Project Muse

Chapter Twelve:

Stick and Stones

Sam clung to his brother, ignoring the pain it caused his shoulder to hold him so tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes momentarily and wished Bael would disappear when he reopened them. It didn’t happen however. Black eyes were still inches from his face, a twisted smile playing on the demons face.

He tried to maintain a grip on his brother, hands fisting into his shirt, but it was no use. Sam couldn’t do anything other than watch helplessly as Dean was pulled cruelly from his grasp and flung through the air like a rag doll. He cringed as the older man hit the floor on the other side of the room with a heavy thud but had little time to think about it as the demon moved closer.

Sam melted back against the wall, blood pounding in his ears but he had nowhere to go, no escape. Bael had him cornered and Sam had no way to fight the bastard. Cradling his injured arm to his chest he closed his eyes once more and tried to block out the current predicament. It was difficult; he could feel Bael’s hot breath on his skin. It made his insides crawl.

“Open your eyes Sam,” the demon growled and Sam found his eyes opening of their own accord and against his will. He gulped as his gaze locked with Bael’s.

Sam didn’t really understand what happened next. It was as if his fear opened a door in his mind. His brain fuzzed – that was the only word he could use to describe it – like he had pins and needles and for a moment Bael looked quizzically at him. Then, without warning or preamble, the demon’s face contorted and he screamed. Sam jumped at the sound, completely taken back. He had no idea what was going on and his shock caused the door to slam shut.

Staggering to his feet, clutching his head, Bael groaned for a moment before whatever was happening to him passed. The demon took a shuddering breath before straightening up and turning back to Sam. The look he gave the young hunter made his heart stop. It was callous, malicious and murderous. Sam’s jaw trembled under the gaze, shifting uncomfortably. He wanted nothing more than to get up and run. He felt like a child for thinking such a pathetic thought but Sam was terrified. It was emitting pure rage.

“I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Bael said quietly.

The assault that smashed through his mind was the worst thing Sam had ever experienced in his entire life time. It felt as if his head was being torn in two whilst having boiling acid poured into every inch of his brain. His vision blacked out completely for a moment and his heart felt as if it had imploded within his chest. Breathing was so painful he almost held his lungs still, fearing the agony it caused. He lurched to the side, everything rolling around him, his senses searing as they were overpowered.

Slowly, it abated, leaving the sour taste of bile in Sam’s mouth.

As his vision cleared he wasn’t surprised to find he was sprawled face down on the floor. He was astounded he had managed to stay upright for as long as he had. He felt so weak, trembling on the ground like a new born kitten, like all the strength had been sucked out of him.

From his vantage point Sam could make out Dean’s still form. Slowly and carefully Sam dragged his hurt body across the floor. If he was going to die at the hands of Bael he would do so at the side of his brother. It seemed strangely important in that moment to have Dean close to him. Sam didn’t want to die alone.

As he crawled across the floor, his shirt rose up, the wooden floor cutting into his skin but he didn’t care, didn’t really notice. It was just one more niggling pain to add to a long list of other injuries. The rest of his body was already pulsating.

He didn’t get far.

Bael wasn’t going to let him die in peace; demons were rarely content to allow any last feelings of hope – however morbid that hope was. A heavy foot pressed into his spine. Sam yelped and squeezed his eyes shut as pain spiked through his ribs. He couldn’t ignore this agony no matter how hard he tried to.

“I imagined more from you, Sam Winchester,” Bael snarled. “We’ve waited centuries – millennia – for you and I have to say I’m a little disappointed. You don’t live up to the damn hype.”

The pressure on his back relinquished a little, just enough for Sam to drag in a breath. It was welcomed; his lungs were burning and light-headedness was swooping into his peripheries.

“Screw you, asshole!”

Bael smiled at the wretched attempt to fight back. All in all it really was pathetic. Sam sounded like a scared child, even despite the venomous words he had thrown down.

“That’s the fighting spirit, Winchester.”

Sam slowly rolled onto his back as the foot was removed completely and lay still, panting and gasping as the pressure release allowed him to pull air into his bruised lungs. His chest was aching and the room swirled, but at least he was free for the moment. It was a small consolation. Death was a willing visitor, waiting in the wings for her grand entrance. Sam could do nothing but except the final bow. It didn’t mean he had to play mouse to the oversized, wall of pain cat stalking him however.

“If you’re gonna kill me then just friggin’ do it already!” Sam ground out, his fear over his impending doom overridden by the need to have this thing over already. Waiting for the inevitable was only making his anxiety worse.

“Kill you?” Bael sounded mildly amused. Bestial lips drew into a quirked line. “I’m afraid death is not to be your fate, little Sammy.”

A hollow sensation took up residence in Sam’s stomach. His words implied more – so much more – and suddenly death didn’t seem like such a bad option. There were other ways to break a spirit and demons knew the handbook inside out. Sam wondered fearfully what Bael would do to him.

“What the hell does that mean?” Sam demanded shakily.

“I told you, Sam,” Bael’s smirk sent chills up Sam’s spine. It was a look of pure undulating hatred and one Sam would never forget. “I’m just the messenger and someone wants a word with you.”

The room went cold suddenly, icy cold, like the depth of winter. The flesh on Sam’s arms prickled, the hairs standing on end as he shivered. His breath ghosted as the chill settled into every muscle, every bone in his body and then everything went black.

It was dark by the time Jacob arrived at the run-down, abandoned house. Gun loaded with rock salt, he carefully crept up the path towards the front door and gave it a gentle push. He wasn’t surprised that it opened, although he probably should have been.

As he stepped into the house the stench of sulfur mixed with blood threatened to overwhelm him. He took a sharp in take of breath and instantly covered his nose with his sleeve, gun raised, eyes flicking around.

The room was empty but a small groan from the corner caught his attention. Moving quickly he pulled back an upturned couch, freeing a young man from its weight. He recognised the kid instantly. Dean Winchester…

He glanced around quickly, searching for the younger brother but the room was deserted. Jacob briefly felt fearful but a small whimper brought him back to the boy at his feet.

Dean was lying face down on the ground, blood pooling around him, smeared sticky hand prints ingrained on the wooden flooring. He was barely moving but the slight whistle of air between the kid’s teeth told Jacob he was at least breathing.

It was a small consolation. The kid looked like crap.

Carefully the older man rolled the dirty blond hunter onto his back and carefully probed his clammy skin for any wounds. There were a multitude of cuts and bruises to his torso but nothing life threatening and nothing that explained the blood crusted into his shirt.

Jacob frowned and, as he traced his fingers over the garment, he opened his mind. He had barely scratched the surface when he pulled his hand back as if he had been burnt and hissed.

Bael.

He could feel the demon’s presence clearly, like it was burnt into the very fibres of the shirt itself. He flicked a glance over his shoulder, noting the blood on the far wall, the sulfur on the ledges and the broken lines of salt at every entrance. Salt was nothing to a thing like Bael. It probably hurt like a bad cut but Bael could get passed that. He shook his head, wondering how two renowned, well-trained hunters couldn’t even protect themselves from a demon. Didn’t they realise that there were some things that just didn’t work on creatures like Bael? Salt, holy water and exorcisms were just a few.

Slowly, Jacob got to his feet and moved over to the nearest boarded up window. Along the rotted sill thick sulfur was sprinkled like yellow snowflakes. He pushed two fingers into the substance before rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. This was not good. If the Hierarchy had Sam…

It could only mean one thing and Jacob wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for that yet – wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

He wasn’t blind, however; he knew things were moving. Omens were growing. Sins were increasing threefold. The world was coming apart at the seams and Jacob was helpless to stop it. An entire lifetime of work was threatening to unravel and he was the one who had essentially opened Pandora’s Box.

He should have done more, should have taken more precautions. He should have watched Sam Winchester more closely; he should have found him more quickly after the Devils Gate was opened. He could have prevented this, and that admission was a bitter pill to swallow. The fate of the world was inexorably in his hands and he had failed… again.

Jacob sighed and dragged a hand through his unruly mid-tone hair before moving over to the kid lying on the floor. He crouched down beside him once more and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled face. It was hard not to do something right there – Dean was still out of it and completely helpless – but Jacob reminded himself he had bigger problems than Dean Winchester and that thought drove him to his feet again. He had already lingered here too long. He had to get moving again, find the kid and put an end to all this shit – once and for all.

Hastily, Jacob strode across the room towards the front door and left without a second look back. His truck, a heavy set black SUV, dented across the front bumper following his altercation with McGill and Amory, was parked in the next street. He all but jogged the distance and was relieved when the vehicle appeared in his line of sight from behind a tall red brick building.

The street was more of an alley way, small enough for only one lane of traffic and completely closed in by buildings. There was also a scattering of dumpsters placed around the back doors of the businesses or residencies that backed onto the street.

