The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I wish the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have!

Also, this is an AU fic post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret
I am the sin
I am the guilty
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Three

"…Don't tell me you haven't noticed the pattern, Sammy. First Mom, then Jessica, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Dad and now Cassie. Something killed her, Sam. And I'm going to find out what it is."

Sam sighed and settled back in his chair. He had noticed. "But that doesn't change anything, Dean. We still don't know what's wrong with you."

Dean didn't answer that. "What about your vision? Do you think that has something to do with this?"

Sam paled, having forgotten all about the vision in the midst of everything else. How could he have forgotten? Had he gotten her killed by not trying to figure out who she was? Was she dead already? Could he have prevented it? His head spun with the questions. "I don't, uh, I don't know, Dean."

"Dude, just once I'd like your visions to come with a time stamp or something, you know? This whole vague flashes and jumbled information is hardly helpful."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, that'd be nice." He eyed his bound brother carefully. "But that still doesn't tell us what's happened to you."

"No it doesn't, but I can't stay tied up like this forever, Sammy. Someone might see and get the wrong idea," he said with a smirk.

"No, I know that, but what happens when you go all Norman Bates on me again?"

"Jeeze, Sam. Have a little faith, would you? Shouldn't you be saying if not when I go all Norman Bates on you? And dude, Norman Bates? I so don't think I'm mom."

"Dean, haven't you been paying any attention to our lives at all? Of course it's a matter of when."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said with a sigh, thumping his head against the wall in frustration. "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst because the worst always comes when your last name happens to be Winchester."

"Exactly," Sam said with a nod before growing playfully thoughtful. "Think we should change it?"

"What? Our name? Are you kidding me? Chicks did the fact that I'm named after a rifle."

"Dude I've seen the women you hang out with. Most of them wouldn't even know which end of a rifle to point let alone know that they're called Winchesters."

"Stop your yapping Francis, and untie me. There's a pair of cuffs in my duffle over there. Side pocket," Dean directed as Sam moved to get the cuffs. "Don't scuff the salt line," he added when Sam walked back to him.

"Do I want to know why you have these?" Sam asked, stepping carefully over the ring of rock salt surrounding Dean's bed. He didn't know if it was actually helping any, but better safe than sorry.

"Probably not, but that's your loss, not mine."

"Are you going to try and attack me again if I untie you?" Sam asked, only half kidding.

"I don't think so, but I guess we won't know until you try it," Dean said with as nonchalant a shrug as he could manage. "How about you cuff my hands together before you untie them? It's an easy enough solution, and cuffs are so much nicer than rope. This stuff burns like a mother," he complained, trying not to shift his wrists around any more than he had to while Sam untied his feet.

"Sorry, I should have put a cloth or something around your wrists first but I was more concerned about you waking up and trying to kill me again than I was your comfort," Sam murmured, tossing the length of rope to the floor and carefully avoiding Dean's now freed legs. A steel-toed boot to the face would ruin anyone's day.

"You'll know better next time," Dean murmured over the click of the handcuffs being securely fitted over his wrists. He frowned as he looked down at them, grateful to be rid of the rope but not knowing where things were going next. He couldn't stay tied up forever and they both knew it. "We need to fix this. And fast. I can't show up at Cassie's funeral wearing cuffs, Sammy." He looked up and met his brother's eyes, trying to impart how serious he was.

Sam nodded, running a hand through his shaggy hair as he took a seat down on the bed next to his older brother. "You still can't think of anything different that's happened to you lately?"

"I think I would have remembered being cursed, Sammy," Dean said dryly.

"It could be a cursed object," Sam said thoughtfully, looking pointedly at the pendant around his brother's neck and the ring on his finger; neither of which he ever took off.

Dean followed Sam's gaze and scowled. "Oh that's just low. You think?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, anyone who followed you around long enough to curse you would have noticed you never take them off. How do we test if they're cursed objects or not?"

"We don't," Dean muttered, his scowl deepening. "Or at least, if there's a way I never knew it. We usually just find the things and get rid of them, you know?"

"Yeah but you're not going to just get rid of your stuff, are you? Dean you've had that pendant almost as long as I've known you. Besides, if it was something like that that's causing this, wouldn't you be affected all of the time? I mean, why now? Unless this curse or whatever is something that happened to you recently." Sam moved a bit closer to get a better look at his brother. "I mentioned it before and I'll say it again, you look pretty damn good for getting no sleep these past few days."

