By Fate Or Free Will

by TFK-fan118

In the year 2003, a witch unleashed a spell that drastically altered the fates of thousands of girls and women around the world. Many went about their lives or deaths unknowing of their transformed purpose. However, each were meant to be warriors, capable of fighting evil. The Winchesters meet this different breed of hunter, changing just about everything. For better or worse.

36. Corruption & Disorder

Nestled against Tracee's chest and having her fingers slide through his hair, nails scrapping along his scalp, Sam almost forgot why he needed this. He hadn't eaten or slept in nearly four days. He had been wired twice as long. Tracee had been feeling something similar, but she had the logical sense to just stop and rest. Sam had been reluctant, but in the end, had agreed. It would not have been good for anyone if they continued to run on empty. So he had pulled over on the side of the road, and then settled on top of his girlfriend in the front seat of the Impala. With her upper back against the passenger side door, Tracee held onto him in an effort to soothe. It had been about thirty minutes now, and the ministrations had helped a lot. However, Sam couldn't bring himself to sleep. Not with the one constant thing on his mind.

Dean was missing.

His brother had been gone for over a week. And there was no sign of him anywhere. Dean hadn't left a note. He hadn't called. He had refused to pick up his phone, and so every attempt at calling had been forwarded to voicemail. No one had seen him either. Sam had even gone to Ellen Harvelle. The woman had been mildly bitter, but she truly hadn't heard anything, and had wished him luck in locating Dean. It hadn't made any sense. Where would Dean have gone? Honestly, he wasn't the most independent person. One day, sure. More than likely, he had found a girl and spent the night. That would have been normal, which is why Sam and Tracee hadn't bothered to question his sudden disappearance. More than that, and it had become bizarre. Dean would not have stayed away for so long, which had led Sam to believe that his brother hadn't necessarily been safe. But still, after a week of searching, there still hadn't been any news.

Still… Dean had been in a strange mood after that angel fiasco. That job had been a roller coaster for all of them. Sam had wanted to believe that maybe an angel had been involved. Dean had been adamant that there were no such thing as angels. Tracee had been sorta in between. She believed in angels, but had thought they had not been involved at all. In the end, it hadn't been an angel, telling random people to do God's will. Sam had been a little disappointed that it had only been a spirit of a dead priest. Especially since that spirit had come to him personally under the guise of an angel.

At any rate, disappointment had been Sam's reaction. Dean, though, had a much more… subdued reaction. After commenting that he had maybe seen God's will take care of the man the spirit had pointed out as being evil, Dean had just been so quiet. It had been noticeable. The entire job had thrown him for a loop. He had been shocked to discover that Sam prayed nearly every day and Tracee usually set time for reading the Bible on Sundays. For a moment, Dean had stared at them like he hadn't even known them. Of course, Sam and Tracee had already known about each other's beliefs. Her parents had been Christians, and that mindset had bled into her adopted life. Sam, himself, had turned to—well, got deeper into—believing after that big fallout before he had gone to college. He had been disowned, so there hadn't been much to believe in...

Over the course of the job, Dean had revealed the reason he had been so against angels existing. Their mom had believed, and yet that faith hadn't protected her from the Demon. Mary Winchester's last words to her oldest son had been angels watched over them. Sam hadn't known that. Yes, he had known how she had said it to Dean many times, but he hadn't known those were the last words Dean had heard. He had probably refused to belief in any good higher power after that. It had probably been the reason he had been so against their destinies. Probably still was… And yet after seeing how that guy died with his own eyes, Dean had said 'maybe' in regards to God's will.

For three days after they had left town, Dean had been quiet, obviously giving some thought to what he had previously rejected. Then he had snapped right back to himself. Heck, he had even seemed a little livelier. It had been odd, but not in a bad sense. He had volunteered to do the mundane tasks, which he would normally push and bribe his way out of doing. Maybe it had been a way to distract himself, but there hadn't been any complaints. Because of that, Sam and Tracee hadn't even thought about it when Dean had told them he was heading out to grab food. He had gone to the diner down the street—hadn't even taken the Impala—and hadn't come back. He had just… disappeared.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his insides squirm. God, what was he going to do without his brother? He couldn't possibly get through all this without Dean. What if he was just gone forever? What if they never found him? Worse, what if they did eventually find him, and he was… still gone? Damn it, he needed his brother. "Samuel…" Tracee's voice slipped through the regressing thoughts before they could spread further. Her fingers curled and tugged on his hair. Sam sighed out, not realizing he had been holding his breath. "We'll find him," she went on, loosening her grip. Sam sighed again, shuddering. He rubbed his cheek against her chest and held on tighter. Eyes opened now, they were on the glove compartment, but weren't actually focused. He wanted to believe her. He did, but it had been over a week. Statistically speaking… Dean was already… "We'll find him. We will." Once again, Tracee's voice pushed through the disarray of this thoughts, more resolute than before. Her fingers resumed sliding through his hair. "Or he'll find us. Dean is stronger than even he realizes. I know you're worried, and that's okay. Just don't… think about not finding him, okay?"

"Okay," Sam repeated. "I'll try." Tracee hummed lightly, nails slid along the back of his neck. Without her, he might have lost his mind over this by now. Even though she hadn't been having a good time either. There had been a few times where Sam had caught the distraught look in her eyes. Even though she was just as worried, she mostly held it back for his sake. Sometimes, he would wonder if Tracee thought he was too selfish. Truthfully, whenever things got rough, Sam would end up relying on either Dean or Tracee, or both, to give reassurances. They did that a lot for him, he realized, and Sam didn't think he did it for them nearly enough in return.

"It'll be fine. In the end, things will work out," Tracee said.

Sam felt himself nodding as he shut his eyes. A puff of air left his mouth, suddenly more inclined to drifting off to sleep. Maybe with a clear mind, he could actually think of a practical way of finding Dean instead of running around in a panic. Sam pursed his lips, focusing on the steady beat of Tracee's heart and the raindrops pelting the outside of the Impala. It was cold, wet, and dreary outside, kinda fitting the somber mood. But with any luck, after they finished resting, the rain would stop.

Just as Sam was about to attempt shutting off his thoughts, his ears picked up the muffled sound of his cell phone ringing. He opened his eyes, reaching for the device with his left hand. Pulling it out, he brought the cell phone into his line of sight. Seeing the screen light up, he recognized the number calling before his eyes glanced at the actual name. Abruptly, Sam sat up, sucking in a sharp breath as he did. He immediately pressed the button to answer the call and held the phone to his ear. On his right, he heard Tracee sit up, too, but he was much too focused on the surprising phone call. "Dean? Where are you? Are you okay?" Sam interrogated. His questions caused Tracee to go rigid, and he couldn't help but glance at her even though he was waiting for some type of answer. She appeared just as startled and apprehensive.

"Sammy…" Hearing the hoarse voice of his brother caused Sam to sigh in relief, but also made his heart pound against his chest. "I… I think something's happened to me."

"What? What are you talking about? Where are you?" Sam questioned.

"I don't… I don't know, man… Just—can you meet me here? I think I'm Wisconsin," Dean replied.

"Text the address, we're on our way," Sam stated, no hesitation. Dean grunted in affirmation, and then disconnected the call.

"That was Dean? Where is he?" Sam turned to her as he pulled the phone away from his ear. He opened his mouth in order to give her some type of response, but a chime from her cell phone interrupted, indicating Tracee had received a message. Wasting no time, she removed her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans and flipped it open. Her eyes scanned over the words of the message, widening considerably. She lifted her gaze, focusing on Sam. "Wisconsin? What the bloody hell is he doing in Wisconsin?!"

Her surprise was warranted. Wisconsin was several states over. Dean had ended up so far away. "I don't know," Sam answered with a shake of his head. "Maybe he couldn't say over the phone. But we know where he is now, so let's go get him." Tracee narrowed her eyes, but nodded her head in agreement. She held her hand out, and Sam passed her his cell phone. While she went to work inputting the address into his phone so they could navigate to Wisconsin, he turned the key in the ignition and started up the car. Even though he had told her that, Sam couldn't help but have similar, if not the same, questions. Once again, the questions churned in his mind. At least, this time, it wasn't equipped with crippling anxiety.

It took them nearly twelve hours to get to the motel Dean have given. It would have taken longer had Sam obeyed the rules of the road, but the uneasiness he felt had prevented him from trying. He quickly parked the car, and then opened his door and got out. Tracee didn't bother to wait for him. She opened her own door and climbed out, too. Together, they nearly jogged into the motel, and immediately began searching for the designated room. 109, he remembered Tracee telling him when they had still been on the road. After moving down a long hallway, they finally came across the three digit number they had been looking for. Tracee was the one to knock on the door.