In the musty orange street lighting, Jacob threw a glance over his shoulder, checking he wasn’t being tailed and was relieved there was no one around. He wasn’t usually given to paranoia or fear but the last month had been stressful; the last three years had been worse. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was pushing his luck these days. He knew he had pissed off a lot of people on both sides and it was only a matter of time before they decided to take him out of the picture permanently. God knows they had tried before – and almost succeeded.

He shook his head, pushing back the dark thoughts that were encroaching on his mind. Now was hardly the time for a trip down memory lane. Especially considering how dark and twisted that road had been. People talk about going through hell but Jacob wondered if they really understood how bad hell could actually be. It was something he never wanted to experience again. The things he had seen in those few years, the things he had done. It was unbearable and it was a nightmare that would never let him go.

Fumbling in his pocket for his keys, he stopped suddenly. He was no longer alone. Pulling his top lip between his teeth he turned and, in a fluid motion, pulled a long handled dagger from the sheath at his waist.

The figure that had been stalking him was silhouetted against the backdrop of light filtering from the mouth of the alleyway, hiding his face in the shrouding darkness but Jacob knew who it was. He didn’t need to see his face. He could feel his presence.

“Bael.” He growled the name like a curse.

The Demon moved forward with slow, purposeful steps, stopping at the trunk of the SUV. He knew better than to come any closer. The knife wasn’t just for show and Jacob knew how to use it. Bael was aware of that fact.

“Jacob…” He rolled the word off his tongue and took a long drag on a cigarette, the red embers casting an eerie glow across his face. “The name is not truly yours.” Was all the demon said.

“It fits well enough,” Jacob replied, shifting his grip on the dagger. He had not had the name for long but unlike all the others it felt almost like it could belong to him.

“I suppose it does,” Bael agreed.

“Where is your half-breed bitch? Does she know you’re here?” Jacob couldn’t help the taunt. It was petty and childish but he despised the thing stood before him. It got the desired reaction however. Bael snarled.

“I didn’t realise this was personal.”

“It’s always been personal, hell spawn.”

Bael shifted his stance and leaned against the back of the truck. To an outsider he looked calm, composed even, but Jacob knew Bael too well. The bastard was simmering.

“I’ll let that slide. I understand how hard today must have been for you.” Bael laughed a deep raucous sound. “It’s not everyday your entire life’s work goes up in fire and brimstone.”

He didn’t want to get drawn into a discussion with the demon but Bael had a way of pissing him off and Jacob wasn’t one to back down.

“You would know. How long were you a resident downstairs? Does the smell of hellfire still keep you awake at night?” he goaded.

Bael curled his lip, growled and then smoothed his features.

“And how are your dreams, Jacob? Candy-canes and fairies?”

Jacob couldn’t help the curse that rolled off his tongue. He shouldn’t let the thing drag him into this. There were more important matters at hand. He forced himself to come back to his task.

“You have the Winchester boy,” Jacob stated darkly.

“Yes.” Bael let a bestial smile encroach his smooth features. “She was pleased with my work.”

Jacob snorted. “She meddles in things she does not fully comprehend.”

“She is finishing what Azazel started.”

Jacob laughed loudly and sincerely. Demons were nothing if not stupid.

“You think unleashing Sam and his gifts on the world will earn you both a pat on the back? A place at His table?”

“Perhaps.” Bael smirked, “but we do not do this for the Morning Star.”

“I never suspected you did – as I doubt he does either,” Jacob replied. He was too far from the Demon to make a move but he still kept his knife raised. If the opportunity presented itself he would take him out.

“Stay out of this,” the demon hissed. “This is not your fight, Watcher!”

“And it is yours demon? When did the Hierarchy become lapdogs to the Fallen?” He barked, unable to control his temper. They were messing in things that they did not understand. “But then I suppose that is the only use anyone could have for a half-breed whelp.”

The demon shrieked angrily.

“Be careful what tone you use! I am not one of the younger. I will not take insults from your kind.”

The scarred man merely smiled at the threat.

“Just give me the boy. I will handle the mess you and your bitch have created.”

“You cannot stop what is in motion. You have no choice but to watch as we rise, Jacob!”

“There is always a choice, Bael. The balance –”

Anger flashed on the demon’s face, a low snarl forming in his throat.

“Screw the balance, you sanctimonious bastard! He belongs to us! It is preordained.”

Jacob almost rolled his eyes like a belligerent child. Were they all really that stupid? Did they believe in prophecies and the ramblings of crazed monks? Had they really fallen so low that they were grasping at straws? Looking for any hope – no matter how ridiculous – they could find? The thought made Jacob laugh. How pathetic and weak they had become. He couldn’t resist the bite back.

“Is that what you were told?” Jacob shook his head. “Is that the poison that Azazel filled your minds with? That this boy is some kind of messiah?”

“Is it not you that trembles beneath the promise of his coming?”

“Many of the others do not see it that way, Bael. Most of the Hierarchy – even the lower levels – levy for his position. How do you propose to keep him in place once you have exalted him?”

“The others?” The demons voice dripped with venom. “Hybrid children with no minds of their own! They are fools. No other can do what he can.”

Jacob’s sigh was born of exasperation. They were idiots, all of them. The man decided to try another tact, certain that the demon could not be reasoned with.

“You are aware that the Order is closing in on you, aren’t you?”

“I am well aware that Escott’s hounds are following us.” Bael sniffed, and shifted his shoulders indifferently.

A sly grin formed on Jacob’s face. He would add gasoline to the fire and watch Bael burn.

“Hollister is coming in from Nevada, Cross and Walton from the east coast and Bryman is no more than a day in front of me. I’m not entirely sure what path he has taken but he will eventually catch up with you.”

Bael shrugged nonchalantly, dropping his finished cigarette to the floor and smearing the embers into the asphalt.

“He will fail, as the others have.”

“Sure does feel like the walls are closing in though, doesn’t it?”

“They are as likely to kill you as they are me. From what I’ve heard you made Escott’s shit list. Congratulations.” Bael grinned suddenly, “I did, however, enjoy your show down with McGill and his dog. Most entertaining.”

Jacob schooled his face, not wanting to show weakness. He did regret what he had done to the two men – he didn’t kill in cold blood lightly – but they had left him little choice. He would not allow them to kill the Winchester boy. His death would cause too many irresolvable problems.

“It was necessary,” Jacob murmured finally. Bael rolled his eyes and scowled, his voice dropping into a raucous hum once more.

“Do you really think when this is all over that you are guaranteed a place upstairs? Your soul is more tainted than mine! You’ve got about as much chance of getting into the Country Club as I have of sprouting wings and a fucking halo.”

“Wings went out of fashion in the middle ages, old man.”

Bael merely snorted, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re out of your league, kid. Leave the games to the grown ups.”

Jacob glared at him from under heavy lids, his patience and reserves gone. He was bored of bantering with the creature.

“I will find you and your bitch, Bael,” he threatened, “and when I do, not even all your legions will be able to protect you.”

Dean felt his mind reboot with slow cautiousness. He tried to open his eyes but they wouldn’t comply. In fact his whole body felt as if it had been hit by a truck and then run over by a bus. He ached in places he didn’t know could ache.

Slowly, as his consciousness returned to him, he realised two things. Firstly, that he wasn’t dead – if the dull throbbing in his skull and chest was anything to go by – and secondly that the last time he had seen his little brother he was at the mercy of a demon.

That was all the incentive Dean needed to open his eyes. He forced his lids apart and wished he hadn’t as his surroundings dripped into one another. Nothing held still and it made his stomach clench painfully. Pushing down the nausea he tried to rise onto his elbows but his battered body refused to comply. He settled for lying still and pleading for the world to hold steady.

After a moment he risked opening them again and blinked lazily as the room came back into focus.

He took a moment to orientate himself before his eyes roved the room, searching for any sign of his freakishly tall brother. Sam was nowhere to be seen, however. The panic that raced through Dean was electric. He suddenly felt like a little fish in a big pond and the sharks had taken his baby brother.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him but finally – albeit shakily – Dean managed to push himself into a sitting position, sinking back against the wall with a grimace. He hadn’t noticed the amount of blood that was staining the top of his shirt before – due to eating the floor – but now he could see the crimson stain clearly. He sluggishly probed his chest with gentle fingers but there was no pain there; the majority of his tenderness was in his lower abdomen. He vaguely recalled that he had been projectile vomiting blood like a waterfall before he had bit the ground. It didn’t bode well but Dean only gave it a fleeting thought as the room lurched around him once more.

It was a couple of minutes before he was actually able to move his arms again. Where the hell was Sam and what the hell were those things doing to him? His fear inched towards hysteria. He needed to find his brother.

With blood slicked hands, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Twisting the small handset in his hands, Dean was grateful it was still in one piece. It wouldn’t be the first phone he had broken on a flying-hunt.