"Dude, I always look good," Dean responded almost as if it were instinctive. Perhaps it was. "I feel fine though, considering."

"Yeah you feel fine except for when you're trying to kill me."

"Pretty much," Dean agreed with a half shrug.

"Did you do anything else last night?"

"Besides Anne the prospective mechanical engineer and part-time waitress?" Dean asked, with definitely less smugness than such a comment would have normally garnered from him.

Sam flushed regardless. "Besides her. Unless…?"

"Unless what? Do you think she's the one who cursed me?"

Sam spread his hands in consideration. "Think about it, Dean. You hook up with some total stranger last night and now you're trying to kill me. Do the math, man."

"Huh," Dean muttered, thinking it over. "She seemed so normal… I should have known though. The red-heads are always trouble."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll head back to Bolder tomorrow after the funeral and find out for sure."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "After the funeral." He could practically feel his brother's eyes burning a hole into the side of his face and he knew he probably should have tried to sound more cheerful and less like he was going to wander off any moment now and have himself a nice long cry. Not that he was, of course, but that's what Sam always seemed to think. When Dean heard Sam take in a slow breath as if preparing for something, he knew he was in for it.

"Dean, I know you don't like talking about this kind of thing, 'no chick-flick moments,' I remember, but come on. It hasn't even been months since Dad died and now you've lost Cassie too. Don't tell me that you're alright with all of this." Dean glanced over at him and right away knew that he shouldn't have. Sam had his puppy-eyed, endearing face turned on full blast and what was worse, the little bitch probably knew it. "Just talk to me, Dean. That's all I want."

Dean's brow furrowed as he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, the handcuffs making too-loud clattering sounds against each other in the oppressive silence that had descended as Sam waited for an answer to his plea. "I guess it hasn't really sunk in yet," he murmured finally, giving Sam a shrug. He didn't really know why he was being honest with his annoying and persistent little brother but he thought that just maybe it had more than a little to do with the fact that he'd tried to kill him earlier today. Such things were apt to make someone more agreeable to demands with guilt goading them on.

"We've kind of had other things to deal with, you know? Like my oh-so-inopportune possession or cursing or whatever the hell it is. I mean, I know she…" he trailed off without wanting to and frowned, looking away from Sam as he spoke. He couldn't unload or whatever like Sam wanted him to with Sam looking at him like that; as if he were about to break into a thousand sharp pieces at any second. "I know she's dead, alright? I'm not in some kind of denial or anything like that, but there's a big difference between knowing and seeing it for yourself first hand."

He didn't see it but he practically felt a change in the air as Sam nodded. "Is that why you didn't believe Mrs. Robinson? Why you accused her of lying?" He paused and looked confused for a moment. "Or was that even you speaking? When did the… We need to decide what it is just to give it a name," he muttered almost to himself before continuing on, "When did the curse take over? If it was when we entered the house then maybe it has something to do with the house."

"We have too many ideas and not enough answers," Dean muttered in irritation. "If it was the house though, it probably would have affected you too, not just me."

"Maybe," Sam agreed, "but I didn't know the Robinsons like you did, Dean. Maybe it was focussed on you."

"By who? Cassie's mom? A jealous ex-boyfriend of Cassie's who's pissed to see the competition here at all let alone here for her funeral?" The question was bitter but Dean wouldn't allow Sam to call him on it, continuing on without pause, "There are a thousand possibilities, Sammy. It could be any one of them. We just don't know." Dean wanted to rub a hand through his hair in frustration but stopped halfway up when he remembered that his hands were cuffed together. "Uncuff me, Sammy. I want to go out."

"What? Where are you going?" Sam asked in disbelief. Did his brother not remember why he was handcuffed in the first place?

"Out," Dean answered succinctly, his eyes narrowing and the muscles of his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth; both signs that he was getting pissed off and fast.

"Out," Sam repeated, beginning to get just the slightest bit irritated himself at Dean's non-answers. "Out where?"

"Oh I have to account for my whereabouts to you now, do I? Warden Sammy has to know everything his big brother does otherwise he can't sleep at night." The words were growled past Dean's lips and his eyes grew hard at being questioned.

