Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Obviously.

Phoebe forced Kate's face into a grin as she stretched, working herself into her new suit slowly. The woman's spirit was quiet for now, rendered unconscious by the trauma of Phoebe's violent occupation of her body, so the demon took the opportunity to try things out; all limbs and extremities working properly, a couple of injuries she healed shoddily, and a quick suppression of Kate's last resounding thought—"Dad!"—and Phoebe decided she was quite comfortable.

Standing, Phoebe looked down at the shell of her former suit—Olivia, the woman's name had been—bleeding out on her own living room rug. She smiled; she'd be sure Kate understood that it had been her own bullet that murdered her friend. The huntress had, until Kate shot her, been alive—trapped in her own head, but still kicking and screaming in the prison Phoebe had created for her.

Kate would react quite deliciously to that particular bit of—

Phoebe gasped as a flash of pain jolted through her. Kate's body went to her knees as Phoebe lost control of it momentarily, and the demon cursed filthily.

What in all of creation had that been?

Phoebe felt Kate's spirit stirring in the distant corner of her mind that she'd stuffed the Winchester girl into; and with her growing consciousness, the pain struck again, sharp and biting, burning. The demon felt a stab of confusion at the realization; she'd never experienced anything like this while possessing a body before—what was happening?

Hello? Kate's voice boomed out in her mind, entirely too strong for Phoebe's comfort, though confused. Who is…what the hell?

"Shut up!" Phoebe screeched, bringing her power to bear on the girl's spirit, which was beginning to glow…

What are you doing in-oh, hell no, Kate's consciousness rose from her spot and began to walk toward Phoebe, brushing aside the shackles and bars that should have kept her locked away in the deepest recesses of her own head so the demon could maintain charge. No, you are not getting control of this body.

"You can't stop me!" Phoebe cackled; but even as she said it, she felt a punch of alarm.

Her command of Kate's limbs was wavering. She was on her hands and knees, both in Liv's den and inside Kate's head, vision switching confusedly between at the threadbare rug and the white neutral room that was the inside of the huntress's mind. Phoebe gasped, muscles twitching as though receiving conflicting orders at the same time….

Kate's rage rolled out from her brightening spirit, burning Phoebe's eyes and lungs. Her physical sight flickered as she lost her grip on the human eyes she'd intended to borrow.

Watch me.

What was going on? No human could resist possession like this, certainly not a damaged, secretly terrified little wisp of a girl like this one….Phoebe growled. She had possessed stronger people and won without any effort at all, what was so special about—

The demon screamed in agonized fury as Kate's spirit surrounded her, taking over her own body by force and burning Phoebe from the inside. She heard Kate's words in her chest, felt them vibrate in her core:

Get out. And tell your boss to stay the hell away from my family.

With that, Phoebe lost her grip entirely, howling as she was forcibly expelled from the body of Kate Winchester and dragged back down.

Down, into the dark heat of that place she despised so very much.

Kate stood there—well, 'stood' was a liberal interpretation, Sam supposed. His sister was leaning heavily against the post supporting the railing nearby. Her skin was gray in the midday light, what of it wasn't shining with scarlet blood, and her hands shook as she gripped the wood in an attempt to remain upright. She was favoring her left leg, and Sam saw the right leg of her jeans was blood-soaked as well. Her eyes met Dean's as he froze, then lowered the shotgun fractionally.

"Dean, help me," she pled, and Sam's heart twisted painfully in his chest.

"Kate, what the hell?" Dean tried to growl, but more concern made its way into his tone than Sam thought he intended. Sam shoved past him, crossing the scant distance between them and Kate in two strides, reaching for her.

But rather than rush forward to hug him like Sam half-expected, his eyes widened when Kate jerked back, falling over her own feet and landing hard on her rear. She huffed in surprise before croaking what he knew to be a stifled moan, and Dean started forward.

"Kate, what—?"