Despite being fuzzy headed, Dean managed to dial the number and hold the handset to his ear. Crimson liquid smeared the screen, transferring onto his cheeks but he didn’t care about his blood. He needed to find his brother right now. The urge to kill or maim something was overwhelming him. When he found that damn demon he was going to rip its head off and -

“Dean?” Bobby Singer’s voice rolled down the line, a mixture of anxiety and relief. Dean almost felt bad about taking that from the old man.

“Hey…” his voice hitched in his throat and he inwardly cursed his own weakness.

“Dean? You OK?” There was panic in the mechanics tone now.

Winchester coughed harshly, his chest rattling like a money jar. “I need your help, Bobby.” He took a rasping breath before he was able to continue, “I need to know how to track a demon… and kill the stupid son of a bitch.”

Chapter Thirteen:

Hell Hath No Fury…

Bobby was pissed off.

The five and a half hour flight from South Dakota to Utah had driven his stress levels over the edge. The mixture of annoying holiday makers and business suits on the plane had almost driven the mechanic to perform a couple of exorcisms right there. He was sure half of them were possessed. They had to be.

There was far too much over the top squealing from teenage girls and boys heading to the state for summer break and the suits were throwing their weight around as if the world owed them a fucking favour. Bobby’s frayed nerves were ready to snap, like a wire being pulled too tightly. By the time he had collected his bags and exited the terminal he was seething.

Salt Lake City Airport was bustling as he emerged into the dry heat, his shirt instantly clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes were shielded by the cap he had pulled over his head but even so the sharp glare from the sun was brutal and he found himself squinting.

Quickly, flicking his eyes around the pick-up point, he stopped on a heavy-set red GMC truck. Glancing up the road, he manoeuvred his way through the traffic, avoiding a yellow cab hurtling towards the entrance, and crossed to the parking lot.

As he approached the vehicle, a tall man stepped out of the car and smiled. He was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans, offset by a heavy brown set of boots. Sunglasses hid his eyes and the rest of his face was hidden behind long, dark, chestnut coloured hair that trailed across his cheeks. Bobby recognised the man immediately and felt a wave of familiarity run through him. He should do, he had known the kid for years.

“Singer.” Joshua smirked with full dimples, his heavy southern drawl as much a part of him as the ridiculously long hair and goofy smile. “You don’t call, you don’t write and then I get a call in the middle of the night demandin’ my damn truck and my ass at the airport. What gives?”

“You were the closest,” Bobby grunted, and the only one in the whole country with a ridiculously large knowledge of demonology. The kid was a friggin’ mind field of information.

Bobby had used him in the past for Intel and Joshua had always come through with the goods. He had never let him down and Bobby figured they needed as much damn help as they could get.

As the younger man pulled him in for an embrace, Bobby allowed the moment for a second before roughly disentangling himself from his grasp. Josh hadn’t changed much over the years. He was perhaps a little more heavy set and he looked younger than his thirty-eight years. However, there was a worn edge to him that came only from dealing with the kind of shit they did.

“So what’s the deal?” Joshua asked with a brow flick.

“I need your expertise,” Bobby told him, examining the car.

It was practically brand new, a year-old model. Buffed and shimmering in the sunlight, it was obvious the kid spent most of his time polishing the damn thing. Bobby couldn’t help the eye roll. What is it with these goddamn younger hunters and their cars? As long as it got him to his destination in one piece Bobby didn’t care if his truck fired rainbows out of the friggin’ exhaust.

Joshua grabbed his arm as he turned to put his bags on the back seat.

“Oh, that’s not gonna cut it old man,” Joshua told him. “If I’m lendin’ you my baby – not to mention my expertise – then I wanna know what the hell we’re gettin’ into.”

“Damn it Josh!” Bobby growled. “Nothing’s gonna happen to your damn car!”

The dark haired hunter studied him for a moment. “You in some kinda trouble?”

“No.” Bobby exhaled heavily, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He really didn’t have time to hold the kid’s hand

“So why the cloak and dagger bullshit? And why the hell d’ya need me? I was en-route to a friggin’ possession when you called.”

Bobby couldn’t fail to notice the bitterness in his tone. His request for assistance could have essentially cost an innocent life. Bobby felt momentarily guilty about that but quickly pulled it into perspective. John’s boys needed his help and that was as good a reason as any to drop everything.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Joshua continued, “demon activity is the highest its ever friggin’ been. My diary was kinda full, old man.”

“You gonna help me or not?” Bobby demanded, eye-balling the kid with his best glare.

Joshua hesitated, still searching his face; Bobby wasn’t entirely sure what he was hoping to find there.

“I dropped everythin’ to get here Bobby, so yeah, I’m helpin’… but I’m drivin’.” He pushed passed the older man and sank into the driver’s seat, before pointing an accusatory finger at the mechanic. “And I want some goddamn answers before we get to this friggin’ hunt.”

Bobby glowered at him, wondering if it was a mistake to bring an outsider in. He had known the man for years but with everything that was going on he wasn’t sure if he trusted another damn hunter around Sam. Was it really worth the risk for the extra brain power?

Both Bobby and John had worked with the kid in the past – back when he really had been a kid no older than Sam was now – but it was a long time since he had seen Joshua and Bobby wasn’t sure how far loyalty ran amongst the hunting community any more.

In fact, truth be told, Bobby wasn’t sure he trusted anyone at all these days. Even in the past the list had been small – John, Jim Murphy, Caleb – he could count them on one hand. They were all dead however and Bobby’s friends within the hunting world had died with them. He knew Joshua and his father well, but Russell was as cagy as a grizzly and Joshua was far too excitable. However time was short and Dean had sounded desperate on the phone. No one knew how to find and track a demon like Joshua.

“You’ll get answers,” Bobby reassured him.

Joshua fixed him with a level stare, one leg hanging out of the driver’s door, the other tapping in the foot well impatiently.

“I know you, old man. Takes a lot to get you out of that damn scrap yard. Something’s going down – something big.” When Bobby rolled his eyes the kid merely shrugged. “I watch the news too, Bobby, I’ve seen the signs, I’ve even exorcised a couple of the bastards myself. I know things are comin’ and I’m guessin’ you do too. So what the hell is going on?”

Bobby felt like the cat that had got the cream only to find it was sour milk. Scowling, he pulled his cap off, tossing it onto the back seat and dragged a hand over his head. His thinning hair was plastered to his scalp, sweat beading on his forehead.

The kid was pissing him off already and he had at least a two hour drive to contend with yet. Bobby was starting to wonder if it was worth bringing Joshua along at all. Dean was already going to throw a shit fit when he saw him. He was paranoid as it was and Bobby wasn’t stupid. He realised it had probably taken a hell of a lot for Dean to drop that irritating Winchester pride and ask for help at all. Now he was dragging another potentially trigger happy hunter along with him for the ride. His plan was beginning to look more and more flawed.

“You know there’s a war coming?” Bobby questioned, making a show of rooting in his bag for something.

“Yeah. Would have to be friggin’ blind not to.” Joshua frowned, “demons are goin’ nuts all over the place. Mean bastards they are as well this lot. Heard a hell of a lot of good men going up against them and never being heard from again. This rate their ain’t gonna be no hunters left to do anything about it either.”

Bobby glanced around, his bag forgotten, pulling his hat back onto his head. “I can trust you, cant I?”

Joshua gave him a perplexed look; hurt flashing across his face at the accusation. “What kind of damn question is that?”

Bobby ignored the kicked puppy dog look Joshua was sporting right now and eyed the kid scrupulously.

“You can come with me on this hunt, kid, but you follow my rules and you do what the hell I tell you to do. I swear to god you don’t do as you’re told and I’ll bloody well shoot you.”

Joshua flicked his brow into his hair line.

“Jesus, Bobby. When the hell did you turn into Harry-fuckin’-Callahan?”

“Trust me when I tell you this job really is the shit end of the stick and I need to know your not gonna unravel on me.”

Joshua’s expression melted into confusion and then became quizzical, losing the previous hurt look.

“What the hell is the job?”

“You know the Winchesters?”

“John’s boys?” Joshua asked with a frown. “Last I heard they’d fallen off the grid after that incident in Wyoming.”

“Yeah.” Bobby rubbed a hand across the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Wyoming was always a sore point of contention. There were a lot of hunters out there who, thanks to Gordon Walker, were convinced Sam had been behind the whole incident to open the Devils Gate. Absently he wondered if Joshua was one of them.

The mechanic studied the kid carefully, searching his face for any trace of his true feelings. Joshua’s expression, however, was still a mixture of confusion and irritation.

“Thing is, Josh, people sling enough mud and it starts to stick. You get me?” Bobby said meaningfully, hoping the hunter would understand the unspoken words. From the hard expression being shot at him, Bobby guessed Joshua knew exactly what he was getting at.

“You asking me if I believe the crap circulating ‘bout those two boys, Bobby?” the younger hunter asked, raking his dark hair back from his face and finally removing his shades.