Sam put up a hand, in no mood to fight when Dean got like this. He knew Dean was probably just striking out against him so that he wouldn't have to deal with his own grief—that was just what Dean did—but Sam didn't want him to. He would take the abuse, knowing it was the only way Dean knew how to deal with everything, if he had to, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to prevent such things from happening before hand. He didn't really like being slugged by his older brother. "In case you'd forgotten, and I'm not saying that you have, we have a serious problem here, Dean."

"Oh really? And what's that? Because the only problem I can see right now is you standing in between me and my way out. Give me the keys, Sammy."

Sam took a breath. "No, Dean. I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to just let you wander off on your own when we haven't even the slightest idea what's wrong with you! You could go out there and hurt someone for all we know, Dean. Be reasonable." Sam was doing his very best to keep his voice as even and as calm as possible, seeing that Dean quickly becoming irrational. "I know this sucks, alright? It sucks hard. You find out that your girlfriend has just died and ok, you want to go out and maybe have a drink; or six. But you can't because your stupid little brother has you handcuffed on a bed sitting in the middle of a ring of rock salt in a dingy motel room. Just because he thinks you might go out and do something.

"I get it. You want to go out and forget about life for awhile. I understand. I really do. But you can't, Dean. Not until we figure this out. Not until we know you're safe." Sam said the words with a frown and a furrowed brow, as if the very act of speaking them was distasteful. And it was. Even considering the fact that Dean, his jerk, selfless hero of a brother would actually go out and hurt someone, or worse kill someone in cold blood, was unthinkable. But Sam had seen the reactions of people who were possessed or cursed. He had seen the hate in Dean's eyes after they had left Mrs. Robinson's. Hate like what he was seeing again now in Dean's eyes… "Dean? Are you alright? Say something." It was only now that Sam realised that Dean hadn't said a word throughout his entire tirade. Not one argument or statement of denial. Right now, his brother's silence was far more worrying than any amount of ranting would have been.

"Get out of my way or I swear I'll make you get out of my way," Dean hissed, rising to his feet between the two beds and facing off to Sam who did the same.

"And how are you going to do that, Dean?" Sam asked with a frown, making no move to get out of Dean's way as he was ordered. "Your wrists are cuffed and you haven't got the keys. You're not going—" Sam was cut off by a vicious steel-toed kick to the ankle, causing his leg to buckle and his eyes to water in surprise and pain but not before he all-out shoved Dean backwards onto the bed.

Dean went down hard, landing on the flat of his back in the middle of the bed with a grunt, not able to brace his fall with his cuffed hands. "You're going to pay for that, little brother. How's the ankle? Did I break it? God I hope I did. It'd go so well with your broken hand, don't you think?"

Sam hobbled backwards a step and just stared at his brother with a mixture of pain, anger and utter horror. What the hell was going on? One minute they were just talking and the next Dean was ready to slit his throat with a dull spoon again. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" he demanded, his voice booming in the small motel room.

The-thing-that-could-not-be-Dean laughed and raised himself up off of the bed, a wicked smirk playing across his features. "No one's done anything with me, Sammy. No one but you. I'm still Dean. I'm still your brother. Except now my eyes are open."

"Stay away from me!" Sam further demanded, limping away further as Dean stood up once more between the beds. "If you can hear me in there at all Dean, please try and fight this. I don't know what this thing that has you is or what it wants but I know that you can fight it. You're my big brother. You can fight anything."

"Aww, that's sweet. Come here, Sammy. I think I might cry. We can cry together, you and I. Isn't that what you've always wanted? For me to open up to you and tell you oh boo-hoo Dad's dead, Cassie's dead, what am I going to do? Well maybe I killed them both, Sam. Ever think of that? I mean clearly I killed Dad. There's no question about that, now is there? But hell, maybe I killed Cassie too. Wouldn't that be something? I mean she did get sick right after we left and boy oh boy did I ever fuck her brains out before we rode off into the fucking sunset." Not-Dean snickered and laughed, shaking his head ruefully like this was all a big joke. "And she was smokin' hot then and I'm damn sure she's probably smokin' hot still. Think her mom would let me have one last go at her before they put her in the ground?"

"Shut up dude, just shut up," Sam said, shaking his head in disgust. "You're sick and I'm going to find a way to get rid of you. I'm not going to let you do this to my brother any longer."

"But I am your brother, little Sammy. No one's doing anything to me at all. I'm still your big brother. What, you don't believe me? Quiz me."

