Passenger

Warning: this is not a happy fic, people! Read at your own risk. Sequel may or may not be forthcoming.

Passenger

Dean always remembered where he was the moment it happened.

Not like when people ask you where you were when Kennedy died, or when the planes hit the WTC and you would say something like at school or at a picnic. If someone had asked Dean where he was when the demon first entered his mind, he would have said stepping through the door of room number 13 of Motel Oasis, Biloxi, Mississippi.

Room number 13. And they say demons don’t appreciate irony.

Of course, where he was a moment later was leaving the room again, not answering when Sam called his name, not because he was pissed or hurt or scared (and he was all these things, but not because of Sam), but because he couldn’t, couldn’t control his tongue any more than he could his legs as they carried him towards an unknown destination, and a moment later he felt a stifling pressure around the edges of his consciousness, and he went down to the sound of mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

----

When he was aware again, he smelled of sweat and smoke and beer. He could feel the tingling buzz, the warmth in his stomach and spreading through his limbs that said bar and alcohol, but he had no memory of drinking, or even of leaving the motel parking lot. Yet here he was, speeding along a dark road in the Impala, singing at the top of his lungs.

And somewhere very close to where his left ear would have been if his mind had had ears, a guttural voice whispered welcome back to the land of the living, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to miss all the fun.

That was when Dean worked out what was going on. It was weird, because he was still scared, actually more like terrified now, but he couldn’t really feel it. His body felt happy, triumphant even, and Dean didn’t get that. He’d never really realised before that emotions were more related to the body than to the mind. And right now, his mind was no longer in the driving seat.

Get the hell out of my head, he snarled, or at least he tried to snarl it, but without the visceral anger behind it, it came out sounding flat. The mocking laughter started again, and Dean had never really wondered what it might feel like to be possessed, but it turned out that actually he was far more betrayed by the fact that he could feel the waves of enjoyment rolling through his stomach than he was by being unable to move his limbs or his face. This wasn’t right. He didn’t want to feel what it was feeling as if the emotions were his own.

And then they pulled into the parking lot again, and Dean realised he had a much worse problem when the voice whispered let’s go find little brother, see if he wants to play.

But it was OK, because Sam would have realised by now that something was wrong, right? He would have noticed when Dean walked out the door without a word and disappeared for hours, right? Except that Dean had actually kind of been doing that quite a lot lately, since dad died, needing his space, needing some time.

Oh dear, the voice said. Been crying wolf, have we?

It wasn’t like that. But whatever it was like didn’t matter now, because Dean’s body was opening the door to the motel room very quietly, and Sam was sleeping with the light still on, lying on top of the covers in a t-shirt and sweatpants with a book open on his chest.

Dean’s body paused, as if to let Dean take in the sight, as if to revel in the fact that Dean’s mind was denied the adrenaline spike of fear. Aw, said the voice. Doesn’t he look cute?

Don’t you touch him, Dean said, though he didn’t really want to say anything because the voice that his words came out in would have made him feel nauseous if he had had any control over his stomach. What the hell do you want from me?

I could ask you the same question, Deano, the voice said. I’m not the one who’s been hunting you.

Dean’s body started taking off his shirt. Of course, the voice continued in an offhand manner, you might want to ask me what I want from Sammy. After all, it’s no fun being corporeal if you can’t do something interesting with all these hormones.

Dean’s tongue licked his lips, and he felt a thrum of excitement in his belly. Shit. What the hell was he going to do?

Except he was pretty sure he knew what he was going to do, and it didn’t bear thinking about.

Wake up, Sam. Wake the goddamn hell up.

But Sam didn’t wake up, for once Sam, who hardly slept at all half the time, was dead to the world, and Dean’s body was pinning him to the bed before he opened his eyes. He came up fighting, though, and that at least gave Dean a spark of hope as he felt the spike of pain from the punch that Sam threw.

It didn’t last, though, because Sam’s face went from fear to recognition to confusion, and he stopped punching and started shoving, and said what the hell, Dean? Get off me, you freak, and that was all the opening the thing in Dean’s body needed to throw a few punches of its own, and whatever it was – and Dean was pretty sure it was a demon – it was strong.

Sam did fight back, but he was pinned and confused and at a disadvantage, because although he must have worked out that something was wrong now, he still wanted to avoid hurting Dean. Which bugged the hell out of Dean, because he would much rather have felt pain and maybe a bit of fear (OK, maybe a lot of fear) than the feelings of pleasure that filled his body as his fist connected with his brother’s face with a noise that sounded a lot like breaking bone. Whatever the reaosns for it though, Sam was losing the fight, and for the first time Dean could remember he wished he wasn’t quite so damn good at this.