Deep blue eyes met Bobby’s own, eyes older than their years, eyes that said they had seen and done everything. Bobby wondered when the hell Joshua had stopped being a kid and become the man before him. He would always see that gangly, awkward twenty-year old lad however, would always think of him as a child. Some habits never died.

“I knew John Winchester a hell of a long time before he died, Bobby. Never met a man more committed to killin’ evil,” Joshua sighed regretfully, grief simmering just under the surface of his hardened features. Bobby understood it; he felt it every time he set eyes on either Sam or Dean. They were so like their father. “I knew his boys too. Met them on a number of occasions – even worked with Dean on a couple of cases over the years. So if you’re asking me whether or not I think Sammy Winchester is the devil incarnate… then ask. Don’t bullshit me.”

Bobby shifted his feet, pulling his gaze from his bag to the hunter.

“Do you?”

Jacob exhaled deeply.

“If he is then I’m the fuckin’ pope and for the record, the only church I’ve ever stepped foot in is Jim Murphy’s – and trust me when I tell you that didn’t involve a whole lot of prayin’.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing more than a bunch of crazy assholes caught up in a well spun story. I mean, those boys have taken out more supernatural things than most hunters have in a life time. Don’t do that if you’re on the other side now, do you?”

Bobby let out a rush of air he had been holding back.

“Let’s get going.”

The mechanic moved around to the passenger side and slipped into the seat, dragging his seatbelt on. Joshua paused for a moment before shutting his door and starting up the engine.

They drove in silence for just over half an hour, the dull hum of the radio the only sound. The air was humid and Bobby was thankful for the air conditioning unit that was blasting out cold air as they sped down the highway. Joshua’s car didn’t seem that bad in hindsight. The air con in his own truck involved winding down the damn window. Sometimes he wished he could get over his loathing of technology and move with the damn times.

Finally it was Joshua who broke the quiet.

“I take it this has somethin’ to do with demons.” Joshua flicked a glance at the mechanic. “C’mon, I’m not an idiot, Bobby. I mean, I know I’m a seasoned hunter, but my expertise…?” He glanced at him, brow raised deep into his hair line. “Well we both know where that lies.”

“Honestly, kid, I have no idea what’s going on,” Bobby said softly, removing his gaze from the landscape flying passed the vehicle to look at the southern man. “I’m hoping Dean will be able to tell us more when we get there.”

The mechanic didn’t miss the sceptical grunt.

“You know more than you’re lettin’ on, old man and I don’t like being in the damn dark when it’s potentially my ass on the line.”

“Quit your whining, Josh, I told you, you’ll have answers.”

It was nearing two in the afternoon by the time they pulled up outside the address Dean had given him.

“You sure this is the place?” Joshua demanded, sounding unsure as he craned his neck to look out of the windscreen, his torso pressed against the steering wheel.

Bobby glanced down at the scrawl on the paper and back up at the building frowning. It was hardly Seaside. In fact, it screamed demolition. Bobby was fairly certain he had given the boys enough cash to at least stay out of places like this for a time. That could only mean one thing: they had been running scared.

”Yeah,” Bobby released a long breath, “this is the address Dean gave me.”

Joshua cut the engine, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head, looking somewhere between a Versace model and an actor. It was hard to see him as a hunter in that moment and Bobby couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face.

“Welcome to the Karma Hotel…”

Looks like heaven but could be hell.

Bobby grimaced; Joshua wasn’t far off the mark.

“No wonder they needed help,” Joshua muttered under his breath.

Slowly the demonologist climbed out of the vehicle, eyes roving around the deserted yard and Bobby followed a moment later, his bag clutched in his hands.

The house itself was relatively secluded. Surrounded by tall conifers it was next to impossible to see it from the main road. In its day it had probably been a lovely family home, but the chain iron railing that surrounded the property now made it seem more like a prison.

Nose still wrinkled, Bobby watched as Joshua pulled a handgun from his waistband, and cranked the safety back before he turned and dragged a shotgun out, offering it to the mechanic. Bobby took the weapon, checking the barrel before he cocked it.

He had no idea what lay in the building and that heightened his anxiety. Dean hadn’t exactly been forthcoming on the phone and his chipped message had been brief. Bobby had tried to call him back but had only succeeded in getting his voicemail. Sam’s cell wasn’t even ringing out and that worried Bobby.

Together the two hunters moved up the steps cautiously. Like lionesses stalking their prey they were silent and yet stealthy as they reached the door. Joshua glanced at Bobby, dark bangs falling across hard blue eyes before taking the handle and pushing it open.

The heavy set oak door swung inwards with a creak that could have come right out of a Wes Craven movie. Joshua stepped into the darkened room first, gun clamped on the palm of his left hand as he swung around. Bobby was close behind him, shotgun ready.

The stench of rotten eggs and blood was poignant, stagnating in the air, but it was the scene in the middle of the room that sent chills racing through the mechanic.

Tied to a chair was a girl in her late twenties, her long dark hair was covering her face, her wrists rubbed raw from the ropes. Various cuts adorned her pale skin and her vest-like shirt was patched with water, and what the mechanic suspected was blood. Below her was the Key of Solomon, scratched into the wooden flooring.

“Jesus…” Joshua muttered, his arm coming to his nose as he tried to block out the stench of death and decay, his eyes taking in the girl briefly before resting on Winchester himself.

Dean was sat on a low backed, cushioned chair opposite, leaning forward, a gun clasped in his hands in front of him. He had removed his shirt and was sat only in his jeans and boots.

His chest was a smattering of purple and black mixed with nicks and cuts. Dark smudges rimmed his eyes and dried blood had crusted down the side of his face and neck. The gauze hastily taped to his left side told the mechanic he had tried to patch himself up at least, but it was messy, and had obviously been done in a rush.

There was a holdall on the floor at Dean’s feet, opened, weapons littering the floor as if they had been quickly pulled out. in fact everything about this scene screamed rushed job. It didn’t bode well.

The mechanic moved forward a little, cautiously stepping further into the room but maintained his distance from the girl and her captor.

“Dean…?” he threw out uncertainly, his gaze wandering the room before coming back to the twenty-eight year old man.

Winchester glanced up, a dead look in his eyes. Bobby didn’t mind admitting he was a little frightened of the expression adorning the usually jovial boy’s face. It spoke louder than any words and those words screamed vengeance.

“You’re just in time to help,” Dean said in a quiet voice, gesturing towards the bound girl with his gun, “this bitch won’t tell me a goddamn thing.”

Chapter Fourteen:

Lions, Tigers and Demons… Oh My…

Negligently, Dean threw a glass of water in the demon’s direction. She screamed, her head thrown back, hissing like a feral animal as smoke poured off her body. Bobby couldn’t help but wince. Underneath the demon was an innocent girl. He hoped Dean hadn’t lost sight of that.

Forcing his gaze from the demon, Bobby glanced at Dean. It had been at least seven hours since his call. What the hell had happened in that time to lead to this? All Dean had told him on the phone was that he needed to track a demon. He seemed to have managed that by himself. Nothing was making sense and Bobby didn’t like the baffling maelstrom he was caught up in.

“Dean…” Bobby repeated carefully, unable to gauge what kind of reaction he was going to get. The kid seemed cagey, and that made the mechanic nervous. He briefly shifted his eyes around the room, searching for Sam but the lanky man was nowhere to be seen.

“He took him, Bobby,” Dean growled, as if he had picked the thought out of the mechanics brain.

Took him?

The words didn’t completely register with the older man for a moment. Dean hadn’t mentioned anything about Sam being missing on the phone. What the hell was going on? Dark thoughts plagued his mind, his stomach clenching and turning into wood beneath the fear.

He had just assumed this was about a job; that the two boys had gotten in too deep and needed help but this was something more. An almost a primitive rage that was both uncontrollable and unrecognisable raced through the younger hunter, seeping through every pore like poisonous miasma.

Bobby didn’t even attempt to move towards Dean, holding his position near the door. He didn’t want to push the kid over some kind of proverbial edge; Dean looked just about ready to take that leap on his own. In fact, he wasn’t sure if the younger hunter was about to explode or break down. Either seemed likely but neither occurred. It was as if by stubborn will Dean was keeping his emotional meltdown under check and had, instead, found solace in deep-seated fury. In all honesty Bobby wished the kid would just cry; it would have been easier to deal with.

“Who took him?” Bobby asked cautiously, afraid he already knew the answer. The anxiety that ran through him as he awaited a response was palpable.

“I dunno… some fucking demon. He didn’t exactly stop to give a name.” Dean sounded bitter, anger rolling off him like a squall. “I promised him Bobby! I fucking promised him I’d keep him safe…” He trailed off, his tongue running over his lips.

