Title: Way Down We Go

Summary: "Binding spell," Michael smirked and Sam's mouth went dry. The jagged-looking scar tissue on Dean's freckled skin stared back at him like a silent accusation. "You're not getting him back, Samuel. Not ever. Your brother belongs to me, now." Season 14. Hurt/Comfort. Hurt!Sam. Protective!Dean. Possessed!Dean. Michael!Dean.

Warnings: Rated T for bad language and violence. Spoilers up to season 14

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

The way down the bunker's staircase was torturous and slow, each step sending sparks of fire up Sam's leg as he leaned almost all of his weight on the metal banister and forced his feet to manage one more step without falling.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn, Samuel?" Dean – not Dean – asked from somewhere behind him, following Sam down the stairs like a creeping shadow. Everything the archangel said or did was adding gasoline to the burning fire of rage inside Sam's chest. He had wanted nothing more than to get his brother back for the past 3 months and now that he had finally tracked Michael down, he could barely stand to look at the feathered bastard. "I could heal you. All it takes is a snap of my fingers."

"Shut up," Sam muttered. He didn't want to hear one more word from Michael's lips. The way Michael expressed himself only drove home the fact that Dean was riding passenger in his own body, stowed away in one of the deepest corners of Michael's consciousness.

Distracted and weakened from his injury, Sam missed the third-to-last step of the staircase and tripped, damn near face-planting on the hard concrete floor if it wasn't for Michael shooting forward to snatch the back of his flannel shirt. Sam didn't know how Michael moved so fast, why he even cared, but he could feel a shudder of disgust roll through him at the brush of Dean's - no Michael's- fingers against his back.

In another life, Dean's touch meant warmth and comfort and home. But not anymore, Sam reminded himself. Not right now.

He yanked himself out of Michael's grip, wondering if maybe – just maybe – that gut-jerk reaction, that soccer-mom-move had been instinctual. But a quick glance at the twisted smile on Dean's lips, the flare of violet in the familiar orbs, made Sam realize that this was all still part of Michael's twisted scheme.

"Let me go," Sam hissed, yanking his arm free as he stumbled forward, black spots dancing in the corner of his eyes. Not bothering to yell for Mary or the others, Sam was glad to have the bunker to himself for once. They were probably out, following a lead or getting supplies. Maybe it was better this way. After all, Sam wasn't exactly new to seeing Dean possessed. Their mom on the other hand… Sam wasn't sure how she would react if she saw Dean like this.

A deep throaty chuckle filled the air and it was so unlike his brother's that it actually caused Sam to look around and face Michael with a smoldering glare on his face.

"Something funny?"

"Yeah," Michael sighed, almost wistfully, shaking his head in sardonic amusement. Everything, from his posture to his expression to the way he breathed came off wrong to Sam. It was as though he was doing it on purpose, trying to show as little of Dean's character as possible, suppressing every character trait, every residual bit of Dean's personality. Sam didn't know whether that made things easier or harder on him. But he hated Michael with every fiber of his being, so much was for sure.

"You know what amuses me, Sam?" Michael asked, stepping off the staircase and into the map room. His expression grew serious as he moved closer, crowding in until Sam's legs hit the back of the mapping table. The chains of the angel cuffs were loud in the oppressive silence, Dean's eyes boring into Sam as they stood toe to toe. "You spent all this time trying to catch me and now that you finally found me, you'll, what? Lock me up until you've found a cure? A spell? An exorcism? What if you don't get me out of this fine piece of meat?" Michael's eyes flashed with glee. "Do you think I didn't take any precautions? That I would give up one my true vessel that easily?"

"So help me god, Michael," Sam bit out and his voice was shaky from anger or hurt or blood loss, he couldn't tell. He was going shocky, but he was still with it enough to throw a withering glare at Michael, even when he was barely strong enough to stand. "I will find a way to expel you from him, even if it's the last damn thing I do."

Michael smiled that cold smile and Sam had never realized how much emotion Dean used to show with his expressions until Michael had taken it all away. "You sure about that?" Michael asked with a cocked brow, pulling the fabric away far enough to reveal a sigil that was carved into Dean's chest, just beneath his right collarbone.

"Binding spell," Michael smirked and Sam's mouth went dry, blood rushing to his head as the reality of that sank in like a stone into muddy water. The jagged-looking scar tissue on Dean's freckled skin stared back at him like a silent accusation. Michael smirked as Sam swayed. "You're not getting him back, Samuel. Not ever. So for your own sake and for the sake of the few people you still hold dear in this world, why don't you let me go and we pretend none of this ever happened?"

Sam's face was pale and clammy with cold sweat, the world around him was fading in and out of focus as white noise filled his ears. He had just enough energy left to wipe the sweat pearls from his brow with a sluggish move of his hand before his eyes rolled back in his head and the world around him faded to a maelstrom of black, dragging him under.

- oOo -

Dean was raging inside of Michael, screaming and punching and clawing and cursing and digging his own hands into his hair until his scalp bled and his throat ached and he felt like he was ready to black out from lack of air. And yet, Michael continued to follow Sam into the bunker, continued to spew vile shit into his brother's face, lies and condescending comments and wise-ass comments like only a douchebag archangel could.

Sam was barely standing upright after the damn fight he'd had with Michael. His leg was torn up in ways that meant hospital and blood transfusion and at least two dozen stitches and yet he was still walking, dragging that fucking bastard along, bringing him into the Impala, into the bunker.

