"Fuck."

Sam hasn't even opened his eyes, before the word leaves his mouth, but he hurries to rectify that. The early morning sunlight is filtering in through the worn curtains, illuminating the garish wallpaper next to his bed. In another half an hour it would have reached his face, but Sam highly doubts that it was the ligth that woke him.

What did is not immediately apparent, though. The motel room is empty.

Maybe it is the lack of another person (being?) in the room that wakes Sam. More likely, he thinks, he is probably just rested enough now that his head has caught up with what he had been doing the day before. That is certainly enough to shock anyone awake.

Not only had he brought the demon wearing Dean's body (the demon who used to be Dean) back with him. He had sat down and used a couple of hours to go over his case notes with the creature, actually answering questions and listening to suggestions. As though he was catching his brother up on a case.

And then when he had finally been to exhausted to string together coherent sentences he had gone to bed. Opting to tell the demon goodnight, rather than securing it with the cuffs or in a trap.

Sam has lost his mind.

And now he is alone again. He had finally found Dean, and he let him go. Sam wants to scream. Yes, there are people dying here, but he could have gotten somebody else on the case. Hell, he could have let them die. Sam is embarrassed of that thought, but a tiny, defiant part of his brain argues that he is well overdue looking after himself (and his brother), rather than the entirety of the goddamn (ha!) world.

But it doesn't matter. The demon is gone, and with it his chance of curing Dean. Sam buries his head in his hands. Then a second later he has his phone out, finger hovering over the call button. But what can he say? He has no way of defending his own stupidity, doesn't even want to, and though he knows Castiel wouldn't blame him, not out loud... He would only worry him unnecessarily. Even angels should be allowed to cling to the no news is good news-concept. (Sam knows that that does not apply here, he does. But he still doesn't make the call.)

In an hour he is up, showered and dressed, and ready to go. No use crying over spilt milk or lost brothers. He will find the creature killing students in this town. He will save lives. That is what he does. Wallowing in self-pity isn't just selfish; it's plain stupid, and a waste of time to boot.

Sam is already opening the door, as he notices the salt line in front of the doorstep. Notable in the fact that it has been laid down again. His momentum has him swinging the door open, before his mind even catches up with his eyes.

By the time the salt line fully registers, his eyes have moved on to other, more interesting things. Namely his truck sitting in the near empty parking lot, one demon reclined on the hood.

"Dean?"

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. I was starting to consider throwing pebbles at your window or something. It's almost 11. Since when do you sleep in?"

"I, uh." Sam might have been awake for an hour, but right now he feels as though his mind is not online yet. He had just about accepted the fact that Dean, no, the demon was gone. "You hung around."

"Yep."

Sam's train of thoughts takes a detour, "Why are you hanging around out here?"

"Ah," the demon looks almost sheepish, "I sort of locked myself out."

"Can't you just, you know, teleport inside, or something? You don't really have to go through the door, do you?"

"I didn't forget the key. Well, I did, but never mind that," he averts his eyes, "Salt's a bigger problem."

"Oh." Sam looks back over his shoulder at the unbroken salt line. "I didn't put that there."

"No. You went to sleep, without proofing the room. Really, Sammy?"

Sam ducks his head at the admonishment. Mainly because it confuses him to no end. If he had really been talking to Dean, just Dean, the didactic comment would have made sense. It is a rookie mistake, after all, not covering your bases before lowering your guards (i.e. going to sleep). But this is a demon, who should definitely not care about Sam's safety. Also, Sam doesn't know what to do with the fact that Dean generously omits mentioning how he had gone to sleep with a demon already in the room.

Finding Dean last night had unsettled Sam greatly, but he thought his less than smart way to deal with him had had more to do with his own exhaustion and the odd demon-repelling smoke. Now he is starting to wonder. He really has no idea how to deal with this demon who used to be his brother. It doesn't exactly act like a demon, not in his book.