A brief flicker of wretchedness was well-hidden under a stoic glare. It was a small crack in Dean’s walls but it was enough to show Bobby how badly this entire situation was affecting the man.

The mechanic felt rather than saw Joshua move in behind him and risked taking his eyes off the younger hunter for a moment. He couldn’t decide if the demonologist was worried for the host the demon was possessing, for Sam, or about how far Dean was willing to take this – the girl was already blood splashed. In fact, he was finding it difficult to read anything on the chestnut haired hunter’s face at all.

“You look like crap, kid.” Joshua’s voice brought Dean’s head snapping up. “Why don’t you sit this one out – let me and the old man handle it?”

For a moment Winchester stared at the hunter, recognition, confusion and then finally irritation bleeding onto his face. Bobby almost reached out to pull Joshua back, wanting to somehow warn him of the dangers of prodding a potentially dangerous – not to mention armed – Dean but the southern man’s attention was focused on the girl bound to the chair.

The older Winchester sibling dropped his gaze back to Bobby, an accusing glare in his eyes.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“He’s here to help,” Bobby assured him, “Joshua knows about this stuff, Dean. He knows how to find demons and track them.”

“And what their kryptonite is,” Josh replied, his lips drawn into a tight line, his eyes shifting between the kid and the girl.

Dean flicked his gaze to the southern man, his eyes steeled.

“This isn’t gonna be a walk in the park, dude.”

“Never expected it would be,” Joshua replied, unfazed by the biting tone directed at him. “Nothin’ with the name Winchester attached to it could be.”

Half smiling but with no real mirth in it, Dean turned back to the demon, shifting the gun in his hands.

“Well thanks, but I don’t need your help. I can handle this.”

Joshua snorted.

“Yeah, looks like it. I’m sure torturing an innocent girl possessed by a demon is really gonna help find Sam.” The deadpan caused Dean to flinch angrily and Bobby couldn’t help but groan.

Josh had never been one to beat around the bush – Bobby was well aware the hunter was as blunt as a damn stick; he always had been. The problem was that right now he was using it to smack Dean with. Bobby didn’t exactly approve of Dean’s methods but he understood them. He knew all too well the amount of crap those boys had been forced to deal with over the last couple of years and he saw this show of anger as an outlet, a breaking point from which Dean had to be brought carefully back from. Joshua didn’t seem to care if the kid was unravelling however. He didn’t recognise the danger of antagonising Dean further. He was playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded pistol; odds were he was going to get shot.

Dean snapped his eyes to the demonologist and growled, his heavy brow pulled down tightly.

“Don’t try and understand what the hell I’m doing! You don’t like it, then leave.”

Bobby’s eyes hadn’t left the younger hunters face. He was getting antsy, an uneasy sensation settling in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly the mechanic wondered if this was going to come to blows, wondered if he would have to step in between the two hunters and stop the blood shed that seemed almost certain. Dean was beyond reasoning with at this point and Joshua’s moralistic hard-headedness was in danger of getting them all into deep shit. He was almost grateful when the demon moaned and Dean’s attention was diverted back to her.

“Hey, bitch!” Dean moved over to the chair and fisted his fingers into her hair, dragging her head up. “You still with me?”

The demon glared at him, her jaw clenched.

“Bite me.”

“Cute…” he shot back, ungraciously releasing his grip on her dark locks with a slight shove.

The demon shook herself as if disgusted by his touch, her dark hair partially occluding her sickly smile.

“You’re never getting your brother back Dean. All this…” She gestured to the ropes binding her to the chair with a slight dip of her head. “…is pointless. I ain’t telling you a damn thing.”

Her skin was still steaming from the holy water but she seemed oblivious to it. She retained a hard, level stare, her black eyes resolute. She wasn’t going to roll over and play nice. Bobby wished – for her sake as well as Dean’s – that she would.

“Oh you’ll talk,” Dean snarled, his gun raising a little as he spoke.

“Or what? You’ll send me back to hell?” she goaded, laughing sharply. “You’re gonna do that anyway so why don’t we save the boring monologuing and tough guy routine and just get it over with already.”

“Dean,” Bobby breathed, “where in the hell did you find her?”

“Sam’s research,” Dean replied, his eyes still on the girl. “Dumb bitch was easy to track. She isn’t exactly Sydney Bristow.”

Joshua snorted and moved away from the scene to examine the nearest sill, flashlight in his hand. His entire stance radiated distain, and Bobby wondered if he had moved away to stop himself from lashing out at Dean. Whatever his reasoning, the mechanic was grateful that he had removed himself from Winchester’s sights. It gave him the chance to try and diffuse the situation.

“You been researching?” Bobby probed hopefully, his eyes falling on the stack of paperwork that blanketed one of the empty chairs. Silently he prayed that Dean hadn’t had this girl tied up for the last seven hours. A demon could withstand a hell of a lot of pain but humans were more fragile.

“It’s Sam’s stuff,” Dean muttered thickly, taking a deep breath. “He was looking into demon activity last night before-“

He broke off, Adams apple bobbing up and down spasmodically. Bobby wondered if he was about to well up but somehow Dean managed to hold it together. The mechanic had to admire his strength. He knew how much Sam meant to him; the kid meant just as much to him.

“Did he find anything?”

“Weird deaths… the usual demonic bullshit,” Dean ground out, pulling himself together, his dark mood resurfacing, “nothing really substantial. Helped me find this bitch though.”

Bobby was having difficulty keeping up with the younger hunter’s conflicting emotions. Anger was prominent but it was followed closely by an overwhelming sense of failure.

“May I?”

Bobby half turned, not realising Joshua had left his examination of the window sills. The demonologist gestured at the stack of research on the couch, and waited for Dean’s curt nod before touching anything. Evidently Joshua had realised that it was safer to tread lightly around the younger hunter. Bobby was thankful for that. There was enough blood splashed around the room as it was.

The long haired man narrowed his brow thoughtfully as he perused the untidy pile of paperwork, sinking onto the couch to read.

“Huh… Sam did this?” Joshua questioned after a moment.

“Yeah,” Dean replied waspishly, his eyes still trained on the demon.

“You got something?” Bobby asked hesitantly, still eyeing Dean.

“I’m not sure.” Joshua also took a moment to glance at Dean who had taken to pacing the space in front of the demon with short steps before continuing. He looked like a caged lion, awaiting his chance to maul his captor. “Some demons have specific traits noted in the lore. Most of it’s shit but sometimes there’s truth behind it. Sam’s linked a number of events… I’ll have to check the Pseudo… see what that turns up but it’s as good a startin’ point as any.”

Bobby nodded. It was something at least. For the first time since stepping into the house, Bobby felt a surge of hope. Between them they could come up with some sort of plan to find Sam.

Dean turned back to the girl tied up and gave her his trademark shit-eating grin.

“See. Don’t even need you.”

She merely glared at him. “You think whoever took your brother is stupid enough to leave a trail?”

“You were,” Dean reminded her smugly.

She shrugged nonchalantly.

“I got sloppy. I haven’t been topside for over a century; I couldn’t help myself.”

Winchester smirked at her, steely eyes unwavering.

“Yeah, well, now you’re getting a first-class ticket back to hell.”

He reached for a heavy leather-bound book in his weapons bag and pulled it out. Skimming over the pages until he reached about a quarter of the way through, he stopped and began reading.

“You won’t find him.” She twitched a little as the Latin rolled off his tongue easily.

Dean ignored her and continued the chant. His voice was hard and unforgiving. Bobby had the feeling that if she wouldn’t talk, Dean would exorcise her and find another demon that would.

“You don’t even know what your brother is,” she added, and then moaned as some unseen hurt ran through her body, her face contorting painfully.

The Latin cracked through the air like a storm; thick and humid, heavy and close. She moaned again.

“Please…” Her pitiful pleading fell on deaf ears. Dean continued the incantation with renewed ferocity.

Throwing her head back, dark hair falling over her shoulders, the demon thrashed as the words poured from the younger hunter’s mouth. She closed her eyes and screamed. It was blood curdling, almost animalistic, so much so that Bobby couldn’t believe it had come from her. White knuckles clenched the arms of the chair as she braced her body against the banishing ritual but she was completely helpless against its power. Her screams intensified as the ritual continued on, her thrashing more pronounced, more desperate. It was almost like watching someone burn from the inside out.

Bobby couldn’t help but cringe. There was still an innocent under that thing and he hoped to god she was still alive.

“Bael!” she shrieked finally, her chest heaving, her words wheezing out of her mouth. She dropped her head onto her chest, her body tipping forward in the chair as she struggled to control her pain-riddled body.

Dean stopped reading and glanced up from the book.

“Bael?” he repeated the name.

She nodded sluggishly; her eyes squeezed shut as she took a shuddering breath. Agony was engraved in every line on her face. Exorcisms were never pleasant, but then they weren’t supposed to be.