Sam stopped thrashing under the rain of punches after a while, and just lay back, dazed and semi-conscious and bleeding from the nose, and Dean remembered the last time someone had attacked his brother that way, the magic bullet that had killed the son of a bitch that had done it then, and prayed that the same thing might happen now. Except this time, Dean wasn’t there to fire the gun. This time, the gun needed to be fired at Dean.

And of course there was no-one to do it, because there were only three people (well, two people and a probably-demon) in the motel room, and two of them were helpless.

Dean thought the demon might stop now that Sam had been rendered unable to fight. OK, he didn’t actually think that, but he hoped it hard enough that it was almost like thinking it. Hope was pretty much a bust, though, and the worst was yet to come as Dean’s hand reached for the zipper of his jeans and Dean cursed and screamed at Sam to freakin kill me now goddammit, except that it all came out in that flat, emotionless voice, and the only person that heard was the thing in Dean’s head. And it just seemed to think the whole thing was pretty damn funny.

Come on, Deano, you’re the one who’s always saying that Sammy should get laid.

Sam seemed to rouse from his stupor as Dean’s hands pulled his sweatpants down, and his eyes were wide as he started to struggle and said Dean, what the hell, stop. And Dean heard his own voice, God, it sounded just like him, saying it’s OK, Sam, this is for your own good. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.

And that was pretty much the worst thing ever, because it was one thing that it used Dean’s voice, but it actually used Dean’s words, said exactly the sort of thing that Dean would say, and Dean wondered if Sam in his battered state could even tell that it wasn’t him, but he must be able to, surely he could, right?

Right?

And Dean’s hands were pinning Sam down by the elbows, and Sam was struggling hard now, but he was still disoriented and he was getting nowhere, and he said please, Dean, don’t. But the thing in Dean’s body wasn’t listening, or actually it was because its laughter echoed in Dean’s head as it pushed Dean’s cock inside his brother.

Sam cried out, and it must have hurt like hell because he hadn’t been prepared, but then Dean thought it would probably have hurt anyway, because being raped by the person who’s supposed to protect you isn’t exactly a walk in the park even under the best circumstances, if the word best could ever be applied to such a situation. But the worst thing was the way that it felt, because it felt freakin fantastic, jolts of electricity running up Dean’s cock and into his belly, and he felt the thing feeding off Sam’s fear and pain and it felt good.

Dean decided right then and there that a bullet in the brain was not going to be enough to destroy the memory of this experience. He was going to need something a whole lot stronger, like maybe an H-bomb.

Jesus, Sammy, you’re so good, his voice growled, and Sam made this kind of sobbing noise and closed his eyes, turning his head away. I’ve wanted this for so long, Dean’s voice said, and Dean wondered if he could maybe manage to kill himself through sheer willpower.

You bastard, he said to it. I’m going to kill you.

And the voice in his head, which didn’t sound like Dean at all, didn’t really sound even like a person but more like a tyre crunching over gravel or a shotgun hitting a metal surface, said oh dear, Dean. Threats are so cliched. It’s a shame I’m going to have to punish little Sammy for that.

Dean would have howled and sobbed as he saw his hands close around Sam’s throat, but howling and sobbing required some emotional force, and Dean had no hormones to back him up on this one, because all he could feel was a sick, sensual joy.

Sam kept fighting, first reaching up with his newly-freed arms and trying to push Dean’s body off him, then pulling at the hands frantically, but he wasn’t going to win, and Dean felt every sensation as his body continued to fuck Sam and his hands pressed down against his brother’s windpipe until Sam’s eyes went wide, his pupils blown, and then rolled up in his head.

It’s so much more of a turn-on when they’re submissive, said the voice in Dean’s head, and Dean’s hands stayed around Sam’s throat until Sam had stopped breathing completely, and then Dean’s body moved faster, hammering into Sam where he lay sprawled and still on the bed, and all Dean could think was why are you doing this?

Do you think you’ll ever be able to look your brother in the eye again? the voice asked. And then Dean’s body came, and Dean felt the shock run through him, and at the same moment it was his body again, the thing, whatever it was, was gone, and oh God Sam.

But for just a moment, before he pulled out of Sam and started CPR, he wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be kinder to both of them to leave his brother alone and go searching for that H-bomb.