Summary:  A shadow in a dream has unexpected consequences.
A/N:  Hi guys! Welcome to my first-ever supernatural fanfic, so please read and review! I am really excited about where I see this going – it is inspired by a song called “Throw Your Arms Around Me” by Hunters and Collectors. I know there is a rule on here about songfics, but I’ve done this a bit differently to most songfics, so hopefully I haven’t broken any rules. Anyway, read and (hopefully enjoy)!
Please Note:  It is slightly AU. Although this takes prior to the series one finale, Dean knows about Devil’s traps. And please excuse my terrible Latin, if anyone out there actually knows anything about Latin and wants to fix it for me, please feel free!
Disclaimer:  I never usually do these – okay, so, they’re not mine.

I dreamed of you at nighttime
And I watched you in your sleep
I met you in high places
I touched your head and touched your feet >

Sitting beside his brother, Dean could recall very few times in his life when he had felt worse.

In hours of research, he had found nothing. Nothing in the journal, nothing on the Net, nothing in this city’s library that corresponded even remotely to what Sam had seen in his dream. Not that he had much to go on. A shadow in a dream, and now his brother was blind and deaf.

Maybe he hadn’t found it yet. Maybe he had missed something.

Or, said a cruel voice inside his head, or – maybe there’s nothing to find.

Dean pushed the thought down ruthlessly. That alternative was so much worse, he wasn’t willing or able to go there.

Yet, said the voice. Maybe you’ll have to.

The doctors thought it was neurological, that Sam had something wrong, something affecting his brain. He was definitely, clinically, blind and deaf, that was certain. Nothing much else was certain though. No one had any idea what was causing this. They hadn’t been able to get a good look at Sam’s brain since he’d freaked out in the scanner. Dean wished he’d been there, hated to think of his little brother so scared that he had run away. He was grateful to the nurses that they had given Sam this space – they had followed Sam, ensuring that he came to no harm on his blind flight, and Dean had found one watching Sam from behind the door, making sure he was okay.

Dean looked over at his brother, at Sam’s empty gaze and unnaturally still stance, and felt his heart crumble a little within his chest.

“What did you find? Anything?” Sam’s words slurred together, beginnings and endings melding, his voice flat. Dean winced slightly at the sound. He spelled:

NOT YET

Sam’s shoulders slumped visibly, and he said nothing.

Dean sighed, and then reluctantly phrased another question. He hated to ask, but the nurse watching Sam had emphasised its importance.

CAN WE DO SCAN NOW

Dean watched Sam deftly tracing the outline of each letter, brow furrowed in concentration. Sam’s breath hitched as he traced the word “scan”, and Dean tensed in the stillness that followed, before Sam nodded mutely. Dean waited for words, explanations, pleas for avoidance, but none came. He frowned.

TALK TO ME

“Why? What do you want me to say?”

ANYTHING

Pause. Then Sam sighed. “Sorry Dean”.

Dean shook his head, frustrated – that wasn’t the answer he had sought. Sam didn’t say anything else, only climbed silently to his feet and allowed Dean to lead him inside.

When the second scan was completed, Sam felt relieved to be taken back to his room, to his bed. He was exhausted. Although it was difficult to comprehend the passage of time, he knew he had been awake for hours. At least here, he could rest. It took only seconds for him to fall asleep.

Sam was sleeping. He could see himself lying on the white hospital bed, sheets twisted and brow furrowed in a frown. Then it struck him like a sledgehammer.

He could see!

Almost bursting with emotion, Sam whipped his head around, taking in his surroundings. He could see himself, lying in the bed. Dean sat on a chair beside him, chin resting on his chest, as his head lolled in what was probably a highly uncomfortable slumber. It was pitch dark through the window beside his bed.

Instead of happiness, Sam felt a creeping fear. This wasn’t right… this was too much like what had happened before.

Sam approached the bed, wishing desperately that he could wake himself up. As he drew closer, a cold fear swept over him. He could sense it, the same evil. It was here.

His heart swelled with dread, and he felt as if his chest would burst. Looking down, Sam stopped short, horrified.

He wasn’t himself. Whatever body he was in, it wasn’t that of Sam Winchester.