"Don't!" she gasped, scuttling backward clumsily. "Holy water."

"What?"

"Holy water," she insisted, weaving where she sat. Sam was already digging in the canvas bag for it. "And don't you drop that shotgun, Dean."

Dean raised an eyebrow both at the order and how much energy it clearly took to give it, but raised the gun again, aiming directly at his sister's chest. Sam cringed, even though he knew why Dean did it: it would be extremely stupid to lower his guard until they knew what exactly was happening—and you never disobeyed an order from someone who knew the situation better than you did.

So his older brother aimed at her, finger resting just above the trigger, and nodded to Sam, who was waiting, poised on his knees with the flask. At his signal, Sam crept forward on his knees, careful to move slowly and smoothly to avoid spooking Kate. He held both hands before him and spoke softly as he approached her, like he was gentling a wounded animal.

"It's okay, Katie, we're here now. We're going to help." She stared straight at him, eyes wide and lips trembling.

Oh, Katie.

Sam touched her denim-clad knee gently—the non-injured one—and shifted a little closer. His sister held out her bare arm, covered in gooseflesh as she shivered. Sam took her forearm, holding it lightly in one hand while he sprinkled the water onto her skin. As expected, nothing happened except it dripped slowly to the porch below, staining the wood a shade darker. Kate blinked rapidly and a visible tremor worked its way through her body, before she looked back up at Sam, who had scooted even closer when she wasn't paying attention.

"Are you sure it's Holy Water?"

He nodded, running a hand over Kate's head as he began triaging her injuries. She didn't protest this time, just huffed shallow, terrified breaths. Sam felt Dean lower the shotgun for the second time and kneel beside her, begin to look at her bleeding leg while Sam himself drew Kate's chin up to force her to look at him. Her pupils were wide and uneven, the blue irises nearly invisible as she stared forward. She seemed to be having trouble focusing on his face. This close, he could see that her lips were tinged lightly blue.

Oh that was not good.

"Dean," he murmured tightly. "I think she's going into shock."

His brother nodded, tying off the makeshift bandage he had wrapped hard around her thigh. "We need to get her inside," he said, slipping his hands behind her shoulders and under her knees. Dean stood, alert for trouble, as Sam lifted Kate easily against his chest and turned toward the house.

Their sister, so pliant a moment before, jerked so hard against Sam he nearly dropped her. "No!" she cried, tightening her arms around his neck. "No, don't take me in there, don't!"

"Katie," Sam tried to soothe her. "We have to, I gotta get you stitched up and you need to lie down, and we're miles from a hotel—"

"'mpala?" she panted, still panicking but quickly running out of steam. Sam tossed a look at Dean—a request—and Dean nodded. They didn't know what had gone down inside that cabin, but Sam was sure it wasn't good, and he couldn't properly treat Kate if she was panicking.

Leaving Dean to take care of Liv's body and clean up the place before they left it, Sam carried Kate around the cabin to the Impala and deposited her gently on the hood.

"Sit still for a sec," he ordered, then unlocked and opened the rear passenger door, spreading a blanket to avoid getting blood on the leather seats if he could. Grabbing the first aid kit, Sam went back to his sister, who was shivering uncontrollably now, teeth chattering.

"'s cold, Sam," she stuttered, and he gathered her close.

"I know, sweetheart, just hold on. There's a blanket inside the car for you." He set her down and wrapped the extra wool blanket around her shoulders, then stretched her leg out, wincing as she whimpered. "All right, just hold on, I gotta clean this. What happened here, huh? Can you tell me?" The injury was deep, splinters of wood shoved well into the big muscle, and Sam shuddered at the implication of being stabbed by a wood stake.

"Ch'r…broke," Kate slurred, slumped over so far her head was on his shoulder. Sam cringed.

"Yeah, this is going to hurt. Kate, you hear me?"

