You are frozen in place, afraid to move or even breathe, as those lifeless black eyes stare down at you. He blinks once, twice, and the green eyes you love – loved - are back. You take a shuddering breath, looking up at him defiantly. "You… you are not Dean. You are some… thing… using Dean's body." Your eyes narrow, and you softly begin to speak, to utter the words you have come to know like second nature. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"
He laughs. "I'm not possessed, sweetheart. You can't exorcise me. I'm not possessed by a demon. Iam a demon. And I am Dean."
"You are not Dean!" You shout the words at him, throwing his assertions back in his face, refusing to believe them. But he leans in closer, just a hint of a smirk curving his lips.
"Oh, I am Dean, baby. New and improved. All of the fun, none of the drama. All play, no pay. I am all Dean." He leans in close, his voice honey-smooth and seductive. "Every inch." He moves closer, and you are pushing against the back of the chair, but there's nowhere for you to go as his lips brush over yours softly, then capture them. Your eyes squeeze shut. Your mind is your enemy now, because instead of the brutal assault you were expecting, your tactile memory is telling you this is Dean. These are Dean's lips, gently caressing yours, Dean's tongue is teasing over your bottom lip, and you feel him smile against you at the small, desperate sound in your throat. But that smile is what stops you from being completely lost, and you jerk your head to the side.
"You are not my Dean." He leans in, nuzzling his face in your hair, taking a deep breath before he speaks, his voice soft and enticing in your ear.
"Sweetheart, you keep telling yourself that. Maybe you can convince yourself that you don't want me, at least for a while. But you can't hide from me. I know all your happy places, I know how to make your body sing, and I know you miss the things I can make you feel." He stands up straight and tall before you, his arms folded once again, biceps bulging beneath the sleeves of his red button-down. "I've got some business to take care of, but I'll be back." He turns to walk away, but stops for a moment, tossing his parting words over his shoulder nonchalantly. "By the way, you won't be able to leave here. So don't try. Or do, but it's a waste of your time. And if you tell Sam I'm here… I'll have so many demons on him that he won't have a chance to fight back. Tell me you understand, because you know I'm a man of my word."
Your eyes are spitting fire at his back as you answer defiantly. "I understand." You turn your head, not even wanting him in your line of sight, but when you look back up, he's gone. The tension leaves your muscles and you slump bonelessly in the chair, shaking violently, an unacknowledged tear rolling down your cheek.
—–
It takes you a while to work up the strength of will to move. You go to the shower first, looking constantly over your shoulder, scrubbing your skin until it's pink and almost raw, still not feeling clean. After throwing on an old pair of jeans and a big, cozy sweater, you wander around the bunker, afraid to test your limits. But finally you close your eyes for a moment, bolster your courage, and run up the stairs, fumbling at the door, yanking hard at the handle. It doesn't budge, and you stand there, a feeling of trapped panic bubbling up inside you until you can contain it no longer. You race through the rooms, trying the few other entrance points, but with the same result. He wasn't lying – you can't get out. And you know, with cold certainty, that he absolutely meant what he said about Sam.
Your cell phone rings, and you jump, crying out in fear. You answer, trying your best to sound normal. Or what would pass for normal these days. "Hey, Sam. How are you?"
"Hey - you okay? You sound out of breath."
"Decided to work out, get rid of some stress. What's up, Sam?"
"Listen." He pauses, he sounds serious, and you wait, dreading what will come next. "I found Dean. Well, at least where he was, not that he's here now. Smalls, maybe you should sit down."
"Sam, what is it? Just tell me." Your fingers are white, gripping the edge of the table so hard they hurt.
"I've seen him. He's possessed. I saw the black eyes, caught on video after he killed a demon that attacked him in a convenience store. Crowley's got one of his asshats wearing my brother."
Sam's voice is shaking, and your heart aches at not being able to be there, to help him. "Sam…"
"I will save him, and I will bring him home to you. I swear it. And while I'm at it, I'll take Crowley out, too."
"Sam, please don't say that. I can't… Please don't do anything stupid."
You hear him breathing on the other end, finally sighing as he tries to force himself to calm down. "Yeah, well… too late for that. But I promise I'll be careful, Smalls. I've got another lead to track down. Just don't give up on me, okay?"
Your face is wet with tears, and agonizing frustration at being unable to tell him what you know, what you've seen, is twisting in your gut. "I won't," you manage, and he ends the call with a "Talk to you later."
You barely stop yourself from throwing the phone across the room. You can't even tell him that his brother isn't possessed, that his soul has been twisted and warped, and that he has become one of the things he's always hunted. The warmth, the softness that used to shine in Dean's eyes when he looked at you is gone. It's him, but it's not him, and you wish with all your heart that he looked like something else, anything else. Your heart aches in your chest, the longing for his arms around you and his lips on your skin even worse now. Because you could have it. You could be with him, physically if nothing else, and the temptation is overwhelming.
You make your way to the couch and curl up under the old throw that's always handy there, well-used from movie nights and short naps during research sessions. You're sure you'll never sleep again, but you do, in record time, the shock and exhaustion defeating your fears.
—–
His lips are warm on your neck, and they suck lightly at your skin before moving on, savoring the taste of you. He hums in approval as you tilt your head, giving him more room. He moves one large hand to your shoulder, calloused fingertips gentle as he slips your sweater down your arm, baring more silken skin for him to worship with his lips, his tongue. "So soft," he whispers, and you feel yourself falling under his spell, his touch mesmerizing you and his voice a siren call you can't resist. "Dean," you whisper, beginning to lean closer…
A dark, low chuckle sends your eyes flying open, and you sit up on the couch so fast that your head spins for a moment. He's sitting in a chair nearby, watching you intently, his eyes glittering, an arrogant smirk on his lips. "Enjoying yourself, sweetness?"
You should be afraid. You should be cautious, try to make yourself smaller in his eyes. But an intense anger washes over you and you leap from the couch, glaring at him as you move closer. "You stay the hell away from me!" you scream at him, your eyes wide, your teeth clenched. When you whirl around to leave, you find that you can't move, your feet seem to be glued to the floor, and all you can do is shake with impotent rage. "I hate you. You're a fucking monster, and I will never willingly let you touch me. Never. You are not…"
"Dean. Yeah. Is this on a loop? I could swear I've heard this before." He stands up behind you, and somewhere inside you fear springs back to life. "Let me tell you what's happening here, sweetheart."
He moves silently around you, standing right in front of you, a mocking half-smile on his face. He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little as he stares down at you, and you refuse to look away, enough fury still in you to keep your terror at bay. "You're telling me you won't give in because then you think I'll just take what I want. And if I take you by force, you can tell yourself it couldn't be helped, that I was stronger than you, that I made you do something you didn't want to do."
"Fuck you!"
He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll get to that. Eventually. Once you stop fighting what you're feeling. Once you admit to yourself that you're mine. I may have gone through some – upgrades – but you are still mine." He bent a little closer, still not touching you, but close enough that you could feel his breath as he spoke. "You want me, and you will accept that – eventually. I'll hear you say it before I touch you."
"Let me go." You glower at him, barely restraining yourself from taking a swing at his face. "You'll never hear me say it. I'll die first."
His smile grows and there's a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Be careful what you wish for."