AN: Hello, lovely people. This is my first story here so be nice, please! I'm excited to publish this, and I plan to post new chapters frequently (about once a week). I don't know how long it will be, but I have about three chapters written so far waiting to be proofed and edited. It's set somewhere between seasons six and seven. Castiel is at full power, and the brothers have a pretty good relationship. I love talking to people, and reviews will really make my day! Just, be warned that this has not been beta'd. So, yeah, that's all I have to say... On with the fic!
Disclaimer: I don't know if this is necessary, but, sadly, I have absolutely nothing to do with Supernatural.
Dean woke up extremely disoriented. Dizzy and nauseated, he felt like a stranger in his own body. Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to scrub his hand down his face, but his arm refused to move. Confused, nervous, and almost embarrassed, he tried to move his arm again, but with no success. He tried to roll his shoulders, then his neck. He tried to move anything, to do a jumping jack, but his body wouldn't comply. Straining to remain calm, he examined how he felt in general – was he bound, was he a prisoner of some sort? He started internally screaming when he realized he wasn't bound in any way. He was just paralyzed. With sinking dread, he realized he wasn't in control; he was just a tiny bubble of consciousness in his large, bulky body.
Oh, no, a voice both silky and slimy at the same time sounded in his head, you're a prisoner alright. A prisoner in your own body. There was a pause. Dean didn't know if he should, or even could, answer. Then the voice added, sickly sweet, Let me show you.
Suddenly, light flooded his vision. Dean hadn't even noticed the lack of it before, but now it hit him like the floodlights of a baseball stadium. He strained to see, vaguely aware that his eyes were listening to him and blinking. Before he was able to tally his victory, he realized he was standing in front of a mirror, and the reflection he saw would have made him stumble if the other force within him wasn't rooted to the spot. Dean saw his own normal image – jeans, boots, undershirt, flannel shirt, short brown hair, tanned skin complete with wrinkles and scars – but he also saw one change that took his breath away and scared the life out of him: with one blink, his eyes went from bright green to jet black, no iris or white frame; just two black footballs on either side of his nose.
No! he yelled.
Oh, yes, the voice crowed. Dean watched a smile split across his face in the mirror and felt a sick sense of accomplishment and pride fill him. You've been possessed, boy.
Get out of me right now, or I swear I'll– Dean threatened.
You'll what? the voice asked. Exorcise me? We both know that you don't know all the words. Stab me with that pesky knife? It's nowhere near. Nor is any other weapon besides a useless gun under your pillow that will only hurt yourself and not me. Beat yourself up to hurt me? That actually sounds fun. Let's try it! Please?
Despite all of his will power, Dean's fist collided with his own face. He heard as well as felt the excruciating pain of his nose breaking. To make the pain worse, that accomplished pride was curling into his gut again. Swearing, Dean desperately searched his memory for the exorcism he should have memorized a long time ago, but realized with defeat that he didn't know all the words. As hard as he tried, there were four or five words he just couldn't pronounce. Still, he refused to give up, even as he heard malicious laughter bubble out of his own mouth. Without much thought, Dean threw all of his efforts into the last thing he could think of: prayer. Whispering at first, then gaining confidence, Dean screamed for Castiel. He'd gotten a few pleas out before he was screaming unintelligibly from pure, white-hot pain. He had no idea what the demon was doing to him, but it hurt.
No, no, no. No dashing angel in an ugly trench coat is going to save you.
With barely a thought, Dean felt the need to defend Castiel's honor, but received a renewed jolt of pain and the remark, Ooh, you two have chemistry, don't you? That'll be fun to exploit. Dean could practically feel the scheming smirk in the words, and he cringed with disgust and fear.
What do you want, you sick son a bitch? he demanded gruffly.
Oh, I thought you'd never ask, the voice cooed. I just want to have some fun. Imagine all the fun I could have in you - the great Dean Winchester!
I won't let you, he gasped out. The demon hasn't eased the attack.
Because you are obviously in a position to hold me back, the demon jeered. Come on. This is gonna be great!
With a wink, the demon let his eyes flick back to green, and snapped his nose back into place. He began to laugh as he wiped the blood from his chin and continued out of the room, down the stairs to the kitchen of the house the Winchesters were squatting in. Dean grimaced when he finally felt the demon retract its hold slightly. It was just enough that the pain stopped and that he had access to his senses.