Day 41: Breakfast

[oftemptation]

Endrance turned his head to look at the intercom, giving it a look that would wither an entire rose garden in an instant. He would never get used to ending up in his room again from somewhere else in the Institute

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[theroadsofar]

Dean looked up.

Sam fell down into the seat across from him, more or less.

His face darkened. Sam looked terrible, bruises all over his face, nevermind the black eye. Sam could more than handle his own, so for him to look like this...well, it had to be one hell of a fight. There wasn't a lot out there he knew of that could give his brother a run for his money like that. Without even thinking about it, Dean just went on auto-pilot, getting up from his seat and sitting next to his brother.

"Jeez," he said, half under his breath. It was second-nature to reach out and cup his brother's face in one bandaged hand as he tilted his face carefully to the side, inspecting his injuries up close. He frowned as he focused his good eye on what he saw - and he knew he didn't like it. The scowl deepened. "Sammy, you look like crap! What happened?"

Okay, not exactly the most encouraging thing to say, but Dean was already jumping to the fact something was out there that apparently targeted both of them. First waking up with no memories of last night, with weird wounds that weren't there when he took that nap, then Sam walking in like this? Couldn't have been a coincidence. One of them, sure. Could chalk it up to bad luck, being in the wrong place at the right time. But both? He knew plenty well there were things out there, some of which might know they were hunters (or, even worse, know they were the Winchesters), and that sooner or later, they'd run up against it. The question, then, was how, and also why are we still alive. It wasn't like what they hunted to leave their targets alive, if beat to hell. Dean had no idea what was going on, but he sure as hell didn't like it. By the way Sam moved gingerly, Dean already knew there was something wrong with his knee, and also his side. That was just the stuff that wasn't immediately obvious.

Like the cut on Sam's neck.

Dean zeroed in on it, feeling himself go into that dead-still state where he was about two seconds away from blowing his gasket and looking for things to kill. The cut wasn't deep, but it didn't matter. How it was positioned made it clear: someone tried to kill his brother last night and while the bastard might've missed (thankfully), he might still be out there. He had to at least know who Sammy really was. That and he'd tried to kill his brother. Dean's teeth ground against each other. Getting pissed off was good so long as he focused it and didn't just go swinging at everything just because it looked like someone or something tried to take a hit on Sam. No one went after his brother; he didn't care what excuses you had, if you were Gordon Walker or the Pope or anyone. Dean knew there were a lot of things out there in Landels that needed hunting, but a direct attack on his brother - even more obvious than getting haunted by a ghost - was enough to make him shift his priorities around.

Whoever this was, they weren't gonna be breathing much longer. He'd find out who they were, and, right before he took them out, he'd find out how they found out about Sammy. Someone had talked, even if he didn't know who here possibly could know about his little brother. Dean didn't care if he was being too protective with Cold Oak behind him, if Sam might get a little suspicious. What mattered was making sure his brother was okay...and this wouldn't happen again. Dean ran a hand lightly over his brother, checking for any other injuries, testing gently for any bandages but not hard enough to jostle them much.

And there they were, under the uniform gray of his brother's shirt. Dean's lips pursed together, his nostrils flaring as he got more and more angry. Didn't matter if just doing that hurt, because he was gonna get the story from Sam before he started planning how he was gonna tear apart that sonuvabitch gunning for his brother.

[allroadslead]

Not exactly unexpected, Dean's reaction. Or it shouldn't have been, in hindsight, but even though a part of Sam knew Dean was going to jump right up, it still surprised him a little. Some of it was because he was busy focusing on Dean's injuries to give much thought about his own and the rest he just...wasn't used to expecting it anymore.

He didn't resist, though, letting Dean turn his face to the side even as he offered a half-hearted, "Dude, I'm fine."

It wasn't that he minded, necessarily. In some ways, it was even welcome as a confirmation that this really was Dean. Lelouch hadn't lied, at least not as far as Sam could tell. Dean was back to normal again. He wasn't under some freaky compulsion to kill Sam, at any rate. But damn it, he wished Dean would pay more attention to himself. Sam was aware he looked bad, but in comparison, Dean was worse off with his accumulation of past injuries. Besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to fall back on old patterns. Or maybe he did, but he knew he shouldn't let himself do that and maybe that was what was irritating him. It was different now, whether Dean realized it or not, and it wasn't even so much that Sam couldn't go back. More like the second he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to...

Never mind.

At least with Dean checking him over, Sam could use the time to sort out how to answer the question. He could almost feel the temperature drop the moment his brother spotted the cut on his throat, too. When Dean reached the wound on his side, Sam finally nudged his hand away, gently, hoping that Dean would take it as a wordless gesture that Sam was pretty much okay, a few bruises and some stitches aside, rather than some kind of rejection. Dean wasn't in the best of moods right now and Sam didn't want to set him off. It would make it harder to get him to listen, which Sam actually needed if he was gonna somehow pull this off. Dean knew the supernatural world as well as he knew Sam. It wouldn't be easy.

Though he could always bank on the fact that no matter how well they knew their jobs, some things simply didn't make sense.

