Title: Against His Will (Part 1/2)
By: Swanseajill
Rating: Gen, PG-13
Pairing: No pairing
Characters: Dean, Sam
Spoilers: Born Under a Bad Sign
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor am I making any money from them

Summary: Dean looked battered, exhausted and on the verge of collapse. The left side of his face was swollen and bruised and Sam flinched at the sight. He'd done that, with his own fist. He had no memory of it, but the evidence was right there in front of him.

Author's notes: I know there have already been lots of excellent missing scenes and codas written for BUABS, but I still wanted to write my own. I really wish we could have seen what happened immediately after Dean hit Sam, and that's where this missing scene starts. Thanks to iamstealthyone for her usual helpful beta.

"You were possessed."

Searing pain had dragged him from formless shadows, and his confused question, "Did I miss anything?" had earned him the impact of his brother's fist on his jaw. Confused and reeling in shock, he'd caught Bobby's eye, and the hunter had answered the unspoken question in his characteristically blunt way.

Three words, but they sent a chill of fear right through his body. His mind floundered as he grappled with the implications of Bobby's flat statement.

He felt disorientated and disconnected, but reality crashed in when he looked at Dean, now collapsed on his back a couple of feet away, eyes closed, breathing heavily, face lined with pain.

Afraid that his legs wouldn't hold him if he tried to stand, Sam crawled over to his brother.


He tentatively put a hand on Dean's arm, and Dean flinched, eyes popping open, unfocused and wary. Wary of him? Oh, God. What had he done?

"Dean?" It was more of a plea than a question. He reluctantly scooted back a little to give his brother some room.

Dean swallowed, eyes refocusing, and seemed to see Sam properly this time. The wariness receded, replaced by something that could have been relief.

"Shit, Sammy." Dean grunted as he sat up. "Are you okay?"

Good question. Was he okay? His jaw ached where Dean had hit him, and his wrist was hurting like hell. He looked down at a nasty burn overlying some kind of symbol that was fading even as he watched. He swallowed. "Yeah, I'm fine. You look pretty beat up, though."

Dean's lips quirked. "You think? Dude, you've got fists like giant hams."

Sam looked at him, taking in the bloody nose, the cut above his eyebrow, the bruising starting along his cheekbone. For the first time Sam felt the throbbing pain in his right hand, and raised it so he could see the bloody, skinned knuckles. He bit his lip. He'd done that. He'd beaten the crap out of his own brother.

Dean used the back of his hand to wipe away some of the blood from his nose and then levered himself to his feet, shaking off Sam's offer of help. He staggered over to a chair, sinking heavily into it, left arm held closely to his chest.

"Dean, what's wrong with your arm?"

Dean didn't meet his eyes. "Nothing. Bruised it when you… it… threw me into the wall. It's no big deal."

Sam wasn't convinced, but he said nothing. The pain in his wrist was demanding attention, but he tried to ignore it, looking questioningly from Dean to Bobby. "Will one of you tell me what the hell happened?"

"Later," Dean said. "We need to take care of that burn."

"Fine, but what about you?" Sam asked.

Dean frowned and put a hand to his nose, which was still seeping blood. He looked at Bobby. "Bobby, can you help Sam? I'm gonna go clean up."

Bobby nodded. "I'll take care of it."

Watching Dean head unsteadily toward the bathroom, Sam was tempted to follow him and check he wasn't hurt worse than he'd said. Common sense held him back; he could tell that his concern was the last thing Dean wanted right now.

Instead, he took a seat behind the desk and waited for Bobby.

Bobby returned shortly with a bowl of water, a packet of sterile pads and a first-aid kit. He pulled up a chair beside him. "Okay, Sam, let me take a look."

Sam held out his arm for inspection. "Bobby, all this… damage … I did it, didn't I?"

Bobby grunted. "The demon did it, Sam, while we were trying to exorcise it. It's not your fault."

Sam wasn't so sure. "What if it is? What if I could have stopped it? Maybe I was careless in the first place. Maybe I could have stopped it from taking me—"

"Can't think like that, Sam. What's done is done."

"Yeah, I guess." He looked down at his arm, noting that the symbol was even fainter now. He tried not to wince as Bobby soaked a pad in water, wrung it out and draped it over the burn. "Bobby, that symbol … what is it?"

"It's a binding link. We had you tied down, but the link kinda locked the demon in you and countered the Key of Solomon. Only way I could think to break the link was to use fire against fire."

Sam glanced up at the large crack in the ceiling, then grimaced as Bobby gently pressed down on the burn and pain shot up his arm. "Guess it worked."

Bobby shot him a sympathetic look. "Yeah. Sorry I had to do that, but I had no choice. It was…"

"It was what?"

"It was set on killing your brother, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He hated the thought that the demon had used his body to hurt Dean. "You did the right thing, Bobby. What… why was I… it… here, anyway?"

Bobby glanced up at him before replying. "The demon - it was Meg."

Meg. It made sense. The presence he'd felt inside his mind had been evil, but somehow familiar. Meg had been inside him, manipulating him, hurting Dean. Screwing with their family yet again. His gut churned, and his jaw tightened. "Guess she found a way out of hell."

"Yeah. Don't know how she got out, but she did. Guess she came here because she knew Dean would follow. She said she wanted to hurt him, punish him for sending her back to hell."

So she'd chosen Sam to hurt Dean. Sam shook his head, trying to clear some of the wool. If only he could remember. Bobby didn't seem inclined to say any more, so Sam let it go for now. He'd get Dean to tell him everything later.

