I do not own Supernatural or related creations made by the SP Crew.

I sat there a bit dazed by the information I had gained. I still wasn't entirely sure how I had gained it in the first place.

My thoughts were interrupted by a doctor and nurse walking into the room.

"Ms. Marsh?" It was a question more than a greeting.

I replied as quickly as I could, "Yes, that is me."

The doctor barely glanced away from my chart, "You were found unconscious in your home yesterday morning. The neighbors heard screaming and called the police. They thought you overdosed on something but I can find no drugs in your system."

At that he gave me a look of suspicion, as if hoping to catch me looking guilty.

He continued with a slight sigh, "The blood vessels in your nose and throat had swollen and some had burst, additionally there was a brain contusion. Do you have any allergies, or did you hit your head before this incident?"

I shook my head and immediately regretted it.

Holding my head, I responded verbally, "No, not that I am aware of."

The doctor frowned, "We would like you to stay for more tests."

I decided to stop the man right there, "Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'free of charge,' I am going to say no. I can't afford it and would like to be released."

The doctor was not pleased, but sent a nurse with discharge papers anyway.

Before I knew it, I was back at my apartment, realizing that I would have to fix my now broken door and get a new rug not stained with my own blood.

It took a few days to get a repairman to fix my door. This gave me some time to go over the new information in my head.

Hell was real, this likely meant that heaven and God were also a reality.

There was a demon in my body. It was apparently bad at being a demon.

This demon decided to try and overthrow the new King of Hell, a man named Crowley. It was bad at that too.

The demon currently in my body was being hunted down by said King.

After doing the very simple math, it became plain that I was likely going to die.

I really didn't want to die, but I didn't think I could evade the King of Hell without finding a rock in the middle of nowhere and living under it as a hermit.

I was very sure that I could not fight off the King of Hell either. This left me with one desperate option.

I had to convince him to let me live.

On the upside, the demon currently hitching a ride with me had some information that gave me a bit of hope.

The King was a salesman, he liked making deals.

I was not going to be selling my soul. Granted, I wasn't aware of having one until recently….but it's mine and I was determined to keep it.

Luckily, I had a suspicion that I could survive as a novelty for at least a bit. I needed to talk to my inner demon.

I began to meditate on my bed, after last time I made sure that I was already laying down and had put 911 on speed dial.

I entered the library of my brain with hesitation. Time in a mindscape seemed to pass differently, but I was very uncertain as to how that worked.

I very much doubt getting control of literal demons was an intended use of the therapy tool I used to create my library.

Apparently, enough time had passed for the entity to be awake. He sat in a chair by the fireplace, glaring at me.

He practically snarled as he asked, "What the fuck did you do to me?"

He was breathing heavily, shaking with rage and indignation. I had the feeling he had a pretty damn good idea what had happened.

I took a calming breath, "I pulled the information from your mind, much like how you took over my body." I decided not to let him know that I had no clue how. Shaking my head a bit I continued.

"I don't want to die and while I am not sure what happens if this king, Crowley gets his hands on you and by piss poor luck, me, it can't be good." I stayed silent as he glared at me more.

"You think you can survive this. You're just a human." He smirked, "He should kill you for even thinking you will survive."

I could not believe it, "Do all demons have a death wish or is it just you?"

He looked away for a second, "If you fail he will kill you."

I looked at him hoping I could convey how dumb I thought that obvious statement was, then decided to get some information. "How many people can avoid being possessed?"

He gave it so thought, "There are anti possession symbols and some humans are able to break possession, but I have not experienced anything quite like this. Those humans mostly die."

I raised an eyebrow, "How do they die?"

He answered flatly, "Mostly we kill them."

I sighed, "Right, that makes sense. How do people identify a demon?"

I think that was when he began to understand where my line of questioning was leading because he did not hesitate to answer, "There are several ways. Holy water, hallowed ground, certain words, Iron for some demons, salt lines. Those are the obvious ones. There are ways to trap us but that seems like a bad plan."

I nodded, "How do you feel about some experiments?" It should have concerned me so much more than it did when he smiled.

He spent the next hour detailing the best way to run tests on our situation. It wasn't a surprise that half of the tests proposed involved giving up control of my body again.

What did come as a surprise was how much he tried to convince me he would give it right back. He was almost nice.

Still he was right. In order to test anything, he had to be in control.

So we made a plan. A plan I was very certain he would deviate from at the first chance.

First, I would test out hallowed ground and if I didn't immediately burst into flame, I would go and bless myself with holy water.