"Dean…!" she called out. "Dean, it's us!" There was no response to her knocking or voice. She frowned, and looked about five seconds from kicking down the door. Before she could, Sam reached up and twisted the doorknob. It hadn't been locked. Frowning himself, Sam pushed the door open and cautiously stepped inside. The door was shut, but he only paid attention to the figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Dean…" Sam walked forward.

The sound of his name finally jerked his brother out of his daze. He looked up, and then turned his head in their direction. With a sigh of relief, Dean stood up and completely faced them. Because of that, he saw the giant bloodstain on the front of his shirt. Beside him, Tracee nearly choked on a gasp. Sam couldn't disagree with her reaction. He had had to swallow his own gasp of surprise. Tracee moved forward, hands already reaching out to check for damage. "Wait a second, Trace…!" Dean said, holding up his hand. The action and words halted her from doing body checks. "It's… It's not mine," he told her. Then his eyes shifted from her to Sam. "I don't… I don't know whose blood this is."

"What? What happened to you then?" Tracee questioned.

"That's just it…" Dean muttered. His raised hand moved, fingers curling to grip his shirt where the where the dried blood spatter was. "I can't remember anything. I don't know."

"What does that mean? You can't remember anything at all? Or…?" Sam shook his head in confusion.

"I mean, I'm suddenly here in the ass end of nowhere—a place I've never been. There's blood on my hands and shirt. You two are nowhere to found… I mean, I-I'm drawing a blank here, man! I have no idea what happened to me!" Dean rambled as he paced from bed to bed. The more he spoke, the more his expression became panicked.

"Alright, calm down," Sam told him. "We'll figure out what happened. But first things first, you need to get outta those clothes. Tracee will grab some for you from the car." He noticed his girlfriend already nodding her head in agreement. "Take a shower. While you're doing that, I'll talk to someone at the front desk—see if they can tell me anything about when or how you got here."

"Okay…" Dean replied.

He stopped moving for a few seconds before nodding his head. He then went towards the bathroom. The two left behind watched him until the door shut. A heavy sigh came from Tracee's mouth, causing Sam to shift his focus on her. She had reached up, and was now scratching at her neck. Clearly, Dean's loss of memory, combined with blood—there had been a lot—had made her anxious. Maybe more than before. Sam reached for her, hand giving her shoulder a small squeeze. Tracee breathed deeply through her nose, and then lowered her fingers from her neck. She accepted the silent comfort, shutting her eyes for a moment before lightly brushing her fingers against his knuckles.

"Okay," she murmured, an echo of what Dean had said. Then she turned, heading for the door of the motel room. After a beat, Sam followed after her, thoughts churning again. This was definitely a different situation. It seemed that roles were flipped, and it wouldn't be just for a moment with the way things were going. Sam had a feeling that whatever happened to his older brother had been no small thing. A week gone, reappearing without all of his memories, blood that hadn't been his own—something definitely had gone down, and before it was all revealed, Sam predicted there would be many instances of reassurance, coming from himself.

0-0

By the time Sam returned to the room, Dean had already changed his clothes. His brother was now pacing the room, roughly rubbing at his jaw as he moved. From her sitting position on the edge of one of the beds, Tracee's gaze followed his movements as though he might disappear from her sight. Sam couldn't blame her. He still couldn't believe it had been over a week since the last time they had seen him. On top of that, there had been no explanation for his disappearance so far because not even Dean seemed to know.

Both of them were clearly anxious. Dean with his pacing, and Tracee with her twisting her fingers through her hair to unravel the crown of braids. She had taken to braiding her hair like that after the shapeshifter job. It had been a simple disguise, but now she undid her hair, probably not even thinking about the purpose of the braids. This whole thing was nerve-wracking, and they both showed it. Sam wondered if he had been exhibiting a nervous tick, too. Honestly, he was pretty freaked about his brother losing a part of his memory and the blood. With an internal sigh, Sam shut the door, causing both Dean and Tracee to look his way.

"What'd you find?" Dean questioned, halting his pacing. Tracee stood up from the bed, and stared expectedly. Sam told himself not to become distracted by his girlfriend's half kinky hair. He cleared his throat and turned his full attention to his brother.

"Two days ago, you checked in under the name Cliff Williams, according to the manager," he stated. "He hasn't heard anything about you, so apparently, you kept to yourself. Nobody saw anything strange."

"You mean no one saw me walking around covered in blood?" Dean asked, sarcastically. He went back to his pacing. Sam pressed his lips together, not having a response to that. "Then what the hell? I mean, how'd I even get here?"

"Well, now that we're all together again, we can work to figuring it out," Tracee spoke up. "We just have to…" She released a heavy sigh. "We just have to calm down, look for clues, and find out what exactly happen. We do it all the time."

"Ah, Trace—ever the voice of reason," Dean retorted. His voice was a bit more cutting than affectionate, which was weird. Judging from Tracee's frown, she, too, felt uncomfortable by his sarcastic tone. Sam went over to his girlfriend, nudging her arm a bit with his elbow as Dean paced the room, seemingly unaware of the reaction his words had caused. Tracee pressed her lips together, choosing only to glance his way before focusing back on the muttering from Dean. "Okay, so… the last thing I remember was… Texas. I went to grab some burgers," Dean said, turning to face them. "Next thing I know, I'm sitting here in the dark and you guys aren't around."

"That was when you disappeared," Tracee said. "You're missing memories for an entire week."

"A week…? Man, it felt like I'd been asleep for a month, but come on! A week? What were you guys doing? Couldn't tear yourselves away from each long enough to come looking for me?!"

"Hey…! We started looking as soon as you didn't come back to the motel after an hour!" Sam exclaimed, taking offense to the dig. Both Tracee and himself had run themselves ragged, trying to locate any sign of Dean. They hadn't so much as kissed since he had gone missing. Not even small reassuring kisses. That had been how frantic they had been about his disappearance. Dean only snorted. "Look—we just gotta go backwards instead of forwards for this. The manager said he did see you leave yesterday afternoon, but he didn't see you come back, so… that means you didn't go pass the front desk. What does that tell us?"

"He snuck in," Tracee said. "Whatever happened, he had enough sense to do that, and so his state of mind was not hindered... at least, not to the point of complete blackout." She narrowed her eyes, and then looked towards the window. She walked over, sliding the curtain away from the glass. After a few seconds, she stepped to the side, pointing at the window's handle. There, on the window's handle, were bloody fingerprints. "Just enough to make you sloppy, though." She had said the last thing with slight displeasure. "There's probably more out back, so let's go collect it, hide it if we have to, and solve a mystery."

Both brothers agreed, so after quickly unraveling the rest of her hair, and slipping on a large dark blue hairband, the three left the motel room in search of evidence. They had circled the building, not really coming across anything suspicious or unusual. The path leading to Dean's room hadn't offered more bloody handprints or a weapon, actually. After about ten minutes of searching, Dean suddenly halted. They were in an alleyway now, in between the motel and a string of storage units. "Hold on a sec…" he mumbled, mostly to himself. He scrutinized a specific door before pointing a finger. "I think… I think I've been here before—like some sorta déjà vu, or something."

"So you don't actually remember?" Tracee moved to stand beside him. Dean shook his head. "Well, I guess we should open it." She walked forward, hand lifted to lightly grasp the padlock, which sealed the door. "You wouldn't happen to be sensing déjà vu about a key, would you?" Dean shook his head, but then froze.

"Wait…" He stuck his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, and then pulled out a single silver key. Sam's eyebrow jerked at the sight of it. Frowning, Dean passed the key along to Tracee, who took it with narrowed eyes. The wariness on etched into her expression was clear to Sam. But Tracee chose not to speak on it. She merely turned and inserted the key into the lock. It fit like a glove. She twisted the key and slipped the lock away. "So weird…" Dean commented, seemingly in disbelief.

"Hold on—we should wear gloves," Sam mentioned. "We don't know what we're going to find here." Already, he was looking for pairs he normally kept in the inside pocket of his jacket. He had grown accustomed to carrying out surgical gloves ever since Tracee had joined them. Her cautious way of gathering evidence during investigations had extended to him, so more often than not, he would be the one passing out the blue gloves.

"So what we betting?" Dean asked, snapping the wrist of the glove against his skin. "More blood or the whole body?"

"Dean…!" Sam glowered, not amused in the least. His brother only shrugged. "We're not betting anything!"

"But if we were, I'd bet against the dead body," Tracee mentioned. She squatted downed, ignoring the admonishing way Sam said her name. "There was too little blood on your clothes to indicate you were carrying a bleeding body." Her covered fingers curled around the handle. "Your pants would have had it, too… Besides, you're not foolish enough to hide a body right outside your room." She stood up straight, lifting the door of the storage unit. Inside was a bright red Ford Mustang with two white stripes down the middle. For a couple seconds, the three of them stared at the vehicle, varying degrees of shock. "I take back the foolish comment," Tracee muttered.

