies. Only if he's pushed into it. He's not pushed now. Sam doesn't know what happened, probably can't really remember it.

"It tried to ..." Sam hesitates, frowns as if trying to put it all straight in his head before he puts it into words. Then he looks up, meets his eyes. "It possessed you." It's a confessional tone, like Sam's the one who has something to admit. "But ... you stayed down."

Again he shrugs, not sure what to say. Then he touches his shoulder. It hurts. They skinned his damned shoulder to get the tattoo of. Sam must have patched him up while he was out. There's a gauze patch covering the hole in his skin and he's wearing a clean t-shirt. But it still didn't change anything for the demon possessing him. "Guess being raised from Perdition by an angel kinda makes me immune or something, huh?" It's meant to be a joke, but it falls flat because he doesn't really believe it. He hasn't been immune to anything else they've thrown at him.

Sam's not convinced either, just watches him for a moment, then drops his gaze and shrugs, not committing to the idea.

"Bad joke." Not really a joke at all. But what can he really say? Other than ... "Sammy, I'm sorry, okay?"

Sam looks up, stunned. "About what?"

"About ... it looks like ... I don't know ..." He rubs a hand through his hair, sighs lightly to cover the sudden need to scream. Why the hell is nothing ever easy? Why aren't things black and white? Back in the day he knew right from wrong, knew good from bad. Now everything's blurred. Demons behave like regular people, angels behave like freaking demons and people are caught in the middle. It's all messed up.

"I shouldn't have given you such a hard time about your ... you know ... psychic stuff. It's just ..."

"Dean." Sam's tone is slightly suffering.

"Cas freaked me out when he said he would stop you if I didn't. I don't know what he thinks it is you're going to do, but ... you're right. Ridding people of demons isn't a bad thing. It can't be. And ... well ... it would seem I can do it in a limited way too."

"That's what you did?" Sam sounds surprised, confused even. "You ... exorcized it?"

"No, I kicked her out. I got a little pissy about her invading me. It wasn't exactly pleasant. So I just concentrated on beating the crap out of her and pushing her out and ... well ... she went." He shrugs his right shoulder, is not too keen on moving his left just yet.

Sam stares for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he looks down and away. "You keep doing this." It's quiet, almost a mutter, almost inaudible.

He frowns. "What?"

"This ... double-standard thing. You give me hell about stuff and then you turn right around and do it yourself. You raised hell over dad's deal, but you made one too. You raised hell about me using my ... abilities. And now that you can do it too, it's suddenly okay?" Sam looks up, but the look in his eyes isn't what he expects, doesn't correspond with the tone. Sam's not pissed, he's hurt.

He considers that accusation, knows that a part of him wants to get pissy about it, but he can't convince himself because ... Sam's right. "Yeah, I do that, don't I?" He doesn't admit it lightly, but he forces his tone into neural. Then he sighs again, heavily this time. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. I ... things used to be so easy, so simple. Then you came back and messed it all up with your touchy-feely yoga self-help crap."

Sam arches an eyebrow, briefly looks like he wants to comment, then decides not to and backs down.

He can't help thinking about Sam's reactions. They're no different now than they were two years ago, three years ago. Sam's older, more mature, than when he left for Stanford, but he's still the same. How could anyone think that he would turn evil?

"Yeah, now it's all my fault." It's muttered, obviously not supposed to be overheard, like the comments he sometimes dared to say around dad, too low to be heard. Comments that raised hell because the old man heard them anyway and got angry about it.

"Sure it is. I've got nobody else to blame." He smirks when Sam looks up, arches both brows and snorts.

"So ... what do we do now? I mean ... this angel of yours can't be too thrilled about this." Sam states it like it's the simplest thing in the world.

But he knows it's not. Nothing's simple any more. Everything's completely out of wack and he hates it. But he can't do anything about it. They're stuck in the middle of this and they have to find a way out. "Well ... if you can exorcize demons ... maybe you can do it to angels as well. So ... if they get pissy ... just kick ass."

Sam just stares at him for a moment, then purses his lips in contemplation. "You kick ass. I'm not going up against any angels, dude." He can't hide the weak smirk at his words.

"Sure you can. You're the big demon-ass-kicker in the family with your memorized rituals and mind-boggling abilities. What's a little angel-ass-kicking going to hurt?" It's not such a hard truth for him to come by that both sides in this game are equally fucked up. Sam will probably have a harder time believing it. Sam's the one who believes in these fuckers after all. So what if there is a god? The gods they've run into so far have been some real bastards. Why should the uber-boss be any different? "You and me against the world, dude. That's how it's always been. Looks like that at least hasn't changed." He says it with confidence, but he still believes the world will end bloody. And he still believes he's damned. But for now, they're together and Sam's getting stronger and he's getting abilities of his own. It could be worse. Sure, it could be better too, but it could most certainly be worse.

The End