And then Sam has to backtrack. Because that is a lie. Dean the demon is almost acting as though he cares, yes. But it is not the first time Sam has seen demons act like that. Ruby had acted as though she cared, even if it was only to play him. (He is still open to the idea that that might be what is happening here, too. Only he cannot see why this ruse would still be going on. He had let his guard down completely. Whatever it is that Dean wants, it doesn't seem to be his death. Unless of course he wants to torture him in some odd way, first. …No, Sam cannot see through the scheme, if there is one.)

But there are other demons who have acted like they care. Crowley has come close. Of course he has only ever cared for himself (well, blood-cure behaviour aside), but he has always seemed more sensible than most demons to Sam. And yes, he's an evil SOB, Sam is fully aware of this, but still. There's something.

And then there was Meg. And that is the one he cannot really argue against. Because her belief in unicorns is so far removed from anything Sam thinks, a demon should be capable of. The demon of his brother looking after him seems likely in comparison. Which pushes Sam to ask his next question, "Did you put down the salt line?"

"Well, you weren't going to. And I wasn't going to sit watch over you!"

"But how? Isn't the whole idea that salt ought to repel demons? ...You?"

"Uhm, yeah, about that. Long as it's in a bag, pouring it out in a line isn't exactly a problem. I'd rather not touch it, it stings, but other than that..."

"Wow."

"I did lean over the line as a finished it, though. Not a good idea. For a second there I thought it would actually exorcise me, you know, send my ass packing."

"It didn't?"

"Nah. Got one hell of a headache, though." Dean's climbed down from the hood of the car, and now he turns his eyes on the ground between his feet. "But I suppose that's better than, you know, actual Hell. Haven't been back, even now," he gestures to himself, still not looking up, "definitely don't want to."

It's not a new thing, demons not wanting to go to Hell. Demons have told Sam so before. But this is his brother who suffered forty years in Hell's torture chambers (on and off the rack) because there was nothing he wouldn't do to save Sam. They have been back and forth (and back and forth and back and forth) with the saving each other-thing, but Sam makes a silent vow, to save Dean one more time. He will take him back to the bunker. He will cure him.

If that means leaving the town of Ramshead to fend for itself, so be it.

"Okay. Okay." Sam finally pulls himself together enough for closing the door and walking to the car. He moves past Dean to put the duffel bag in the back and Dean only raises his head to look at Sam once he has his back turned.

Sam knows that he shouldn't turn his back on a demon. And no matter what oath he has just taken to get his brother back, he knows that the creature behind him is just that. A demon. He can sense it. But he is more alert now, rested, and prepared. The fact that he can tell that Dean is a demon is reassuring in its own right. Demons he can deal with. And he is not going to bring out the cuffs. Not yet.

"I need to check out. Wait here?" Asking is just a courtesy. Now that Sam has made up his mind, he is not about to let Dean leave.

"Check out? Why're you moving motels?"

"I'm not... I was thinking, we could go home?"

"Sam," Dean actually hisses, "There is a monster here, something killing people. And you want to go home? You might have forgotten, but we don't do home."

It's a demon, not Dean. It's a demon. Not his brother who grew up knowing no other home than the Impala, and for whom home is a touchy subject. It's a demon.

"Just once. Maybe—"

"No," it's a snarl, "We finish this. After, I don't know. Whatever we need to deal with, we'll deal. But first, we finish this."

Dean is looking him square in the eyes, and though his brother's gaze is perfectly human, Sam gets a sense that they are moments away from having his eyes turn black. And maybe from Sam being thrown clear across the parking lot.

Sam heaves a sigh. His brother (because that reaction belongs to his brother, even if it is just an echo ringing through the demon standing in his place) is right. "Yes. Of course. I don't know what I was thinking."

Sam's confident he can keep Dean with him, for however long it takes to wrap this up. If things go south, he has the cuffs. Dean is a demon, but Sam is getting more and more convinced that he is only a demon. His brother has not become a Knight. A Knight would have been a problem. But a demon he can handle, easy.

"You're not, that's the problem. When was the last time you ate, anyway? You didn't get anything last night, did you?"

Dean's a demon, who apparently hasn't kicked the habit of trying to look after him. Okay.

"Nah. So, breakfast?"

"It's closer to lunch. Somebody tried to get their beauty sleep. Sorry man, it didn't work out."

"Shut up, jerk." Sam gets into the pick-up.