His gaze travelled down to Dean's bandaged hands. He couldn't see how damaged they were, but it wasn't difficult to predict-probably ripped some nails, destroyed the tips of his fingers, shredded the skin elsewhere. It wasn't the heaviest of Dean's injuries, but it was the one that caught his attention the most. The one that bothered him the most. Dean might not have remembered last night, but Sam did. Even though Dean had gone through with the orders, Sam remembered the way Dean had reacted to it; it wouldn't have been obvious to anyone else, but Sam knew his brother. That had very much been Dean freaking out. Not a hell of a lot could get Dean to shake. And putting Dean through that, memory intact this morning or not, it was-

Maybe he should kill the sonofabitch, after all.

He tore his eyes away, glanced up at Dean who was looking absolutely murderous at this point. That made two of them, he supposed.

There was a split second of hesitation. "What do you remember?" he asked.

Going by Dean's question earlier, it seemed he really didn't recall anything at all, but Sam wanted to hear it for sure from Dean. Besides, there was no telling what snippets Dean might end up calling to mind if he thought hard enough. Sam needed to know before he...

Before he lied straight to his brother's face.

[theroadsofar]

Fine, his ass.

Dean's hand fell when Sam pushed it away, dropping to his lap as he half-straddled the seat so he could better face his brother. Yeah, yeah. Dean knew perfectly well that all things considered, Sam was actually fine - he wasn't dead, this wasn't Cold Oak, which made every alternative to "stone cold dead" as fine - but the fact remained someone had worked over his brother and that didn't and wouldn't ever sit well with him. Dean's eyes were only on Sammy, following his every movement protectively. Luckily he really did seem to be fine, even with the unexplained bruises and scrapes, but that still didn't stop Dean from sitting there stiffly at the table, feeling his fingers curling into fists on his knees on their own and wishing he could throttle something just to get it outta his system. Sam's question, though, did throw him off-balance enough for him to forget for a second just how seriously pissed off he was. Dean chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged.

Winced despite himself. Even that hurt.

"About last night?" Dean asked, confused. He reached up to scratch the back of his head as he tried hard again to remember. Came up with a big fat blank, same as before. "Just remember taking a nap in M2, though most of it was to avoid having my roommate come out at me. He was the guy who almost stumbled on our exorcism the other night," Dean added, "After that, nothing. Just waking up like this," he made a gesture at his generally crappy appearance, which this time had nothing to do with witches. "I would've thought I slept through last night but...y'know."

Dean paused then. He'd had some suspicions about what it meant to wake up without any idea what you were doing hours before. Maybe it could be sleep-walking...but that happened to other people, not him. Something obviously happened last night, and he hadn't been the one doing the driving in his body. Had he been possessed? Dean wasn't too sure. Could be a number of things at this point. Maybe the same thing happened to Sam? Either way, it seemed like his best bet for getting clued in was his little brother.

Dean leaned forward. "What about you?" he lowered his voice, knowing he hadn't been exactly super-spy about making sure his brother was okay, but not wanting to broadcast to everyone around them everything they talked about either. He met Sam's eyes, and kept checking out that damn shiner on the kid's face despite himself. Nice black eye. It wasn't the first he'd seen - compared to that cut on his throat, it was nothing - but it still made him feel that stillness settle in his stomach, ugly and needing an outlet.

[theroadsofar]

This was a whole new problem on their hands. Having a ghost haunt Sam and leaving him presents to cough up was one thing - it was bad enough - but something definitely gunning for Sammy was a whole hell of a bigger problem, in his mind. More than concrete. Maybe it was a message? The kind that said the aliases weren't doing anything and his brother was in danger because they'd been singled out as hunters? Dean looked away from Sam then, his face smoothing into a casual expression except for the clenching of his jaw, and glanced about the cafeteria, almost curiously. It was too crowded to pick out anyone, but he still kept getting that instinctive feeling that they were definitely getting looked at, even if he had no idea who. Dean bristled. It creeped him out enough that something happened last night and he'd had no say in it, apparently, but having someone playing friggen mind games with him and using his brother like this was even worse. Dean turned his attention back to the conversation, his eyebrows drawn together as he scowled down at his bandaged hands.

Was it really too much to ask to get his brother back and not have things explode into a crap-fest for a change? Dean could handle hunts. But after that kill-order from his dad, after Cold Oak...Dean just felt dead tired with it all, especially when he'd realized just what the world was like without Sam there. Dean knew he couldn't go through it again if Sam got killed. Just...just couldn't. There just didn't seem to be a point. Sitting there in that dinky shack in Podunk, Nowhere, and knowing Sammy wouldn't ever argue with him, bitch at him about stupid shit like how often he washed his socks, and that he was just plain gone? Worst feeling in the world. He'd felt himself just go that night when Sam died in his arms as he pleaded with him to hold on. Whatever happened here, Dean couldn't deal with thinking about losing Sam again, that emptiness inside yawning at him. Dean knew he should feel scared of it, and he did, but he also knew things changed after Cold Oak. He knew just how far he'd go without his brother. Losing him again? This time without an assist from that Crossroads Bitch?

Hell, if it came to that, he'd probably just blow his head off. Screw that one-year expiration date.

Dean had to work to keep all of this under wraps, before he started broadcasting to his little brother just how upset he was about this. Sam couldn't know about Cold Oak, why Dean took this attack on him way harder than before. Dean didn't have any idea how or when he'd tell him the truth, but right now wasn't the time. First they had to work out what happened last night, deal with it, and move on. Kill whatever was gunning for Sammy before it got him again. Then he could afford to figure out a nice way to put "yeah, by the way, I sold my soul, booked a ticket to Hell, thought I'd give you a head's up" and tell his brother he had less than a year left. Dean could feel the pounding in his head coming back. Pretty sure it wasn't just feeling beat up, either. Right now, he would've traded anything to go back a year where they didn't have to deal with this and it was just about hunting things, saving the people no one else would save.