If all that worked I would move on to iron and salt lines.

I did not agree to hand over control, I wasn't sure if I could shove the demon back into my mental library if he got out. I really didn't want to find out that my current situation was a fluke.

Words and traps were something I did not want to attempt on my own. I had visions of starving to death in my own apartment. That would be embarrassing.

There was also a concern I had about the memories I had hidden away in my library. If the demon figured out my system, I could be in real trouble.

I thought everything was straight forward and that the plan was as solid as possible. Plans never survive first contact.

It was my own fault really, when I was looking for hallowed ground I found myself wandering. Before I knew it I had walked into a church and blessed myself out of a habit formed from being raised catholic.

As soon as I realized that I had stepped into hallowed ground, dipped my fingers in holy water, and blessed myself with it; I sighed in relief and turned to leave.

A voice froze me to the spot, "Ms. Marsh? I have not seen you since your mother's funeral. You were so young and you have often been in my prayers, it is good to see you."

I wanted to turn to look at him, to say something but I was more focused on the feeling of being punched in the gut. Had I really gone to the church where my mother's funeral was held?

I shook my head, forcing a breath in when I suddenly realized I wasn't breathing. I recognized the beginning of a panic attack and rushed to the door as quickly as possible, not bothering to say anything to the priest I left behind.

All at once I could feel the panic rising in me. The memories, and what faintly sounded like a door opening, then I closed my eyes.

I reluctantly opened my eyes to the ringing of a phone. I wasn't sleeping well on the unfamiliar couch of my brother's apartment to begin with.

It was my Grandmother. It was 2:38 in the morning, I knew what this call was. I sat up and answered the phone. "What happened?"

There was a pause before my Grandmother demanded to speak with my brother. "Put your brother on the phone."

I stubbornly refused, "Tell me what happened."

Again she demented my brother, "Put your brother on the phone now."

My world had crumbled and this woman refused to tell me. "Fine."

I marched into my brother's bedroom. His girlfriend woke up when I opened the door. I roughly shook his shoulder before tossing the phone in his general direction.

I immediately pulled my shoes on, then a jacket. I grabbed my brother's shoes, wallet, keys, and his girlfriend's stuff. As I put them near the door, I heard my brother sobbing, "No, no, no, no." It took him a few minutes to stop before he came rushing out of the bedroom, pausing in surprise when he noticed that everything was gathered and ready to grab.

His surprise was expected. My brother showed up whenever it was convenient or an emergency. He was never there for the hard parts, he didn't expect me to prepare anything because he simply didn't know that I did that everyday before and after school.

We piled into the car and drove to the hospital in silence.

Occasionally I heard the sound of barely restrained sobs from my brother, his girlfriend glancing at him desperately wanting to find something comforting to say.

I sat in the backseat, I knew I should be feeling something, but there was nothing. I was 15 and I felt a void of any emotion whatsoever. Maybe I was in shock.

We arrived at my mother's hospital room to find most of her family, her brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. My Grandmother sat at my mother's bedside holding her hand.

For the first time since we got the call I felt something, annoyance. While my brother rushed to the otherside of my mother's bedside to weep over her, I realized that we, her children, were the last to get the call.

She always was a bitch.

I barely remember when the priest who had arrived before us began to lead the group in prayer.

I had tuned most of it out, struggling to feel something, anything else, when my Grandmother said, "If only she had known how much I loved her."

It seemed as if time had slowed. I could recall every single phone call, visit, and interaction my mother had with this woman. It always ended in tears. My Grandmother was a cruel person and she heaped that cruelty on to her daughter, leaving my father, myself, and my brother, when he showed up to pick up the pieces of my mother's broken heart.

Suddenly, I felt something, white hot rage. Then I leapt at the bitch.

Only, I didn't find myself happily wringing my Grandmother's neck. I found myself flying into a table in my library.

I laid on the ground where I landed, "Fuck." I panicked and now the demon had my body again.

Apparently, mental stability played a big part in not being possessed. Yay.

The familiar screen lit up. My body was back in my apartment. Leaning back in a chair staring at the ceiling.

I looked around and noted that the intercom button and the door were both still there. Last time I tricked the demon into this room.

How would I get him in here now?

Maybe I needed to go through the door and get him.

I took a deep breath, pushed open the door to my library, and stepped through.

It was like I was in a pitch black room. Floating in darkness yet grounded in it.

All around me I heard the demon's voice.

"I can't let you have anything in your mind's eye. You will be in this void forever. Without anything to picture you are trapped, the way you are supposed to be."