Dean follows and slams the door after him, "You know you love me, bitch."

Sam does a double take. That is not something his brother would make fun with. Sam's quite sure he is actually allergic to the concept of 'love' in any context or shape. But the demon next to him is just raising its eyebrow expectantly, as Sam turns the key in the ignition.

It's a weird detail to remind him that this is not his brother. And if it makes him sad in more ways than one, well, he won't look too closely at that.

Sam gets through most of his lunch before the demon across the table suddenly tenses, and his hunter reflexes have him scanning the immediate area for threats before Dean even turns his attention to him.

"Did you hear that?" Dean places his hands lightly on top of the table next to his empty plate and tilts his head to the side.

Sam cannot hear anything he wouldn't expect in a near-empty diner just before the lunch rush, so he keeps quiet.

"It's gone," Dean pushes his plate softly from side to side, staring at it almost forlornly.

He told Sam that he doesn't need to eat, but that he can still enjoy it. Perhaps the look on his face has nothing to do with the food he has ingested.

"What was it?"

"I dunno," Dean hesitates, "I feel weird."

This, more than Dean having heard something Sam couldn't pick up on, efficiently kills the rest of Sam's appetite. "What do you mean, you feel weird?" Sam can hear the caution in his voice.

"I dunno. It's sort of a flux. I used to be so... so angry, you know. Well, I used to before, but this is different. But then it started fading a couple of days ago. You'd think I'd have been angry then, too, 'cause that's when those idiots you met yesterday got to me. But they took me here, set up that barrier thing, and I thought it was the smoke, you know? I mean, anger is a strength in a way, or at least it's something you can use, but it just... drained away. Anyway, it's coming back, slower, now, so I thought breaking the barrier did the trick. But just now, I heard... and then, this is the same feeling, just much stronger. Does this make any kind of sense at all?" Dean stops, and Sam muses that he might not need to breathe to keep his body going, but he should need air to speak.

It does make sense. And some of it worries Sam. Disregarding the whole part about the anger being leeched out of the demon in front of him, he thinks that the idea of it returning is a greater cause for alarm. He cannot help but wonder if Dean is as complacent as he is, because of the lack of said anger. If something external is keeping him calm, here, moving him could prove a problem. Sam knows what he said about being angry before is true, and he cannot imagine anything but that anger returning to Dean, the second it can. It is as big a part of him by now, as his loyalty and his bluster and that damn car.

"Wait, are you saying that whatever is draining, or subduing you, or what, was just here?"

"I don't know!"

"Do you think it is something we should look into?"

"It doesn't seem natural, does it?"

"No, but we already have a case here."

"Oh, come on, Sam? Don't you think it's related?"

"Why would it be?"

"When is it ever not? Two monsters in the same place at the same time, no connection at all? It doesn't happen."

"You and your buddies showed up here yesterday."

That seems to stump Dean, but only for a moment, "What's to say that that didn't have anything to do with what's going on here?"

"I don't follow."

"No, it makes sense. They were going out of their way to keep me under control. Whatever's here is blocking anger, which is a power source for demons. Some demons, at least."

"Why were they dragging you around, anyway? How did they catch you. What did they want?"

Dean shakes his head at him, "Not the point, Sam. Focus."

"But, Dean—"

"No," there's a hint of that anger sneaking into Dean's voice now, but Sam has to admit that he is admirably calm. Yes, something's definitely off.

"Okay, right. Something that calms people, and makes students hallucinate before killing them bloody. What's that?"

"I have no fucking clue."

"Okay, different question, did your friends?" Dean opens his mouth to comment, but Sam beats him to it, "And how did they know that whatever it is, is here? How did they find it?"

"That is a good question, Sammy," Sam looks at him, and they have a moment of silent communication. "And were they able to find this thing because they were demons?"

"If that's the case, this is the first breakthrough I've had all week." Sam stands and drops a couple of bills on the table. Dean joins him, "How would you feel about playing tracker dog?"

Something flashes in Dean's eyes at the comment, but Sam's almost sure it's the opposite of darkness, "Let's hunt."

