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Dean woke up with a start, at first completely and utterly disoriented. He was lying on his bed, fully clothed, and a brief glance at the alarm clock told him it was six a.m. "What the hell?" he rasped. He had no recollection of going to sleep the night before and was generally certain that he wouldn't have without squaring things out with Sam. Concerned, he sat up only to be hit by the worst dizzy spell he'd ever had in his life. Certain that he would get sick like hell if he didn't lie back down, he dropped back again and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the room had stopped spinning and he again tried to sit up, this time a little slower.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he was more than just a little disoriented. Generally, he felt like he had been drugged out of his mind the night before, but since he hadn't even managed to get anything to eat since breakfast, that could hardly be the explanation.

It took him a good long while to get his act together enough to get off the bed and into the bathroom so he could splash some water on his face. He gripped the edges of the sink, closed his eyes and just stood there for a moment. Then he opened his eyes and glanced back into the room. Sam's bed was untouched.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, pushed away from the sink and staggered back into the room. His head was swimming.

"Perhaps you should reconsider your attitude."

Frigg's voice brought him to a stop and he struggled with his balance for a second. "What the hell are you doing to Sam?" he growled and blinked rapidly a few times to clear his vision.

"I'm not doing anything to Sam," she claimed. She was partially dressed in the fact that she was wearing Sam's shirt.

He couldn't help the feeling of slight hysteria that was trying to settle on him. He fought it back, but only barely. "Like hell. He's not listening to me any more and that's not good news under any circumstances."

Frigg folded her arms over her chest, a smile stretching her lips slightly. "Perhaps if you respected him as an individual rather than treating him like a little child with no sense, he would not be so angry with you right now."

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He staggered over to his bed and dropped down on it. "What the hell are you doing to me?" he growled and looked up at her. The seesawing of the room was making him nauseous.

"Keeping you off balance," she countered. "I want you to leave Sam alone, let him do what he wants to do, and this doesn't go any further."

"Like hell," Dean growled and briefly closed his eyes. The swaying notion settled a little when he closed his eyes, but he couldn't very well fight her if he couldn't see her. "You stay the hell away from my brother, you bitch," he added vehemently and tried to draw himself up on his feet, but failed miserably.

Frigg smiled. "You do not have the power or the fortitude to fight me. All I have to do is want it and you will die a horrible death. Or you could just ... disappear."

"You're not Frigg," he pressed out, one hand clawed into the edge of the bed to keep himself from keeling over and hitting the carpet face first. "You're not a goddess."

Her smile turned a little sour. "That depends on who you ask," she said.

"SAM!" he yelled. If Sam saw him like this, he would know something was up. "SAM!"

"He can't hear you. He won't wake up until I let him," Frigg said.

Dean tried to focus his increasingly unsteady gaze on her while he fought a losing battle against the nausea. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's something you'll never know," she said. "If you let this go, if you ... forget about this, I'll let you live. But nothing comes between me and Sam now. Do you understand?"

Incapable of doing anything more than glare at her right now, Dean did just that. "What the hell is it you want from Sam?" he demanded.

"His life force," she said with a smirk on her lips. "And he has so much of that. Psychics are always so much stronger in their life force than anyone else." She stepped forward, laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to get on eye-level with him. "The only way to impart that life force of his is through sex. Lots of it. All the time," she nearly whispered.

He tried to lash out at her, tried to shrug out of her grip and land a punch in her pretty face, but he could barely move and his stomach was doing somersaults at this point. The bile was rising in his throat and he had to make a very conscious effort to remain upright.

"Ah well. I didn't really think it was plausible to keep you around," she said, released his shoulder and stepped back. "Get up," she added.

He wanted to tell her to go to hell, but he couldn't speak. His jaw was locked. And his body responded to her command without his participation.

"I will tell Sam that you've taken off, that you think he's better off with me, that we had a long talk about it and that I'm more capable of protecting him and that it leaves you free to pursue your own goals," she said and nodded toward the door while she grabbed his duffle. "Everything packed?" she asked and smirked. "Let's go, then. We'll take your car. Otherwise it won't be believable, will it?"

***

He'd been through some doozies when it came to headaches over the past two years, but this one was no joke. He could barely pry his lids apart when consciousness finally caught up to him and he generally wished he hadn't woken up at all. A part of his subconscious mind kicked him harshly, insisting that something was wrong, that he hadn't had anything to drink the night before, and that there was no reason for him feeling this way.

He groaned and burrowed his face into the pillow, then shifted a little and turned his head the other way. Frigg was asleep next to him and the previous night's eye opening experience came back to him. It would explain why he felt tired, but not why he had a humongous headache. He pushed up on his elbows and squinted at the alarmclock on the night stand. Seven thirty. He pursed his lips, closed his lids again and let his head drop for a moment. He needed to get up and get a hold of some painkillers to get rid of that headache. It mostly felt like one of those whoppers he could get if he drank too much alcohol and didn't resupply with water at the same time. Dehydration, in other words.