'Nervous, Dean?' Michael spoke, his voice reverberating through Dean's mind. 'But the fun hasn't even started yet.'

"Don't you fucking touch him! DON'T YOU FUCKING—"

That was about as far as Dean got when Sam's foot slipped on the end of the staircase and his heart jumped in his chest. "SAM!" A burst of energy crackled through him, wrecking his senses and lighting his nerves on fire. It was strong, mind-blowingly so. And the next second Michael's arm had shot out to snatch a fistful of Sam's flannel, just enough to keep him from taking a swan dive to the ground.

It was a flash of a second, lightning fast and then Michael was back in charge, slamming Dean back with a ferocity that was soul-shaking. 'Don't make me hurt your brother even more than necessary.'

"You leave him alone, you son of a bitch!"

Dean's mind wandered to the three months that had passed since Michael had taken control of his body. How much sleep had Sam gotten since then? How much had he eaten? How bad had it gotten that Sam would confront Michael by himself without any kind of backup? Dean hadn't seen this side of Sam since— well, ever, really. Sam had held on like a champ when Lucifer was wearing him to the prom. He had been so composed, so sure of himself, of his cause. But this Sam – the one in front of Dean – was broken and desperate enough to throw his own life away for Dean. This Sam had lost at least half a gallon of blood all over the Impala and the bunker's staircase.

There was more conversation, but Michael drowned it all out by some kind of grace-induced white-noise and it was only when Sam fainted – honest to god fainted – in front of Dean's eyes, that Michael allowed him a front-row seat.

One second, Sam's face was scrunched up in disgust and hyper-focused and then the next it's just—not. That was the only way Dean could describe it. Sam wasn't. His eyes were open and wide and wet with emotion, but then everything went slack and his pupils rolled up into his head and it all happened so damn fast, Dean couldn't even really catch up with it. Sam's eyes slid closed, knees buckling, head cracking down hard against the edge of the mapping table as he sagged down.

Dean roared.

He lurched forward against a brick-wall of overwhelming, inhuman power. He pummeled his fist against the ungiving mount of angel grace until he couldn't feel them anymore and screamed until his voice gave out.

There was a gaping wound on Sam's head from where he'd hit the edge of the table and Dean figured it was because of everything that was going on in that crazy skull of his smart-ass kid brother and all the blood ended up there because he was thinking so much and now it was just a freaking gore fest every time he took a blow to his gourd.

Blood seeped out from beneath Sam's head like some fucked-up halo and Michael smirked as he grabbed a bottle of discarded beer from the table top before crouching down before his unconscious little brother and grabbing the front of his shirt to lift him up.

"Michael, don't you fucking DARE! You touch one hair on his body and I'll fucking KILL YOU, you hear me? I WILL SMOTHER YOU!"

'Say goodbye to your brother, Dean.' Michael curled his fingers into Sam's flannel, pulling his unconscious body upward at the same time as he drew his other one back for the lethal blow.

A blow that never came.

Dean's hand was shaking, his fingers tingling and his whole body felt like it was bursting at the seams, singing with power and electricity. Dean was back behind the wheel of his own body and he clamped down hard on whatever sliver of control he'd gained back.

Dean put the bottle down, the fingers in Sam's shirt slowly uncurling as he gently lowered his brother's body back to the ground. "Sammy…" he whispered, hearing his own voice for the first time in what felt like forever. He rubbed Sam's sternum with his knuckles and when that didn't help, Dean heaved out an uneven breath as he sat Sam up against the leg of the mapping table.

Sam's eyes flew open while he was in the middle of it and Dean reached out on instinct, without thinking it through.

Sam reacted as though his touch burned like acid, eyes wide and unfocused as he tried to scramble back, hands lashing out at Dean as he gasped for air. Under his breath, barely audible, Dean heard Sam's mutter of "Get away from me! D-don't touch me!"

Something cold twisted inside Dean's guts at the words and just like that he moved away, hands raised in surrender. "Easy, Sam," he whispered. "It's me. It's me."

Sam's eyes filled with tears as he blinked up at Dean with confusion and hurt in his expression. He looked almost painfully hopeful, hesitant to trust his brother's words. "D-dean?" he asked in a shaky voice, sounding every bit as wrecked as he looked.

"Hiya Sammy," Dean offered up a tremulous smile. "Miss me?"

- oOo –

Sam threw himself forward. He didn't know how Dean had fought his way to the top or how long his hold on Michael was going to last, but for the moment it didn't matter.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and there was something so warm, something so right about that. Dean smelt like wood smoke and leather and gun oil and there was something so familiar and comforting about the sound of his heart beating against Sam's own, the proof that Dean was alive and safe and still here.

Sam's finger dug into Dean's back, unwilling to let go. "I'm right here, Dean."

If Dean got a little choked up at that, he didn't let it on. He was quickly losing his grip on control, Michael fighting his way back to the forefront of Dean's mind. It wouldn't be long before Dean left Sam again, claiming that it was better this way, that Sam couldn't risk having him around when Michael was riding around in his head like that.

But for now, Dean was Dean and Sam was Sam and the two of them were together and that was all that mattered.

They would find a way to expel him from Dean's body. And they'd do it together.

Sam smiled into the nape of his older brother's neck, feeling a strange sense of serenity as he whispered. "I'm here, Dean. 'm not going anywhere."

The End.

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