"I'm not—" Sam started.

"Go on. Do it like they do in the sci-fi movies where they have to decide between two people who look exactly the same on which one's the real one. You know what I mean. Of course, you never did that back in St. Louis with the shape shifter, now did you? No you just assume that because I wanted to beat on you for awhile that I had to be evil. Ever wonder that I've been the shape shifter all along and that I really killed Dean?" He grinned and Sam unintentionally held a breath, half expecting to see not-Dean's eyes shift to reflective silver as the shape shifter's had. "But whatever. I suppose you'll just rationalise anything I say away even if you do quiz me. Something like, 'Oh well since you're possessed, the demon in you can access all of your thoughts,' and blah, blah, blah. There's no demon in me, Sam. You saw it for yourself. Christo didn't work, holy water didn't work, you're shit out of luck, little bro. There's no one here but me. Good old Dean."

"Talk all you like, but you're not going to convince me. You may look like him, you may sound like him, but you are not my brother," Sam declared, standing confidently now as best he could on his throbbing ankle. He prayed it wasn't broken but he didn't have the time to check on it now. "I'm going to find a way to fix this. I'm going to get my brother back—"

"Or die trying, right?" Not-Dean interjected with a smirk, taking a large step closer to Sam. "I personally prefer that option, in case you were wondering or about to ask my opinion on the subject, by the way. But then again, you're a genius. You probably guessed that already."

"No. I'm just going to get him back. That's it. I've faced worse things than this and I've always managed just fine," Sam said defiantly, standing his ground even as the thing that was controlling his brother moved even closer to him.

"'Always managed just fine,' huh? Right. And that demon who killed your mom, pretty little Jess and oh right, your dad, you showed it but good, right? I mean you sent that bastard screaming and hurting back straight to hell, didn't you? Oh wait, you didn't. In fact, you all pretty much got your asses handed to you, didn't you? And Dean, well no matter what he may think about being brought back when he was in a coma as the reason Dad's dead, that's not it. If I hadn't mouthed off to a demon just to get him to stop picking on my whiny little brother, I would never have nearly bled to death in first place."

"That's not true," Sam growled, wishing whatever the hell this thing was would just shut up and get on with it already.

"Oh am I boring you or are you just taking a page from big brother's book by mouthing off when I strike a nerve? Dean's got that down to a science, you know. Or maybe you don't. You don't notice him, Sam. You never have and you never will. You pretend to care but let's face it. When it comes right down to it, you don't have the balls to follow through. Dean's become a master at evasion and distraction and what's worse is that you let him get away with it." He laughed. "You've done more damage by letting him change the subject with some meaningless joke or quip than I ever will. And yet," he laughed again, "and yet I've given myself away, haven't I? Rule number one, never forget your tenses when possessing someone. It does tend to make everything seem a bit obvious, doesn't it? Then again, I would know that. I, your brother Dean would know all about demon possessions and 'monologuing' as it were. They do tend to ramble on, don't they Sammy? I mean just think of Meg. She couldn't even die quickly. No, no she had to stay around just long enough to answer all of our questions and yet be totally and utterly vague about it at the same time. Don't you hate that? But oh well. She's dead and I'm here."

Sam honestly had no clue as to what he was supposed to say. Just standing here listening to the utter crap—more so than usual—that was coming out of Dean's mouth was beyond the pale. If he needed any further proof that Dean was possessed, this was it. It bothered him that holy water and the name of God seemed to have no effect, however. Things like that usually meant that they were dealing with a more powerful demon than your average run-of-the-mill annoyance who at the worse made your head turn full around and caused you to spew pea soup in all directions. This was bad. They needed help and fast. "Dean, look. If you can still hear me at all I'm going to call Bobby."

"Aw what's wrong, little Sammy? Can't fight me on your own? Pity there's no demon to exorcise. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I'm not possessed?"

Sam took another large step backwards, taking care where he stepped. "I'll believe it when you cross the salt circle."

"If saying Christo didn't work, and holy water didn't work, what makes you think a ring of spilled table salt is going to have any affect at all? You're putting a hell of a lot of faith in a little food seasoning, don't you think?"

"Because rock salt repels more than just demons," Sam returned with a sneer. "But of course if you were really Dean, you would have known that."