[allroadslead]

Right. The exorcism-gone-wrong. It'd only been the night before last, but it felt as if it happened a long time ago. After last night, everything seemed to fall to the wayside.

Sam frowned a little when Dean winced at the slight movement. If he hadn't already known without asking that Dean would never agree to it, he might've tried to get him to stay inside tonight and take some downtime before something else came after Dean yet again. Except the only way that would ever work was if Dean thought he was doing it for Sam and Sam knew Dean wouldn't ever buy that Sam wanted a night in under the circumstances.

He wished they weren't in split rooms. It'd make this a lot easier, keeping an eye on his brother. He still couldn't figure out when the hell Dean had gotten hit with the mind control. It couldn't have been during the night; Dean had left his room too quick for that. Plus, there'd been that note. That should've tipped him off, he should've known, then, what had happened.

So-what? Sometime during the day, then? Probably.It was probably a completely random event, too. He doubted Lelouch had picked Dean for a specific reason. Or, at least not any specific reason that had to do with them being hunters or a Winchester. On the one hand, that was good since it meant their cover was still relatively intact, but on the other...If Dean had been targeted for a reason, there would be more definitive ways for Sam to fix it, keep it from happening again. Something that was entirely up to chance like this, it just felt too far out of his control, as if Dean was going to walk across the street and get hit by a car again simply because some guy didn't know how to goddamn drive.

But that was neither here nor there. He was still left with the pretty complicated issue of what the hell he was supposed to tell Dean. He didn't want to say anything that would bring up the possibility that Dean had been the one who'd attacked and nearly killed him, but that would mean avoiding using the excuse of possession which was essentially his best bet right now for explaining all of this. With any luck, Dean would simply believe him when he said that Dean hadn't been the one who'd hurt him.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, buying a couple of seconds of extra time to think. He wanted to see where Lelouch was, too, and Suzaku, but Dean would see who he was looking at and piece it together. Their table wasn't at the optimal position to keep an eye on everyone here.

"Um." He shifted in his seat. "I remember trying to find you. You weren't in your room last night. Found you out in the field with a couple of others, probably demons or something. It all got kinda messy after that."

It was vague, but he'd fill in the blanks along the way as Dean asked, figure out what direction to go from there using that. As long as Dean didn't start getting too specific-he could lie down to the smallest detail, but...somehow, he wanted to avoid doing that, try to keep as much of it as a half-truth as he could. It was stupid, but it made him feel less guilty. Barely, but he'd take what he could get.

[theroadsofar]

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, jaw working as he tried again to remember anything. Walking around on his own, only not, and running with a group of others that Sam thought were demons? Definitely sounded like possession right there. Dean couldn't help the disgusted shiver running up his spine at the thought of getting possessed: Sam had been on the receiving end of it, once, and once had been enough.

"So you're saying I was possessed?" asked Dean, though it wasn't much of a question at this point. He didn't look entirely sold on the idea, although it was still the best shot they had. "Think I would've remembered getting force-fed some black smoke."

Dean was sure demons could decide if their hosts would remember some of what happened or block the majority of it out - depended on how much of an asshole they were, and dicking around with humans and torturing them by making them watch seemed to be pretty much par for demonic entertainment. Okay, suppose he really had been possessed. Did explain why he had weird injuries, why last night was a blank (sorta explained). But logically thinking it over, it didn't make as much sense as it should've. Once that demon was inside him, it would've known everything about him, who he was, what he did for a living, his family. Everything. It wouldn't have just ridden him like a cheap rental from Point A to Point B. No, it would've wanted to have some fun, tried to inflict the maximum damage because that's what demons just did for their evil little kicks. Looking at it that way, Dean had a feeling Sammy wasn't telling him everything. Demons would go out of their way to be douchebags if they got to ride in him of all people.

He looked up, wishing he didn't have to suspect his brother (why would he lie to him?) but needing to know the truth. If he was gonna hunt these down, he needed the whole picture. His brother couldn't sugar-coat it just 'cause.

"Guessin' your Demon Radar told you I was possessed?" Dean probed. If Sam wasn't telling him everything off the bat, it was probably for a good reason. Sammy wouldn't lie about this. He...just wasn't telling him everything all at once. Dean was mature enough to know the difference. Still, he wasn't some fool civvie: he could handle it. "Would've thought if I was possessed, the damn thing would've wanted me awake for it just to dick around with me."

What about Sam? He'd been close enough to use that freaky ESP Demon Radar of his, so wouldn't the demons have gunned for him then? One demon was already bad news. A group? How the hell had Sam survived? Sammy was good but not that good to go toe-to-toe with a group of demons and no weapons whatsoever, and come out with (relatively) minor injuries. This was making less and less sense, Dean's face darkening all over, this time with suspicion. What wasn't Sammy telling him? He believed him when he implied he'd been possessed - it was the first explanation he'd come up with himself - but there were just too many holes right now. Dean was used to being kept in the dark, thanks to how Dad used to run things, but this was Sam. His brother could be pissy, reserved, but he kept him in the loop. Insisted on it, even. That was how Sam would've run things, if he was Dad, 'cause he insisted on having answers, needing to know everything, and thinking Dean should too.

