Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warning: Swearing. Angst. Hurtful words.

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking so far, people! Your reviews are awesome!

Chapter 6: The Art of Hurting

For the second morning in a row, Dean woke knowing something was wrong. The still unfamiliar notion made him sit straight up in bed, scouring the room for the cause of danger.

At least this time there was something that could cause him panic. However, his first thought was,

"Atta boy, Sammy."

Sam wasn't in his bed. And he knew it hadn't been slept in either; the covers were the same as they had been when he and Sam had checked in. So maybe that hadn't been exactly tidy or neat, but Dean knew Sam hadn't slept in the bed. Which, given the fact that Sam hadn't been in the room when Dean had crawled in at three am, meant the younger hunter hadn't come home last night.

He couldn't help the cheesy grin that spread across his face as he threw back the covers and went to shower.

Once refreshed he moved back to the main room, dressing in the comfort of his own silence. Once again fully clothed, he checked his phone for messages. And promptly dropped it.

"No way," he whispered, sitting down on the bed to pick the cell back up. He quickly checked the time again, sure he had had it wrong the first time. He hadn't.

"One-thirty," he said to himself, rubbing his hair. He had slept in. Slept in big time. But Sam should have been back by now. Or he would have at least called. Checked in. Something.

Not for the first time that week, he felt the first flutters of panic. Ordering himself to calm down, he opened his contact list and scrolled down to Sam's number. He let it ring for almost two minutes before snapping the phone shut with more force than was necessary.

He made his mind up quickly. The last time Sam had left a bar by himself, he had got himself kidnapped by human-hunting hillbillies. Of course, Sam hadn't actually left by himself last night, but… still. Something was up. This wasn't Sam. Something was wrong. He stood, grabbed his leather jacket and left the room.

It didn't take him long to get back to the bar he and Sam had been in the night before. He parked out the front, glad he remembered driving back to the motel. At least he hadn't driven his car while drunk. He couldn't live with himself if something happened to his precious Impala.

"Can I help you?" a man asked as Dean walked in. The hunter plastered on one of those should-be-world renowned Winchester smiles, immediately liked by all.

"I hope so. I was in here last night, with another guy. Tall, brown hair, kinda geeky looking. He left here with a blonde girl."

He walked up to the bar where the man was cleaning glasses. He paused, thinking, as Dean took a barstool.

"Oh yeah, I remember him. I was surprised, 'cause he didn't seem the type to approach someone, you know." Dean felt his eyebrows rise. "But he waltzed right up to Hailey, spoke a few quiet words, and half an hour later… well."

"He approached her?" Dean had to clarify. What the hell was up with his little brother? The man nodded. "And you know this Hailey girl?"

The man nodded. "Sure, she's a regular. Comes in every weekend. Nice girl. Studying at the local college, I think."

Dean nodded, not really listening. "Do you know where she lives?"

Ten minutes later he was knocking on the apartment door of one Hailey Freeman. For the second time. He knocked a bit louder, making sure he was heard.

Still nothing. He paused, leaning an ear against the door. All he heard was silence. He frowned. That didn't mean nobody was home.

He patted his pockets a few times before cursing himself for not bringing the lock-picking tools. He could visualize the case exactly in his head. Right underneath his dad's journal in Sam's duffle bag.

Sighing, he got out his phone and dialled Sam's number again. And, once again, no one picked up. But he couldn't hear it coming from the apartment either.

"Can I help you?"

Someone asking that for the second time in twenty minutes made Dean jump and spin, coming face to face with a middle aged woman holding a thick-haired baby in one arm.

"Ah, yeah. I'm just looking for my brother. Tall, brown hair. Kinda geeky looking."

For some reason her face soured in displeasure. "Ah yes, him. He left this morning, looking very pleased with himself."

Dean contained a half grin. What had Sam been doing? And why wasn't it very Sam-like? That last thought managed to keep his face straight.

"Thanks, miss," he said with a bob of his head. He left, biting his lip. So where had Sam gone?

The questions kept on piling up. He wished he had an answer for just one.

He drove around Cromwell for the next hour, hoping for just the slightest sighting of his little brother. Those butterflies in his stomach, the ones that kept on hitting the sides and making him jolt? Yeah, they were growing. And he was sure they were made of stone. Where the hell was Sam?

Finally he decided to go back to the motel, gather some things and keep on searching. He had finally remembered the reason they had come to Cromwell in the first place. Disappearances.

Well, Sam had disappeared, and Dean was very, very worried. He hoped this didn't end up being another Benders episode. He gave his left shoulder a slight, subconscious rub.

He parked outside his and Sam's room, not even remembering to lock the car as he walked inside, distracted.

The room was still empty, and Dean gave an exasperated groan. "Where the hell are you Sam?" he asked the air as he began grabbing a few things.

His question was answered as the door opened.

Dean heard the creak and picked up his gun, spinning and raising it. He was sure the thing entering was a threat. He pointed the gun at,

"Sam?"

His little brother walked in, seemingly unfazed by the gun that had been pointing at him. In fact, he raised an eyebrow at it dismissingly. Almost as if it were a toy.

"Hey Dean," he greeted cheerfully.

Dean was in no mood for it. "Where the hell have you been?" he snapped, the relief at seeing Sam alive and well quickly turning to anger.

Sam shrugged. "Around."

For some reason this made Dean boil. "And you didn't think that while you were around, you might give me a call? I've been worried sick, Sam!"

Sam scowled. "Dude, I can look after myself."