“Bael took him…”

Dean glanced at Jacob quizzically. The demonologist had sat up a little straighter since hearing the name, the notes in his hands momentarily forgotten.

“That mean anything to you, Josh?” Dean demanded.

Joshua nodded slowly. “Yeah… yeah it does.”

Bobby noticed he had gone a little pale around the corners of his mouth and wondered just how much the thirty-eight year old man actually knew. Personally, he had never heard of Bael but then Bobby wasn’t all that interested in demons; his expertise lay elsewhere.

With a brief curl of his lips, Dean had already turned back to the demon and was staring at her, unfazed by the black, soulless eyes boring into his face.

“And where would Bael have taken my brother?” His tone was hard, like uncut granite, slicing into the cold air.

“You think I’m gonna tell you that?” she demanded, panting brokenly as her head rolled forward onto her chest again.

Her whole body sagged in the chair, precariously tilting to one side. Bobby suspected that the ropes around her wrists and feet were the only things keeping her upright.

Dean snarled.

“Wrong answer.”

He continued to read.

Once more her screams and whimpers filled the room.

“Stop!” she pleaded, her voice horror-filled.

Dean did, leaving his finger on the page to signify where he had got to, before glancing at her expectantly.

“You ready to talk, bitch?”

“He won’t hurt Sam,” she whimpered. Her blood caked cheeks made her look pitiful rather than a creature to be feared. “He needs him…”

Bobby wasn’t the only person in the room to frown at that statement. What the hell did she mean by that? But Dean was already asking the unspoken question.

“Needs him for what?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped, lurching forwards in the chair, her head nearly touching her knees. When he raised the text again she yelped, black eyes widening with real fear. “Really! I don’t know! The Hierarchy doesn’t exactly share their plans with us.”

“Us?”

“The younger. The lower levels! We’re just foot soldiers. Supposed to follow orders and not ask questions.”

“But you do know where he has taken my brother?” Dean persisted.

“No, I don’t.” She rolled her head back, her body slouching against the chair. She stared at the ceiling, her torso contracted with each painful breath. “You’re really barking up the wrong goddamn tree, Dean. It’s not us you should be worrying about.”

“What the hell does that mean?” It was a demand for an answer and his tone said he was going to get one. Thankfully, the demon recognised the threat as well and didn’t hold back.

“Enoch’s Order… they want your brother dead. We’ve tried to protect him!” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

For the first time since Bobby and Joshua had entered the room, Dean sounded unsure of himself. Brow pulled in tightly, he faltered as he spoke.

“And why the hell would you do that?”

Bobby was wondering the same thing himself. Demons rarely did anything out of the goodness of their hearts. If they were protecting Sam then there was a damn good reason for it. It didn’t bode well for the kid.

“Because we need him!” the demon shot back, her voice dripping with hatred. “We need your goddamn brother!”

“For what?”

She managed a scowl even though she was twitching in the seat like she had been electrocuted.

“I don’t know! I’m not in the inner circle. I just do as I’m told.”

She blinked rapidly as if trying to clear her mind before she was able to speak again. When she finally found her voice it was quiet but layered with malice.

“You ever been to hell, Dean?”

She was trying diversionary tactics. Bobby recognised her game plan immediately but he wasn’t wholly convinced that Dean did. His entire stance suggested he was losing control of himself – and the situation.

“It’s like your worst nightmare every day,” she continued, a sickening smile spreading across her face as the hunter jerked a little at the mention of his impending future. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough but, just for you, here’s the inside scope. Demons – they don’t like it down there. It’s not home sweet home for us.”

“You wanna tell someone about your goddamn sob story, go on fucking Oprah,” Dean growled, but he didn’t seem quite as certain as he had before.

Bobby wondered how much her words were affecting the young hunter. In eleven months hell would become his fate. It was hard to over look that fact – especially when he had a previous resident sat in front of him telling him horror stories.

The demon wasn’t fazed by his outburst, however. Perhaps on some level she realised she was getting to him and so she pushed further.

“Why the hell do you think we spend so much time trying to get out of there, Dean? We got the shit end of a very shitty deal and after millennia of being tied to that poisonous wasteland we want out. Is that so difficult to understand?”

Dean gave her a dry smile.

“Yeah, and whilst you’re topside you play Jeffrey Dahmer with people?”

“We tried to assimilate but humans…they’re so goddamn easy to corrupt. All that hatred, self-loathing, guilt…you’re all weak, pathetic specimens. I’m surprised you didn’t go extinct centuries ago. Seriously, it’s like taking candy from a baby.”

“Not really plugging your cause here, sweetheart,” Dean bit out.

“I don’t expect you to understand, but you will. Once you’ve lived it you will understand.”

Dean flinched again but somehow he managed to keep hold of his stoic expression. Bobby had to admire him for that. He was finding it difficult to hold himself together and he hadn’t made the damn contract.

“Yeah, well tell everyone I said hi and I’ll see them real soon,” Dean said with a sardonic smile.

The demon tilted her head to one side, considering him momentarily.

“Poor Dean Winchester. You’ve spent your whole life trying to protect your family and you failed. Must hurt like hell knowing your daddy died for you and what your brother will give up to save you.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth!” he barked. “Swear to god I’m gonna hunt every single one of your friends down and kill them all!”

She raised her brow at his loss of control. Up to now Dean had seemed relatively focused. This was quickly spiralling into chaos.

“Better make it quick, Dean. You’ve only got eleven months.”

He growled an expletive under his breath and just when Bobby was readying himself to stand in and drag Dean bodily out of the situation the kid surprised him. He had already lowered his gaze back to the book, the demon’s words forgotten for the moment and continued to read. His strength amazed Bobby, even left him a little overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure he would have had the resolve to block out her words.

“…Ablegatio alauda malefactor…”

“No!” she screamed, thrashing against the bonds. “You can’t do this! You’ll never… you’ll never find Sam!”

Dean seemed to shut out every thing apart from the page in front of him. His deep voice cracked in the air with each word he spoke; the demon’s echoing screams blocked out.

“Dean! I can help you!” she continued her pathetic plea. “I can take you to Sam.”

A slight stumble over a phrase was the only sign Dean gave that he had even heard her as he continued to read.

“… spiritus recedo elleboum!” He closed the text with a resounding thump, the last word shouted.

The demon wailed and then threw her head back as black smoke erupted from her mouth, circling the key before evaporating.

Her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she toppled forward, ropes biting into her wrists. Bobby made to start forward but Dean was already there, dropping to his knees in front of her, his strong hands on her shoulders keeping her in the chair. Cautiously, he reached out and gently raised the girl’s head.

“She alive?” Bobby asked, his mouth dry. It was the first time the mechanic had spoken in over five minutes and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Yeah, she’s alive,” Dean replied with a small sigh that could have been relief. Bobby wasn’t sure.

Winchester straightened from his crouch and turned to Joshua who was flicking through a large book; the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. It was almost as good a source for demonology as the Key of Solomon. If it contained any information on the current situation, Josh would find it.

“You know who this demon is?” Dean inquired as he stood from his crouched position in front of the dark haired girl.

“Bael? Yeah. Nasty son of a bitch.” He grazed the page once more before glancing up. “He’s part of the second tier of hell – what your possessed girl referred to as the Hierarchy.”

“Hierarchy?” Dean asked, moving across the room towards them.

Joshua pulled a face, sucking on his lip thoughtfully.

“Kinda like a government, I guess.”

“Hell has a government?” he demanded somewhat sceptically, glancing over the slightly shorter man’s shoulder, his eyes grazing the page.

“She wasn’t lying when she said they aren’t that different from us, Dean.”

“Ok, so this Bael guy – there any way we can track him?”

“The Pseudo doesn’t say but I’m pretty sure the Lesser Key of Solomon will. It contains hundreds of summoning rituals.”

“Good,” Dean said, nodding firmly, “look it up.”

“Dean–” Joshua began, but broke off, glancing at Bobby. The demonologist looked uncertain and more than a little apprehensive. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” Winchester fixed him with a level stare that held a host of emotions; irritation was prominent however. However, Joshua’s own temperament didn’t cope too well with confrontational, arrogant kids. This was going to end badly. Bobby braced himself, ready to step between them if necessary.

“Bael isn’t a low level demon, dumb ass,” Joshua snapped. “He’s right up there, below old yellow eyes himself. That kind of power-“

“I killed yellow eyes. I’ll kill this son of a bitch as well.” The challenge was like a gauntlet being thrown down. It cracked around the room, stealing all sound from the atmosphere, drenching the air in silence. It was Bobby who eventually broke that stillness.

“With the colt,” Bobby reminded him quietly.

“Screw the damn colt!” Dean glared at the mechanic, an insolent tone in his voice. “He has Sam! I’m not gonna stand by and do nothing! I’ll take the world apart stone by stone if necessary!”

