Title: I Can Make You Do Anything

Author: XsilicaX aka Cathy.

Category: Missing Scene; Angst;

Characters: Sam; Meg; Dean gets a mention and maybe a later appearance.

Words: 1503

Spoilers: Born Under a Bad Sign. (If by some miracle you live in a country that has aired this even slower than mine, i.e. you haven't seen it yet, don't read this!)

Warnings: Language! Possible disturbing scenes to come.

Disclaimer: SO not mine! Enjoy, and review!

I Can Make You Do Anything

Sam could feel something stirring inside his head. It felt like a rustle. He could smell the treacle crawling behind his eyes. His mind was alight with pain, nerve endings tasting of pressure. He could see the wind rushing through his hair. He could hear feet dancing through his veins. It was vertigo on fire.

He opened his eyes.

No! Wait! He didn't open his eyes. That wasn't him. What the hell?

His head felt numb, coated with sticky cotton wool between every synapse. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The room swirled and blurred in and out of focus.

Oh. He was moving, sitting up; getting to his feet. But it wasn't him. He felt wasted, as though Dean was putting him to bed. Except that there was no one moving him. Except that there was.

He moved (was moved?) towards the mirror, stumbling a little. He could hear a muffled curse. It sounded like his voice. His lips had definitely moved, kinda like his feet were still doing. He tried to look down at them to see if this was some kind of weird, floating dream. He couldn't move.

His head lifted (was lifted?) up; he watched himself in the mirror. Raising (someone raised?) his hand forwards to touch his face. Was it still his hand if he couldn't control it? Was he still him? He could feel the stubble on his chin through fingers that were his but weren't. They felt cold against his skin. He felt the muscles contract in his cheek and saw his face take on a smile.

Okay, that definitely was not him. He didn't smile like that. He looked like him though.

Sam spun around in a circle (or tried) but didn't move. He opened his mouth (didn't) and screamed (inside his head, plenty; outside? Not so much) for his brother. "Dean!" All he could hear was a roaring, muffled feeling.

The room lurched again, and he felt the vertigo hit him in his (his?) stomach, as he (he?) turned around. This was his motel room all right. His duffel was at the foot of the bed where he'd left it last night; Dean's was open on the other bed, rifled through. Dean must be doing laundry. The sun was half-risen. It was early, but not too early; it wasn't likely he was still asleep; but this could still be a dream.

The floor felt cold on his (his?) bare feet, as he walked (was walked, damnit!) towards his bag. He (this was so not him; he screamed to no effect) knelt down besides the bag, intending (he supposed, though really if he didn't know what was moving him, how the hell would he know what that what was thinking?) to go through his stuff. He (this wasn't him, it wasn't!) cursed as he hit his (ow. It hurt; it must be his) head on the edge of the bunk.

He cursed. It sounded like his voice. He would have cursed; it hurt! But he hadn't misjudged his height like that since he was fourteen and had finally grown upwards instead of outwards.

He rubbed his head at the ache, grabbing his clothes with his other hand, and headed off to the bathroom, dumping the clothes and turning on the shower. He (the him inside his head, the real one) blinked. Well okay, he didn't but he tried. None. Of. That. Was. Him.

What the HELL was going on here!

"Oh Sammy, haven't you figured it out yet?"

What?

"Poor Sammy; so lost inside his own head."

Okaaaay. That wasn't his voice. It wasn't Dean's either, so he guessed his brother wasn't pranking him again. He was hearing voices? Man, he was screwed up!

"Aw, you'll work it out soon Sammy, it's not hard."

He felt the sickening sensation of someone patting him on the head in a patronising, inside his freaking head, way.

He screamed (to himself again, naturally) for Dean to appear with some kind of explanation. One that didn't involve hearing voices, insanity, or turning evil, all of which jumped straight to his (his? Oh yeah, that was definitely his) mind. How many other people had a list of fears that started like that. Talk about your fears coming true. No, wait! Don't think that or it might start happening, if by some chance it hadn't already begun. Whatever the hell this was, Sam knew he wanted out.