[theroadsofar]

Having Sammy withholding info from him now was enough to get him confused all over again. Dean cradled his head again in one hand, closed his eyes for a second. Still no go with the memories.

What had really happened last night? Why couldn't he remember getting possessed? Had Angel seen anything? Or maybe he'd been possessed too. Either way, Dean couldn't see how Sam got in and out like that. Obviously he wasn't possessed now, which seemed to point at having been exorcised (another thing he didn't remember and should have). Sam could definitely pull off an exorcism by himself - for starters, he knew his Latin and didn't need a cheat-sheet like Dean - but he'd have had to either trapped every single demon in that field for a mass exorcism or dragged him away and privately exorcised him. It wouldn't have been easy. Dean knew he would've been kicking and screaming the whole way, maybe using some TK powers the demon came packaged with or something. Sam could've handled it if he'd had access to the Impala, maybe some prep-time, but he didn't.

Still, Dean trusted Sam. Here he was, back to normal even with last night shot and beat up, and Sam was alive. That was a great start, he thought, trying to think positively. Walking into a clusterfuck of demons? Coming out in Sam's condition? Friggen incredible. Dean leaned on the table's edge with his elbow, mouth thinning into a line.

"So what did I do? How'd you track me down?" Dean felt bad drilling his brother with questions. If they were gonna deal with this, he needed to know everything that happened last night though.

[allroadslead]

His what?

Crap, right. Sam had mentioned his so-called ability to sense demons to Dean, hadn't he. It wasn't a lie, entirely, but it sure as hell wasn't the full truth either. But Dean would never let that go. Visions were one thing, but there was a line for everyone and he was pretty sure that Dean had a line, too, even if Dean might deny it to high heaven. Sam had crossed it a long time ago, but Dean didn't need to know that. Maybe one of them could at least have things the way they were before it all got screwed ten ways from Sunday. He knew it was wrong, but in a way...in a way, he thought Dean having come from the past was possibly not an entirely unfortunate event. It was messing with Sam like nothing else, but for Dean-as long as Dean didn't ever find out, their lives two years ago wasn't that bad of a place to be. Even with Cold Oak and their dad's death, it had still been so much easier back then.

And if Sam couldn't change everything in the past, then maybe he could give him this. All he had to do was fix the deal, take care of Lilith, and none of it would matter anymore. They could just go on, no demons, no contract with the devil, and Dean would never have to know exactly how different his own brother was. Because Dean had sold his soul for him, and Sam-Sam wasn't sure he could bring himself to tell Dean that the brother he'd gone to hell for wasn't quite the person Dean thought he was.

Sam watched Dean put his head in his hands, felt another stab of guilt at that. He could tell him. He could tell him everything right now. But God, what the hell good would that do? At the moment, Sam could keep this from having anything more to do with Dean. It would only be one bad night for him, a night he didn't even remember, and that was it. Whatever else happened with Lelouch, Sam could step in. Dean didn't need to barrel his way to the front lines all the time.

"I don't-I don't know, okay?" he said tiredly. "It's not a button, Dean, I can't control it. I don't know if you were possessed or not, I don't know what they wanted with you or why they decided to black you out. I just-"

Damn it, his head hurt. He wasn't surprised Dean was asking all of this, had expected it even, but it didn't make it any easier to field off the questions. Dean hadn't even questioned everything yet. Sam was pretty sure he'd want to know about remembering the black smoke and the sulfur, or lack thereof, and how Sam had even gotten away in one piece. Demons were not that difficult for him to handle anymore, but to Dean...

He let out a breath. "Look, all I know is that someone told me you went out so I went out and there you were. I can't...I must've lost some time, I don't know."

He hadn't really lost time, exactly, or at least not that much. Less than a minute. But his memory during that period was fuzzy. He remembered Dean had taken him down and he remembered feeling like he was gonna throw up, and he remembered the flap of wings. That was about it. He hadn't even thought about the presence of the apparently giant bird until now.

Regardless, whether or not Dean would buy it remained to be seen. He knew he was playing up the confusion on his part, see if he could simply let Dean to drop it a little or ease off. Maybe Dean would pick up the line of questioning again, but Sam figured as long as he could stall for a bit, he could have some time to sort this out.

[theroadsofar]

Dean latched onto that. "What do you mean, you lost time?"

Had Sam been possessed too? The thought terrified the living crap out of him; that time with Meg had been bad enough, but at least he knew Meg, what that skank was capable of. Having his brother get jumped again, this time by an unknown demon? Made him more than a little nervous.

Noticing the tired look on Sam's face, bruises and all, Dean's expression softened. Y'know what, he didn't need to go all out grilling Sam. Dean reached over and pushed his untouched breakfast plate at him with a "here, eat" that wasn't up to argument. He waited for Sam to actually get some food in him before he was willing to start again with the questions, wondering what was up with his brother. This Demon Radar thing bugged him, but so did a lot of things these days. Dean knew he should be just be happy that the both of them were still alive and not possessed. Unless Sam was possessed right now. Would explain how he could walk into a nest of demons and come out in one piece. Dean's eyes flickered back to Sam, but all he did was smoothly slide over the salt shaker closer to his brother, glancing down at the scrambled eggs and tater tots on the plate with a pointed look. If Sam was demon-free, he wouldn't hesitate.

