Agony

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural, and I'm not making any money from this fic. I don't even really own the idea for this story, since it comes from a challenge posted on another site

Summary: You always hurt the ones you love. Dean is possessed by the demon, and is forced to watch helplessly, a prisoner inside his own mind, as the demon uses his form to attack the people Dean loves. Set after the events of Season One

Warning(s): Extremely dark fic – contains lots of torture, possibly character death; swearing; violence; spoilers up to and including the end of Season One; probable AU

Author's Note: Believe me when I say that this fic is not going to be all happy and go-lucky. Don't say that I haven't given you fair warning. Oh, also – apologies for the messing-up of the formatting. I really can type properly – it's just that certain sites doesn't seem to like certain punctuation being put together.

Dean was in agony.

Not just pain – but agony. Forget everything else – it felt like his insides had turned to acid and were burning him up. All of the other pain – even when the demon had ripped his chest open from the inside – paled in comparison.

"Dean, are you all right!"

Dean tried to open his mouth to respond, but, to his dismay, his body wouldn't obey him. He couldn't even close his eyes; couldn't lift his hand to wipe away the blood that was streaming down his face. A gurgling sound bubbled up from inside his throat, and, for just an instant, Dean had the feeling he was going to drown in his own blood.

"Hang on, I'll get you out!" And hands were grabbing at him, unclasping his seatbelt. Dean had a moment to wonder how much damage had been caused to his beloved car, and then white-hot pain flared up in his arm as he was tugged out.

I'm gonna throw up… As soon as Dean was safely on the grass outside, he doubled over, and retched violently. The cool evening air did nothing other than to aggravate his wounds.

"Dad, we need to get him to the hospital." The speaker had his hands resting on Dean's shoulders, holding him steady. "Hang on, buddy," he whispered, using something cold and damp to wipe at the corner of Dean's mouth. "You'll be pleased to know that I got you out before you threw up all over the upholstery." Despite the speaker's attempt at light-hearted conversation, his voice still shook slightly.

"I told you, Sam. Right now, there isn't much the hospital can do for him. Unless you want to explain how he started getting clawed from inside his shirt."

No… No hospitals. Dean tried desperately to convey that to Sam as his brother moved round in front of him, but wasn't sure it had worked. Come on, psychic boy…

"You'll be all right, Dean." Sam sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as his older brother, though. "Dad's all right, and I am as well." Sam always seemed to know the right thing to say to Dean.

I'm not going to be all right… When the demon had released John Winchester, Dean had felt something enter his body. Now, he could still feel it – pushed back to the edge of his mind and giggling with maniacal glee. It laid open his memories, bared the pain to drive Dean to the very edge and destroy his spirit.

And what was one of his most painful memories?

The rain fell on the two brothers, almost like the tears that Dean refused to shed, even now. Two pairs of eyes stared at each other, as Dean silently pleaded with his brother not to go.

Not to leave him behind.

His eyes, the look on his face, said all the things that Dean never would – could never – say.

But Sam didn't seem to realise the pain that was there. Or, if he did, he ignored it. "Dean, I have to do this," he said softly, his tone and expression pleading with his big brother to understand. "I want to… I need to live a normal life."

And Dean could never ignore his brother's wants or needs… Defeated, he finally released Sam's arm, only to grab the kid's hand and slip in the money – everything he'd made from hustling pool – as much as he had. "You'll need this, Sammy."

The ghost of a smile flickered across Sam's face. "It's Sam," he corrected reflexively. Then, he grew serious again. "Dean, are you… sure? It's your money."

"You need it more than I do." Dean dismissed Sam's worry with the truth of his answer. "Take it. Please." The 'please' slipped out automatically, and Dean almost took it back. "Besides, I can get more easily," he added quickly.

Sam still hesitated. "Dean, I…"

"Hey, I'm trying to cut you a break here!" Dean responded, his tone sharper than necessary. "Go. You think you can walk away from this, from what we do, this easily? And since when have you bothered to worry about what I might want!" For too long, he'd been trying to act as the mediator between his brother and his father. Now, it was no longer his job.