Where his feet should be Sam could see only the same shadowy form from before, the same darkness drifting like mist around his sight, the same icy sensation growing stronger as the thing approached the sleeping form on the bed. Sam could see the sweat on his own forehead as sleeping Sam began to toss and turn. He could hear his own mutters, feel his own fear. But more than that, he could sense the evil pleasure of the thing as its eyes – his eyes! – fell on his sleeping form, and hear its low, haunting laugh as it reached out shadowy fingers.

With shockingly swift movement, it seized sleeping Sam’s ankles, gripping them like a vice.

But this was very different from before. Searing pain swept up Sam’s body and flooded his mind, awful, white-hot pain that burned. Sam screamed, and he could hear the piercing sound of his own voice, before it faded suddenly and-

He woke up.

Chest heaving, Sam stared into the darkness before him, gasping for breath. He felt his insides turn to ice.

He felt quite sure now, that something was after him. A ghost maybe, or a demon? But what kind of monster stole people’s sight and hearing?

A nastier thought crept up on him then. In the dream, he had been the monster. It had looked through his eyes.

What was wrong with him?

Sam needed to splash water on his face, to clear his head. He decided to go to the little bathroom he had visited once before, across the ward. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Sam pushed himself to his feet.

And then fell to the floor with a terrible crash.

A loud clatter and sharp cry roused Dean ruthlessly from sleep and, startled, he jumped to his feet, hand reflexively reaching for the knife he usually carried at his waist. One glance told him that a knife was unnecessary. Sam was lying sprawled on the floor on top of the small table he had fallen into, dazedly pushing himself off the ground with his arms.

“You okay, Sam?” Dean said, before remembering, bitterly, that Sam couldn’t hear him. Instead he crouched down beside his prostrate brother, grasping him by the arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. Sam seemed to be having trouble getting up and Dean, concerned, wondered if Sam had hit his head. Sam’s face was screwed up in a grimace and his breathing was rasping and uneven. Very worried now, Dean knelt beside Sam as a nurse came running up to them, alarm on her face. But Dean only had eyes for Sam.

“Sam?”

“Dean!” Sam was almost sobbing, his unseeing eyes wide. “My legs! I can’t feel them!”

Sam felt himself lifted back onto the bed by several pairs of strong arms, and he could sense that there were several people in the room by the volume of vibrations carrying through the bed. He clung to Dean’s hand like a drowning man. He tried desperately to wiggle his toes, to kick his legs, but nothing happened.

I can’t believe this is happening.

Actually he could believe it, and this worried him more. This was definitely supernatural. And there was probably more coming. He needed to talk to Dean, to tell him his dream, what had happened. But there were so many people in the room, and silly as he knew it was, he didn’t want other people to hear his distorted voice.

He felt Dean pull his hand free and place something in his palm. It was one of the wooden letters, and his hand was guided down to the covers, where there were more. Slowly, laboriously, Sam spelled out the sentence.

SAY WHEN YOU FEEL IT

Feel what? Sam tensed, waiting.

And waiting. He felt the alarm rising in his chest but forced it down, straining every nerve in his body for some sensation, anything to respond to.

And at last he felt it. A prick of pain. “There! You just pricked my left knee” he felt Dean grip his fingers, hopefully to say yes. There were more jabs, on his right knee and upper legs, but none below. Sam felt his heart sinking. This was getting worse by the minute.

He waited for the people to leave, waited and waited. Sometimes he thought they had left because they stood still, so there was no movement for him to sense. But always, just as he was about to speak, someone moved. And Sam’s did not want to talk about demons in front of a doctor that probably already thought he was mentally deficient. With fleeting regret, Sam wondered what they were saying. For someone so fiercely independent, so keen to be in control of his own life, his own destiny, it tortured him to know that others spoke about him and he could contribute nothing. But there was nothing he could do.

Finally, he whispered, “Dean, I need to talk with you – alone”. There were a few moments of stillness, then he felt the vibrations grow fainter and fade into nothingness, as people left the room. Dean squeezed his hand.

“Are we alone?”

One squeeze. Yes.

So Sam described his dream to Dean in detail, trying to hide the anxiousness in his voice as he described the moment when it had seemed that he and whatever was stalking him were one and the same. When he finished there was a stillness, and Dean didn’t let go of his hand, didn’t make any move to get up.

“Dean?”