"Please tell me you didn't steal this!" Sam sharply turned to his brother, but Dean only shrugged. A classic car like this—in mint condition, judging by its appearance—would be missed. And it was flashy enough to be recognized by anyone. Something like this could easily be tracked, which meant that Dean could easily be tracked, too. "God, Dean, even if you don't remember, what in the world could have made you thought it was okay taking this car?"

"Don't know," Dean replied, giving another shrug. "But it's a pretty awesome ride. If I was gonna cheat, this is definitely a car I'd go for." He stepped forward, examining the vehicle with an appreciative eye. "What do you think this is? '72? '73?"

"Can't say it's important right now, Dean!" Sam scolded.

"Lighten up, Sammy," he retorted. "Just a joke." Sam didn't think this was the time for jokes either. Shaking his head, he, too, moved towards the car. He and Tracee took to peering through the passenger side while Dean immediately went to open the door on the driver's side. "Hey…" His brother's head popped up, along with a large bloody knife. Sam's mouth dropped open. "It was underneath the seat…" For several long seconds, none of them said anything. Heck, it almost seemed like none of them breathed. Then Dean let out a nervous chuckle. "You don't think I…?" he trailed off, half-grin faltering.

"We-" Tracee glanced at Sam, both of them exchanging a look of uncertainly. From the outside, looking in, it seemed like they had found a murder weapon. But Dean couldn't have… right? "We still don't know much despite the knife. Let's keep looking." She opened the passenger door and lowered herself to search. Sam anxiously waited for more clues. He couldn't help but think that maybe Dean had resorted to killing someone because he had felt like he hadn't had a choice. Without someone around to tell him, or convince him, differently, he had gone from zero to last resort without really thinking about it. That unnerved him more than it should have. "Got something," Tracee announced, maneuvering out of the car. She shut the door, and then held up a slip of paper. "A recent gas receipt, dated for yesterday."

Without speaking further, the three left the storage unit, locked it back up, and then headed towards the Impala in the front.

They gas station had been just a few towns over, so it hadn't taken them long to reach it. The answers they had found there had been baffling to say the least. Apparently, Dean had been drunk, had stolen cigarettes and a forty ounce bottle of malt liquor, before lighting up and slinging the glass bottle at this poor guy's head. The man had been rightfully angry by Dean's reappearance and had threatened to call the cops. He had to be both threatened, and bribed, in order to get those answers. Eventually, the guy had told them the direction Dean had headed after he had caused a big scene.

Now, they were on the road again, trying to find wherever Dean had gone. Somewhere north, according to the gas station worker. Other than that, none of the behavior the guy had mentioned had made sense. First, Dean was wanted by the law. He wouldn't cause a scene so unnecessarily. Second, Dean didn't smoke. Bad oral hygiene, he had told Sam once. Third, he wasn't a violent drunk. No matter how drunk he might become, violence and anger weren't apart of the shenanigans. He was the type of drunk that would compliment random people, beg for cuddles, and smile stupidly at everyone—friendly stuff like that. So to hear contradicting evidence had boggled the mind, and left all three of them pretty quiet during the car ride.

Then, abruptly, Dean veered off road onto a hidden path. It had been a path that no one would have noticed, especially in the dark of night, without actually knowing it was there. Sam shifted his gaze to his brother, silently questioning his actions. "It just… It feels familiar, you know?" Dean explained as they drove down the darkened path. Behind Sam, Tracee hummed. It was almost more aggressive than thoughtful. Eventually, they came to a stop outside a large house. It seemed to be private property because there were no other houses anywhere. Plus, the path had been lined with motion sensor lights. Whoever lived here clearly wanted to know who came and went.

The three exited the car, heading towards the porch. Another light came on, catching Sam's attention. There was a security camera attached, validating his previous thought. However, as the three moved onto the porch, the lights from inside did not come on. There was no indication that anyone had noticed their presence. Taking a silent deep breath, Sam knocked on the front door. Dean didn't wait. He walked down the porch, seemingly trying to look inside the house through the window. "Uh… Sam, Trace," he called out. The knocks hadn't been answered, and so Sam and Tracee headed over to Dean. "Take a look at this." His took out his small flashlight and aimed it at the windowsill. Broken glass practically covered the ledge.

"Odd…" Tracee remarked as Sam took out his own flashlight, and then more gloves. She waited until the gloves were on before continuing her line of thought. "At first glance, you'd think forced entry, but the glass was broken from the inside."

"Either way, a place like this, wouldn't there be an alarm?" Sam muttered, already in the process of sweeping the glass away, so they could climb in.

"Oh, there is," Dean said, shifting the attention to him. He had gone to the left end of the porch and was leaning over the edge to get a look around the corner. With a sigh, he turned around to face them. "Box's been tampered with. Doesn't take a genius to figure out where this leads."

"We don't know anything yet," Sam said. "Let's get inside first." Dean pressed his lips together, but nodded his head in agreement. Clenching his jaw, Sam was the first to climb in through the window. Tracee next, and then Dean. Already, they could see the shambles the place had been left in. There was a broken cabinet, and shattered dishes littered the floor. Clearly, there had been a struggle, mostly in this room from the looks of it. Frowning, Sam continued through a hallway, praying that would come across something that wouldn't further paint his brother in a bad light.

The broken things led them to a room just down the hall. Inside, there was someone laying on the floor. Sam's eyes grew wide as Tracee moved in front of him and crouched down to examine the person. Her covered fingers reached out to touch, only to draw away seconds later. "Rigor mortis," she said. "He's dead." Sam looked around for a light switch. When he found it, he flipped the switched the lights came on. Tracee carefully turned the body over, revealing a dried pool of blood that stained the carpet and the slit throat of the victim. Sam had to force himself not to choke at the sight.

"So I guess this means the jury's in, huh?" Dean said, pocketing his flashlight. He stepped into the room, eyes unreadable, but focused on the dead body. "Poor bastard." Sam shook his head. He couldn't believe it. Not this. Not Dean. "I mean, the blood, the car, the knife… and now this guy. Looks like I killed him."

"No," Sam whispered. Dean turned to him. "I mean, we still don't know."

"Look, Sam, we've come full circle on this," he retorted. "I know it's hard to believe, but-"

"It's not just hard, Dean! It's impossible that you could have done this!"

"Why? Because I'm a Champion?" he questioned, sarcastically. Sam felt his face contort in confusion. What did that have to do with anything? "The facts line up, alright? I did this, and no amount of disbelief is gonna change that."

"It's not over yet. Sure, we've found the reason for the blood," Tracee said, standing. She turned towards them. "However, the only thing that tells us is that you were here. We don't know the reason for that, and we don't know exactly what happened."

"She's right," Sam said, relieved. "And even if you really did this, there must have been a reason." It was slight, but he saw the flash of annoyance on Dean's face. What the hell? He should be grateful that the two of them were trying to help him crawl out from under the label of cold-blooded murderer. "There must be something here that tells us who this guy is." Sam's gaze darted over to the closed double-door to the right. It had a lock on it. "Tracee, I need my lock pick."

"Alright," she muttered, reaching inside the back pocket of her jeans. She quickly handed him the tool, and Sam went to work on the lock. Soon enough, the lock clicked, allowing him full access. He slid the two doors opened to reveal another room. It was a workshop full of many types of guns and knives on display and newspaper article clippings. There were maps, charts, and foreign symbols, too. Sam almost instantly recognized the structure. "Shit…" Tracee, too, recognized what she was looking at.

"A hunter," Sam said out loud. "He was a hunter." He shook his head. "Why would-?"

"Like I said, I don't know," Dean interrupted. "But there's a camera up there." Sam turned to his brother to see that his gaze was upward. Sam followed his line of sight to see another security camera perched in the corner of the ceiling. Then he looked towards the desk where a computer was set up. Since the workshop was so close, more than likely the computer had access to the security feeds. Sam hurriedly grabbed a chair and scooted over to the desk to start up the computer. This could prove once and for all what had happened to this hunter. Both Dean and Tracee crowded around him. The desktop wasn't password protected, and luckily, neither was the file to the security feeds. Sam quickly opened the file and found the specific date and camera.

The video pulled up, but it was at the very start of yesterday. He hit the fast forward button and intently watched for whenever the confrontation, which ended in a dead hunter, had happened. It must have been a reason, or maybe Dean had come in afterwards, and found the guy already dead, and had probably tried to help. That seemed more plausible than… the alternative. "There we go," Dean said, tapping Sam's shoulder, prompting him to play the video recording at normal speeds. They all watched in mute horror as the dead hunter and someone, who looked way too much like Dean, brawl on the floor. The hunter had gotten some shots in, but mostly, Dean had completely overwhelmed him.

