There's a moment when Sam is sure he has it. He can feel the slick, sick tendrils of the demon's essence curling unseen around his fingers, pressure pulsing, winding, clawing at Sam's insides as he pulls and pulls. His head is pounding, every muscle in his body drawn tight and he holds on, grits his teeth and holds on.
Before him, Dean is arching under Castiel's hold as a thick rope of grey smoke spews upward from his mouth, flooding out. Sam twists his wrist and holds on, ignoring the steady poundpoundpound behind his eyes. The demon is fighting, of course, writhing and twisting in Sam's hold.
But it's working. It's working.
And then it's not.
The demon seizes in Sam's grip, slithers and slips, and Sam bites down and holds on as best he can, sweating with the effort and straining. The ache in his head is suddenly unbearable, splitting, and with a horrified, defeated gasp, Sam crumples forward, arm falling as he drops to his knees in pain, demon smoke sucking right back into his brother like a vacuum.
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Before him, Dean is arching under Castiel's hold as a thick rope of grey smoke spews upward from his mouth, flooding out. Sam twists his wrist and holds on, ignoring the steady poundpoundpound behind his eyes. The demon is fighting, of course, writhing and twisting in Sam's hold.
But it's working. It's working.
And then it's not.
The demon seizes in Sam's grip, slithers and slips, and Sam bites down and holds on as best he can, sweating with the effort and straining. The ache in his head is suddenly unbearable, splitting, and with a horrified, defeated gasp, Sam crumples forward, arm falling as he drops to his knees in pain, demon smoke sucking right back into his brother like a vacuum.