Dean’s grip tightened slightly, but that was all

“Dean! What do we do? Have you ever heard of something like this before?”

Sam let go of Dean’s hand, and almost reluctantly Sam thought, Dean formed a word.

NO

“No! That’s all?”

WILL LOOK IN JOURNAL

Dean left slowly and, strangely apprehensive, Sam lay back down.

Dean felt trapped

On the one hand was the doctor, telling him that Sam clearly had some sort of brain malfunction, likely a tumour, and although they couldn’t find it on the scans it was highly likely more symptoms would arise. And if by “more symptoms” he meant more bits of Sam that didn’t work properly anymore, Dean knew this was not an acceptable option.

Then there was Sam, telling him that he was being pursued by a demon or monster Dean had never heard of and hadn’t been able to find any information on at all.

A monster he couldn’t fight.

His world was being slowly shattered, like a crack spreading slowly across glass, fragmenting what he knew into unrecognisable shards.

Dean was torn between staying with Sam, in case it was a brain tumour and he got worse, or spending another day in the library, trying desperately to find answers that might not even exist.

He knew Sam needed him badly. Sam, who had run away at 18 and always done his own thing, his own way, was clinging to Dean like a limpet. And Dean couldn’t deny him that. Just the thought of the silence and darkness Sam was enduring made him want to explode with claustrophobic frustration. How could he leave Sam like this?

Hoping desperately that the monster wasn’t something local, Dean retrieved the laptop and the journal from the trunk of the Impala before hurrying back inside the hospital. He would research on the internet in Sam’s room. Dean knew that if they were going to fight this thing, eventually he would have to leave Sam. But until then, he would stay as close as possible.

The day passed, and Sam retreated further into himself. He tried to ignore the numbness that crept slowly over his knees, edging up towards his waist. He didn’t reach out for Dean, didn’t speak. He simply stared into the blackness, and lost himself in his thoughts.

He thought about his life. About his childhood, growing up with Dean, with his Dad and hunting. Memories he hadn’t recalled in years crept into the void of Sam’s world, and with a fresh perspective he perceived how much Dean had looked out for him, how much John had loved him – in his own way. Sam saw with new eyes his family and himself, his words and actions, and his self-loathing grew. He had been so selfish. He was selfish. He was a bastard.

Desperately trying to push out these thoughts, Sam turned to memories of Stanford. But that was no good. Jessica smiling, Jessica loving, Jessica happy was drowned out by the image of Jessica burning, dying, on the ceiling above him. It played on a loop, over and over. Sam screwed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but it was no use. Faster and faster, he watched her explode into flame.

Opening his eyes, Sam recoiled in shock as he stared into his own face and the face of darkness simultaneously. Sam only had time to think, I can see, and notice that its form was now solid when its hands shot out and gripped him by the side of the head.

The most intense pain Sam had ever experienced flooded his brain, and he gripped his head and screamed, barely registering that he could hear the noise. Frozen fingers dug into his skin.

Dean leapt to his feet as Sam suddenly contorted in the bed, his agonised yells echoing across the ward. Nurses came running as he rushed to Sam’s side, completely helpless as Sam thrashed around in the bed, eyes screwed shut, hands clutching at his forehead.

“Sammy!”

The fingers let go and Sam opened his eyes as the pain subsided. The thing hovered above him and for the first time he looked into its face, shrouded in black flame so that the features were obscured. Sam had time to think but -I’m not asleep, before it reached out again and this time its snaking fingers pierced his brain.

Sam screamed a scream of primal pain and suffering

Through a haze of unimaginable pain, he looked into its eyes. Familiar eyes. His eyes. Then it opened its mouth, and the flames completely consumed him.

So if you disappear out of view
You know I will never say goodbye

Two nurses came rushing in and halted at the sight of Sam’s thrashing form. One immediately dashed off saying, “I’ll find the doctor!” whilst the other grabbed Sam’s arms, trying to stop him from writhing. Sam stilled for a moment, before yelling again and flinging her off, sending her crashing into Dean who caught her just before she fell over. She unsteadily regained her feet, and then said, “he needs a sedative”, before running out the door towards the nurses’ station.