Several hours later they are walking through the local park. It is right next to campus, and as such seems promising. But they have been chasing shadows in the shape of Dean's (the demon's, Sam admonishes yet again) gut feeling for hours. Dean hasn't heard the sound that he described as something between bells and running water again, either.

"It was a good theory man, but this ain't gonna work."

"It's the best we've got, Dean."

"It just isn't enough. I was sure there was something here, but I genuinely can't tell any more. I'd probably have to get out of town for a couple of hours, before I'm pissed enough to continue looking for this thing."

"Dean," Sam is already reaching for the demon, as the protest leaves his mouth.

"Hey man, I didn't say that I would go," Sam lowers his hand, but keeps his focus on him anyway, "I'm just saying that this is a bust."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's head back, and," Sam stops dead in his track, and Dean is several feet ahead of him, before he notices.

"Sam?"

"Do you smell that," Sam isn't even waiting for his brother's confirmation. He knows this smell. Cedar. And there isn't a single cedar tree in the park. He turns slowly on the spot, taking in his surroundings.

There's a woman standing next to Dean as he comes to a full circle. Sam feels his eyes widen. Dean follows his gaze and to his credit he doesn't jump or startle as he notices the figure next to him. But his eyes instantly flashes solidly black.

"There now, dear, it's okay." The woman rests a hand softly on Dean's shoulder. Dean still doesn't move. "We'll soon have that fixed, honey. You'll be much happier for it, I promise." She lets her hand slide a little ways down his arm, to where Sam knows that Dean was once touched by another supernatural being.

Dean seems to realise this as well, and jerks away. The woman looks mildly surprised. Sam spares half a thought for the dusk that seems to be settling rather quickly, as well as the mist that has started rolling in. His instincts – not just those belonging to a hunter – nudges him softly. This is potentially very bad. In front of him, the demon parading as his brother is still glaring blackly at the woman.

"What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?" There's a snarl underlying Dean's speech, and Sam thinks the woman is doing a rather poor job of draining his anger right now. If it is her doing at all, of course.

"Oh, how rude of me. I am Kamrusepa. Cam," she offers the shortened form softly, stepping forward to place her hand on Dean's arm again. She goes for the other arm this time, and Dean lets her, "All that anger," she draws in a deep breath and releases it heavily. Dean's eyes go green. Sam is only getting more alarmed. "Anger is a terrible feeling. It doesn't do anything good for the person feeling it, and it only hurts those around them. Don't you agree?"

Dean is nodding along, and the woman presses closer. She looks to be in her late forties or early fifties, but for all Sam knows that estimate could be millennia off. The way she and Dean are standing, the way she is looking at him and he at her, makes them look like a couple. A cougar and her beau. Sam would laugh if the situation didn't seem so precarious.

"I will rid the world of anger. And in the place of anger there will be gratitude and love. People will worship me, and the world shall be healed. This is a noble cause, is it not? There are so many demons walking the earth. I shall bring them peace." She reaches up and makes Dean bow his head so she can place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Dean lets out a sigh, and Sam starts forward, ready to jerk his brother away before the woman can touch him again. But she steps back as he approaches, and nods at him, as though in polite greeting.

Then she is gone.

Sam stops in his tracks, just out of reach from Dean. The mist fades. Dean shakes his head.

He catches Sam's eyes, "What the hell just happened?"

"You tell me?"

"The crow did some mojo on me, that's for sure. I mean, I was feeling nice and calm, and then suddenly docile and practically lethargic. And... I don't even know, man. That was weird."

"I think we should head back to the motel." This is what Sam would qualify as a close call, and it is audible in his voice. Dean seems decidedly not upset, but Sam suspects that it is a leftover from the magic he just witnessed. They walk back to the car.

By the time they reach the motel, Dean is restless.

"Seriously, what just happened," he asks again, exiting the car. "I mean, I'm a demon. I didn't think anything would be able to fuck with my head like that."

Sam disrupts the salt line again to let Dean back into the room. "Why would that make a difference?"

"I dunno. Djinn poison doesn't get to me. Sirens, either."