Dean didn't think Sammy was possessed. Hoped not, anyway. One way to make sure...although honestly, it was getting old having to check if his brother was his brother practically every day. Without the safety of those protective charms Bobby gave them after the Meg incident, Dean felt pretty exposed. Uneasy. There had to be a way to protect against possession that didn't involve laying down a salt circle and sleeping in the thing. They'd never get anything done if they couldn't even leave the rooms.

Assuming Sam wasn't possessed, Dean was starting to get a vague picture of what happened. The time-frame seemed to indicate he'd gotten jumped while he was asleep and then he'd been ridden to some demon conference during the night. Just walked out, not even tried to sneak away. Cue Sam tracking him and then there was a big, unexplained blank that made him nervous and jittery all over again. Why couldn't Sam remember what happened? He didn't remember getting injured either? Even more troubling, why didn't he believe him? Dean wanted to, but something about the way Sam said that, it didn't sit well. Didn't seem right. Dean knew he was a hypocrite to get annoyed at Sam for concealing things from him like he needed to get babied. There was Cold Oak, and there was this. Least, that's what he told himself. This was a hunt, one they weren't prepared for, sure, but still a hunt. If they were gonna hunt these demons down, they had to do it as a team. Dean had to know everything that happened that night, not just what Sammy thought he could handle. Considering what it felt like Sammy wasn't telling him, he had a feeling it'd be big.

Sam still had to tell him. These things knew who they were now. Even if Sam hadn't been possessed, Dean had apparently. They'd read his mind like an open book and he couldn't have done a damn thing to stop them when they were holed up in his own body. They had to find them and exorcise them before they capitalized on that. Dean sat there, feeling dirty and violated, and wishing not for the last time he had the Impala and access to her arsenal in the trunk. Would be nice to even the playing field.

[allroadslead]

For a second, Sam didn't say anything. He'd been trying to avoid answering the issue of what Dean had done in general at all, but yeah, he should've known better. It'd be the first thing Dean wanted to know and there was only so much he could evade. He knew Dean wouldn't question it if he gave him a straight answer one way or another.

"You knocked me out," he replied finally.

As long as Dean didn't know how far it'd really gone, he figured he could compromise on that much. Dean would probably feel bad about it, too, but there was a pretty damn big difference between knocking someone out and trying to slit their throat. If Dean thought there had been other possessed patients present at the time, Sam could just blame most of the heavier damage on them instead when it came down to it.

He cast a look at the plate of food and the salt shaker Dean pushed at him. Oh. He kept forgetting that Dean didn't remember, didn't even have, the protection they'd finally decided to get after a bunch of demons had blown out of the gate. Though these days, he was starting to wonder what good it did him when it'd always been far too late to have ever stopped something demonic from getting inside of him.

If Dean didn't know, though, Sam would have to tell him. He didn't need to hide it, really, and while he'd have to come up with another explanation as to how they'd gotten the tattoos, he supposed it didn't matter that much in the long run. Besides, Dean would want to know why Sam had kept this from him if he didn't bring it up now. Was there some way they could do the same to Dean? Other than drawing the devil's trap on him with a Sharpie or something, that was. Dean hadn't been possessed this time, but it would still be a good idea. With Sam targeting so many demons lately, he doubted they'd hesitate much in possessing his brother to screw with him.

He ignored the food. Dean would bitch at him, but he'd eat later, and it always bugged him a little that everyone kept reminding him to eat all the time like skipping a meal because he didn't have much of an appetite at the time meant that he'd suddenly gone on a hunger strike altogether. Even Ruby had shoved her plate of fries at him on occasion.

He bit his lip and pulled down the collar of his shirt instead, revealing the devil's trap he'd gotten tattooed on him. It had felt a bit weird at first to be having a matching tattoo, of all things, with his brother, but being able to not constantly worry about whether or not Dean was actually Dean was a nice reprieve in the face of everything they were dealing with. Not that it'd saved him in the end.

"Bobby's idea," he said. "With the demon count going up, we figured..." He trailed off with a shrug. Bobby had mentioned that demonic possession had multiplied in number before, though his count back then had been next to nothing compared to the number of demons on the loose now.

At any rate, maybe Dean would get distracted by this, at least for a little while. Give Sam a chance to sort out some more where to go from here, how much more he wanted or should tell Dean. If he'd had it his way, he'd just tell him nothing, but the only person who could keep Dean that much in the dark without Dean demanding answers was their dad.

[theroadsofar]

He'd knocked him out.

Dean's posture stiffened. Okay, that wasn't that bad except for the part of he didn't remember it and there was no telling what else he'd done when he'd been prisoner inside his own body, riding bitch with a demon as pilot. What about those injuries? He didn't see this mystery demon just being satisfied with knocking Sammy out and leaving him there. Dean looked ready to demand more details, despite the feeling he probably didn't wanna really know, when Sam changed the subject, dodging the plate of food shoved at him and instead pulling his shirt down. Dean's glance followed the movement. The hunter raised an eyebrow.