"Don't you understand yet Sam?" the voice pitied him. Could you pity yourself? "There is no way out. This is you, your body, just with a little guest along for the ride." His hand (his hand, not hers damnit) swung out for emphasis.

His head echoed with laughter; it wasn't his. He was hearing somebody else's laughter inside his head. Her laughter. Her? He paused.

Okay, he could still do that. He could think silence. Maybe he still had control here.

Or not.

The laughter started up again.

"Okay, that is it!" he yelled, tried to yell, screamed, didn't, whatever.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want? And, oh yeah, GET. THE. HELL. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD!"

That would have felt so much better if he could have just waved his arms for emphasis.

"Sammy, I'm hurt! You really don't remember me? I thought I made such an impression on you."

Sam thought. Did he still have control over that? Or was he hallucinating a sense of self-awareness? "Jess?" he asked waveringly.

"That was a lame guess!" The voice sounded scornful. "I am no fawning schoolgirl sucking up to a wannabe lawyer; and I sure as shit didn't burn up in flames for you."

Sam winced; well he would have if he could. "Clue me in then, I've really reached my limit with this game."

The voice laughed. "I am your worst enemy, and best friend. I am in control. As far as everyone else is concerned I am you."

"You're not me!" he yelled. (Couldn't). This was getting really old, real fast.

"I will be, one day. Or rather you will become like me."

"Who. Are. You?" He felt out of breath now, panting. As though the other voice was taking up all the oxygen in the room (his head?).

"Why Sam, you really know how to make a girl feel loved." He could hear (feel) her (him) smiling. "You'll know me as Meg."

Meg? "Meg?" Okay, possession. That was all right. It wasn't insanity; he wasn't turning evil. It sure wasn't pleasant, but he could live with possession.

"You can't have forgotten me already?" Whoops, way to piss off the nice demon in his head.

"I remember you. Thought we'd banished you. How was Hell?" He really needed to stop hanging around with Dean.

"You want to know so badly, I'll show you!"

He jerked to his knees (inside his head) as every hair on his body stood to attention at the pain that coursed through him. His (figurative) mouth was open in a soundless scream. If you scream where no one can hear you is it screaming? Or just mouthing? Either way, he frigging hurt.

He slumped to the ground (well, the soft spongy base of his brain because he wasn't moving his body) when Meg stopped squeezing his insides. Was he even moving when he did this, or was he imagining that to try to keep sane?

"That was rude." Meg sounded more amused than annoyed

Sam was incredulous. "So was taking me over without even knocking!"

"Oh Sammy, if you want to play that game, I don't think killing me was particularly nice either. Want me to do that to you?"

"Will it take you out too?"

Meg (he) laughed. "Sam, anyone would think you didn't like me!"

"I don't." How was she hearing him? How was he hearing her?

If Dean could only see him now. Arguing with a demon, inside his head, in a bathroom, in a stinking motel, where he couldn't even move a finger. Where the hell was Dean anyway?

"And that's why I'm in too much of a hurry to really enjoy myself, Sam," Meg said.

Sam blinked (didn't; God!). Mind reading. He'd have to be careful what he thought about. He looked around (or rather he saw what Meg wanted to see). Okay, when had he (Meg) got in the shower? When did the clothes come off? And what the hell was his hand doing there?

"What…"

"Oh Sammy, tell me you wouldn't be doing this if things were reversed?" Meg was so not moving her (his hand). "If you were in me I bet your hand would be in much worse places."

"I wouldn't be possessing anybody!" he (didn't) yell.

"That's what you say now, but when you eventually do get around to it, remember what I said."

"It's not gonna happen, Meg. Dean won't let it. He's promised me." Sam said (thought) aloud.

"I guess we'll see, won't we." She (he) smiled.

And didn't that just bode ill.

A/N: Loved the episode, but there are so many scenes that should have been in there. There is no way that Meg would not take the opportunity to torture Sam while she could! If this in any way resembles anyone else's work, please remember that I still have 90 pages of S/N reading to do, which equates to over 2200 fics, and have to stop when I start to hit spoilers – I'm never going to reach the start!

I am in two minds whether to continue this or leave it there. Hope you enjoyed!