She nodded a little, and Sam braced her leg between his arm and ribs. He toyed with the idea of calling Dean—she'd just hurt herself worse if she fought him on this—but the sight of her deathly-pale face made Sam think again. Holding tight, he got to work.

It was painstaking, slippery labor; though Kate took it like a champ—Sam wasn't sure if that was because she was the toughest woman he knew, or because she was just too far gone to fight him. By the time he finished cleaning out the deep wounds thoroughly and stitching up the deepest lacerations, Dean had finished with Liv and the cabin. Sam wiped the sweat from his brow as he tied off the bandage.

"How bad?" Dean asked. Kate was slumped over against the back of the seat now, eyes cracked. Sam had tried to keep her awake as best he could while they did this, but she was fading fast now. She licked dry lips and blew out a shuddering breath when Sam let go of her leg, placing it gently inside the car.

"Bad," was all he said to Dean before turning his attention back to her. He cleaned off her face, noting a small cut above a nasty-looking knot on her skull—concussion, likely, though the cut wouldn't need stitches. He shook out his hands and slapped her cheek gently to get her attention. Kate pried open her eyes and successfully focused on his face. Sam couldn't help but smile—that was the first good sign he'd seen since they got here—and stroked her sweaty brow.

"Hey there, Katie."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Dean asked, kneeling beside him. Sam wanted to smack him; they needed to go. But he understood why Dean needed to know, and quickly.

Two minutes, he decided. His brother could have two minutes, then he was insisting they get Kate out of here.

"D'mon," she mumbled, muscles seizing in a tiny shiver at the word.

"Did it possess you?" Sam asked, afraid of the answer but already knowing it. His mouth went cottony when Kate nodded.

"But it's not there now," Dean said. "The Holy Water would've told us. What happened?"

"Dunno," Kate's words were slurring worse by the minute. "S'd no."

"Dean," Sam said. "We have to go. I've got to get her horizontal."

Dean simply nodded, to Sam's surprise, and crossed to the other side, slipping into the driver's seat. Sam settled in the back with Kate, laying her back so her feet rested on his knees, and tucked the blanket around her. Ever the affectionate patient, Kate fumbled one hand out from her makeshift cocoon and found his fingers, gripping tight. Sam felt one side of his lips quirk up in a small smile.

"Sulfur all over the damn place inside," Dean was growling from the front as they squealed out of the long driveway onto the blacktop. "Demons were here, or at least one; they obviously got Liv, but…" His brother petered off, jaw clenching.

"But why'd they let Kate go?" Sam murmured his question for him. Kate squeezed his fingers convulsively, shuddering a small sigh.

God, Katie, what did they do to you?

Waking up was such a crap shoot. Sometimes morning called to her, whether summer or winter; there was just something about a brand new day that made her smile. The singing birds, the bright new light, the bracing cool air: it was a little slice of Heaven in a hellish world.

But sometimes….

Pain assaulted her from what seemed like every corner of her physical body. Her head pounded in tandem with her heart, which was over-loud in her sore ears. Every muscle felt strained and her skin prickled, aching against the rough cotton of motel sheets. Kate moaned, but even her throat felt swollen sore, and she coughed weakly.

A hand slipped beneath her head, pulling a few hairs despite the gentleness in the motion, and a glass was pressed against her lips.

"Drink," a raspy voice commanded. Kate obeyed without opening her eyes, the water soothing as it slipped down her throat. Too soon, the glass disappeared. Gasping, Kate forced her eyes open.

She needed more.

"Not too much," the voice said again—this time she recognized it as Dean. She blinked furiously to try to bring him into focus.

God, even her eyeballs hurt.

"You're dehydrated," Dean explained when she started to protest hoarsely. "Drink too fast and you'll puke. How do you feel?"

Kate let her head fall back onto the pillow with a moan, closed her eyes again. "Like hammered crap," she croaked.

"Whew, you sound like hammered crap," Dean agreed. She flipped him off, lazily. Her older brother laughed. "Well your ability to insult eloquently is obviously unaffected."