He stops and turns to look at Dean. His brother is avoiding his gaze. Sam cannot stop the idea of Dean hunting, a demon going after other supernatural beings. It is absurd. But it is there. He has no idea what to do with that possibility, so he archives it for now, to be looked at later.

"I don't know, of course, but I'm quite sure this creature is a bit worse than either of those," Dean looks up at him then, "I'm guessing that 'Cam' is a minor goddess."

Dean lets out a breath that's almost a hiss, "That would just be our luck, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. It would explain why she was able to mess with you, even if other things can't, too."

"If only I had had..." Deans mumble trails off.

"What's that?"

"Nothing. Just... nothing."

Sam doesn't push, but he wonders. He wonders what became of the Blade. But that thought gets stored along with the idea of Dean hunting as he is now. Sam cannot deal with the implications of that right now.

"What did she say her name was again?"

"Cam?" Dean looks as though he is trying not to let his relief show that Sam let it go.

"Not that, the other one. Her full name. Kamrup...?"

"Kamrupsepa?"

Sam hits the internet to see if he can find anything. "Kamrusepa. Hittite goddess of healing. That doesn't sound right..."

Dean goes to get them dinner while Sam looks up information on the Hittite gods and goddesses. When Dean returns with burgers he closes the laptop, and starts eating with an appreciative smile. Only then does it occur to him that this was yet another time that Dean could have left and he did nothing to prevent it.

Sam decides that the magic anger management currently going on has more or less given him his brother back. He doesn't know how he feels about that, though. They have to stop this goddess. If he is right, she will need another five sacrifices. He sighs. It's not like his life was ever easy. Why would it start being so now?

Sam flips open the laptop again, as he finishes his burger. Dean is still eating, but Sam figures he can listen. "Okay, so get this. Kamrusepa is a goddess of healing and magic. She isn't very prominent, but she is mentioned in connection with another Hittite god. Telepinu is some sort of fertility or crops god or something, and apparently he got really pissed of at one point. Sound familiar? Anyway, he got pissed, and everybody suffered. Kamrusepa did a ritual with cedar as one of the ingredients, I have a list of the rest, but never mind right now, and upon the completion of the ritual she sacrificed twelve rams to the sun god and banished Telepinu's anger to the underworld. Or locked it in a bronze jar. That part varies. Do you see where this is going?"

Dean's done eating, but he's still not speaking. He looks thoughtful for a long moment. "With what she was saying... She intends to rid the world of all anger? That's... ambitious?"

"Uh, yeah, it actually kind of is."

"What I don't get are the butchered kids." The flippancy with which Dean delivers that comment makes Sam flinch. Dean gives him an evaluating stare.

"The university. Ramshead University. I'm guessing it could make sense to an ancient goddess?"

"Good point. Humans instead of rams?"

"More power?"

"Probably."

"I mean, all anger in the world. You said it yourself, that is ambitious." Sam shakes his head.

Dean worries his lower lip for a moment. "Do we stop her?"

"There was nothing about how... Wait, what?"

"Do we. Stop. Her?" Dean is looking at him perfectly seriously. Sam cannot help gawking.

"That's not a question, Dean! She is going to sacrifice another five kids for this!"

"And yet, she might get rid of all the anger in the world."

"Dean! We have no way of knowing if her hocus pocus is going to work. Even if we did... Five kids..." Sam trails of. He cannot believe that they are having this discussion. He cannot believe that Dean is looking at him as though he is the one being unreasonable. "We don't sacrifice people like that, Dean. We try to help."

Dean is back to looking pensive. He seems to deliberate for a long moment. "I wouldn't even have considered it, would I? Before?" It seems to be a genuine question, and that hurts Sam. He shakes his head in a mute answer. Dean nods and goes quite again.

Sam is staring at the computer screen when his brother breaks the silence again, "There's something else, Sammy. You guessed at the connection with demons yourself. Cam mentioned it, too. This spell, if it would render all the demons that are currently topside harmless... Maybe even kill some... All... Wouldn't it be worth it?"

Sam doesn't even know what part of that he wants to tackle first. Or perhaps it is just that what he wants and what he ought to doesn't correspond. He can be selfish once in a while. "Dean, you're a demon."

