He was in their old house; the one he and Mary had lived in for a little over four years, the one they'd started raising their children in. He sat in front of the TV, clicking through channels, listening to Mary moving around upstairs. But something wasn't right. A feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach told him he shouldn't be here. He felt unsettled and confused and then there was the smell. It smelled like…sulfur. John reached for the gun inside his coat. Only, he wasn't wearing a coat. He was in his pajamas. There had to be a gun around here somewhere. He started to look for it when his heart stopped. The smell was coming from upstairs; Sammy's room.
"Mary!" he yelled and took the stairs two at a time. He slid into the nursery. But it wasn't there. There was no crib, no Mary, no Sam. Only him and another figure standing at a window. John didn't even have to see the yellow eyes to recognize it.
"You," he growled. And that's when he remembered. He wasn't home. He was trapped inside his own mind.
Possession is a funny thing. It can take weeks for the victim to realize what's going on. Sometimes the soul that belongs to the meatsuit can feel as if their watching themselves from far away. Others however become so connected to the demon inside them, they don't even recognize themselves. John was the exception. Maybe because of his experience with demons and his prior knowledge of possession; or maybe it was just his stubborn nature. Whatever the case, John could feel and hear the demon's thoughts as if they were his own. But he knew they weren't. Most the thoughts were like tiny whispers that he ignored; but a certain name caught his attention.
"Sammy," it whispered. It spoke of plans for the boy. Whispers of his son's destiny. But what did this demon have to do with his youngest? What could these plans be? John grabbed the man in front of him by the collar.
"What do you want?" he asked. The dark figure with the yellow eyes smiled.
"He's mine," the thoughts continued to say, "He's a piece of me." And like a map his plans were laid out in front of John's eyes, from the moment Sammy turned six months old to the future.
"What did you do to my boy?" John yelled. The demon chuckled. John had his arm back, ready to punch him in the face when he heard a scream. It was one of pain and fear and it made his heart ache.
"Dean!" a voice outside him yelled. He recognized it.
"Sammy?" he whispered. Another cry. "Dean!" He reached for Azazel but the demon grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him.
"Dad please," a silent plea.
"Dean!" John threw his head back into Azazel's nose. He heard his youngest boy scream as he grabbed hold of the demon.
"Stop," he whispered. Suddenly he wasn't in his house anymore. He was in the abandoned shack with Dean passed out on the floor covered in blood and Sam sliding down from where he'd been pinned against the wall. Inside his mind, Azazel pushed at his arms, struggling to get out of his hold. Sam grabbed the gun and with a last desperate push Azazel fell out of John's hold and back into control. The whispers began to grow louder as Azazel evaded John's grip. A gunshot rang through his ears followed by incredible pain shooting through his leg. Azazel yelled and John jumped onto him. They wrestled on the floor for a minute and just as John regained control, Sam appears over him. He held the gun, John had the demon. The could've ended it there. But they don't. They did what they always do, what they always will do. Sam's shaking hands drop to his side. They chose family. But as the demon is exorcised from John's body, he wonders at what cost.
The whispers were still there when he woke up in the hospital. Still there when he sent Sam away for ingredients, still there when the boy came back looking ready for a fight. But John couldn't bring himself to say anything to Sam, not when the boy stood looking at him from under shaggy brown hair with anger and fear in his green eyes. Besides he was too tired and Dean was dying and the whispers wouldn't be his problem once he was gone. Once the deal was made. So John made the same mistake he always made. He did what he thought was right, at the cost of leaving his oldest with greater responsibility than he needed. He didn't want to say, didn't want to be right. But the whispers wouldn't leave him alone. There was something different about Sammy.
"And if you can't save him," he swallowed before whispering the rest, "You have to kill him." He pulled back to look into the terrified eyes of his oldest boy. Dean nodded like he'd always done and tears filled John's eyes.
"Is everything okay, Dad?" John smiled. It would be. Dean was alive, his boys were safe. And sure he couldn't make up for all those years he'd dragged them around, but he could do this, he could save them.
"Yeah," he said. And he left them. But he wasn't worried; Dean would take care of them.