Dean hovered beside Sam’s thrashing form, torn between trying to restrain him and fearful of hurting him more. Suddenly Sam stopped writhing and rolled onto his back, eyes snapping open. “Sam?” Sam lay frozen on the bed, eyes wide and unseeing, staring at the ceiling. Then as Dean watched, horrified, his pupils began to dilate, expanding until they completely covered the blue irises. Then, slowly creeping like clouds of ink, the blackness spread, until the whites of his eyes were totally obscured by darkness. “No. No!” Dean reached out and grabbed either side of Sam’s face. This could not, could not be happening! Not to Sam. “Sam!” The black eyes slowly turned towards him, and Dean could see nothing left of Sam. Tears began to sting at his eyes. “Sammy?” his voice was choked, and he smoothed back strands of Sam’s wayward fringe with his thumb. His brother, his little brother… “Sam, don’t do this, please!” Then the mouth curved mirthlessly into a smile that wasn’t Sam’s, and a voice that was harsh, and cold, and unmistakably evil said “Sam’s not here.”

A steely note entered Dean’s voice. “Where is he?”

“Hell”

Dean felt as though someone had gut-punched him and left a rock inside his stomach, as he stared at the soulless eyes of the person who meant the most to him. Sam’s lips curled into a wicked, mirthless grin and he laughed a low, cold laugh. As he laughed, a long, deep rumbling began.

It was one of those endless moments, when the world comes crashing down. Dean had felt this before – to a small, four-year old extent, when his mother had died. Later, much more powerfully, when Sam had left for college. When his dad had vanished into the ether. The same sensation of the rug being pulled from beneath his feet, as his insides froze and his faced burned, and he felt like the end of the world had come. Only this time, perhaps as a reflection of his emotion, the world literally fell apart.

Dean lurched to one side suddenly, as the ground shifted beneath his feet. He only had time to think, what the hell? Then the ground swung back the other way. He gripped the railing on the side of Sam’s bed, wondering if he had gotten drunk without noticing, when the vibrations in the floor began again, increasing in intensity with every passing second, until the first slab of fibro ceiling came crashing to the ground beside him, as Dean gaped in shock, trying desperately to keep his balance. Glancing at Sam lying on the swaying bed, he saw that Sam’s eyes had half-closed so that only a sliver of blackness could be seen, and he had gone completely rigid as though made of stone. Without a second thought Dean leapt up beside Sam, shielding their heads with his arms as more of the ceiling came crashing down.

For the first time Dean felt fear, not only for his brother, but also for himself. The earth shook violently, and he dimly heard screams over the rumbling of the world, then a violent jerk much larger than the previous ones came, and the bed was sent crashing to the floor, sending spikes of pain shooting up Dean’s spine at the impact as he gripped Sam and the railing desperately, trying not to slide onto the bouncing floor. The thin, sliding partition separating the room from the corridor suddenly jumped out of its runners and clattered to the linoleum with a bang, narrowly avoiding decapitating Dean, and the section of roof that rested on it crumbled over them in a hail of vicious projectiles, slashing across Dean’s face. Glancing up at the ceiling Dean gripped Sam’s arm and, hauling his limp body, leapt to one side as the large section of the room above collapsed in a cloud of choking dust, and with a last, abrupt jolt, the floor suddenly stilled.

For several moments Dean simply sat in the rubble, taking deep gasping breaths. His brain felt frozen on “pause”. After a moment, he recovered enough to remember Sam. Scrabbling madly in the rubble he hauled Sam’s limp form up beside him. He was unconscious, from the possession or earthquake Dean didn’t know, but other than that seemed fine, with only a long, shallow cut across his closed eye. Then Dean remembered himself. Patting himself down gingerly he could detect no broken bones, but when he felt his shoulder he hissed at the searing pain it caused, wincing as he fingered a deep gash. His fingers came away wet with blood, and he realised with irritation that this would require stitches.

Dean began to focus on his current situation. He was lying in the rubble of a hospital with a demonically possessed brother and absolutely no clue what to do. Glancing at Sam’s still form, he felt a pang of loss as he realised how much he missed his brother, missed being a team and having someone to rely on. He had never felt so alone, and the panic within him began to rise.