"Yeah? Well, those are the famous last words. Do you even recall the actual reason we came to this stupid town anyway?"

Sam grinned. "I know why I came. To get what I got last night. And what I'm planning on getting tonight."

Dean was speechless. This was not his little brother. It couldn't be. Sam was not so crude.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" he asked a little breathlessly. More shock came rolling on as Sam laughed.

He laughed long and hard, and Dean wondered when his little brother's laugh had become so… nasty.

The laughter faded, but mirth still danced in Sam's eyes. "Well, that's the million dollar question isn't it, bro," he said, grinning.

Dean shook his head. "I'm serious. Ever since we left Florida, you've been different. Where's my quiet, sensitive, know-it-all little brother gone? I mean -."

Sam cut him off with an angry snarl. "Your quiet, sensitive little brother is still in here. But I'm sick of being that. Sick of playing second fiddle to you, sick of taking your orders."

Dean's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Yeah, that's right," Sam spat, his mouth curling into a snarl. "You think you can order me about, because you hate taking orders from Dad, but find yourself doing it anyway. I know all your dirty little fears, Dean. Let's see. You have one-night stands because you think no one could love you if you let them in. Because you're pathetic. You drink to forget that I left, and to make me stay, because if I drink as well you know I'm going to get the courage to leave your sorry ass behind in that stinking bar. But you just go ahead and play on my… me, make me feel like I need to get you back home. You're so sad, Dean. Pathetic, sad, little Dean!"

At some point during the tirade, Dean had sat down on the bed. Suddenly he was finding it hard to breathe. This couldn't be Sam. It couldn't be. But he looked up, into the face of his little brother. Into the face of Sam, and it was hard to believe otherwise. But still…everything from the past week was piling into his head.

"You're not Sam," he said breathlessly. Sam grinned.

"You know what?" the younger man said snidely. "It's about time you realized that."

Dean watched with horror as Sam's eyes turned yellow. And then he spun, realizing his brother was possessed, going for a weapon, a book, something. Realizing Sam had been possessed for the past week. Should have realized, Dean chastised himself as he leapt for his bag.

He never got there. An evil laugh filled the room, and then Dean felt himself leaping further than he had intended. Right into the wall in fact. He didn't even get a last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The demon wearing Sam's face laughed again and turned to leave. "I'll deal with you later," it told the unconscious hunter. "Give you some alone time to wallow in self-pity and blame."

And it left the room laughing, leaving an unconscious Dean where he had fallen to the floor.

The demon had made its first mistake, Sam decided as he lay in the darkness of his own mind. He was crying, and he felt no shame for that. It wasn't easy watching your girlfriend, the woman you had planned to make your wife, burn above your head over and over again. Especially not when you felt the satisfaction of the beast that had murdered her, mixed in with your own silent screams of horror.

Well, it had done what it was intended to do, Sam knew. It had been intended to make him suffer inside his very soul. To make him feel dirty, and helpless, and horrible. And it had worked.

But it had side effects.

And now Sam was very, very angry. Now that the visions had stopped, now as he lay in the dark, he was determined. The demon was going down. The bastard was going to suffer for doing what he had done to Jess, and to his mum, and to countless other women who had died trying to protect their children.

He struggled to surface quietly, trying to see what was happening around his body without letting the demon know he was doing it.

Somehow, he managed it, and suddenly he was looking out of his eyes. The change was a little startling.

When the demon had forced him under, his vision had still been blurry. It had been dimly lit inside the girl's apartment. Now, his vision was shockingly good, back to his normal sight, and then some. And now, though it was dark, he was outside, looking up at a double story house.

What the hell were they doing here? Sam wondered it as he struggled to repress the memories of what he assumed to be the night before. He didn't want to remember his hands tearing that poor girl apart.

How we going, Sammy? the demon suddenly asked, amused.

Sam jumped, then scowled. I'm going to kill you, he told it, his voice hard. It betrayed none of his inner agony at what it had made him watch.

The demon chuckled. That would be a neat trick, it said to him, distracted slightly. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have a date inside that home.

What are you doing? Sam asked as his body started forward. He crept silently forward, and the demon didn't answer. Instead, it moved to a tree, and climbed nimbly up it.

It stopped outside a window, but the room was too dark for Sam to see in. But he suddenly had a very bad feeling, especially when the demon began humming with pleasure.

What are you doing? Sam asked again, louder this time.

The demon laughed. In the reflection, Sam could see his eyes glinting, and it made him shudder. But still the demon gave no answer. Sam waited, the seconds ticking by. He waited for nothing.

Tell me! he screamed, losing it finally. It's my body, I -.

Your body? the demon asked incredulously, cutting the hunter off. Last time I checked I had control of it, Sammy.

Don't you fucking call me that, you freak. It is my body, you stole it! Now, tell me what you're doing!

The demon laughed again. It will all be familiar in a moment or two, Sammy.

Slowly, silently, it reached out with its powers. Sam watched on, unmoving, as it slid the window open. As the demon climbed in, Sam began preparing himself, gathering that anger he knew could fuel his strength.

And then he lost it all as he realized what room they were in. What type of room.

No, he whispered hoarsely as his body took one, two, three steps forward. No, you can't.

Can't I? the demon asked, smiling evilly down at the baby boy asleep in his crib.

Oh no, once again. Is Sam going to be able to stop the demon? But Dean finally realized, yay! Not that it's done much good. Tune in for more tomorrow!

Anywho, bye!