Disclaimer: no rhymes with moe, so i guess the answer is no.

A/N: Holy hell... a winter storm came in the end of March. Which was pretty cool in the fact that over two feet of snow fell in about two days, but pretty crappy in the sense that I was stranded at my parents place for far longer than I would have liked. Either way, I'm back now. I see that I've been more or less bombing on my last few stories, so I'm continuing on the trend. Haha... I've had the story that I'm going to give you all tonight on my computer for about a year now. It's always been filed under the 'too crappy to post' catagory, but I'm giving it a shot tonight because I want to let you all know I'm back from my unplanned absense, and because I'm not quite done my new one shot. Anyways, haha-- try and enjoy!
(ok guys... sorry about trying to get this story up... whenever I tried to upload it, the site botched it-- took out all my quotations one time, made everything italics another time, and then just cut out random parts of the story the third time. haha... i think my computer is possessed. i'm giving it another shot today, so hopefully it will work! --haha, finally this is working i think. never mind if the story is good, you should review just because this took me over 24 hours to get right and be able to post. haha... fricken possessed computer...)

Title: Russian Roulette
Genre: Pretty damn suspensful... haha, at least it's suppose to be.
Summary: Sam is possessed by a demon who likes to try and kill people through luck. This time is Russian Roulette with much higher odds. (italics are flashback memories just to let ya'll know...)

Russian Roulette

"You boys have to keep your eyes open for all types of demons. Even when you're not hunting."

"We know Dad," Dean groaned loudly.

"I know you know," John warned, "But there's one kind. A particularly nasty son of a bitch that plays by it's own rules…"

"Sammy," Dean spoke calmly, his hand outstretched towards his brother, "Sam, c'mon buddy, you have to listen to me."

Sam calmly ignored Dean and carried on with his task of meticulously loading his gun. He was loading it different, however, and that's what scared Dean.

"Sam, please," Dean tried not to let himself beg, "Just drop the gun. I know you can hear me."

"This thing… this demon lives on luck. It doesn't care about winning or loosing. It just wants to see if you can beat it."

"What do you mean Dad?"

"Sam, put the gun down now!" Dean demanded, his own heart beginning to pound in his

chest.

"You know I can't do that," Sam smiled up at him, "That's not how the game works."

"How many?" Dean breathed, "How many bullets did you put in there?"

Sam smiled and whispered out, "Lucky number three."

Dean's mind whirled. He knew certain things as facts. He knew that the person standing in front of him wasn't really his brother-- he was possessed. He knew that the evil thing inside of Sammy was playing a game.

Russian Roulette.

The odds were high. The usually play of the game involved placing one bullet in the barrel of the gun, spinning it, and shooting it at your head. Hoping that the chamber is empty when the potentially fatal blast of the gun goes off. Sammy had three bullets in the gun now.

It was even money.

"Sometimes these things will change your odds-- to change luck. Other times it will play the game along with you. Hang the victim so that their toes are just touching the ground. See how long they can stay underwater. And sometimes its even worse. It's all about luck."

Dean swallowed, "How do you stop it?"

"You can't."

"Sam," Dean kept his hands visible, "Sam, please! You have to listen to me. This is stupid. Please Sam."

"Sorry," Sam's eyes flashed black, "Sammy's not home."

"I swear to God if you hurt him, I'll kill you," Dean threatened.

"You can't," Sam laughed, "You're baby brother will be dead long before I will be. Unless," a smile spread across his face, "… unless he has the luck of the devil inside him."

"Sammy!" Dean yelled out as his brother picked up the gun.

"Nice try Dean. But the games have only just begun."

"They possess their victim, and make them do these things. There's nothing you can do to stop it without hurting the person."

"But Dad," Sam gave a light laugh, "There has to be a way. There's always a way to beat these assholes."

"There is," John looked solemnly at his sons, "Stay the hell away from them."

"Sam, please-- please," Dean took a step towards his little brother, "Just put the gun down. I know you're in there! Drop the gun Sam!"

A larger smile came to Sam's face as he placed the gun to his temple, "Maybe if you say it loud enough, he'll hear you."

"Sam…" on the contrary Dean spoke quietly, "Sam please… please don't do this man…"

Select tears rolled down Dean's face which only seemed to fuel the fire on the demon's delight. Still staring with dark black eyes at Dean, Sam cocked the gun.

"Sam, I know you can hear me!" Dean cried out desperately.

"Sorry Dean," the demon smiled.

"It's all about the luck with these demons Dean. That's the only thing that can beat it."

The black eyes turned a bright, frightened green just seconds before it happened.

Sam's trembling finger pulled the trigger, and the gun fell to the ground. Dean froze, scared to breath or move as he waited numbly for something to happen. When something finally did happen, Dean didn't want to believe it.

"Ahh!!" a scream escaped Sam's mouth as his head arched backwards, his mouth open wide in release of the demon which had been using him as his play thing.

Immediately Dean's little brother collapsed to the ground on his knees. Oddly the elder Winchester's first movement wasn't too his brother, but to the gun which sat at his feet. With fumbling hands, Dean fell to the floor and scrambled to open up the gun. It seemed to take forever, and even longer to count the number of bullets that were still in it.

One.

Two.

…three…

"It's all about luck…"

"Sammy," Dean breathed out, scrambling towards his little brother, "Sammy!"

Slowly Sam rolled over to face Dean, a look of confusion plastered on his pale face. His breath was deep and slow as both Winchester's stared at each other a moment.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated near a whisper.

"Dean," Sam finally spoke, eyes wide, "What happened?"

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.

"Dean?"

"Are you ok?" Dean questioned.

Sam nodded, "I feel tired. What the hell happened to me?"

Dean thought about this a moment, a smile coming to his face, "You won."

"Sometimes you'll win Dean," his Dad's voice echoed, "But not usually. These son of a

bitches are relentless."

"Dad, don't worry about it," Dean laughed, "You're giving us all this warning for nothing. You said that you've heard of what? Three of these things; ever. What are the odds that we'll actually run into one."

"If you do Dean," John paused, "Just remember; the odds are against you."

"What do you mean Dean?" Sam sat up fully; Dean crouched beside him.

"Dude," Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing it affectionately, "You just used up eight of your nine lives."

Sam grinned at his worried big brother, "Guess it's a good thing I'm not a cat then, huh?"

The End.