Leaving Sam where he was for the moment, Dean clambered to his feet. Water from a broken pipe was dripping onto his neck, and puffs of dust were rising from the debris, filling the air and making it difficult to see. He inched around the wreckage of the bed and machines, carefully avoiding the exposed wires, some of which were still sparking, and stuck his head out into the hall. The corridor was surprisingly clear of rubble, for although there was a lot of unidentifiable detritus strewn along the floor it seemed that most of the walls and roofs of the hallway were intact. In the distance he could see a battered-looking patient in a smudged, bloody dressing gown hobbling though the shattered glass doors into the world beyond. A discarded wheelchair opposite the opening where he stood in what was once a doorway caught his eye, and making a snap decision he seized it, pulling it close to the door. Moving fast, he scrambled back to Sam and heaved him up and over his shoulder, staggering slightly under the weight. Ruefully noting that this wasn’t the first time he had carried Sam out of danger he lurched forwards, shuffling around the debris and finally lowering Sam’s prone form into the wheelchair, where he slumped wretchedly like a broken puppet, his head sagging and his arms hanging limply. Ruthlessly suppressing the lump that formed in his throat at the sight of Sam like this, Dean pushed the chair, its wonky wheel squeaking in protest, down the corridor and out the door. Doctors couldn’t help Sam now.

And though I try to forget it
You will make me call your name
And I'll shout it to the blue summer sky...

And you’ll throw your arms around me

Emerging through the shattered remains of the hospital door, Dean was greeted by a scene of chaos. Hundreds of patients, medical staff and ordinary people milled around on the grass beside the building, and when Dean rounded the side of the building towards the main entrance and the carpark, he found a scene of utter and bloody destruction. The entire front wing had collapsed, and injured people lay moaning and crying, the few uninjured doctors and nurses scurrying between them as more and more dusty figures emerged from the gloomy rubble. Sirens could be heard in the distance, and for a moment Dean simply froze, staring. He had never in his life seen such a thing.

A groan from Sam brought him back to his senses, and he looked down to see Sam raising his arms to his face sluggishly, as though attempting to block the light. A snaking finger of fear crept down Dean’s spine, and he hurriedly pushed Sam towards the carpark, hoping nobody would stop him or ask where he was going. Noting the widespread destruction around him however, Dean didn’t think it would be a problem.

Soon the ground grew too bumpy for him to push the chair and he circled around to the front, eyeing Sam’s slumped form with trepidation. Sam still held one arm up, shading his eyes from the sun which burned almost directly overhead from the clear sky, and when Dean reached out and grabbed the raised arm, pulling him to his feet, he offered no resistance but staggered forwards, his head lolling as Dean caught him and slung Sam’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him. It seemed that with the possession, Sam’s paralysis had vanished, but he was still shaky on his feet.

Acutely aware that his face was only centimetres away from that of a demon, Dean sped quickly through the parking lot, Sam lurching along unsteadily beside him. Many of the cars in the carpark had rolled and crashed into each other and some still smoked from under their hoods, as Dean prayed the Impala would still be drivable. He found it against a tree, its side dented and the taillight smashed, but otherwise okay. Any other day the damage to his baby would have left him speechless with dismay, but just at this moment, he didn’t care. Sam was possessed. Sam was gone.

No! Not gone!

Sam was in danger, and added to this was another thread of fear, that he and Sam would somehow find themselves responsible for the destruction of the hospital, and probably the deaths of hundreds of people. But he would worry about that when Sam was okay. Nothing mattered at all, unless Sam was okay.

He pulled open the passenger side door and heaved Sam in, taking the time to buckle his seatbelt before he raced around to the driver’s side and climbed in himself, looking over at Sam with building apprehension. But Sam still seemed completely out of it, only moving lethargically to shield his face again, and seemingly half conscious. Any hopes that the demon might have fled however were denied by the midnight black crescents showing through Sam’s half-lidded eyes, and Dean broke all speed limits as he shot out of the parking lot towards the motel, a ten-minute drive away.

It was one of the most frightening ten minutes Dean had ever spent, as the nearer he got to the motel the more Sam seemed to recover. His eyes opened fully and although he appeared daunted by the bright light streaming through the windscreen and windows (all of which Dean had rolled down), he still seemed recovered enough to glare maliciously at Dean beneath the curve of his hand over his eyes, lips turning upward in a malevolent smirk. Dean knew then that the sight of such soulless evil burning out from Sam’s familiar face would haunt him for the rest of his life.