Sam has acknowledge it before, both earlier the same day and the day before, but this seems different. All of a sudden there is a heavy tension in the air.

"Yes," Dean says, letting his eyes flit black, "I am."

It is the first time that Sam gets to see his brother up close with black eyes for any length of time. It is a thoroughly disturbing experience, and the fact that Dean is just sitting there calmly, letting him look his fill certainly does not help. On top of the visual input, there is also the sense that Sam gets in his gut, in his veins, screaming demon at him. But there is a difference (and that is almost the most disconcerting part), for though he can actually feel that this is a creature of Hell sitting in front of him, his body and mind also instinctually recognizes him as family. Sam knows of Hell. Sam has the scars to show for it.

Hell doesn't burn hot enough to snap his family ties.

He exhales with a harsh sound and snaps his gaze away from Dean. The sooner he can get his brother cured, the better. This situation is messing with his head, even if Dean is not deliberately doing anything of the sort.

"There you see, Sammy," Dean's voice has gone soft and as Sam looks up he can tell his eyes are back to their normal colour, although Dean is not meeting his gaze now. "Demons need to go. That hasn't changed."

"Dean," Sam doesn't know where that sentence is going. It is clear that his brother is assuming that his head is at somewhere entirely different than where it actually is.

Dean's been gone for a couple of months, and he has changed. Of course he has. But so has Sam. Sam doesn't do well without his brother, and Dean should really know this by now. But Dean doesn't know what Sam has been up to while he was away, and if it is up to Sam, he never will. He'll cure Dean and they'll go back to how they were. Not good, but... okay. Sometimes.

Sam stomps down on the frustration of the unfairness of it all.

Dean continues, "I told you I didn't want to go to Hell, 'cause my perception of that hasn't changed at all. Same with demons. Hate them just as much. If I happen to be one now... Well, nothing new there either, I suppose."

Sam's, if possible, left more speechless by this. The demon across the table has just admitted to an unhealthy load of self-hatred. Sam has known for a long time that Dean dealt with that, but the chances of him ever speaking those words out loud are non-existent. Somehow, the demon version of his brother is more in touch with his feelings than the human equivalent.

That frustration rears its head again.

"That doesn't change anything. We weren't talking about demons and Hell. We're talking about people, students, who are being slaughtered as sacrifices. We have to stop that," Sam's on a roll now, "Besides, say that the ritual works. Cam figured people would worship her. That's how gods get power. What then? She seem like a god we want to deal with if she gets even more power?"

Dean seems as though he wants to protest, to pursue the former discussion for a moment. Then he shakes his head, lets out a breath and deflates ever so slightly. "No, not really." He looks back up, "So, how do we kill her? You said there wasn't anything on that in your sources?"

"No, nothing. I have some ideas, but..."

"Well, let's hear it. You'll have to wait till tomorrow to hit the library anyway, if that was what you were thinking."

Sam smiles slightly. It was exactly what he had been thinking. "Well, most gods we've dealt with have to be staked. There's nothing in connection with Cam, but the Telipinu-dude was symbolized by oak trees. So that's an option, I guess. Or the cedar, now that I think about. Then there is the part about sending the anger to bronze containers from which nothing could escape, so I guess there might be something to that. And lastly, the whole anger-thing was started by a bee stinging Telipinu."

Dean listens quietly until the part about the bee, which makes him visibly flinch. Sam's phone is heavy in his pocket. It's been almost two weeks since he checked in.

"So what you're suggesting is that we trap Cam with a bronze net and stab her with a wooden stake of oak or cedar. Or, you know, a bee." Dean is joking now, and Sam lets this one pass, too. That's a can of worms he is not going to touch any time soon, if he can help it. He might not have much choice, though.

"Uhm, yeah. Possibly with me trying to see if I can dig up anything else tomorrow."

There is another option, one which is probably even more salient, and they both know it. The First Blade should be plenty powerful to deal with a minor goddess. But Dean isn't mentioning it, and Sam refuses to be the one to bring it up. In a couple of days, when they've stabbed said goddess with various pieces of wood, he might change his mind. But for now, he'll allow himself to be stubborn.