Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warning: Ok, getting into the swearing here. Not for those with mild ears. Oh, and spoiler for Phantom Traveller.

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for all the wonderful reviews! Here's the next chapter for you all. Oh, and the towns in this story are completely made up, to my knowledge. Have fun!

Chapter 3: Becoming Aware

Dean rolled the window down, letting the night air cool his face. He was just glad they were out of Florida, and he leaned back in the driver's seat, relaxing.

Or try to, he thought unhappily to himself as he glanced across at Sam lounging in the passenger seat. He could never remember a time when silence had been uncomfortable between himself and his little brother. But that day's driving had come close.

They had driven since fleeing the Clarke house the night before. Sam had taken the first shift, until Dean had made him pull over. The younger hunter had been driving recklessly, speeding, swerving around corners faster than even Dean would have dared. It was so un-Sam-like that Dean had spent the next hour casting worried looks in his little brother's direction. Sam had pretended to sleep, but even he had begun to shift uncomfortably as Dean kept on looking at him. Or maybe he shifted with anger. Dean found that he couldn't tell.

They hadn't spoken until they had crossed the Florida border into Georgia. Then it had only been for Dean to ask Sam if he wanted anything from the gas station. By that time Sam had given up pretending to sleep, but had still been ignoring him. Even his query had been met only with a shake of the head.

Something was bugging his brother, and Dean would be damned if he didn't find out what.

Glancing back at the road in front of him, Dean spotted the sign for a motel. You read my mind, he thought to no one and began to slow down.

This seemed to bring Sam from his stupor. He sat up, looking around. "What are you doing?" he asked. Dean gave him another small glance.

"I'm tired of sitting in this car." Damn, but he never thought he would say that. "We need to rest for the night. Search for our next gig."

At the word gig, he could have sworn Sam's lips turned into a sneer, but when he looked closer, he realized he was yet again seeing things. He shook his head. He was going crazy. Obviously he was still suffering after knocking his head the night before. His head? His whole damn body was aching.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Dean gave a more obvious glance at Sam, arching an eyebrow. "You sure then?" he asked jokingly, pulling into the driveway of the motel. Sam rolled his eyes, making Dean even more confused. The eye roll was classic Sam. And yet the younger man had been like a stranger the whole day.

Dean parked the car, and went in to rent a room. When he came out, Sam was leaning against the car, fiddling with his sunglasses once more. The older hunter was reminded visibly of the night before, and frowned.

"Something bothering you?" he asked, moving to the trunk and opening it. Sam followed, shaking his head.

"No. Why?"

Dean shook his head. "No reason. You've just been quiet all day. And you're playing with those sunnies again. Not a good sign."

He shut the trunk, having grabbed his and Sam's bags. Handing his brother's his, he moved off to his room, the one thankfully nearest the car. At least he wouldn't have to move it.

Sam shrugged. "I'm fine, Dean. Just tired."

By the time they had reached the motel, it was already nearly midnight. Tired from the day, both Winchesters lay down to sleep. Within half an hour, the snores of one ripped through the room.

The other looked across in annoyance. His once brown eyes glinted a golden, sickly yellow. His face contorted into a silent growl. There was no way he was living with that for the next however many weeks it took to find the father.

He sat up and spun, so he was sitting crosslegged on the bed, facing the other man. Or the only man, depending on how you looked at it. Physically, the other man. Mentally… well, the man sitting wasn't a man in charge of his own mind.

Another snore ripped through the room, and the man sitting crosslegged, the being who was once Sam Winchester, actually gave a low growl, though nothing loud enough to wake the brother. It had had enough.

Seemingly of its own will, a pillow drifted into the air, floating a few feet in the air above the bed. Another snore split the room and it growled again. It was a terribly old demon, one which inspired fear most other beings, if not all. It demanded, and got, respect driven by that fear. And there was no way it was living with that, no matter the benefits when it found John Winchester.

The pillow floated across the space separating the two beds.

For so long Sam floated in dark despair. That, at first, shocked him. That in his own mind, despair was almost a physical thing. Enough to bog him down, fog his mind. He drowned in it, knowing nothing else besides the fact that he was a prisoner in his own body. In his own mind.

Or maybe that was the reason. Maybe the despair was provided by the demon for it's victims to wallow in as it used their faces, their voices, their memories, to fool and then kill the their families.