On reaching the motel Dean leapt out of the car the instant it had stopped, rushing around to pull Sam to the ground from the passenger side. Again the thing moaned and covered its head, and Dean took advantage of this to run up the stairs and draw a very haphazard Devil’s Trap on the ceiling above Sam’s bed in charcoal. Praying that Sam would still be there as he raced back down the stairs, Dean seized everything he could out of the trunk – holy water, crucifixes, weapons and salt – and grabbed the bag containing journal and laptop which he had tossed in the back seat following the earthquake at the hospital, and then seized Sam around the upper arms and hauled him to his feet, practically dragging him up the steps to the room. He shoved Sam onto the bed and tied his hands and feet to the four corners of the bed using ripped up sheets, before pouring a circle of salt around the bed. Then he took a step back, breathing heavily.

As though in slow motion, the thing raised Sam’s head up from the bed and glared at him with absolute hatred, shaking its head slightly as though to clear some lingering dizziness.

“Fool!” It spat, leering at him and yanking on the cloth ties. Dean had tied them well, and tight, but he had no illusions about how long they would last against something as powerful as a demon. “You think you can hold me?”

“I think that will, you son-of-a-bitch!” Dean hissed, pointing upwards at the ceiling. “Now let my brother go!”

To his surprise it threw its head back and laughed. “Why would I do that? Pretty as it is, your picture will not hold me for long” It sneered at him, and Dean saw in horror that what looked like black oil was oozing from between its teeth. As he watched its skin rippled, and dark veins began to fern out around the dark hair, fanning out along its neck. Sam’s eyes still burned black.

Dean ruthlessly suppressed the emotions that lurched within him and flipped through the journal, beginning to read the exorcism in a voice that was strong and cold. However as he ploughed through the verses, there was no discernable reaction at all. The thing stared at him, mirth in his eyes, and after a while his voice faltered slightly. It chuckled.

“Who do you think I am? I am no ordinary demon, fool. You know, I was expecting more from the great Winchester boy”. Dean froze, and its smile widened. “I know who you are – Dean. I knew who you were before I got in here, too. But now you are beginning to bore me” Its grin vanished and its eyes, if possible, seemed to darken even more, as it screamed:

Mort!!”

Dean felt a rush of wind and expected death to fall upon him swiftly, but instead the thing screamed and contorted into itself, writhing as it struggled against the cloth bindings. “Stop it!” it screamed, but its eyes were clenched shut and Dean didn’t know whether it was speaking to him or not. “Stop it, I will crush you! Crush you into the nothingness you are, wretched human!”

Dean leapt forward, eyes alight. “Fight it, Sam! Come on Sammy, fight it!” For a second haunted brown eyes stared back at him and he heard a voice choke out

“Luci- Luci-“

Oh god, he’s not saying Lucifer is he?

Then Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head and the next second the darkness was back, black veins standing out as dark as before around Sam’s brown hair, which blew about in an unnatural wind. The thing screamed in anger and Dean knew that it wasn’t Sam’s scream. Then it looked back at him, face contorted in fury as glistening black teeth grimaced behind stained lips. Dean faced off against it, his face a mask of frozen hatred.

“He’s not in hell. Liar”

It said nothing.

“I’m going to rip you out in the most painful way possible. I’m going to rip you out of him, but I won’t send you back to hell. I’m going to obliterate you from existence, you hear me?”

It snarled at him “I will crush him. I will kill you. I will kill you, I will walk out of this room, and it will be your precious Sammy that will have brought this down on the world!!”

Dean took a step back. “Go ahead and try, bitch”. Then he turned his back on it and flipped open the computer.

Earthquakes, shadow figures and Lucifer seemed vaguely familiar, and Dean knew that somewhere, he had read of this thing. Twenty minutes later, and he had found what he was looking for even as the thing heckled him from the bed. It had begun delving into Sam’s memories and ridiculing them aloud to Dean, which had the obviously desired effect of making him burn with barely suppressed fury. However he had done his best to tune the demon out, whilst simultaneously trying to research the clue Sam had given him and ignore the fact that the thing was obviously growing stronger. Whatever battle Sam was fighting on the inside, he was clearly losing. Now the veins spread clear across its face and disappeared beneath his collar, his lips were black and his hair had turned black at the roots, slowly inching upwards. A couple of minutes ago he had heard a tearing noise as the binding on one wrist was torn through, and now he could see the others straining as it fought against them, all the while taunting Dean.