Then the knife came out. Even on the slight hazy recording, Sam recognized the shape of it. On the video, Dean dragged the man, and then lifted his chin. Without hesitating, he slid the knife across the man's neck. The body was tossed to the side and Dean stood up, wiping the knife on his shirt. The video kept playing, but Sam was too much in shock to stop it. He swallowed hard, feeling his brain try to process what he had just witnessed. "I…" Tracee seemed at a loss as well, but the quiet murmur managed to snap Sam out of it. He quickly deleted the video. Then the entire file. Then, just to be on the safe side, he set up the process for a factory reset of the entire computer.

"We have to leave now," Sam stated, standing from the chair. As isolated as this place was, he didn't want to risk any fellow hunters stumbling across the murder scene with them still in the thick of it. God… Murder scene. As it stands, his brother was a goddamn murderer. And he had no idea what he was going to do about it. Not now. Not with the actual murder replaying on repeat in his head. Sam ushered both Dean and Tracee out of the room, turning off the light as he did. The three made their way out of the house and to the Impala.

"Well, I don't know about you two…" Dean began once they had call settled in the car. "But I could use a drink." In the backseat, Tracee gave no response. Heck, Sam didn't know what to say either. "Drinks, it is," he said, starting up the car. They drove in silence. Honestly, Sam was on auto-pilot. He just couldn't comprehend how Dean had killed a man even though he had seen it with his own two eyes. There were times, of course, he had threatened lives, but he never actually went through with it. That meant that Dean wasn't capable of straight up murder… right? And a hunter on top of that? God, as if they weren't already on the run from police and the FBI.

By the time they had found a bar, Sam hadn't managed to erase the recording from his mind. Even as they had found a table and ordered a round, he could only sit there, muted. The image of his brother slicing into that hunter's neck hadn't blurred in the least. "Jeez, would you two lighten up?" Dean's question made Sam lift his gaze from the table. "You're acting like this isn't an everyday occurrence."

"It isn't an everyday occurrence, Dean!" Sam snapped. "You-" He stopped, remembering that they were in public. His scanned the bar for any potential eavesdroppers. He found none. It was so late at night, there wasn't a crowd to worry about. There was one person at the bar, having a low conversation with the barkeep. The two seemed much too engaged to be trying to listen in on another conversation happening at the opposite end building. "You killed someone," Sam continued. "And we still don't know the reason for it!" Dean only scoffed and took a gulp of his beer. "I don't understand why you're so calm about this!"

"Again, everyday occurrence," Dean said, setting the glass bottle back down. "Hell, the guy was probably bad news, and it was self-defense." That had not been self-defense. Maybe it had started out that way. Hopefully. But the ending hadn't been defense. And after it had been done, Dean had tossed away the body like trash. Any jury it would have reached a unanimous decision. "Sitting around crying about how I offed a guy isn't going to help, so why bother?"

"Perhaps… he's right," Tracee said, speaking for the first time since they had left the house. "Perhaps we should be focusing on the events leading up to…" Her fingernails lightly slid up and down the side of her neck. Clearly, she was just as troubled as Sam. "… to that hunter's house. We haven't found the reason for the memory loss. We also don't know the motivation behind it." The whole thing still unnerved Sam, but he could see the logic. Find the source to it all so that it wouldn't happen again.

"See? Even Ms. Know-It-All agrees," Dean said. Tracee lowered her gaze to the table and frowned. The remark had been a bit spiteful, and she had picked up on it. Pressing her lips together, Tracee stood up and excused herself, muttering that she would look for a bathroom. After she was gone, Sam glared at his brother, but Dean had chosen to drink more of his beer. It hadn't been the first time one of his comments had left Sam feeling uncomfortable. Ever since they had reunited, he had been agitated. Understandable, yeah, given the memory loss, but the way he had lashed out had been weird. The indifference, the biting sarcasm—they were just plain weird reactions.

"What's your problem, Dean?" Sam blurted. His brother only lowered the bottle to the table, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "Even with the memory loss, nothing about what we found out so far is you. Making stupid decisions like stealing a flashy car? Smoking menthols? Throwing bottles at people? And now you're acting like you don't even care that an innocent man's blood is on your hands!"

"Sam, it's not that big of a deal," Dean said. Sam opened his mouth, flabbergast and disgust combined, threatening to spill out. "I mean, we do what we do, and we move on. That's how it's always been. That's how it'll always be, especially now. There's no escaping this." Now, Sam was even more confused, and it must have showed on his face because Dean sighed heavily. "These last couple of weeks, I've been thinking about it, man. As long as we're Champions—as long as we gotta protect the Slayer—we've got no chance of joining normal society. So why bother being careful and covering our tracks, huh? Why bother caring about people who die around us? As long as it's not the Slayer, we're good. Maybe after she's dead, then we can regret and remorse, but until then, what's the point?"

"What?!" Sam could not believe the things that had come from his brother's mouth. Dean might put up a good front, but he cared about people, cared about saving them, maybe more so than Sam. And to so nonchalantly mention a hypothetic scenario where the two of them outlived Tracee was pretty damning as well. The three of them had been together for so long now that there was no one without the other two, and yet here Dean was talking about her as though she wasn't even a person.

"Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right."

"No, you're not, Dean! You're acting like… like-"

"Like dad…?" he suggested. Sam wrinkled his brow. "One track mind? Obsessive? Only living for the next hunt? Any of that ringing any bells for you, Sam?" Dean snorted derisively. "Seriously, I got the short end of the stick."

"What are you talking about, Dean?"

"You know what I'm talking about," he said. "We were both raised by the same man, but you got all the good stuff. You got to go school. You got the girl—twice. And now you're just so damn happy. Probably optimistic about the future. Me? Not so much. I get stuck with all the bad crap. Trying to live up to impossible expectations. Being a big brother, a mom, and a son all at the same time. There's no future for me, Sammy. Kinda wears on a guy after a while, you know. Dad knew it, and now I know."

"Wh-Where is this coming?"

"It's not coming outta nowhere. It's always been there. You're the lucky one—the favorite—and I'm just… dad's horrible legacy."

Sam stared at the person that sat in front of him. He seriously could not comprehend that last bit. Insulting dad? The man had been an ass. On that, both brothers agreed, but simultaneously insulting their dad and himself—that just wasn't Dean. He had too much respect for John Winchester to go labeling him negatively like that. Sam shook his head in disbelief. He didn't know what the heck had gotten into his brother, but this whole situation was- All scattered thoughts stuttered to a halt, and then rapidly clicked into place. Something had gotten into his brother.

"Who are you…?" Sam asked. Immediately, the imposter froze, eyes focusing on him with startled intensity. After a few seconds, a casual grin began forming. "Who are you?!" Sam repeated, a hard edge taking over his voice. The grin faltered before it could completely show up. God, he had been stupid. The facts were right there in front of him, and yet he had only now figured it out. Of course, this wasn't Dean. None of his behavior had been his brother. He should have checked. It should have been the first thing he had checked after too long of a separation.

"Oh, Sammy…" the imposter finally spoke up. He leaned back in his seat, way too relaxed after having been found out. "You're too smart for your own good." The confirmation had Sam reaching for a weapon in his jacket. "Ah, ah, ah… You wouldn't want to cause a scene right now, would you? Not when big brother is already wanted by the police?" Begrudgingly, Sam returned his hand to the table, eyes glancing towards where the two people by the bar still were. This imposter had a point. Plus, if things got out of hand, one of them, or both, could get hurt. Damn it. He should have waited to expose whoever this was.

"Who are you?" Sam questioned through clenched teeth.

"I got lots of names," he responded. "This week, it's Dean." Sam glowered, more than just a little pissed. "Haah… I gotta admit—this has been fun. You should have seen the looks on your faces when you thought Dean murdered that guy!" He giggled, the noise sounding wrong coming from his brother's mouth. A smirk surfaced, and it appeared unhinged on his face. Sam forced himself not to cringe at the sight. "The way you two have him on a pedestal—pathetic. The instant your precious protector did something so heinous without reason, your world crumbled. Even the Slayer. Which made it so easy to torment the three of you. See, I was going to just walk back into that motel room, and kill you both in your sleep, but nah, I thought. What's the fun in that? You see, you three are your biggest weaknesses, and I just proved it. So what better way to torture all of you at the same time than to rip out your hearts?"

"Why? Why go so far?" Sam asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he countered. Suddenly, Sam heard footsteps approaching, causing his line of sight to shift to the left. Tracee slowly made her way back to the table, gaze focused on the floor. Damn it. She had no idea what she was about to step into, and there wasn't a whole lot of time to warn her. "Anyway, fun's over now." His words made Sam turn back to his brother's possessed body. A hand reached for the beer bottle on the table, and then abruptly smashed it against the surface. He stood up and sharply turned, stabbing the sharp end into Tracee's abdomen.