Sam didn't need him anymore – not like Dean needed his little brother; not like Dean needed his family. As usual, it was the older brother left to try and pick up the pieces, to try and put everything right.

For a long time, older brother and younger stared at each other. Then, Sam simply turned and walked away.

And Dean was left, alone, in the rain.

Sam paced the room of the motel agitatedly, glancing periodically at his brother, and unable to shake the feeling that something terribly wrong was happening to Dean. Something that went far deeper than the injuries caused by the car crash, or even the demon.

Sam could hear his dad talking quietly on the phone in the bathroom, and he couldn't stop the rage that filled him. Even this isn't getting any reaction from him other than anger about how I let the demon escape! Some things are without price – I couldn't have let Dad die just to destroy the demon; I wouldn't have been able to let Dean die, either.

He couldn't stop the feelings of guilt that assaulted him, though. He should have been able to use telekinesis to get the gun. Hell, the car wouldn't even have been smashed if Sam had been paying attention to the road and not arguing, yet again, with their Dad!

"Dean… I'm so sorry." Sam moved to his brother's side as he heard a soft whimper come from the usually stoic hunter. The fact that his big brother, the one who had always been his hero, was in pain was extremely difficult to bear. Dean doesn't let himself show any weakness whatsoever. If he's whimpering, it's gotta be bad. Even with the events in the asylum, Dean had refused to admit how much the rock salt embedded in his chest must have hurt.

The younger Winchester shook his head as he laced his fingers through Dean's, trying to send his silent support to his big brother. I'm not going to think about what happened with Dr. Ellicott in the asylum… I already apologised for that, and Dean forgave me.

Dean's brow wrinkled, and then he forced his eyes open to look up at his brother. "Sammy…" he whispered, and then swallowed. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked pale – too pale. "… Did ya get the number of that truck…?"

Sam tried to smile, but was aware of the fact that it probably wasn't a very good effort. "It was gone when Dad and I came to. Hey, you probably don't want to look at yourself in a mirror," he attempted to tease gently. "I think you'd scare off any potential one-night-standers." He started to pull his hand free of Dean's, but hesitated when his brother's hand tightened around his. "Dean?"

"Don't go, Sam," Dean whispered, closing his eyes again. "You don't need to go to university…"

Sam couldn't help a chill at his brother's pain-filled words. Is he delirious? "I'm not going anywhere, Dean…"

"Sure you're not." Dean gave a harsh laugh. "It never… matters what… I… want or need… Always Sam-Sam-Sam. So selfish… Even when I… begged…" His voice trailed off, and he started coughing.

Sam flinched at his brother's words, and then carefully moved to place the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. "You have a fever…" He eyed Dean with concern, and attempted not to let it show how much those words had hurt. He's sick, hurt, and probably delirious… He doesn't know what he's saying… right? Sam carefully let go of Dean's hand. "I'm just gonna get you some water, Dean…"

"Suuure… you are…"

Sam closed his eyes a moment, and sent a silent prayer up to whoever was listening. Please… My brother has to be all right.

He shot you.

He left you.

He hates you – he doesn't need you. You're better off without him.

If you didn't have him continually at your heels, you could be anything you wanted. Do anything you wanted.

You saved him from a fire – twice – and he isn't even grateful.

Words, phrases, wrapped around Dean's soul, holding him trapped as effectively as the chains were. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as the demon's words cut his little brother deeply.

Come on, Sam! You have to know that that isn't me! Where were psychic visions and blinding headaches when they were needed? Dean knew the sort of things that would hurt his brother, and the demon had access to every single weapon. And it would use Dean's body to cause as much damage to Sam as possible until the kid broke down.

"Why are you doing this, you bastard!" Dean yelled at the darkness.

The only answer that came was more maniacal, cackling laughter.