“He shot you Dean, do you remember? And you want to know how Sammy felt then? Your precious Sammy, whom you’ve always looked out for, always protected, defended and kept safe? He was thrilled, Dean. He was proud. He was happy. The first time he was happy in a long, long time. And it was because he shot you. He must really love his darling big brother. Or maybe there was a little more of my kind in him than you are willing to admit”.

Dean turned on the thing, a cold smile on his face. “Because you would know a lot about your kind wouldn’t you, Lucifuges Rofocale?”

Its mouth fell open and Dean turned to the computer screen, reading aloud.

“The foremost minister of Lucifer himself, Lucifuges can kill at will.” He turned in his chair and smiled at it “though, I guess Sammy stopped you there.”

It hissed at him, but Dean turned away and kept reading.

“I’m getting this from the sworn book of Pope Honorious by the way, he has quite a lot to say about you – ‘Lucifuges, or “he who flees from the light” is a spirit of the night and can only assume human form in the darkness.’” His voice rose in volume as he rose out of his chair and crossed to the thing on the bed, fury now shining on his face. “Is that why you turned on Sam, huh? So you could walk around in the daylight as well? Is that why-“ Dean walked over to the window “is that why this hurts so bad?” He snapped open the window blind and the thing cringed away from the beam of light. He crossed back to the computer and continued reading, his voice emotionless as he read.

“His main task is the infliction of deformity or disease, the creation of earthquakes, and the destruction of sacred deities.” Dean said, almost to himself, “Well that explains the hospital” but was interrupted by a howl of rage that made him flinch and jerk away, as it screamed:

“I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL YOU!” It was hissing, writhing and snarling, apoplectic with anger, and seemed to Dean more animal than human even though it inhabited his brother’s body.

“Well before you kill me, can you at least tell me why you did it?” he made his voice sound suitably soft and contrite. There was a ripping noise as the other wrist came free, and Dean looked up as the thing sat up, throwing both hands forward, palm first, and bellowing

“Mort!!”

But again, instead of death the only result was a gush of wind and then the thing was groaning in pain, gripping its head with its hands in such a way that Dean, with a pang, was forcibly reminded of Sam in the throes of a vision.

“I will crush you” it muttered, and then looked up at Dean, a grin splitting its features. “You can’t kill me.”

Dean said nothing.

“And I WILL kill you eventually. He cannot last forever, it is only a matter of time before he shatters” it leered at Dean “like glass, you hear me? He will smash and splinter and be destroyed.”

Dean still said nothing, though he felt as though rage would explode out of his mouth and burst out his chest if he so much as budged an inch. So he simply sat frozen in his chair, staring it down.

“I suppose I can tell you. You will need something to mull over in the seconds before you die.” It chuckled with teeth that were black and filmy. “I have been waiting ages. I have planned long to walk on earth, I just needed the vessel best suited to me”

Dean flinched, which didn’t escape the thing’s notice. Sam’s grin stretched wider, and Dean was forced to avert his gaze. “Psychic boy, as you call him. Little Sammy. He was perfect – neither of you know, but he has so much potential he has never realised. So much power.” Then it frowned. “But that power presented me with a problem. He was well shielded from attack, even as his psychic abilities attracted me to him in the first place. So I turned to one of my specialities – the infliction of deformities and disease”.

The thing grinned at Dean, ducking its head a little and giving a conspiratorial wink. “You said it once before, didn’t you? We need a little chink in the armour – an addiction, something that leaves one open to possession. What would do that more than being totally isolated in your own body?” Dean made a little choking noise, and it laughed. “And each time I took something from him, it made me stronger. As I grew stronger, his defences crumbled… it was almost too easy really. And so I waited until the time was right, and I walked right in to your precious Sam’s body”. It grinned fiendishly.