Was that a tattoo? Sure looked like it, a black star shape the size of his fist, right over his brother's heart, and looking a lot like a modified devil's trap. Without asking, Dean reached out and ran his fingers over the edge of the protection charm (he assumed that's what it was). Kind of a moot point when the bandages blocked him from feeling anything, but judging by the fact the black lines didn't fade or smudge when he touched them, it did look like an honest to God tattoo. For being so new, it didn't look days old fresh; Sam's skin wasn't even red at all. Huh. Dean knew Bobby had his talents, but he'd never figured him for a skilled tat artist. Dean met his brother's eyes, letting him know silently we still gotta talk...after they discussed this new tattoo.

He dropped his hand away from the tattoo, letting his brother cover up it up with his shirt again. "So that explains why you weren't possessed. You get one of those bad boys on you and it just cockblocks the demons right from the get-go, don't it?"

Better insurance than those charms, not when it couldn't be removed short of cutting it out and that took time. Couldn't forget it, drop it, or get it pulled off you or confiscated. Getting a tattoo like that was something Sammy wouldn't have ever thought about back in Stanford with his friends, with Jessica, but it looked like he hadn't even thought twice about it now. Things had changed, he knew that. Just another reminder. Definitely was a good idea, another check to add to the We Owe Bobby list, with "he didn't tell Sammy about Cold Oak" right there at the top. Dean reached over, snagging a tater tot (well, fumbled, got it on the second try) and popping it in his mouth, chewing it without tasting it much. He swallowed. Took another one, ate it, if only to give him something to do and not just steer the conversation to the painful topic of what he'd done when he'd been possessed.

Dean knew whatever happened, it was over. What mattered this second was identifying the demons, how many there were, and making sure he didn't get jumped a second time; seeing as he was the one without the demonic condom here, he was the one who was the biggest liability to their team right now. It was a risk they couldn't afford, especially now the demons seemed to be upping their ball-game. But...maybe he was being a masochist, but Dean had to know. Wanted to know. He gazed at Sam, still chewing silently on his food, and just watched him without a word, thinking.

[allroadslead]

"That's the idea."

There were more than a few holes in what he'd little he'd told Dean about the tattoo, given the short space of time Dean assumed had passed between them, but Dean didn't prod further. Probably because Dean was mostly still focused on what he'd done while possessed. He hadn't missed the look Dean had given him. If Sam didn't broach the subject now, Dean would eventually bring it up later.

Not that Sam begrudged him for that; he would've done the same. He clearly remembered how pissed he'd gotten at his brother for keeping what he had from him, about what their dad had said, and now-it wasn't that he was suddenly okay with it. It still got to him, that Dean had planned-was still planning-on keeping the fact that he'd sold his soul for so long, though in truth, it was that Dean had so readily damned himself in the first place that ticked him off the most. But it was just...now, he was starting to think maybe he understood. That running the risk of Dean getting angry with him for lying was a better alternative than not even bothering to try to save him from the truth.

He watched Dean fumble with his food, couldn't bring himself to even consider deadpanning something about hand feeding him like he might've if Dean had screwed up his hands some other way on the job. They both got their fair share of injuries, but something like this was more of a problem than most despite being relatively minor in comparison. You lost the use of your hands, you might as well stayed in bed. It was just as well that they didn't have their firearms with them, anyway.

Dean was uncharacteristically silent, as well, which meant the entire possession angle was getting to him. He wanted to distract Dean more by keeping on the topic of the tattoo, suggest they find a way to do something similar for Dean, but Dean would able to spot the diversion for what it was. His brother was beat to hell, but he was alert as ever.

Besides, Sam couldn't leave him completely in the dark, especially since Dean would likely start drawing conclusions on his own and the longer Sam kept quiet, the worst Dean would assume it was. And it had been bad; Sam wasn't gonna deny that. They'd gone through a lot of crap and last night was hardly at the top of the list-nothing quite topped watching your brother get shred to pieces-but it wasn't really at the bottom of it, either.

"It wasn't you," he said. "The one that almost-" He stopped short, decided that almost was possibly not the best word choice. "-the one that tried to kill me, it wasn't you."

None of it had been Dean, obviously, but he knew better than to attempt to persuade him of that. After Meg-it wasn't him, either, who'd put a bullet through Dean and almost killed Jo, but it sure as hell felt like it. Dean didn't remember anything, but that might just end up making it harder for him to make the distinction. The most Sam could do was convince Dean that he hadn't even been the one to have taken the action in the first place.

Sam lifted his eyes, studying Dean steadily as he watched for Dean's reaction. As much as he knew Dean trusted him, he also knew that it was entirely possible for Dean to be aware of what he might be trying to do here. Not telling Dean that he'd been half a second from slitting his brother's throat? It wasn't exactly an unpredictable path to take.

[theroadsofar]

Dean now knew what it felt like to get the "it wasn't you" excuse thrown in your face. Now he knew what it felt like.

Logically, Dean knew perfectly well that there was just no way he could resist a demon invading his body without protection. Sure, he was a hunter, he'd killed a lot of things people couldn't even imagine in their worst nightmares, but end of the day, Dean Winchester was still as much a human as the average, shitting-his-pants civvie. If he got jumped, he got possessed. It wasn't like he could stop whatever happened and it wasn't him attacking his brother. Sure felt like it though. Dean sat there, miserable and trying not to be a pussy and show it, chowing down on the tater tots from the plate between them 'cause he couldn't think of something better to do. Knowing he couldn't have done anything, that technically it wasn't his fault...it didn't make him feel any better.