“We’re not saying you should do nothing,” Joshua countered, but his eyes were still locked on Bobby, pleading almost for him to stop this insanity. Bobby wasn’t sure he could, however. Dean wouldn’t go for half measures when it came to his kid brother. He would do whatever it took to get Sam back – no matter how stupid that whatever was.

“We need a plan,” Joshua persisted. “Going in half cocked is only gonna get us all killed and you’re no use to your brother dead.”

“I’m already dead.” Dean glared at him under sallow, sunken lids, but it was the vapid expression on his face that scared Bobby the most. It was like Dean didn’t care what happened to him any more. Without Sam, it was probably true. He would never admit it but Dean needed his brother as much as Sam needed him. It took all of Bobby’s resolve not to go over and shake the kid out of the self-destructive mindset that was painted across his features. “You shouldn’t have brought him, Bobby,” Winchester muttered under his breath.

It was enough to make the mechanic snap. Dean was being stubborn, not to mention a complete ass right now. Couldn’t he see they were trying to help him and Sam? He hadn’t given up on either of them. He was here, after a seven hour journey, trying to put this right and there was no way in hell Bobby was doing it alone. He needed to pull the man out of the self-pity abyss.

“Josh has spent his whole life hunting demons, you moron! He’s our best chance of findin’ your brother! If you just stopped and listened to him for a damn second we might actually be able to figure out a way to fix this whole mess!”

Dean scowled, but then his face softened, his brow tightening. Yet again another change in his temperament that left the old man reeling.

“It’s just… this whole situation has ringings of Cold Oak to it.” He raised grief-stricken green eyes to the mechanic, a tormented expression wavering across his face. “I can’t do that again Bobby… I can’t lose my brother. I won’t do it.”

Bobby’s chest constricted painfully. God these boys were going to be the death of him.

“Sam will be fine,” he said quietly, hoping it was true and that he wasn’t giving the kid false hope.

Sam had to be fine. Bobby didn’t know how the hell to fix Dean a second time if the boy wasn’t and Dean didn’t have anything else to offer in return for his younger brother’s life.

Chapter Fifteen:

Tricks of the Mind

Sam came around in the midst of a shivering rage that was terrorising his entire body. He was so cold he ached. Every nerve in his body seemed to be sensitive to the elements and his skin prickled as he trembled uncontrollably.

The first thing he realised was that he was curled on his side on a cold floor. The second thing was that he was lying in a thin layer of water, and that his jeans and t-shirt were dripping wet. In his hazy mindset none of that made sense and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog that had melted into his brain.

It took several moments before he was able to fully wake and appreciate his surroundings.

The room was dark apart from a thin slither of light streaming in from a gap in a boarded window on the far wall. He could smell stagnating water, hear it dripping in the corner but couldn’t see the source of the leak through the murky blackness. In the poor lighting he could make out shadowed structures of various shapes but he couldn’t put a name to anything and his shimmering vision wasn’t complying enough to try.

Dragging his face across the waterlogged concrete floor, water seeping into his long bangs, Sam tried to see more of the room. His first thought was it was some kind of basement – it would explain the darkness – but after a moment he wasn’t so sure. It didn’t seem to have any of the features of a basement. No stairs, no small hatch window. In fact as Sam’s eyes adjusted to the dark the more he thought his initial assessment was wrong. It didn’t help to provide him with a location however.

Giving up on his surroundings, Sam focused on himself. He tried to move but his arms were bound behind his back. His shoulder gave a spike of agony as he attempted to free himself from the angry ropes that were cutting into his skin, burning the flesh around his wrists, but it caused his sight to wobble frantically. Sam closed his eyes as bile crept up his throat, and swallowed repeatedly, forcing the acidic substance back down with some difficulty.

As he came more into awareness other injuries began to make themselves known. His ribs ached, his head hurt at the crown, stung like it had been cut, and his legs were complaining angrily about being bound together. In fact, if Sam was being truthful, he would have admitted that his entire body exuded pain.

A noise from the side of him caught his attention. Cracking his eyes open further, he cast a sluggish glance along the length of the floor. His heart almost stopped as a set of heavy boots moved into his line of sight. Water dripped from the soles as the figure took another step closer before coming to a halt. Sam tried to lift his head to gain a better view but it felt so heavy. He barely managed to clear it from the concrete before the side of his face sunk back into the waterlogged puddle.

A familiar face appeared beside him as the demon crouched down. Bael was smiling, his face contorted into an ugly smirk.

“Mornin’ campers.” Sam shifted a little away from him but his current predicament didn’t allow for much in the way of movement. Even that slight shuffle threw his bruised body into shock-waves of red hot pain that had his vision wavering once more. “How you doing, Sammy?”

“Don’t think much of the hospitality,” Sam muttered dryly, tasting coppery blood in his mouth.

Carefully, he ran his tongue across his teeth checking they were all still there. Thankfully they were. The blood must have come from another source but Sam was too exhausted to figure out where.

“Yeah, well, the bonds were reassurance – needs must and all that.” Bael flashed a grin, standing slowly. “Couldn’t have you making like Steve McQueen and hightailing outta here, not when we’ve got work to do.”

“I’m calling in sick,” Sam shot back, wondering how the hell he was managing to keep up the banter without his voice wavering. It was the Winchester way, however. Hide all emotions – even fear – behind humour. It worked – for a time – but Sam couldn’t stop the cold sensation that had collected in the pit of his stomach. It was difficult to remain detached when a psychotic demon had him tied up like a spit-roast pig on the floor.

Memories of what had happened in the abandoned house came flooding back, hitting him like a physical blow. His panic and dread moved up another notch. Sam rolled his eyes around the darkened space and felt his heart drop.

Where the hell was his brother?

The last time he had seen Dean he had been in bad shape. Sam vaguely recalled the feeling of helplessness he had experienced as his brother had been cruelly dragged from his grip and tried to brush it off. There was no point dwelling on that. Sam could not have stopped Bael even on full form. The guy was a fully-fledged, pissed off demon.

Sam shuddered, his mind coming back to his brother. He didn’t want to think worst case scenarios but Sam couldn’t help it. The dry voice in the back of his mind tormented him with unanswerable questions: was Dean still alive? Was he too injured to gain help? Morbid thought after morbid thought assailed his frightened mind, offering no solutions to his fears, until Sam could stand it no longer.

“Where’s… my brother?” Sam demanded anxiously.

“Quit worrying about Dean.” Bael’s guttural voice echoed around the room, scoring into Sam’s aching head like nails down a chalk board. The hunter found his eyes squeezing shut just to escape the obnoxiously loud sound.

“What do you want from me?” The words in his head had sounded somewhat more forceful, brasher. In reality they stumbled from his lips untidily and sluggishly.

“You have a gift Sam,” Bael said softly, “but you’ve tried to quash that potential. You’ve tried to ignore it. If you just opened up, the things you can do… The power you have…”

The shiver of apprehension that raced through Sam almost overwhelmed all his other senses and left him dizzied, like he had stood up too quickly but he didn’t even have a chance to respond.

Suddenly white hot pain raced through his body. His head felt like a melon being cleft in two as fire lanced through his brain, his vision flickering on and off. His eyes squeezed shut as his body convulsed, shaking spasmodically with every electric shock that fired through the sensitive synapses. Every instinct in his body wanted him to pull his head between his hands in some attempt to curb the agony but his tied hands wouldn’t allow the movement.

Sam willed himself to be stronger but the pain was so intense that he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than taking shallow, ragged breaths. His stomach threatened to rebel and clenched tightly as sharp knives stabbed along his abdomen, finally embedding their hard blades in his head. He yelped and whimpered, curling his legs up to his chest as burning heat crawled up his skin.

And then it receded, leaving him trembling on the ground.

“You could have stopped that Sam.” Bael’s voice cracked into the air, mixing with Sam’s laboured breathing.

Even through the hazy fog settling in his brain, Sam heard the bite in the demon’s voice. He sounded angry but for a brief moment Sam was convinced Bael was angry with him personally.

A wave of nausea halted Sam’s thoughts. He swallowed hard, hoping to dispel the bitter taste lining his tongue but the foul flavour remained, burning his throat as it crept further up his digestive system into his mouth.

He was barely given any respite as a second attack assaulted his body with renewed ferocity. Sam couldn’t help it. No will in the world could stop it. He screamed, curling his legs into his chest, sobbing as his head threatened to explode.

He hadn’t imagined he could feel pain worse that what he had just experienced but he was wrong. Convulsion after convulsion racked him, his head smacking against the concrete floor as he seized. Iron-liquid pooled in his mouth and, for a brief moment, Sam’s only thought was that he was going to die choking on his own blood.

The attack was, thankfully, short lived but it took Sam a long time to recover from the assault. His surroundings dripped into one another as he tried to regain focus on the room. He was pretty certain there was blood running down his chin from his mouth. He had seen a similar thing happen to Dean and Sam hoped he had the strength to come through this – for his and his brother’s sake. He wasn’t sure Dean had the strength to bury Sam once more.