Sam wasn't sure, but it surrounded him, like water in the lake of his mind. Filled his nostrils, his mouth, his ears, cutting him off from everything, blinding everything enough for thought to be cut off as well. All he knew was the despair. He wasn't aware.

And then something changed. Some malcontent sliced through the bindings of his mind. He surfaced, and suddenly everything was as fresh as air would be to a man just saved from drowning.

He couldn't see at first, could only feel. And he felt… well, wrong. Like he had when the psychic demon back in Bloomsfeld had possessed him. Only worse. He felt his guts turning like he had swallowed oil, felt his mind denying it, felt the bile in his throat rising, but couldn't do anything about it because his hands, his legs, his mouth, were still bogged down.

Then all that seemed to fade into the background, for which Sam was grateful. It was still there, but half forgotten as he looked out of his eyes, only slightly shocked to find the sight still blurry. For some reason he had expected it to heal his vision. But obviously the demon wasn't all powerful. But it was powerful enough.

Sam gasped silently as he realized he, through the demon, could sense everything, every living being, within… a long distance. He wasn't even sure how far. But it was like there was a map in his head, pointing to every single being in that radius.

But none of that pointed out why he had suddenly surfaced from his own mind. The demon hadn't noticed, surprisingly. Sam looked around, though his view was limited to what his captor saw. And that's when he saw the pillow, floating directly above Dean's head. And he could feel the gleeful malice of the demon as it prepared to smother his older brother.

No! Sam screamed in his own head; he had absolutely no control over his own mouth.

But the demon heard nonetheless. It glowered as it realized Sam was aware now, for the first time since it had taken over. And then it gasped in shock as the pillow came flying back at the face of its host.

Sam felt himself go weak as he lost the temporary control of his telekinesis. He was just glad he had been able to do it. And he could still talk to the demon. Distract it long enough, maybe, for Dean to suspect something. He knew he had no chance of taking this demon on, not like he had tried on the psychic demon back in Bloomsfeld.

You will pay for that, hunter! the demon snarled at him. Sam moved back from it slightly.

You're not touching him, Sam told it quietly, making his voice as hard as possible. Or not his voice, but his thoughts.

And you can stop me? it asked, amused. Look at you. You're weak. Even that one little movement made you… pathetic.

Sam snarled. You're not touching him! he screamed at the demon. You killed my mother, and my girlfriend. You're not killing anyone else. I swear it!

It laughed, and the sound was so evil that Sam couldn't help but shiver. Not that his body showed any sign of his discomfort.

We will see.

Dean woke early the next morning, feeling surprisingly refreshed. He sat up in bed, yawning and giving a small stretch, before looking across at his little brother. Sam was laying haphazardly across his bed, his covers strewn everywhere. Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam didn't usually toss so much in his sleep.

He shrugged it off and flung back his own covers. He got up and dressed silently, intent on going down the street and buying some fresh, hot donuts for breakfast. The kind that Sam would appreciate but would still complain endlessly about. He needed to do something to crack through his little brother's sudden, quiet, sullen haze.

When he got back to the motel room Sam was up and dressed. Dean frowned as he saw what Sam was wearing. It was almost as if the kid had raided Dean's wardrobe. Dark, heavy, kind of depressing.

"Finally decided to take those fashion tips from me, did you, Sammy boy?" he joked as he put the bag of donuts on the table.

Sam turned, and looked him up and down, before raising an eyebrow. "You?" he asked incredulously. The tone was harsh: there was no tease to it. The comment had been said to hurt. And that stung.

Sam, Sam the psychic wonder, who couldn't handle a room next to the honeymoon suite, seemed to be unaware of Dean's abrupt discomfort. Instead he dropped into one of the chairs by the table and peered into the bags.

"Oh, donuts. Yum, haven't had these in a while."

Again Dean frowned. "Ah, Sam, we had them yesterday." And the day before that. And the day before that. The older man wasn't sure if his little brother was kidding or not.

Apparently not.

Sam frowned up at him, and then looked away quickly as something seemed to come over his eyes.

"Ah duh, Dean. You know, you need your sarcasm detector fine-tuned."

"Apparently so," Dean said quietly, sitting down opposite Sam. He grabbed one of the donuts, but his hunger was long gone. Gone with that flash of fiery fury he swore he had seen in Sam's eyes before his little brother had turned away.