"No…!" Sam shouted, standing up.

He watched, horrified, as Tracee's eyes expanded in shock. There had been a scream elsewhere, but Sam could only stay focus on the sight in front of him. She looked down at the broken bottle impaled in her, and then, gasping, she looked back up at the one that had done it. Blood spilled, staining her striped shirt. "D-Dean… Wh-What? Why?" She clenched her teeth, hands lifting to grip the imposter's wrist. Sam just couldn't stand by anymore. He swiped his right hand to the right, causing his brother's body to go flying in that direction. He heard the crash, but he was already moving towards Tracee. Grimacing, she used both hands to pull the bottle from her stomach. "Sa-Samuel…" she croaked as the bottle fell to the floor.

Sam pressed his hand against her stomach, wincing himself. Her blood coated his palm. God, there was so much of it. "Sammy…! You've been holding out on me!" Dean's voice made him glare at the demonic son of a bitch that had possessed his brother. Truthfully, he hadn't gotten around to telling Dean about how he had picked up practicing with his powers again. It hadn't necessarily been a secret, but… "Keeping secrets from each other—I thought we were above that now!"

The demon reached into the inside of Dean's jacket and pulled out his gun. "Damn it!" Sam hurriedly picked up Tracee, cradling her close to his body. He then took off, knowing he wouldn't be able to fight back—not seriously—against the demon and a gun. Not with his girlfriend injured and the enemy using Dean's body. "Deus…!" He threw the word behind him right before he heard the gun shot. Sam flinched, but kept moving. For now, he had to ignore the screaming from the woman at the bar. All he could think of was getting away, getting Tracee someplace safe, and getting to the car. Damn it. He should have held back, waited for the right moment to expose the demon, but now he had to deal with the consequences.

Stopping at the driver's side of the Impala, Sam quickly maneuvered his hand to get the door open. That Latin word had bought him time, he knew, but who knows how long that time would be. Carefully, yet as quick as he could, he slid Tracee in across the seat. She groaned, in obvious pain, but the twisted expression on her face revealed so much confusion. Following behind her, Sam pressed her own hand against her wound in an effort to apply pressure. "Samuel, wha-" she managed to whimper before letting out a hiss.

"It's not Dean!" Sam turned from her, fumbling to get the spare key out of his front pocket. "That wasn't Dean!" Finding it, he hurriedly inserted the key into the ignition. The Impala came to life, along with the headlights. The beams showed the path in front of them, blocked by the demon possessing Dean's body. Even with the darkness surrounding, Sam could see the void of black that replaced his brother's eyes, reflected because of the headlights. The demon raised his arm, gun in hand. Sam quickly put the car in reverse, and it lurched back in response. Several shots rang out, and oh, man, Dean was going to be pissed about the bullet holes. Luckily, the demon seemed to be crap at shooting because the windshield remained intact as Sam drove backwards.

Finally, he reached a point where he could turned the car around. The Impala sharply turned until he faced the road frontwards. Sam switched gears, and then sped off into the night. "We-We can't lea-leave him!" Tracee managed a ragged shout over the sound of gunshots. The back window shattered. Sam ducked his head, putting more pressure on the gas. Eventually, they reached a point where the gunshots stopped and only the sound of the car moving through the night could be heard. They weren't leaving him. They were retreating for now. Honestly, that demon inside Dean sounded too hellbent on making sure the three of them pay for whatever transgression they had done. He would seek them out again to make them pay. Right now, though, the most important thing was to make sure his Slayer didn't bleed out. And she hadn't been eating right for a week, so there was no telling when the stab wound would heal. "We should have checked…" Tracee groaned loudly.

"Yeah…" Sam agreed, shaking his head. Thinking about the deranged grin on his brother's face as his hand had been used to stab Tracee. God… Sam frowned, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. The demon hadn't been that far off from ripping out hearts. "But we'll get him back. We'll get him back." They just had to hope that the demon wouldn't do anything else while they recuperated.

0-0

"Dean…!"

It was a surprise to see him. A pleasant one. A slow boyish grin spread across his face, and the familiar expression caused her insides to tingle. She hadn't seen it in a while. Maybe that was the reason for the tingles. Small chats, via texts, which turned into long, distracting, conversations weren't exactly the same as speaking face to face. Now, here he stood outside her door, wearing a grin that had always managed to disarm her. "Hey, there, Cassie," Dean greeted, dipping his chin and looking at her through his long eyelashes. The tingles grew, and she had to stifle a bit of the smile that might have overtaken her face. It almost felt like their first encounter all over again.

"Dean," she repeated, opening her door wider. "What are you doing here?" Cassie tore her gaze away, looking beyond him into the night. The car was nowhere in sight. Huh. "Where's Tracee and Sam?"

"They got a little tied up. You know how they are," Dean replied. Cassie huffed out a laugh. Yes, she did know, courtesy of her best friend. Tracee Noland did love to spill intimate details regarding her relationship with Sam Winchester. "We were working a job nearby—thought we'd come to visit. After, of course, they get their kicks."

"Oh? I didn't hear anything strange going around here," Cassie mentioned.

"It was a state over. We dealt with it," Dean said.

"Well, I guess you should come in. They're probably going to be awhile," she stated, stepping aside, so that Dean could walk forward.

"My thoughts exactly," he said, moving from the porch, pass the threshold and herself. A jolt of something shot through her. But it was gone in the next instant. What had that been? Awareness? Of what? "Cassie…?" She shuddered, shaking the queries from her thoughts. Most likely, it had come from the cool breeze. "You alright?" Quietly, she took a deep breath before focusing on Dean.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Just a little out of it." She shut the front door, and then ushered him further into the house. Dean followed her into the kitchen. "I've been working on something since I woke up this morning. I didn't have a chance to eat—that's all." Dean grunted in acknowledgement, but chose not to question her answer. "You want a beer?" Cassie asked as she opened the refrigerator door.

"You drink beer now?"

"No, but I had a few friends over. There's leftovers," she responded, making a grab for a brown bottle. Cassie shut the refrigerator door, turning back to Dean, who had made himself comfortable at the island counter on one of the stools. He had even removed his jacket, revealing a simple white t-shirt, and a buttoned plaid shirt over it. As she set the bottle in front of him, her eyes darted to his forearm. The sleeves had been rolled up, so she could see a nasty burn there, red and blistered, on his skin. It was the oddest shape, and Cassie couldn't help but think she had seen it somewhere before. "Does that hurt?" she questioned, fingers lightly tracing the mark as she sat down on the seat next to him.

"No," Dean answered. He pulled his right arm away and picked up the beer bottle. "Nah, just-just had a run in with a stove." He laughed it off, but Cassie narrowed her eyes, raking her brain with trying to remember where she had seen that particular mark. "So how have you been, huh? Had some friends over? What kinda friends? Anyone in particular I should know about?" Cassie knitted her brow, a teasing smirk crossing her face. She rested her arm against the counter, leaning towards Dean.

"Now why would you need to know what type of friends I invite over?" she asked.

"Ahh, after all we've been through, I can't know if there's a little… competition coming my way?" Dean questioned just as teasing.

"Competition…?" Cassie repeated, arching her left brow.

"Yeah, competition." Dean leaned forward, placing his hand over hers. "I mean it, Cassie. You know I can be more for you." Cassie shifted her gaze to their hands for a few seconds, realizing that her heart had stumbled out of tempo within the confines of her chest. The easy flirting had turned serious, and her throat felt like it was closing up. She looked back at Dean, into his tender green eyes, and she saw all the sweet memories they shared. Tempting and safe—that was what his eyes held. But… not for her. Dean Winchester was not hers. Even when they had been together.

Somewhere out there, there was someone coming for her. Her… Champion. A Champion she had already dreamt about. A Champion who would watch her shine and become hers. That had been what the dream had told her just a few months ago. Admittedly, when Tracee had told her about Slayers and their Champions, she had been a little put off by it. Destined protectors of the Slayer line seemed too farfetched. After thinking about it, though, wasn't she, herself, a destined protector? An activated one, really, but it had been the same concept. The Powers That Be, which she had actually found information on, had intervened and made it so that the mates of Slayers would be Champions. The day would come that she would claim another, and it wouldn't be fair to Dean if they were to form an attachment different than friendship. She had made the mistake of breaking his heart before. She would not do that to him again.

"I think… we should stick to what we know, Dean," Cassie said. "Light flirting is all we can be for each other. All we should be."

"Cassie, you're not hearing me," Dean said, moving closer. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and squeezed. Aggressively. "I care about you. I've always cared about you, and it won't change."

"I care about you, too… but we're not good for each other. We both know that," she said.