He chewed angrily, staring off into the distance and knowing this had to be what Sam kept from him. "Explains how you got beat up," Dean said, trying to keep his tone neutral and failing. His eyes traveled to the cleaned up cut on Sam's neck, as effective as a slap in the face. "I did that to you. Demon or not, that bastard was riding around in my body."

Dean knew it hadn't been just knocking Sam out. What he wanted to know why he hadn't remembered any of this. The demon had to know who they were, who Sam was. It should've given him a horrific front row seat to this, but there was a still whole lot of nothing where last night should've been. It still didn't add up. He'd pulled some more info out of Sam, but it still wasn't enough to satisfy him. What had those demons been doing out there? How had Sam escaped? Hell, how come he wasn't still possessed? If he'd been busy trying to attack his own brother, the demon wouldn't have just booked it outta there when it was just starting to get good for it. Dean gave up on the tater tots, jaw working he clenched it, biting his lip and looking from the cafeteria back to same, his face troubled.

The idea of possession had always bothered him. Same with the psychic powers thing. The danger of getting possessed had always been there, sure, but it happened to other people. To civvies. Usually they cleaned up the mess - or bodies, like Meg - afterward. Getting possessed and attacking his brother, after Cold Oak? Dean couldn't help feeling like somehow he should've been more careful. Dammit, why hadn't he just done the smart thing and laid down circles around the bed, or drawn a devil's trap over it? It'd somehow gotten over the salt line (vents?), so obviously he hadn't been as careful as he could've been. It was stupid to beat himself up over something already over. Still didn't make it any easier to stop.

Dean frowned, cleared his throat, and tried not to ask just how much of Sam's injuries had been him personally. How much he'd worked Sammy over with hands that he hadn't been controlling but had still been his. At least not yet.

"How'd you get away? Aren't you worried I could be possessed right now?" Dean asked, though it was more to get more answers from Sammy than anything else. Dean was sure he wasn't possessed anymore...unless that demon was that good at hiding - from what it sounded like, talking to the formerly possessed in the past, you somehow knew a demon was still in you. "I don't remember any exorcisms."

[allroadslead]

Sam frowned. Somehow, he hadn't expected Dean to misinterpret what he meant, to have not taken it literally, but he really should have. Of course Dean would think that that was what Sam was trying to say, and in a way, he was, but-

It felt a little stupid, that it was necessary for him to be clarifying what was basically a complete lie. This kept freaking spiralling. He knew it would, too, he'd known from the start, but if he'd told Dean everything, it would've spiralled just the same, only it would be spinning out of control for both of them. And that was all he had to hold on to, that Dean couldn't know-not just this, but all of it-because it was too late to turn back. He'd done it. He had to make sure that it would actually be worth it now, that it wouldn't all fall apart, anyway.

"No, I meant-it wasn't you, Dean," he said. "It wasn't the one that had you possessed. Not for that."

He didn't bother making clear what he meant by that; Dean wasn't exactly being stealthy about what he was staring at. Sam lifted his hand to touch the cut without really thinking, stopping halfway when he realized what he was doing.

At least with the question of how he got away, he could answer that part honestly. He wasn't sure how it'd happened; it was pretty obvious, given last night, that he hadn't simply blacked out. There was no way he could've survived otherwise-Dean had been half a second from finishing the job. Unless they'd both blacked out at the exact same time, which was possible and a little bit less weird, but it still seemed as if the timing was just too good. He wasn't complaining, of course. Far from it. That didn't change how none of it made sense, though.

"I didn't," he replied. "Everything just-stopped. Before..."

He shrugged, trying to avoid mentioning just how close he'd come to getting killed out loud. He'd nearly died plenty of times, but he knew it wasn't something Dean could just get used to and he also knew that to Dean, Sam had been dead only a few days ago. It was why Dean was hovering so much, more than usual. He could've said something about it to see if Dean would eventually cave and tell him about the deal-a part of him wanted to know how far Dean would go to keep it from him-but he wasn't about to do that to his brother.

Anyway, it wasn't a topic he was willing to bring up any more than Dean was. There was too much surrounding it. It still raised the question of what it meant, too. Sam knew the contract held despite it all. He couldn't see why they'd suddenly get some fantastic miracle where it would magically disappear simply because Dean had died once already. But a part of him needed a way to confirm it, as well, and he couldn't decide if he was holding out a spark of hope or trying to crush it on his own before life got there first.

Sam wanted to say something else, found that he had nothing left. He went back to watching Dean eat, instead. Even if Dean was not, in one of his rare moments, eating for pleasure, it still made him feel better seeing his brother do something so familiar.

"Look," he began to say, brushing his hair out of his face and that was where it ended. For a split second, he absurdly thought that his hair had simply fallen out (and wouldn't that be the icing on top of an excellent morning) but it was pretty clear, from the thick black clump that wound its way around his fingers, that it didn't belong to him. He knew precisely who-or what, rather-it belonged to.

Perfect.

[theroadsofar]

Rate he was going, he was gonna run out of tater tots.