"Katie?" Sam's voice was muffled, sleepy.

"She's awake," Dean announced, and Kate heard sheets rustle nearby.

"She doesn't look awake," Sam countered a moment later, his voice closer this time. She scowled.

"Well I am. My eyes hurt. Everything hurts."

"I guess we don't have to ask how she feels," Sam muttered.

"Already did," Dean answered. "She's hurting. And pretty damned grumpy."

"'She' is right here," Kate griped. Sam snorted, and she resisted the urge to pinch him.

Too much effort.

God, what had died in her mouth? She needed to brush her teeth.

"So. Mind telling me why we arrived to find you hurling over the bannister?" Dean asked. She swallowed her angry retort—she knew she could be an absolute bitch when she was hurting—reminding herself that Dean hadn't been there, hadn't seen what she saw, and had his snark on full blast to cover the fact that he was actually shaken.

"Because I had just ousted a demon from my own body," she answered, trying not to be deliberately obtuse. She sighed—she was going to need to sit up and actually talk about this, it wasn't the kind of thing you muttered while trying to go back to sleep—and struggled upright. Hands supported her until she'd scooted herself against the headboard, and she eventually pried her eyes open to face her brothers.

Dean sat near her knees, looking at her intently, every line of his posture screaming vigilance—the mention of demons was more than enough to keep his guard well and truly up. Sam was closer, one leg resting up on the bed as he faced her, his expression equal parts concern and relief. She took a deep breath and told them everything she knew—which, let's face it, was not much more than they.

"It was a demon," she rasped, and Sam tensed beside her. "It took Liv—" Kate's throat closed against the memory of Liv's rich brown eyes flashing depthless black, and she coughed. "I'm not sure when, but definitely before I got there."

"So Dad never called Liv?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Kate said. "The demon said he did, but…demons lie, so."

"How did you get away?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"I didn't," she answered, unable to prevent the tear that slipped down her cheek. Between the horror of the situation and the physical pain she was in, Kate felt like she was stepping closer to a full-blown breakdown by the moment; she could feel it, panic and despair making her chest ache, her eyes sting. "She knocked me out, tied me up. When I woke I managed to get my wrists loose and go after a gun while she…monologued. All I could get my hands on were consecrated silver bullets. Didn't even slow her down." She choked again at the memory.

Sam made the connection instantly. "Liv?"

Kate shook her head, jaw clenching to hold back the cry of anguish that bloomed in her chest. "I shot her in the chest, Sammy, I—" Kate coughed out a sob, and Sam squeezed her arm. Kate took a minute, swallowing hard before continuing.

"Then the demon, she…she took me."

Dean leaned back instinctively. Kate dropped her head, expecting Sammy's solid presence at her side to disappear any second—she felt so dirty, sullied; the demon had been the most evil thing she'd ever encountered, and its barbarous, vile thoughts had been blatantly visible to Kate while she fought it inside her own head.

That….thing had been inside her, part of her, and now her brothers knew it. She almost hoped they drew away—they shouldn't be too close to her, to the disgusting echoes of the monster that had been in her head. But instead she felt Sam's weight disappear—and then felt the mattress dip as he moved to sit beside her, leaning against the headboard and slinging an arm around her shoulder. Kate gasped in surprise and…fear?...jerking away.

"Don't," she choked. "Stay away."

"Katie—" Sam beseeched, reaching for her. She shook her head as her stomach rebelled the sudden movement. Wincing, she crossed arms over her middle in a vain attempt to calm the spasms that racked her torso and the accompanying nausea that threatened to bring up the water she had just drunk.

"No you don't, Kate, come on now," Dean was close, and then she was pushed back, into Sam's warm side. He folded her close; and she was too tired, too scared, too sick to protest. She shivered, clenching her jaw against the overwhelming urge to cry, breathing deep to get control

After she calmed a little, Sam spoke up, his voice gentler than she felt she deserved. "But we tested you; you're clean. How did you get free of it?"