He sounded smug, then his voice was gone.

I looked around the void that he had created for me. He did have a point about there being nothing for me to manipulate.

The problem was that this demon still didn't understand the purpose of my library.

My library existed to protect me from my memories, from trauma. I used this tool so much it was almost automatic.

In this situation, where I couldn't find my way there as normal, I had to do something I really didn't want to do.

I had to relive a past trauma.

I was going to make this demon suffer.

I took a deep breath and began to think about one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.

I was married once. It was a disaster, but it did not start that way. The relationship before getting married was wonderful, in hindsight, it was too good to be true.

At first I thought I had imagined it, that it was a terrible dream.

We had been married for about a month. It was date night and he had wanted to toast us, to happiness. He poured us a nice whiskey we had received as a wedding gift.

We clinked our glasses together, each taking a sizeable gulp. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the alcohol spread through me.

I remember marveling at how strong this whiskey was. My vision had blurred a bit and my words had slurred.

As the seconds passed I began to feel as if the room was spinning. I tried to walk to a chair when I felt my husband guide me towards our bedroom.

He said that I was such a lightweight. Thing is, I wasn't, I normally handled my liquor fine and now my legs weren't working.

Suddenly the realization hit me. My husband had drugged me. The thought of what he was planning to do to me caused my eyes to shut it terror.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in my library. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I stood somewhere between sorrow and rage.

I was always better at rage.

The demon or at least the representation of him fell from somewhere above me. I don't remember clearly how I made that happen.

He landed in a heap but pulled himself up almost instantly. "How the fuck are you out of my trap?!"

I strode forward and punched him. "Do you have any idea what I had to do to get out of that room?"

The demon held his nose with one of his hands, staring at me in surprise. I kneed him in the groin and he crumpled to the ground.

"What? You can't…" I interrupted him with a swift kick to the midsection. Then I stepped back, suddenly realizing the bout of excessive violence I was exhibiting.

There was silence except for my heavy breathing and the slowly increasing volume of the demon's muffled words.

"You shouldn't be able to hurt me, I am a demon and you are just a human."

I scoffed a bit, "Are you sure you are a demon? You seem to be bad at it." I paused as a thought struck me, "You may be a demon in the real world, but here in my mind, you are just a garden variety asshole."

He stared at me in horror as it sunk in that I was correct, in my mindscape he didn't seem to be more than a regular human at all.

"Fine, I will just kill you. As a demon I can wear your husk as long as I need." He smirked triumphantly as if he had finally found a solution to his problem.

I shrugged, "Sure, that is a great plan, if you can get out of here." As I spoke I concentrated on the doors of my library, making them all identical.

The demon stood looking around as if suddenly realizing how big this room was.

I decided to give him some advice before attempting something new, "There are 30 doors out of here, best of luck."

And with that I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the sensations of my physical body. When I opened them again I was in a heap on my apartment floor.

Also, I was ridiculously hungry. Checking my phone I realized that I had been locked in the void the demon set up for 3 days.

Joke was on him. Half of the doors led back to the library. The other half led to that void, which was now set up to play the song that never ends on repeat. Forever.

To be fair, I wasn't completely sure that it would work out that way. My mindscape was supposed to be a therapy tool. Not a way to trap otherworldly entities in my head.

Either way, I still had work to do. The King of Hell was looking for my inner demon and would likely kill me along with him.

It took a couple of weeks to attempt all of the tests that I knew of to identify demons. With the exception of a devil trap.

I also didn't know if other demons would be able to sense anything or not. There was a risk that someone would kill me before I even realized they were there.

Fortunately, I was sure that the King of Hell would be angry enough to want to torture the traitor himself. It wasn't exactly an awesome thought, but it would buy me some time before dying.

I went to a popular local bar every night for 12 days before it finally happened. I walked in and the King of Hell sat at the bar. He looked more pleasant now then in the memory I pulled from the demon in my head. Of course, he was furious in that memory.

I sat at the bar a couple of seats over. The bartender came over, "What can I get you?"

I took a breath to try to keep my voice steady. "Your best whiskey and one for the gentleman over there." I gestured to him.

He looked over, raising an eyebrow, "How generous."

The bartender poured the drinks and I took another breath, "Is that seat taken?"

The man looked me up and down before replying, "Now it is."

I smiled a bit before sliding over to the chair next to him.

He took a drink, asking with a flirtatious tone, "Do you often pick up strangers?"

I could feel my nerves slipping as I opened my mouth again, "I am not picking you up your majesty, I am hoping you will give me a job."