Dean kept chewing as he thought this over, processing it. Tried not to take it personally 'cause even if he'd attacked Sam - or his body had, anyway - it hadn't been him trying to kill him by slitting his damn throat. Another demon, possessing another human. Sam had to remember what these others looked like, right? Other patients? Dean didn't know if they were still possessed, but even if they weren't, maybe they could help him fill in the blanks, find what what the demons were doing out in the field, what happened with Sammy, and anything else. Dean still wasn't sure what to make of Sam's claim it wasn't him: the options were pretty much it really wasn't him, or it was, and Sam was lying to his face about it. Glancing at Sammy, he realized he wasn't entirely sure, for a change. It was small, these tells about his brother he'd pretty much grown up with, but there were little things about him that seemed...different now. It wasn't as easy or automatic to read Sammy.

Trying to look back on it, he started wondering if it'd started around when Sam came back. Dean got he was pissed at Jake - hell, he would've been, in Sam's shoes - but even he'd been privately surprised when Sam looked pretty dead-set on killing the other psychic. Sam could kill, yeah, kinda part and parcel of the job, but Dean hadn't seen him so - so ready to kill a fellow human being, and that was that. Didn't seem to be satisfied with just tossing him to the cops or anything. Dean hadn't thought those four days had been enough to really make a difference. Now he didn't know. It seemed like a lot changed, what with Sam somehow feeling different, the tattoo, these new powers of his brother's...

Sam brought up what saved his life. It wasn't some insanely badass Houdini act, either.

Dean polished off the tater tots, leaving the rest of his breakfast for his little brother. "Like that night with Punk-Ass?" he frowned, understanding what he was getting at. He'd thought that weird, when that "demon" hit them with his telekinesis and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in his bed with only Angel in the room and almost no sign of the exorcism. "Sam, we gotta find the people who were possessed. Ask them some questions, try to figure out what they..." Dean paused, scowling and not wanting to dance around the fact he'd been possessed, "we were up to last night."

Had to be big, if demons were gathering. From what he'd seen of the black-eyed bastards, they tended to prefer running solo, having their own individual fun instead of coming at you in a pack. The last time he'd seen demons gathering, it'd been right before...well, right before Dad died. Dad was gone, had been gone for awhile, but he'd never really felt he'd gotten over it. He'd just had so much thrown onto his plate that he couldn't think about it too much these days, although there were sometimes - maybe in the bathroom brushing his teeth, idling in the Impala waiting for Sammy to zip it up in a gas station's crappy bathroom - that it'd come at him again. Maybe he couldn't bring Dad back. This time with Sam would be different, Dean thought, watching his brother. He wouldn't just go to hell and leave him wondering what happened, like Dad.

Dean had no idea how he'd bring it up, but before this year was out, he'd have to sit Sammy down and just tell him the damn truth.

The kicker was right now, Dean was downright terrified to break it to him. Hunting things, almost getting killed all the time, somehow he could handle it. Telling his brother the truth? Dean didn't have the balls for it.

He was about to ask Sam for more details when Sam suddenly started losing hair. The hair he'd pulled out definitely wasn't his, instead the same long black stuff he'd coughed up earlier. Dean couldn't help himself: he hovered closer, ready in case his brother started choking on that ghost's hair again.

"Sam," Dean's voice was tight as he reached over, took the hair from his brother. Aside from being not Sam's, it looked like normal, if long hair. Seriously, what the hell? What was the ghost doing? Psychological warfare, freak out its victims before moving in for the kill? Or was this a death omen and this was some kind of tripped out warning?

[allroadslead]

In truth, Sam should've known that their spirit problem wasn't over. And it wasn't even that he thought it was over. It'd just slipped his mind between the brainwashing and the getting his ass kicked and the what the hell do I tell Dean.

At least he wasn't hacking the hair up this time. ZEX had mentioned finding hair, not only coughing up hair, which had to make him wonder why it'd taken longer for his to escalate to this point. Or then again, was this an escalation? It didn't feel like it, if they were judging on a scale of creepiness. Finding ghost hair in your own was bizarre, but not as much as spitting out a hairball was.

Dean grabbed the hair out of his hands almost immediately. Sam's first instinct was to take it back so he could examine it for himself because that was what he did when he didn't know what the hell was going on, but logic told him that doing so would be ridiculous. There wasn't going to be a lot of answers found in a handful of hair.

He looked at his brother instead, eyebrows raised slightly as he tilted his head in an expression that suggested that he didn't know what was happening any more than Dean did.

Well, no. He was being haunted. Obviously, But he didn't know why and he didn't know what it meant. For a ghost, this was pretty damn tame. He'd seen the spirit once or twice, but-that was about it. And only in reflective surfaces which was even odder. Spirits showed up in mirrors often, but not always exclusively so. It had to be connected to mirrors somehow, then. Except the hallway where the ghost haunted? It was completely bare. No one had come across her anywhere else, so the most logical conclusion was that that was the place where she'd died or at least a place that had some significance to her. But it was just a hallway. There was nothing there. Certainly no mirrors to potentially trap a spirit's soul within it.

Though it was possible that it used to be a different place and the area had simply undergone major renovations. The building wasn't sparkling new, but it wasn't broken-down old, either, so that wasn't out of the question. The problem was that he didn't know. There was no way to access information on the building. Which irritated him to no end because it should've been easy to do so. Five minutes on Google would've given him what he needed. He'd meant to try and get the information out of a nurse some time yesterday, but there hadn't been a lot of time-dealing with their not-demon patient and then talking with ZEX, and after dinner...well.

Maybe he could do that today. If nothing else went completely wrong, that was.