Dean rose slowly to his feet and shuffled towards it, shaking his head slightly. “Wow… that's, that's pretty amazing really”. It eyed him warily as he stood by the bed, just out of arms reach. “No, I’m serious – I’m impressed” he leant forwards “there’s just one problem… we Winchester’s, we really don’t like to be messed with. I mean really.” It hissed at him and bared its teeth, arms stretching out towards him, but Dean bellowed “Christo! Crucifixo!” and with a screech it was flung back on the bed, arms straight out perpendicular to its body as its heels snapped together. Whipping out the bottle of holy water he had concealed behind his back Dean upended the whole thing over Sam as it screamed and gurgled, steam rising as Dean made sure that he was drenched from head to foot. Then he grabbed the box of matches and struck frantically once, twice, nothing – as the thing jerked its head up and its eyes glowed red instead of black – then suddenly he had a light, and for the first time fear showed in its face. He stared at Lucifuges, face cold, voice a monotone as he recited:

“Flamma ut est lux lucis

Expello caliga

Perussi quod permissum ea penetro

Oblivio!”

The small spark of flame he held flickered, and then turned from red to white, seeming to increase in intensity until its light filled the room. The thing inhabiting Sam’s body shrunk back, turning its distorted face away with a cry that sounded so like Sam, and Dean choked back a sob as he cried, “OBLIVIO!” and flicked the match onto Sam’s chest.

In an instant the bed was consumed in white flames, and an unearthly, bone-chilling scream rent the air as the flames reached almost to the ceiling and the bed, sheets, and Sam vanished in the light. The heat and intensity of the fire forced Dean backwards against the wall, and he instinctively brought his arm up to his face to protect it. Then the fire turned from white to red, and Dean could only stare at the flames in utter, wretched horror.

I didn’t just burn Sammy… I didn’t just burn Sammy…

“Sam…” he whispered, just as the flames suddenly blew out in a gust of wind that came from nowhere. Dean remained frozen against the wall, unable to move. But it seemed from where he stood that the bed was intact, and so he forced himself forwards.

One step.

Two steps.

And then Sam’s prone form came into view on the untouched sheets and Dean stumbled forwards, falling to his knees beside the bed.

“Sam?”

There was no response.

“Sammy?”

Nothing.

“Sam… please…” Dean was unable to keep the sob out of his voice as he gripped Sam’s shoulders, stroked his face tenderly, shook him first gently, then harder in mounting desperation.

“Sam!”

Sam shot upright with such suddenness that Dean reeled back onto his heels, staring stunned at Sam, who sat frozen on the bed.

For a moment there was silence as neither moved, and then Sam turned his face towards Dean. Dean didn’t move.

“Dean?” Sam flinched slightly at the sound of his voice but didn't take his gaze away from Dean. Dean felt curiously detached, even as he hungrily took in Sam’s eyes, Sam’s eyes, his face vein-free, the black gone from his mouth, his hair…

“I can see you, Dean!” Sam said in wonder, and that broke the spell as Dean scrambled to his feet just as Sam leapt up from the bed, and then they were hugging each other fiercely, Dean not attempting to hide the tears that poured down his cheeks whilst Sam gripped him so tightly it hurt.

It was over.

Three hours later, and they were packed to leave – indeed they had no choice, as the motel manager had knocked angrily on their door and told them that if they weren’t out of the building by sundown he was calling the police, and just what crap did they think they were pulling? He had other patrons to consider who didn’t appreciate whatever noise or tomfoolery they were engaged in, thank you very much. But neither brother had any argument – Dean couldn’t wait to escape the room where he had willingly set his brother on fire, and he could see that Sam would be haunted by this encounter for a long time. After the initial shock of being able to see and hear had worn off, and he had stitched Dean’s shoulder and had his own bruised wrists and ankles bandaged, Sam had sat silently in front of the television, watching the coverage of the earthquake on the local news, which apparently had its epicentre at the local Memorial Hospital. There were five confirmed deaths so far.

“Come on dude” Sammy “time to go”. Sam looked up and Dean was at the door, their last duffel swung over his shoulder.

“Sure,” Sam grabbed his stuff and climbed to his feet, only slightly unsteady after his encounter with Lucifuges. Sam hadn’t had time to fully process everything, but he knew he would never feel truly safe again – he now knew that there were some things that rock salt, that preparation, that weapons and bullets and practice couldn’t stop, couldn’t prevent. But at least he knew one thing was certain. He stopped next to Dean in the doorway and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks”.

He didn’t have to say what for.

Dean grinned back, almost his usual, cocky, smirk (although there was a degree of wobbliness in his smile that yet remained) and they went through the door together, slamming it behind them.

end