"Crap," he rasped and sent a glance toward the floor where his clothes lay scattered. He grabbed his boxers, then sat up and took a time-out before he could even think of how to get them on. That thought made him smirk halfheartedly before he did manage that rather simple task.

Dressed only in his boxers, he got to his feet and pushed the fingers of one hand through his hair while trying to comprehend what the hell had happened to make him feel that shitty.

It was at that moment that he realized his duffle wasn't in the next room, it was in this one. He frowned lightly and glanced at the connecting door. The argument he'd had with his brother the night before came back to him and he grimaced. "Shit," he whispered, patted over to the door and turned the nob. Nothing happened. He pulled lightly at the door, but it didn't budge.

"Sam?"

Frigg's voice made him abandon the door for a moment. He turned back to face her. "He's locked the door," he said.

The look in her eyes made him a little uneasy. She looked almost sad. "Sam ... Dean left," she said.

He blinked. "Left?" he countered. The word made little sense to him right now. "What do you mean, left? Where'd he go?"

"I don't know," Frigg countered. "I was up an hour ago and ... well ... he was packing the car."

"Packing the car?" A sensation of dread washed over him and cleared his mind a little. He was able to distract himself away from the headache. "What are you talking about?"

"I think you're going to have to accept that he's gone, Sam," she said and smiled vaguely. "But it's okay. You've still got me."

The headache receded completely while the anger began to grow. This was wrong. Very wrong. Dean wouldn't leave without telling him, no matter what his reasons were for leaving. "Where's Dean?" Sam glared at her, somehow believing that his anger might make an impression on her. "Where's my brother?"

Frigg eyed him in return. "I already told you, Sam. He left. He said he didn't want to get you into more trouble and ..."

"Bullshit!" he snapped. He was angry because he was scared. It dawning on him that her ministrations were draining him. He felt weak, feeble, tired and he was beginning to suspect that the headache was her doing in some way. And if there was one thing he knew for sure, then it was that Dean wouldn't leave him, no matter what. Dean didn't leave. He stuck around and bullied him until he saw things Dean's way. "My brother wouldn't leave me like this. Not without an explanation."

This earned him a sigh. She stepped up to him. "Calm down, Sam. I know it's hard for you to believe that your brother would do this, but he did. And that's all there is to it. If you don't believe me, call him," she said. Her tone had an undercurrent of hurt in it and he realized that she was playing him. She was stringing him along and he had fallen for it before. But not any more.

"Don't tell me to calm down. I can't calm down," he snapped and tried to sidestep her to get to his phone. He needed to call Dean, needed to get through to his brother and hear this from him. But Frigg planted both hands on his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"I can calm you down," she said, her tone suddenly sensual. It almost vibrated. He could feel it translating from her hands into his chest.

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands back, then pulled back a step. "Get off me," he growled and again tried to sidestep her, but she once again stopped him by stepping in his way.

"I don't think so," she said. Her expression had turned a little stony and she didn't even bat an eyelash when she gave him a shove, that sent him reeling backward until he stumbled into the bed and sat down hard on it. "You're mine. You might as well reap what you can from it."

He stared at her. "You're nuts," he said and tried to get up, but she moved with lighting speed, covering the distance between them in a flash, and shoved him back down. "Stop that. I need to call Dean."

"Later," she said, her tone as stony as her expression. She grabbed his chin with one hand and pulled him back to his feet, her grip vice-like. "Right now, you're going to give me what I need."

He grabbed her wrist with both hands, intent on getting her to back off. He sure as hell was in no mood for any close encounters with her. "No," he snapped, but realized instantly that he couldn't even shift her hand a fraction of an inch. "Let go of me," he warned.

"Or what? You'll hit me?" she asked and smirked. It was just about the coldest expression he'd ever seen. She shoved him again, this time landing him on the bed on his back. He flexed his jaw and tried to sit up, but she pushed him back again, dropping down on one knee on the bed. "Stay," she told him, her tone cold.

"You can't make me." He knew he was in over his head, knew that she wasn't what he had wanted to believe. Somehow she had influenced him, playing innocent, playing unenlightened. And the worst was that she could read his mind. It would make it downright impossible for him to plan a way out of this.

"Oh, but I think I can make you," she cooed and smiled coldly.

"Where's Dean? What did you do to him?" The fear that she might have killed his brother rippled through him. He thought he would know if something bad had happened to Dean, but he had no real sense of it right now.