Dean laughed then, but it wasn't pleasing to the ears. It sent a chill down her spine. Cassie had never heard anything like it from him. "Well, aren't you a poisonous bitch?" he said. Dean had said it so casually that it had taken a moment to process. Even in their worst arguments, he had never resorted to name-calling. Cassie frowned, attempting to take back her hand, but Dean held fast, grip increasing to the point of pain. He yanked her forward. So close their faces were a hair's length away. Again, she attempted to pull away, but the strength he possessed kept her arm still. She had applied a bit more strength, so he shouldn't have been able to- "You're like… meat on a hook, dangling in front of my face, and I'm just another thing, watching it dance. Want to hunt it, devour it, but knowing I could never really capture it, and yet I still grab for it. But I'm not here to play that game with you today."

"Dean, let me go," Cassie attempted.

"You really are something, you know?" he continued, ignoring the demand. His other hand reached up, the back of his index finger stroking the side of her face. "A full package that no other woman could live up to. This one has brains, but isn't as feisty. That one is drop-dead gorgeous, but can't make me laugh. That one over there is pretty and smart, but can't be a tiger and a kitten in bed. That one has a hellava sex drive, but she's a bore at conversations. See? You ruined me. Got inside and twisted me, burned me so bad that I'm not gonna let anyone else in—not like I let you in. God knows I've tried. But here you are again, not taking responsibility for that." He laughed again, but it was as spiteful as the first. "Just how many times are you gonna reject me, huh? You're toxic, Cassie, and I just keep coming back to you anyway."

The words were cutting, piercing her on the inside and rattling her heart. Cassie's lower lip trembled because she had felt truth in those words. She had known he had been hurt. Dean had blurted that out years after their breakup, but she hadn't known it had shaped every single one of his relationships after. Maybe… Maybe was poison, and had been injecting herself into him despite knowing about this ordained mate of hers...

But the jig was up, and she realized that, although Dean was in front of her, it was not Dean at all. That little surge of awareness she had felt at the door had to have been a second of demonic nature being displayed, though she hadn't seen it. "Who are you?" Cassie asked, willing thoughts of regret away. Hopefully, there would be another time to dwell on the subject. But for now, she had to figure out what had happened. "Why did you come here?" A truly savage grin spread slowly across Dean's face.

"Wow, first Sammy, and now you—I'm amazed there's so many smart people around this guy," the demon said. "You don't need to know who I am, sugar tits. As to why I'm here—well, you're the bait. See, it'll only be a matter of time before one of them realizes where I am, and they'll come to rescue you. When they get here, I'm going to kill you all. First those two, and then you. I'll take my time with you, though. I'm gonna watch you bleed out. And then just as the light is about to leave your pretty, pretty brown eyes, I'll leave, knowing that Dean will hold your dying body and not being able to do a thing to save you. Just like he can't do a thing to save his brother. He'll be so overcome with grief and guilt, he'll probably kill himself in the end. Because if there's one thing I know about Dean Winchester, and not with help from him being my meat suit… it's he can't be alone. It's written all over him. And that is how you use three stones to kill one bird."

Cassie clenched her jaw, pressing her lips tightly together. The stinging in her eyes grew just a bit sharper, but she willed away the threat of tears. Despite the feeling of her throat constricting, she forced her mouth to open. "That's a good plan," she whispered. "I'm not sure what Dean did to you to make you go so far in making him suffer, but it's a good plan in theory."

"In theory?" the demon repeated, raising both eyebrows. "I'd say it's working pretty so far." He stroked her face again, sliding fingers into her curls. "I guess it didn't have to be this way. If you weren't so smart, I would have let you have him one more time..." He shrugged, uncaringly. "Or maybe this was the only way this could go. Either way, I get what I want."

"Sorry, there's one thing you neglected to realize," Cassie stated. The demon tilted his head, expression patronizingly curious. "I don't need to be rescued. Only kept alive." She slowly licked her lips. "Deus!" She hastily stood and snatched her hand away just as the demon choked and spewed out the contents of Dean's stomach. Mostly liquid.

"You bitch!" he roared, lifting his face to glare at her, eyes shaded pitch black.

"Right back at you," Cassie retorted, suppressing a violent shudder. She could now clearly sense what she had before. A demon. "You picked the wrong bait." She reared back her hand, fingers curled into a fist, and then she slammed her knuckles against Dean's temple. The demon fell to the floor and did not get back up. Cassie sighed out, shuddering, only then realizing that her heart was beating too quickly. She took a moment to collect herself, fingers roughly rubbing her fingers against her forehead. Then she breathed again, more steady now, before reaching into the back pocket of jeans. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a memorized number. Gaze never leaving the unconscious form on her kitchen floor, she listened to the ringing. Eventually, someone picked up.

"Cassie, now's not a good time," it was Sam's weary voice, not Tracee's, which came through.

"Funny you should say that, Sam," Cassie said. "Because I'm having a doozy of a time right now, too." The sarcasm came out more heated than she had wanted, but hey, not exactly feeling like sunshine right about now. "You want to explain to me how your brother got possessed?!"

0-0

"He sure did a number on you, cupcake."

"Tell me something I don't know," Tracee said through clenched teeth. Then winced as another shard was pulled from her gut. "Careful…!" she hissed. The older man tending to her injury gave her an unimpressed look. Clearly, he wasn't indulging in her whiny behavior. However, for the record, it was painful. Sam had done his best, patching up on the road, but some of the glass had remained. Now, at the home of Bobby Singer, the owner of the house was doing a much better job cleaning the stab wound. He dabbed at the puncture wounds with a cloth, and then worked to rewrap her lower abdomen.

"Oh, boohoo…!" Bobby admonished, tightening the wrap. "For a magical girl who saves the world, you sure do know how to cry."

Groaning, Tracee lowered the hem of her shirt. She didn't bother to sit up, least she strain herself too much. She still hadn't eaten anything, so more than likely, she would be out of commission for a little while longer—probably for days. She shouldn't have been so flustered to the point of not getting enough to eat, but it had happened regardless of logic. Dean had gone missing, and it had shook the logic right out of her. Worrying about Dean had made her sloppy, which in turn had made it easy to get the drop on her. She might as well have drove that broken bottle into her own flesh. Hadn't seen it coming. Hadn't even thought about it. And with the life they led, she and Sam should have both thought about it.

Speaking of Sam, he was pacing, still worried. Bobby didn't pay too much attention to him as he walked by to get rid of the bloody cloth and tweezers. The call had come hours ago, alerting them of Dean's—the demon's—current location. The demon had gone after Cassie Robinson. Foolish mistake, but it worked in their favor. A plan had been made for her fellow Slayer to bring Dean's body to Bobby's house because she did not know how to exorcise the demon herself. So with daylight approaching, they all waited for the arrival. The sound of her cell phone beeping caught Tracee's attention. She reached for it, wincing in discomfort. She flipped it open to see that Cassie had sent a text.

"She's pulling up now," Tracee announced. Sam sighed heavily, and then abruptly left the room. Once she heard the front door shut, she moved to stand up from the couch. Glowering the whole way, she made her way to Bobby's den where the giant devil's trap was on the ceiling. By the time she had made it, Sam was already tying down Dean's wrist to a chair. Then she spotted Cassie, arms folded tight against her as she watched the two Winchesters. "Hey, home girl…"

"Tracee." Cassie turned towards her, a slight smile forming. She walked forward, spreading her arms. Tracee grit her teeth as they embraced. It hurt, but it was good to see her fellow Slayer in person again. "What happened to you?" Cassie questioned, releasing her.

"Didn't quite figure out the possession thing until Samuel told me," Tracee replied. "And by then…" She trailed off, thinking back to that painful moment. Not just the stabbing itself, but the actual situation. Her brain hadn't been able to grasp that Dean had turned on her. It had been a whirlwind of confusion and hurt, made worse by the glass digging into her. That few seconds had felt like a lifetime. "Good thing one of us figured it out."

"Right."

"Hey, what'd you do to keep him out of it?" Sam asked, stepping away from his brother's body. "I'm surprised he hasn't woken up yet."

"Uh… Chloroform…" The hesitance in which she said it led Tracee to believe that Dean might actually have a concussion when he woke up. The wide-eyed look Cassie threw her way was only further indication. "So… how do we do this?" she asked, hoping for a change of subject.

"Well, when he wakes up, we can start the exorcism," Sam answered. "He needs to be awake to hear the words." Cassie nodded in understanding, and then focused on the unconscious demon. This would be her first exorcism. "Don't worry. It won't hurt Dean at all." Then his eyes shifted to Tracee. "Maybe you should sit down," he suggested.

"I'm fine," Tracee assured him. "I need to know why this happened."