Sam watched Dean pretend to eat through eyes he no longer controlled. He watched with a satisfied grin on his mental face. The demon inside him raged against him, swearing to make him suffer. But Sam didn't care. Because he was fighting it.

He had managed to hide things from it. Memories, important facts about his relationship with Dean, about his daily habits… little things that could make the demon slip up, make Dean curious about why his little brother was suddenly wearing black jeans and no hoodie.

Of course, the demon knew that now. Knew that it didn't have every memory and thought to sift through. And it was angry. Very, very angry.

That made Sam very, very happy.

Still, he knew he would pay for it. And he knew he couldn't do it forever. He had no illusions that he was unique in his ability to fight back somewhat. And the truth remained that the demon had almost complete control over him. He would try to lift an arm, and it wouldn't move. It was like being paralysed.

And he knew that the longer he fought, the harder he fought… the weaker he would become.

Soon, he wouldn't be able to hide information from the being inside him. Wouldn't be able to stop it from using one swift flick of his own wrist to send Dean crashing into a wall. Wouldn't be able to stop it from picking up that pillow and smothering his sleeping older brother.

And that made him very, very angry.

It was anger borne entirely from fear.

Sam watched as Dean stopped eating his donut and grabbed the laptop. "Research?" he felt his own mouth ask.

He growled inside his mind and the demon laughed at him. But it concentrated on its conversation with Dean.

Dean nodded, not looking up from the screen. "Gotta find that next gig. Forget that last one. Those poor people."

Huh?

Sam felt a thrill of terror as he remembered his vision. The dark, skinny, tall figure murdering the Clarke family. And it came to him in a jolt of guilt. That had been him. In his vision, it had been him standing over them as they…

You fucking bastard! he screamed at the demon possessing him. You killed them! You fucking killed them!

The demon laughed at his rage. Of course it is. It's what I do… hang on, Dean's got a better explanation.

Sam recoiled as it suddenly began sifting through his memories. It found what it was looking for quickly. And the memory replayed for him.

A motel, somewhere cheap in Pennsylvania. Sheets of paper all over the wall. He was sitting, looking up as Dean paced, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Demons, they don't want anything. Just death, and destruction –."

Sam managed to cut it off there, refusing to watch anymore. Stay out of there, you bitch! he snarled, wanting so badly to kill it. Wanting to wrap his fingers around its neck and never let go.

The demon laughed at him, laughed long and hard. You think you can stop me, Sammy? Your memories are mine. Everything you are, everything you own… it's mine.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked suddenly. The demon snapped Sam's eyes to lock with his brother's. The younger man could see the worry in those green eyes.

"Yeah fine… it's just, those poor people."

Dean nodded slowly, but Sam could tell he wasn't convinced. The demon's tone had lacked… well, it lacked that sincerity that made it Sam's voice. That sincerity that made people trust him. And he could tell it was bugging Dean.

He managed, somehow, to keep his observations to himself. He knew that little bit of power wouldn't last, but he savoured it while it did.

Meanwhile, the demon was continuing its conversation with Dean. "Find anything interesting?" it asked.

Sam shuddered at the weirdness of it all. He could feel his mouth moving, and noise was coming out, but it wasn't him controlling it. Weird.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. Ah, nothing in Georgia, which means road trip. But, there have been several disappearances in Cromwell, Alabama. And monthly 'animal maulings' in Kelton, which is between here and Cromwell."

Sam felt the demon's interest perk up. "Animals, huh? I'm guessing on the full moon."

Dean chuckled, getting lost in the search for a hunt. "Yep. Werewolves. Only one or two I'd say, because there's only been a few bodies found."

Sam felt his head nod. "That sounds good," the demon said. "How far?"

Dean frowned in concentration. "Ah, maybe two days drive. One and a half if you drive like you did getting away from the Clarke place."

He was joking, and the demon grinned. "You gonna let me?" it asked. To Sam, it said, Your brother loves that car. How much would it hurt him if you smashed it?

Sam snarled at it, feeling that itchiness in his fingers once more. If you touch him I will kill you. If you hurt that car, I'll make your life a living hell!

The demon just laughed at what it knew to be empty threats. Sammy boy… that's what I've done to yours.

And then it turned to Dean, ignoring the hunter raging in his own head. "Kelton it is then."

Bit of a nothing, jumpy chapter, just to fill in the gaps. Hope you liked it still!