She sat up again, regretting the action as pain shot through her skull. "I don't know," she confessed. "I just…fought it. The demon. It was trying to take over my body and I just…said no."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "You 'just said no', and it…left?"

Kate coughed a laugh. "More like I said no and it was expelled forcibly, kicking and screaming." She groaned. "And I've been deathly sick ever since."

Sam and Dean were silent for a few minutes—minutes that dragged on to feel like hours to Kate—and she shifted against Sam, hoping beyond hope that even though she deserved it, they wouldn't turn her out completely. Could a person recover after being possessed? She'd never heard of anyone surviving a possession, rejecting a possession…maybe she'd be okay?

But maybe not.

She had no idea, and the only thing scarier than the thought that she might not be entirely…herself…was the idea of having to find out alone.

"Go back to sleep, Katie," Dean's voice cut into her budding panic. "We'll take a few days here, you need to heal."

"Will I?" The question was out before she quite registered asking it. She looked up at her older brother, feeling their difference in age more keenly than usual. She needed him to have the answer, even as she knew he probably didn't.

But Dean gave her an encouraging smile. "You sure will. Just a few days in bed and some good food, you'll be right as rain."

She knew he didn't know it for sure, but she latched onto his apparent confidence anyway, trying to make it her own. She nodded, and Sammy moved so she could lie down again. The boys made to disperse.

"Guys?"

They looked down at her.

"Thanks."

Sammy gave her a half smile, and Dean patted her thigh. "Go to sleep, Kate."

"I sent you to do one thing," Azazel snarled. "One job, Phoebe. Possess the Winchester girl, that was all. How hard could it have been?"

The demon stood shaking, fear and rage battling for domination in her chest. Oh, she was in trouble.

"I did possess her," she answered, almost pleading. Phoebe was not above begging if it meant less of a punishment when all was said and done. "She kicked me out."

Azazel laughed, a chilling sound that was more threat than actual amusement. "She kicked you out? No human can resist possession, youngling. You've been a demon long enough to know that." His yellow eyes glowed with the promise of excruciating punishment, and Phoebe's heart dropped into her stomach. "Next time you want a lie to cover for your incompetency, at least come up with a plausible one, yes?"

"It's not a lie!" Phoebe screamed as two of Azazel's minions grabbed her, dragging her backward toward the door.

Toward the chamber.

Toward…Him.

"No, please! I'm not lying! She burned me, pushed me out; I don't know how!"

Azazel held up a hand, and the others stopped pulling Phoebe away. "Burned you?" he asked softly, as if that mattered.

Phoebe nodded desperately. "Not like Hellfire, though, it was…different. I can't really describe it."

"What else?" her boss asked, turning back fully to face her. Phoebe blinked, trying to recall the details.

"Her mind; we were in a whitish room the moment she woke, rather than a…a forest or an old house or whatever. It was almost as if she…directed the encounter. Bright and burning, that's all I really remember." Phoebe shuddered—it had been more painful than most of her experiences in Hell, if she was honest.

Which she wasn't, usually.

Azazel appeared thoughtful. "This is most interesting. Disturbing, really…" he fingered his chin. "Still, you were too weak to defeat a mere human, Phoebe. I cannot have such…ineptitude…among my ranks. Take her away.

Phoebe shrieked as the door opened. "No, please, not…..no!"

She was thrown into a dark, cold room moments later. She could see nothing, feel only the chill in the blackness, but she could hear….

"Why Phoebe, you're back. So good to see you. I can't wait to pick up where we last left off." The Voice was smooth, soft, cloying.

Phoebe screamed.

A/N: There it is, the next chapter! Thanks to all of you who reviewed and followed! Don't forget to leave a note if you liked it-and if you didn't! Your feedback makes me better!

Cheers!