Sam nodded his head, and then stood beside her just as Bobby entered the room, large metal pail in his hands. He said that it was holy water. They didn't have a gun to threaten with, so it would have to be the next best thing. They needed to know why the yellow-eyed demon was targeting them like this. She could see the benefits of possessing Dean, but none of those espionage tactics played out. Instead, they had gotten shot at. Sam could have been wounded fatally as they were escaping. Why would a demon purposely try to kill him when he's supposed to be a part of some big plan to unleash evil on the world? Accidents, sure, there was no accounting for those, but to actively send someone to kill. Capital D wasn't making sense with his orders. Tracee aimed to find out what exactly the intent was, and make sure that it did not happen again.

"We ready for this?" Bobby asked, opening a book he had grabbed.

"Shyeah, wake him up," Tracee instructed. Sam took a couple steps forward, halting directly in front of the chair. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and smacked his brother's cheek. The demon groaned, gaze slowly adjusting to new surroundings. Sam backed away again, causing familiar green eyes to finally focus.

"Sam…" His eyes shifted to Tracee. "Huh. So Slayers really are more durable, after all? Shame." Tracee chose not to response. The demon didn't wait for it, anyway. His eyes moved over to Cassie. "And you—such a bitch." Cassie scoffed, folding her arms again. The demon paid no mind. He looked towards the ceiling. A heavy sigh left his mouth as he relaxed in the chair. "Well, the gang's all here. What are you gonna do now that I'm tied up?"

"That depends on your answers," Tracee said.

"Ooh, a little bit of torture? Careful not to bruise this fine packaging," the demon said.

"No need for the warning. This type won't hurt Dean in the least," Tracee mentioned. "You, though, are in for wild time." The demon's lazy smirk showed that he was not concerned whatsoever. "You know, I'm not usually down with torture, but you picked the wrong person to possess."

"Funny you should mention that. Dean wasn't my original goal," the demon said. "It was Sammy boy. Oh, the fun I would had in that body." He chuckled, grin lingering on his face. Then he sighed as though disappointed. "But Dean was much more amendable. So I went with the leftovers."

"What does that mean?" Sam almost growled. The demon shrugged. Obviously, he was enjoying how worked up Sam was getting. Too agitated, he grabbed a plastic cup, dunked it in the metal bucket and then splashed the contents right in the demon's face. He threw his head back and howled as the holy water fried him. Like liquid against a hot iron, steam rose from the skin. "Enough of your bullshit—talk!" The demon hissed through clenched teeth, hands squeezing the arms of the chair like they were lifelines.

"Dean's still my meat puppet!" he managed to rasp. He glared at them, finally losing the amusement. "I'll make him bite off his tongue!"

"Try it! I'll stick a funnel in that mouth and have you guzzling holy water!" Tracee snarled, matching Sam's ire. Dean's eyes widened. Perhaps it was more than a little harsh—a bit like waterboarding—but this demon needed to realize what was at stake. Both Sam and Dean were at stake, and she could not tolerate that. "We're not playing your games! Tell us why you've done this! Why would Capital D give an order to come after Samuel with an intent to kill?!"

"You really think that's what this is about?!" he snarled, lurching forward. Tracee forced herself not to flinch. She knew it was the demon moving Dean's expression, but the pure hate in those eyes made her wholly uneasy. It was as if Dean was truly looking at her that way. "I don't give a rat's ass what-" He snorted. "-Capital D's orders are!"

"So you're acting alone? What did we do to you to make you go so far?" Sam questioned. The demon suddenly became tight-lipped. Sam immediately dunked the cup back into the bucket of holy water. He flung the water on the demon, and once again, the howls of pain bounced off the walls. It was the demon, but it was Dean's voice. Tracee had a hard time not flinching at the sound. "Answer me!"

"You three sent me to Hell!" The shout caused all movement to stop. Only the panting from the demon could be heard in the silence that followed. Holy water dripped from his chin as he glared. "All that I had to hold on to was that I would climb out one day and that I was gonna torture you, nice and slow, like pulling the wings off an insect!" It dawned on her like a snap. The familiar way of talking should have been the first clue.

"Megara," Tracee guessed. And suddenly, she was annoyed. "That's it? You did all this to enact some petty revenge?" Possessing Dean, making Sam feel like shit, hurting her, and using Cassie as bait. All this drama over a grudge? Ridiculous. But… It meant that this demon hadn't been following orders. She had been doing this all on her own. It also meant that interrogating her for new information on the Demon would be pointless. Was it wrong she had half a mind to do it, anyway? "Sir Robert-" Tracee began, keeping her eyes on the glaring demon.

"It's Bobby," he corrected automatically.

"-If you would please," she continued. "I'm sure we're all tired of these games." Bobby grunted, and then began reading in Latin. The demon twitched as the words began taking effect. Snarling and viciously snapping, the demon flexed against the binds. "Megara, if you can comprehend what I'm saying through the pain of being sent back to your hell dimension, I want to make something perfectly clear. If you appear in front of me again with some inane Hamlet-like plot of revenge, I will kill you. There will not be another chance to come back, you understand me?"

The demon growled loudly, struggling against the rope. Then, to Tracee's surprise, the demon abruptly threw back his head, letting out a crazed belittling laugh. Bobby, too, had been thrown for a loop, so much so that he had stopped reading. "Well, aren't you an arrogant piece of work, Slayer?!" the demon snapped, focusing on her again. Tracee narrowed her eyes, confused. Even as Bobby continued reading, the Latin words didn't seem to be distressing the demon at all now. With a start, she realized that she couldn't sense the demonic pressed being ripped away from Dean's body. "Oops! Doesn't seem to be working," Meg stated. Again, Bobby stopped. "See, I learned a few new tricks." Then the demon lowered Dean's head and began speaking in Latin. The exorcism failed.

"Uh, Tracee, I was honestly expecting head-spinning!" Cassie shouted over the growing volume of Meg's foreign words. The fire behind the bound demon suddenly flared and lashed out, causing everyone to flinch away in surprise. Then the room began shaking. Lights flickered. Unnatural wind blew. "What the hell's happening?!" Tracee's brain hurried attempted to translate the Latin words to find out what the Meg intended. Shit. It was some sort of environment disruption. She shouldn't have been able to do that.

Sam stepped forward, shouting that he had seen something earlier. He roughly moved the right sleeve, revealing a strange symbol on his forearm. "That's a binding link!" Bobby stated. All eyes turned his way. The Latin words continued to spew from Meg. "It's like a lock! She's locked herself into Dean's body!" Shit. Tracee nearly stomped her foot in frustration. Meg was really something else—going this far!

"What do we do?!" Sam demanded to know.

"I don't know!" Bobby shouted right back.

Again, Meg threw back Dean's head. A cracking sound was heard, damn near booming. Tracee looked up to see that the ceiling had splintered. The devil's trap had been distorted. "There." Tracee looked back down to see the demon staring right back at her, black eyes showing a taunting triumph. "That's better." With a jerk of Dean's head, Bobby was suddenly sent backwards, flying right out the window. Another head jerk caused Sam to be thrown backwards into the room behind them. Another yanked Cassie, slamming her against the staircase. And finally, Tracee, herself, was knocked off her feet, her back colliding with a far corner in the room.

"Shit!" she groaned loudly. She had landed face first on the floor, and the impact had gone right to her stab wound. By the time she attempted to work through the pain, Tracee already heard footsteps approaching.

"That's it—she says—as if Hell is a fucking vacation!" Meg growled. A hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly turned her over. The demon kneeled in front of Tracee, fisting the front of her shirt. "Why do you think people describe the worst possible thing as Hell, huh?" Meg, without warning, punched her. The strike had almost completely threw her senses off balance. "See, Hell is like, uh…" Another hard punch to the face blinded her and raked her body with pain. "Well, it's like Hell. Even for demons." Another punch succeeded in breaking her nose. Tracee could feel warm blood sliding down her nostrils. "It's a prison," Meg went on. "Made of bone and flesh and blood and fear." Knuckles rammed into her cheekbone, and she was nearly certain that it shattered. Her hair was grabbed and she was forced to look Meg in the eye. "And you sent me back there like it was nothing."

"W-Would… Would…" Tracee choked and gagged, trying to focus on Meg with blurry vision. "W-W-Would you… like an-an apology?"

"Oooh, that's funny!" Meg retorted, smiling nastily. "You're a hoot—a big ol' riot!" Fingers dug into Tracee's stab wound. She screamed out. The pain seemed to stretch to every single nerve in her body. Tracee pressed her mouth shut, groaning through clenched teeth. Perhaps she shouldn't have been cheeky in that moment. "You know, you talk an awful lot for someone who's so desperate for Dean's approval. Big, bad Slayer puts on a show, but really you're just a scared little girl looking for validation from a man. That's how all you Slayers are, I hear. Deep down, there's nothing different about you from previous Slayers. Deep down, you know it. Deep down, Dean knows it. He can't protect you, Champion or not. No one can protect you, and you know that. I can see it in your eyes. You'll die, alone and scared, just like them."