"Just testing you, Sammy," Not-Dean said with a smirk.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "I don't see you coming any closer, Dean. What's the matter, afraid to prove me right? I thought you wanted out of here? Or have you changed your mind?"

"I haven't changed anything, Sammy. You're the only one who thinks I've changed. And what would you really know anyway? As if you've ever really known the real me. I lie as easily as breathing. We both do. What makes you think that I haven't been lying to you this whole time? There's a lot you don't know about me, Sam. But then again, you've never really wanted to know, did you? I mean you just packed up and left for your so-called better life in California. You didn't call, you didn't write, hell did you even think about us once while you were off being Mr. Joe College? I seriously doubt it. You haven't even asked once, not one time what I did those two years while you were gone. You haven't even bothered to find out whether or not Dad and I needed you." He laughed. "But I bet you're probably thinking that I'm here, alive, I must not have needed you. Do you have any idea how many new scars I got those two years you weren't around to watch my back? I mean sure, I talk big and say that chicks dig 'em, but fuck, what the hell else am I going to say, dude? At least my face is still pretty."

"I'm hearing a whole lot of yapping without substance but I'm not seeing a whole lot of walking. Come on Deano, cross the salt line. The worst that could happen is that it stops you and hell if it doesn't you'll be able to kick the crap out of my shocked and surprised ass. What are you waiting for?" Sam made sure to sound as antagonizing and smug as humanly possible in order to draw whatever was moving around using his brother's body closer to the thick white line of salt. In truth, Sam was putting a hell of a lot on the faith that his theory would hold and that the thing that was controlling Dean couldn't cross the circle. If that didn't hold true…well there was still the shotgun on the floor behind him if it came to that. Dean had found out the hard way once that a shell full of rock salt to the chest definitely made you lie back and take stock of things for awhile. It wasn't something that Sam wanted to do again to his brother, ever, but he was quickly running out of better options.

Sam's words must have had at least something of the desired effect because Not-Dean actually growled at him. It wasn't a sound that you'd only hear from a large cat or anything but Dean's throat, but it was definitely a growl. "I think you're all talk," Sam continued on smugly. "That's what most demons are, you know. All talk. They just talk and talk and do really do anything. But if you really aren't a demon possessing my brother then I guess that doesn't apply to you. Look, are you going to cross the damn circle or not? Because honestly, I'm getting pretty bored just standing here waiting for you to do something. Not to mention my ankle kills. I probably shouldn't even be on my feet, you know. I think I'd better sit down." Sam nodded seriously as if knowing he should follow such words of advice to the letter and took a seat at the small table he had been sitting at earlier. "But that's alright. Take your time, I guess. If you need to gather up your courage or something, that's fine. I'll just surf the internet or something."

"I'm going to rip your face off and use this fucking salt circle to salt the wound, you fucking bastard," Not-Dean hissed, coming even closer to the line of truth.

"Ooo, those are fighting words there, Deano," Sam taunted. "And I happen to like my face so why on earth would I let you do something like that?" He leaned back in his chair a little, seemingly at ease and peace with the world despite being stuck in a room with the demon-possessed body of his older brother.

"You wont have a choice!" Not-Dean growled and finally did exactly what Sam had wanted. He rushed the salt ring like a linebacker on the line and Sam felt himself tensing up for the moment of truth. Maybe I shouldn't have goaded him on so much… He certainly looks pissed off— His thoughts were cut off abruptly and a wide grin made its way to his face as the thing possessing his brother literally bounced backward as if he were a bird flying into a too-clear window. Sam couldn't help himself and nearly doubled over in laughter at the look of pure misery, rage and confusion that moved over his brother's features. If this had been any other time and were the situation not so deadly serious, he would have prayed for a camera just to savor the moment. When the laughter went on longer and harder than it should have all rights gone, Sam realised he was probably just the slightest bit hysterical and was probably just laughing to ease the incredible tension that had filled the room. Finally after what seemed like forever, he managed to get ahold of himself and rose to his feet to confront his possessed brother.

"Holy water may not stop you, saying the word of God in Latin may have no affect on you, but you can't tell me that this 'pathetic ring of spilled table salt' didn't stop you. Now I don't know what you are or what you're doing to my brother right now when you're in there with him, but you've got two choices; either get the hell out of my brother right this fucking instant or I will make you get out of him!"