"Don't worry about him now, sweety," she said and planted one hand on his chest when he again tried to sit up. "That little whore started this path, you know. I realize that you tried to talk her out of it, but like a devout little follower, she wouldn't listen to you, would she? It's so easy to instill complete obedience in weak minds. Like your father did in your brother. Dean never really was an individual, was he? He was more like a puppet on a string, doing exactly what daddy wanted him to do. But hey. Whatever floats your boat, right?"

"Shut up," he snarled. "You don't know anything about my brother."

"I know everything. It's all there, in your head," she disagreed and tapped a finger against his brow. "But, enough talking. I need what you've got to maintain this shape. Human bodies are so damned frail. It's hard for them to contain the essence of a goddess."

Instead of trying to sit up again, he pulled himself backward in an attempt to get away from her, although he was fairly confident in the assumption that she had telekinetic powers as well. As if to prove the point, she stopped his backward motion with the wave of one hand. An invisible weight suddenly slammed into him, knocking him back down on the mattress and making escape impossible.

"Don't try to get away from me, boy. You can't," she said, still smiling.

"Why are you doing this?" he rasped, barely able to speak with the pressure she put on him.

She eyed him. "Enough talk," she repeated and released the pressure.

He sucked in a lung full of air. "Where is Dean?"

Her eyes darkened and she leaned in over him, her expression anything but pleased. "I said enough talk," she snarled and placed a hand flat on his chest.

It felt like she was touching a live wire to his chest and it sent him into a cramp-like state where every damned muscle in his body tensed, arching him off the bed, his fingers clawing ineffectively at the covers under him. It hurt like hell, but he couldn't scream. His jaw was locked too tightly.

When she finally stopped the assault, he nearly collapsed. Gasping for breath, every fiber tingling with the aftereffect, he allowed himself a moment to regain his composure while a plan began to take shape. If he fought her, she was going to kill him or incapacitate him. There was no doubt in his mind about that. So he needed to go about this differently. He was gonna have to put up with whatever she had in mind next and do so without opposing her. And as soon as he could see his chance, he had to get the hell out.

She made a move with one hand and he was pulled completely up on the bed by unseen forces. He lashed out for the head of the bed, wove his fingers into the white-painted metal grid and pulled himself upward a little.

"That's better," she said. "Now, let's get busy, shall we?" she added with a smirk and traced the tip of her right index finger over his chest toward the waistband of his boxers.

He swallowed, barely preventing a grimace. This was definitely the last thing he wanted to do. He needed to get out of here and find his brother as fast as possible, but as long as she was hellbent on this, there was no way out of it.

He used his growing anger with her to his advantage. The grating cut into his fingers and it centered him in a way, made it easier for him to not lose himself in the tidal wave of sexual desire that swept over him. He suffered through it, desperate for release and yet he held back, giving her the opportunity of wearing herself out so she would sleep afterward. She had the night before and he figured she would again. It drained her and if he let her do all the work, he would stand a better chance of not passing out once it was over. She was brutal this time around and he cursed her in his mind, swearing that he would find a way to get rid of her if he in any way could, and he cursed the fact that he hadn't memorized the exorcism ritual. If he had, maybe he could have expelled her right now, while she was busy sucking the life out of him.

She knew how to get him to respond, but that didn't mean he got any enjoyment out of it. He was downright disgusted but incapable of doing anything about it as long as she was awake and attentive. His main agenda was to find his brother, though, because something told him she'd done something bad to Dean and he feared the worst.

She pushed him to the limit, but somehow he managed to hang on to his senses and not lose himself and when she finally collapsed on top of him, he managed to somehow stave off the overwhelming urge to just close his eyes and drift away.

The urge to wash her smell off him was overwhelming and he stumbled into the shower stall. The shower was the quickest he'd ever had and all while he was standing under the spray, his hands braced against the tiles, he feared she was going to come looking for him. But she didn't and when he finally reemerged, she was still sleeping.

Intent on getting out, well aware that it was his only chance, he picked up his jeans and shimmied into them, carefully avoiding contact with his crotch for now. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, then stuck his bare feet into his sneakers, all the while keeping an eye on the sleeping monstrosity disguised as a girl.

The fear of her waking up was what kept him going right now and he sucked all the energy out of it that he could. He backed up to the chair where his duffle was, grabbed his phone lying on top of it and stuffed it into one pocket, then grabbed the duffle and his jacket and backed up to the door. And still she hadn't woken up.

Too much aware of potential failure to feel any triumph at the situation, his heart fluttered in his chest. With his luck at the moment, he wasn't likely to get further than the parking lot before she caught up with him, but he had to take the risk. As carefully as he could, he opened the door, stepped outside and closed it again just as silently. With his heart in his throat, he turned and hurried down the steps from the outside balcony running the length of the building and stopped briefly to take a look around. He needed a car. His eyes settled on one just next to the stairs, but he dropped the idea instantly. Too close to the motel. He needed to find something out of the way.

***