As she looked into Dean' eyes, Tracee felt oncoming tears. She knew that it wasn't him saying these things, but this close, it sure as hell felt like it. And it hurt. Almost as bad as the beating his fist inflicted. Tracee breathed heavily, wishing that she could just run away and hide. She wished she never heard those words because… maybe they were true. Shit. Maybe it was true. Meg grinned cruelly, rearing back to deliver another punch. However, the fist never came. Cassie had appeared behind Dean and grabbed onto the wrist. With her other hand, she dragged her nails down the skin of Dean's forearm, leaving streaks of blood.

A howl of pain erupted from Dean's mouth, and then black smoke shot towards the ceiling. The shouting didn't stop until all of the smoke seemed to have left him. Dean dropped to the floor, no longer feeling the weight of Meg's presence. Both Slayers flinched hard, witnessing as the demonic essence disappeared into the fireplace and up the chimney. Once she could no longer feel Meg, Tracee squeezed her eyes shut, gasping out and holding her stomach. "Tracee…!" The familiar sound of Sam's voice reached her ears before she felt his frantic hands on her shoulders, lifting her into a sitting position. She winced, but didn't resist the comfort of his body. "Oh, God! I hit my head, I-" His hands slid against her cheeks. "I should've-"

"I'm fine, darling…" Tracee said, forcing herself not gag. She swallowed, struggling to open her eyes. "Sir Robert—he's-"

"I'm fine, cupcake, don't you worry about me," Bobby's voice caused her to slowly turn her attention to the older man. He looked pretty okay, considering he had been thrown through a window. There were only minor cuts on his face that would heal quickly. Good. A sharp inhale from the middle of the room was the next to draw her attention. It seemed Dean had come to and was wildly looking around, clearly bewildered by his current surroundings.

"It's okay, Dean. You're here. You're safe," Cassie assured the older Winchester, pressing her palm against his cheek. The confusion did not leave his expression, but his shoulders were no longer tense. He still gripped his forearm, which Tracee could imagine stung quite a bit. Her fellow Slayer must have distorted the symbol on Dean's skin. Quick thinking on her part. Maybe Tracee would have thought of something like that—something so simple—if she hadn't been so… She squeezed her eyes shut again. No. It was over. No use thinking about it so intensely. Still, a seed had been planted, and she could not deny that.

"What the hell did I miss?" Dean questioned.

No one seemed keen on answering him quickly.

0-0

Dean was in a state of absolute shock. For the past half hour, he had listened to what had happened, according to other people. They had clearly been reluctant to reveal everything, but what they had revealed had been bad. It hadn't been him doing all those things, but at the same time… He had hurt them. All of them. Tracee took the worst of it, physically. Boy, did she look it. The tiny tank had been stabbed and beaten because of him. Cassie had been targeted and had been intended as bait. Sam. Sammy wouldn't even look him in the eye. Whether that had to do with his older brother putting his hands on his girlfriend or whatever had been said while possessed remained unclear at the moment. Hell, it was probably both.

He could hardly remember anything. The things he could remember, were foggy at best. Completely blurred together at worst. All because he had gone and gotten himself possessed. By Meg. "There, I'm done," Cassie announced, voice drawing Dean's attention. He turned to her, glancing down at this arm wrapped in gauze. It had been a punch to the gut when he woke up to see Cassie. Like the wind had been knocked out of him. He had realized in an instant that she had been the one to bring him back. Her fingers lightly brushed against the covered part of his arm. Then she sighed, setting the rolled gauze down on the desk. Both of them were sitting on the desk. "Sorry about it."

"I'm not," Dean stated. "Hell, I deserved worse."

"It wasn't you, Dean," Cassie stated. "None of it."

Dean grunted, turning away. Even if it hadn't been his own actions, they had still happened. And people he cared about had been hurt because of it. Dean focused on the couple on the other side of the room. Sam sat on a cushioned stool, carefully applying ointment to Tracee's belly. She was laid out on the couch, holding an ice pack to her face. The blood had been cleaned up, but already he could see bruises starting to form. It had been his hands that had done that to her. In a way, some of it had been him.

"Man, Trace, why didn't you hit me back?" Dean questioned in a mumble.

"Next time, dork," Tracee replied, not bothering to remove the ice from her face. "And don't think you're getting away without being my servant for, at least, a week." A soft chuckle left Sam's mouth as he began lowering Tracee's blood-stained shirt. Apparently, he had finished redressing the stab wound. Dean huffed out a laugh himself, relieved that neither of them would hold a grudge. Even though they had every right to. Bobby entered the room then. He appeared a little off as he fiddled with something in his hand.

"What's wrong, Bobby?" Dean asked. Tracee slowly sat up, groaning until she was upright. Sam, too, moved to face Bobby, curious.

"You ever hear of a hunter named Steve Wandell?" he replied with a question.

"No." The hurried way Sam answered made Dean glance towards his brother. His shoulders were stiff with tension. "Sorry, Bobby, not ringing any bells." The man narrowed his eyes, almost warily. He probably noticed the reaction, too. "Why do you ask?"

"Just heard from a friend. Wandell's dead—murdered in his own house," Bobby stated. Dean pressed his lips together as the pieces fell in place. Wandell—that had been the guy he had murdered. Meg had, but it had been his hands, hadn't it? That was one of the cloudy bits he could remember. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw both Sam and Tracee exchange a look, one he couldn't figure out. It was like they had a two second conversation before looking towards Bobby again. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"I'm afraid not," Tracee spoke up.

"Good," Bobby said. "Keep it that way. Wandell's buddies are looking for someone or something to string up. They're not gonna slow down to listen to reason. You understand what I'm saying?" He gave the two of them a meaningful look. Dean frowned, lowering his head. Sam cleared his throat, and then stood up from the cushioned stool.

"Yes, sir, we understand," he said as he held his hand out for Tracee to latch on to. She was pulled into a standing position behind him. "So, I guess, we'd better hit the road. Thanks again, Bobby."

"Here, take these," he told them, dropping what seemed to be charms in each of their palms. Dean examined the tiny flat circle, noting the design on it. "They're charms," Bobby explained. "They'll fend off possession. That demon's still out there. This will stop it from getting back up in you."

"Well, that sounds vaguely dirty," Dean commented, earning a snort of amusement from Cassie. Keeping a grin to himself, he nodded at Bobby. "But thanks."

"You're welcome," Bobby said, obviously going to ignore the comment. "You be careful—all of you."

After saying their farewells, the four of them headed out. Sam helped Tracee make her way towards the Impala. Dean watched them, stopping right at the edge of the porch. He rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. The two were too far away to notice. "Hey," Cassie caught his attention with a light nudge from her elbow. He turned towards her, preparing to plaster on a fake grin. "Dean." As though knowing his intention, she called him out on it before he could. "What is it?" she asked. It took a few seconds, but eventually, he opened his mouth.

"That guy," Dean began, shifting uncomfortably. His line of sight focused on his brother and Tracee. The two of them were on the passenger side of the car, having their own conversation. "I don't… I don't remember a whole lot, but I was awake for that part. Feels like a bad dream, and I keep, uh… thinking about what if Meg hadn't waited? What if she made me kill someone a little closer to home?" He looked at her then, and the annoying feeling of his throat swelling suddenly made itself known. "If I had killed Sam or-"

"You didn't," Cassie interrupted, softly. She bit her lower lip, and then took his right hand with her left. "Come on, Dean—you're not a 'what if' kinda guy. It's awful what this demon did while using your body, but it still happened. Use what happened, like you do, to make sure it won't happen again. But brooding is not you." Dean glanced down at their connected hands, and then back up again. Her eyes were candid and understanding. Calm and certain. She should have freaked about this, but here she was reassuring him.

"Thanks, Cassie," Dean murmured, throat swelling for a different reason entirely. He cleared his throat, free hand lifting to rub his jaw. She gave him a small smile, and then leaned forward, lips catching his cheek. Cassie reared back, taking her hand back. Dean almost wished she hadn't done that. And this time, he couldn't blame it on whiskey. She was making him want again. But no. Not this time. He needed to keep something like that to himself. It wouldn't be fair to either one of them. And so, Dean took a silent deep breath, and clamped down on the familiar urge to spill. Instead, he cleared his throat again, and put on a grin. "… But now that you mention it, I do have an idea to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"What?" Cassie asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Well," Dean began, digging through his front pocket. He pulled out the trinket that Bobby had given him. "These things are small—I'd probably lose it before we get to another motel." He turned, looking towards the two standing next to the Impala. "Sam! Trace!" he shouted. They both shifted their attention to him. Dean held up the charm and wiggled it, though they probably couldn't see. "How about making a pit stop?" At their confused expressions, his grin only widened further.

By the time night came, all four of them sported matching tattoos.

0-0