"There's—there's no one in here but me, Sammy," his brother said in a small voice, stumbling backwards onto the bed in shock as if he were the one with the injured ankle. "No ghost, no demon, just me. Just Dean," he murmured, sitting down heavily on the bed and looking down at his handcuffed hands as if they held all the answers of the universe.

"I don't believe that," Sam said with a snort and a shake of his head. "It's just more of your lies. You couldn't cross the salt line. I saw it with my own eyes. It bounced you back like a rubber ball. You're not leaving that bed until I break the circle and I'm not breaking the circle until I've got my brother back."

"I am your brother, Sammy!" the man on the bed pleaded, his eyes wide and desperate. "I'm Dean, your awesome older brother and I'll admit I'm scared out of my mind here, dude. But not literally. There are no voices in my head, no 'Danny's not here anymore, Mrs. Torrance,' nothing like that."

Sam frowned at the 'Shining' reference, knowing that his real brother was prone to them. But the demon or ghost or whatever had made such typically Dean comments before as well. There was no way of knowing if the Dean speaking right now really was his brother. "If you really were my brother then you'd be telling me how to exorcise whatever it is that's controlling you, not that there's nothing to exorcise. Come on. How stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're stupid, Sammy. I think you're my geek younger brother who can figure out anything he puts his mind to but you're not listening to me! I'm telling you, straight up, that there's no one else in here but me. Something's happened to me, Sam. Something that doesn't let me cross the salt line, not whatever's inside of me. I look at that damned thing and I know what everything we use it against must feel like. I can't cross it and I can't even look at it without trying to count the fucking grains. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Especially when the moment you have the number in your head, it vanishes and you have to start over. It sucks, Sammy. And it scares me that I'm forced to do it. I mean, I've been able to cross salt lines before, haven't I?" he asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. "I mean, I came back from wherever I was at the hospital, right? You'd tell me if I was a ghost, wouldn't you Sammy?"

"Of course I would," Sam answered automatically, responding to the blatant pleading and fear he saw in his brother's eyes and willing to do anything to make it go away. "You're not a ghost, Dean."

"Are you sure? How do you know?" Dean started pacing back and forth within the tight confines of the circle, wincing whenever he got too close to the edges. At least Sam had made it a wide enough ring to pace in. If it had been directly around the bed he might have gone insane.

"I just do, Dean. You're nor a ghost. You're my flesh and blood annoying older brother."

"And something else that apparently can't cross a salt circle," Dean muttered, still pacing.

"So you're really him again? You're Dean again? You don't still want to rip my face off or anything, do you?" Sam asked, his words light and trying their best to be joking but failing miserably.

Dean paled and halted his pacing to look at his little brother. "God, no. I would never hurt you, Sammy. But…but I wanted to. God I wanted to. You wouldn't let me leave and that made me so angry. I just wanted to leave and you wouldn't get out of my way." Dean shook his head and took a seat on the bed. "I don't even know why I was that upset. You were just trying to help. You didn't want me to go out and hurt anyone." He looked up and met Sam's eyes directly. "And I would have, Sam. I would have hurt someone tonight if I had gotten out." He swallowed and looked away, unable to face his brother for this next revelation. "I would have killed someone tonight, Sammy," he whispered. "A person, Sam. Not what we hunt every day but an actual person."

"It's ok, Dean," Sam tried in sympathy. "You didn't—"

"Dude it is so far from ok it's not even funny anymore," Dean breathed in horror. "You're not listening to me! I could have murdered someone tonight just because I felt like making someone else hurt as much as I do!"

Sam raised his hand in attempt to soothe his brother's anger. "Whoa, man. Just calm down, alright? Breathe or something. Because if what I've noticed holds true, this…whatever it is that's causing you to act this way feed off of anger. So you need to calm yourself down right now." The words were as much of an order now as they had been on the airplane when Dean was in danger of demon possession. Only this time, Dean hadn't managed to prevent whatever had happened to him. He was only now dealing with the consequences.

TBC

A/N: Ok, this has become the scene that will not end. Lol. Seriously, I had planned to get much more accomplished in this chapter but then Dean had to turn all evil again and Sam had to deal with the aftermath. Poor Sammy will need his brother's help in a big way next chapter, but how is Dean supposed to get past the salt line? Until then. Thanks for reading and please do me the kindness of leaving a review. They help to let me know that what I'm writing isn't totally worthless. Thanks.