Weak Point
by Maygra

He half expects to see Becca when he comes to. It wouldn't be any better really, and it's not Dean's face that bothers him as much as the fact that this thing has tapped into his brother's mind. It's a violation Sam can't get his own thoughts around entirely, but it makes his stomach twist in painful ways that are worse than the pounding in his head.

Although the way the thing looks at him, with Dean's face, is pretty damn unnerving. Sam refuses to look away, even when the thing comes closer. He tenses but meets the stare, feeling almost grateful when the eyes shift and turn gold and glowing.

"Of course, I could turn into you and go after him," it says, crouching in front of him. "Think he'd be fooled?"

"No," Sam says and he believes it. Once upon a time, he'd been as sure as Dean when something that was not human, not right got close. He was out of practice. He'd hesitated when he shouldn't have.

"No. Probably not. He'd have nailed your ass on the street if I'd managed to turn into you rather than him." It smiled and reached out to tousle Sam's hair. "He was the better choice from the start. You're weak. Lost your edge, Sammy."

Sam managed not to flinch and then decided it didn't matter, jerking his head out from under the familiar hand. It didn't do anything but make the shape shifter grin and then laugh. It grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and jerked his head back, holding him still. It leaned in close, lips right next to Sam's ear. "You know…he won't let me go so easy once you're dead. Seems like every man in your family should have his own quest…not just you and your father."

Lips brushed the side of Sam's jaw and he did jerk then, lost some hair and then gasped in pain when the thing shifted its weight and dropped a knee into his groin. Both hands caught his face, fingertips digging into his jaw. "Of course, you're not going to get to finish yours…find Jessica's killer, find what killed your mother." The knee slipped over and Sam sucked in air, feeling bile in his throat when the thing straddled his legs and settled its weight on his thighs. "So, if Dean's going to come after me, maybe I should give him a better reason."

"He won't need one," Sam gasped out.

"No. he won't…but hey, here we are." Lips ghosted over Sam's forehead and his eyes. "And you know, if your brother wanted this…"

Sam half expected it but still wasn't prepared for it when the thing with Dean's face and Dean's mouth kissed him. Kiss wasn’t exactly the right word. Thumbs dug into his jaw right at the joint, forcing his mouth open and keeping it that way. The tongue that forced its way inside his mouth wasn't there for his pleasure or even for its own.

He wanted it to taste and smell foul, to be cold skinned or somehow different than Dean was but it wasn't. It smelled like Dean and the skin was warm. Chances were it tasted like Dean as well and Sam didn't want to even know that, on any level.

His chest was heaving, fighting for air and his stomach churned, threatening to send his lunch back up, breakfast too, and maybe every meal from the past week before the thing let him go and sat back. Where the fingers had been brutal before, now they were gentle, rubbing at his jaw to ease the pain it had inflicted. Sam supposed he was lucky it hadn't dislocated his jaw.

"Did you like that, Sam?" It asked him and he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to answer, to play. Jesus, he'd rather the thing start cutting him than play these games, but its entire existence was based on cruelty, on fear. It had brutalized then killed those women, letting them think it was the man they loved best in the world. Turned love into betrayal and cruelty.

The thing in Dean's body didn't have that edge with him. Sam knew it wasn't Dean, never could be, no matter how tapped into his brother's brain or consciousness it was. It wanted his fear and Sam didn't deny that he was afraid.

But he wasn't blinded by it. And every minute he could delay his own death, put Dean that much closer to stopping it entirely.

"Sorry. You're really not my type," he said and smiled.

He'd forgotten what a mean right cross Dean had. He tasted blood, and spat, pulled his gaze back to meet the glowing eyes and the rage he saw in the face. A rage he'd never seen in Dean's face. Anger, yes, but not this hatred for all the good things that could happen between two people who loved, be they lovers or brothers.

It grabbed at his bound hands and hauled him upward, only to shove him down again and straddle him, shoving his arms up over his head, a knee once more pressing against his crotch with enough pressure that Sam's eyes watered.

One hand slid between them, tugging at Sam's belt and the fastening on his jeans and he twisted again, trying to throw the thing off. That same hand grabbed his dick and balls through the cloth and squeezed until Sam arched back, the edges of his vision going black.

Another blow to the face and he saw stars. "Maybe he's not your type, but that doesn't mean you aren't his…" it hissed at him and rolled Sam over to his belly.

Hands fumbled for his jeans again and Sam bit down, pulled his arms under his chest only to be shoved down again. "Do you really think you can stop me?" It snarled in his ear.

"No. But you can't make me hate him. Not even this," Sam spat out. "You. Are not. My. Brother,"

His face was pushed into the carpet and Sam tried not to tense up further, expecting ripping cloth and more pain.

He was surprised when he was rolled to his back and then dragged across the room to the den.

The thing stood over him, stared down at him and Sam stared back.

"Maybe, when I'm done with you, I should hunt him." It knelt down and stroked across Sam's face and down his chest, then spread its fingers across his groin. "Maybe I should just do enough that you don't die. That you hang in there, paralyzed, helpless. I could be you. Know what you know about him. Show up any time. Be anyone he loves."

It moved away and smiled. Cold, calculating, and very, very pleased with itself.

Sam had no idea why this thing hated Dean so much. What had it tapped into in Dean's consciousness or subconsciousness that could make it hate him so much? And if even a small part of what it had told him about Dean's fear of being left again were true, how much crueler would it be for Sam to be the next one to leave him, only for good? Then to show up at some crucial time…

It moved away, stepping over him and went to the bar. "He will come after you," it said and poured a drink.  "Cheers."

The knife was driven deep into the side of the pool table and Sam stared at it, seeing the sharp, shiny edge, the reflected light. Dean was on his way, Sam knew it with everything he was. But he couldn't wait.

One chance. He wouldn't be Dean's weak spot, knowing or unknowing.

Then he moved.

~end~

10/31/2005

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