They lapsed into silence. Sam tried to think back, to remember something, anything, of the past week, and almost immediately, random memories began to return. In some strange way, he was himself, but sharing his mind with someone else. With Meg, who'd controlled his body and made him do things against his will.

He remembered walking down a street, desperate to change direction, call for help, anything, but he was helpless, and the demon was laughing at his feeble attempts to exert his will. He was in a garage, listening to himself mouthing off to the guy behind the counter. He tried to walk out of there, but his legs wouldn't co-operate. Then he was in a bar, and Jo was there. Jo, terror in her eyes as he held a knife to her throat.

Then he was watching, screaming inside his head, as his hand drew a knife across a man's throat. He watched the blood well up around the blade, saw the light fade in the stranger's eyes, and his hands pushed the body away like discarded trash.

The demon had used him to kill a man.

The memory left him reeling and he barely noticed when Bobby removed the pad and replaced it with another. The cloth was cool against Sam's burning skin and already the pain was easing.

"Keep that on," Bobby said. "I'll be right back." He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and when he returned a moment later, he had an ice compress in his hand.

As if on cue, Dean appeared in the doorway, left arm still tucked close to his chest. He paused for a moment, and Sam saw his jaw clench before he made his way across the room and sat down across the table from Sam.

Dean looked battered, exhausted and on the verge of collapse. The left side of his face was swollen and bruised and Sam flinched at the sight. He'd done that, with his own fist. He had no memory of it, but the evidence was right there in front of him.

Bobby handed Dean the compress. "Should take the swelling down."

Dean nodded his thanks and raised the cold compress to his face, wincing a little. "How's that burn, Sam?"

"It's not too bad," Sam said truthfully.

Dean nodded. "Soon as you're ready, we should get moving."

"Why don't you boys stay here tonight," Bobby said. "You're in no shape to move out."

It sounded like a good plan to Sam, but Dean shook his head. "We need to get moving."

Sam frowned. "Dean, we should stay. You look beat, man. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine." It was what Sam had expected him to say, but he looked far from fine. Frankly, he looked about ready to fall face forward onto the table.

Sam exchanged an exasperated glance with Bobby, who shrugged.

"At least stay for a while," Bobby said. "Have something to eat."

Dean hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay. Just for a while, though."

Bobby looked from one to the other and seemed to make a decision. "I'll go fix some sandwiches, then."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said.

After Bobby had left the room there was silence for a while, both brothers lost in their own thoughts. Sam wondered how much Dean knew of what he'd done while possessed. And what all had he done? How many people had he hurt? Jo, the man he'd killed, Dean …

He felt sick at the very thought that he'd harmed Dean. Sure, he knew technically it wasn't him. It was Meg. Even if he'd been aware, he'd have been helpless to stop it and the damage would have been inflicted against his will. Somehow, that didn't make it any easier to accept. Or forgive.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam had to force himself to meet his brother's eyes. "No, I'm not okay. Bobby said… Bobby said I was going to kill you."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Meg, Sam. Not you. And Bobby stopped her, so it's all good."

It was far from good, and both of them knew it.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Sam asked after an uneasy silence.

Dean was quiet for a moment, and then sighed heavily. "I guess you need to know. What's the last thing you remember?"

Good question. The memories were disjointed, and the last thing he remembered clearly was… "Me and you. In that motel room in West Texas. I went out to grab some burgers… Dean, what is it?"

Dean was staring at him intently, shock in his eyes.

"Nothing. Just… you … it said the same thing two days ago when I first found you."

"I don't… what do you mean? How long have I been… Dean, what day is it?"

Dean sighed. "West Texas was ten days ago, Sam. When you disappeared, I spent over a week looking for you, but there was no sign of you. Then you called me, gave me the name of the motel where you were. When I got there you said the whole week was a blank, you had no idea what had happened. We tried to retrace your steps, found out… a few things. I couldn't work out what the hell had happened."

He paused, cleared his throat. "Then… well, it turns out it wasn't you at all. The demon must have possessed you as soon as you went missing, and when I found you, it was still in you." He paused again and anger flickered in his eyes. "It totally played me, Sam. Anyway, you… you left, I followed you, and… well, here we are."

There was clearly a lot more to the story. Sam could tell that from Dean's tone and the way he kept avoiding Sam's eyes.

There was so much Sam wanted to know, he wasn't sure where to start.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam scrubbed his free hand over his face. "I don't know, Dean. I mean, you've just told me I was possessed for ten days. Ten freaking days, man. And I can only remember parts of it. It's just… it's gonna take me awhile to get my mind around that."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I get that."

"We need to talk about this. I need to know what happened, what I did. Dean, I think…" he swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat. "I think I might have killed a man--"

"Not now, Sam," Dean interrupted tersely.

Sam frowned. "Why not? You trust Bobby, don't you?"

"Sure, I trust Bobby. But the less he knows, the better for all of us. Just trust me on this."

"Okay. But, Dean, I need to know. What if --"

Bobby came back into the room, a box of beers in one hand and a plate of sandwiches in the other. Dean shot Sam a warning look, and Sam nodded slightly. Keeping Bobby in the dark sat uncomfortably with him, but right now, he was willing to go with Dean's instincts.

Bobby put the plate and the beer on the table. "Dig in."

Sam had never felt less like eating, his stomach churning uncomfortably in much the same way as his mind. But he had no idea when he'd last eaten, so it made sense to at least try. He forced himself to take a bite of sandwich.

His eyes met Dean's across the table. This wasn't the time, but later he'd make Dean tell him everything that had happened. He needed to know.

He needed to know exactly what he'd done.

To be continued…