Sam groaned. His stomach ached, felt like it was rotting from the inside out like a bad apple. He found some comfort in curling up into a ball but it was short lived and his pained body made its grievances known in full force.

It was a couple of minutes, after persistent blinking, before Bael came back into clarity. As grateful as Sam was that he could now see straight, a part of him wished he had remained out of it. Ignorance was bliss after all, especially when Bael wasn’t finished with his torture.

The demon moved towards the hunter in one quick stride, grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him up off the floor. Sam’s injured body protested violently at the movement, his head rolling as his bound hands fumbled behind his back in an attempt to keep himself from lurching over. Bael’s grip, however, was unrelenting and firm as he pulled him close to his face, his stale breath unbearably warm on Sam’s clammy skin.

“Fight me!” the demon growled. There was urgency in his voice that Sam couldn’t fathom out.

Why the hell was the damn demon pushing him so hard?

It didn’t make sense and the exhaustion that was ravaging Sam’s injured body was making it difficult to think in straight lines. He gave up on his musing and let his head drop onto his chest, his vision spinning. It was taking all of his strength to fight consciousness.

A flash of disgust crossed Bael’s face and, with a snarl, he ungraciously released his hold on the younger Winchester with a slight shove. Unable to prevent his fall, Sam hit the ground with a whimper, his side jarring with the impact.

For a second the hunter lay still, taking huge, shuddering breaths as he tried to control his nausea and gain a grip of his jolting senses. Sam thought he had a higher tolerance to pain than most people – god knows he had been dealt his fair share of injuries in the past – but for some reason he couldn’t take command of this. Every inch of him hurt. Limbs felt heavy and detached and his brain was throbbing angrily beneath his dark hair. It was totally pathetic but he wanted his brother so badly; more than he had ever wanted anything in his whole life. He wanted Dean to crouch down next to him and tell him he would be all right, to offer him the reassurance he desperately craved. Sam couldn’t see a way out of any of this. Bael meant to cause him pain and Sam was completely helpless to stop him. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

Sam knew the next attack was coming before it arrived and, although he braced himself for the expected agony, it wasn’t enough. This time was worse.

Sam lost the contents of his stomach before it was over, barely managing to raise his head before the burning, acidic liquid splashed onto the floor. He was reduced to dry heaves once his body had expelled everything, his stomach aching with the convulsing force of vomiting. Sam recognised the symptoms even in his haze: his body was in shock at the assault, his mind unable to discern what was causing him such much pain. He lay trembling, darkness creeping into his peripheral vision like a teenager sneaking into the house way passed curfew. Sam willed unconsciousness to take him; at least then he could find solace from his pain. It never came however, his body stubbornly refused to give him the reprieve he prayed for.

“Bael! Enough!” a new voice cracked in the silence.

Sam forced his swollen eyes open but his vision wouldn’t hold still.

The voice was female. She was silhouetted against the thick darkness, painted onto the horizon in murky greys like a washed out watercolour.

Sam shifted a little away from the newcomer but his current predicament didn’t allow for much in the way of movement. His bound hands aside, the slight shuffle he attempted threw his bruised body into shock-waves of agony, his breath catching in his throat. There was nothing he could do as she knelt down beside him, caressing his cheek with a cold hand. Her touch, however, seemed to pull the fog from his brain and his vision cleared, like rain clouds parting to reveal a blue sky. Sam wasn’t sure what she had done to him but he was almost grateful that the nausea and pounding in his skull had abated. He raised his gaze to the woman and roved swollen eyes over her, seeing her clearly for the first time.

She was small, no taller than five-foot-five. Her dark hair was pulled up at the nape of her neck but dark strands had escaped and trailed the side of her cheeks, softening her face somewhat. Full lips were drawn into a tight line and petite delicate shoulders were exposed were the scarlet top she was wearing had slipped off her slender frame. She was pretty, like a white rose in full bloom, but her features were marred – tainted even – by her eyes. Under a perfectly sculpted brow and chiselled cheek bones were two deep abysses of icy ebony. Sam could not prevent the hiss of air that escaped his lips. One demon was bad enough; two meant a definite death sentence.

“Oh, Sammy.” She spoke softly, fingers still trailing across his clammy skin. “You could have prevented all of this.”

Sam tried to pull back but he found himself once again subjected to her wandering fingertips.

“W-what… do you…want?” The words tumbled out, sticking to the back of his throat. His mouth was so dry. He licked his cracked lips, attempting to put some moisture back into them but it was to little avail. He desperately needed water but he doubted he would get it.

“I need your help,” she replied, finally pulling her hands away from his body.

“Why…?” Sam couldn’t help the confusion in his voice. He cleared his throat and when he continued he was grateful that his voice sounded stronger. “Why should I help you?”

“Because I can offer you something in return.”

“I don’t want a damn thing from you,” he murmured.

He wanted to sleep, needed it. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his heavy lids open and had no choice but to succumb to the gritty, aching sensation, closing his eyes slowly.

“Oh Sammy, that’s not entirely true now, is it? There is something you want. Something you want more than anything in the world and I can give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”

Sam prised a swollen lid open carefully, his brow narrowing as she rocked back on the balls of her feet. She was studying him intently, dark eyes locked onto his face as her black hair cascaded across her face even further. Sam’s mind wheeled. A number of conflicting thoughts bombarded his brain. She was talking about Dean; had to be.

“You break the Crossroads deal and Dean goes free?” He scoffed but he sounded sluggish even to his own ears. He cursed his own weak body. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch, Sam.” He grunted sceptically, but his heart gave a little flutter of hope. “I can give you your brother’s life back.”

Sam wanted to take her offer and save his brother but he wasn’t an idiot. She was a demon and, by all accounts, demons lied. He knew she would want something in return. He knew it was stupid to even humour her by listening to her proposal but his desperation won out. He couldn’t help it. He would do anything to save Dean’s life. The man had given so much for him in the past – too much. Sam had to repay that, he had to see his brother safe. Dean always thought it was his job to protect Sam but the younger sibling had spent his whole life secretly watching his older brother, reining him back in when he got out of control and saving his ass on the occasions when he got into trouble. Dean would never admit it but it was as much Sam’s job to watch Dean as it was Dean’s job to watch Sam. The problem was that Sam seemed to have a huge bull’s-eye painted on his forehead and Dean ended up saving his ass more often than Sam helped him. It was part of the reason why Sam was so determined to pull his brother out of this goddamn mess. This was his chance to save Dean for a change.

“How?” Sam asked. “Not to mention why?”

“I have ways, means…” she purred.

“So you give Dean his soul back and then what? I help you destroy the world?” He didn’t mean to sound as bitter as he did and cursed himself for doing so. He didn’t want to show her any weakness. As it was he already felt pathetic lying on the floor broken and bruised and unable to defend himself.

She gave him a quizzical look, her brow raised.

“What a peculiar notion.”

“You’re saying I’m not going to lead hell’s armies in this war?”

“No… that was the general idea – at least that was what Azazel planned.”

“So what? You’re just carryin’ on where he left off?” Sam muttered sourly. He was sick of fate playing him, tired of his elusive destiny. He wanted answers and reasons for all the crap that had marred his life.

“In a word.” She rose from his side, her soft footfalls sounding abrasive in the room as she paced. “We’re just going to make the world a little better, Sam. Surely you can understand that?”

“Better?” Sam glared at her with a wry smile. “Your ‘friend’ unleashed hundreds of demons onto innocent people, how is that better?”

“Oh come off it, Sammy!” She scowled. “Are you really that naive? Innocent people?! There is no such thing as an innocent person! The people who walk this stinking planet are a hell of lot worse than some of the things I know – and trust me when I tell you I know some pretty nasty individuals.”

She had a slightly wild look, accentuated by a dark glare sweeping over her pale, serene face. She was a total enigma. Ebony pools that raged were offset by a pallid, calming smile. Sam wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her conflicting expression but he knew she was not offering assistance out of the goodness of her heart. Her insistence that she could save Dean made the younger man wary. In his experience nothing in life was ever free. Everything came at a price and Sam knew that price was usually high.

“I’m not going to help you,” he replied finally, his heart clenching painfully. A small tremor of fear ran through him. Had he thrown Dean’s only chance of survival down the grid?

The demon seemed unperturbed however. She smiled, a hint of humour behind her dark eyes.

“Oh Sam, you always did have a good heart but you’re a moron! You put your life on the line every day and do you ever get thanked? Appreciated?” She laughed, a short, sharp bark. “The FBI are hunting your brother down to put him in jail, your father was killed trying to stop a damn demon who liked killing innocent mothers, and now your brother is facing the rest of his days in hell – despite giving his life for you. I’m offering to help Dean. Take it. You won’t get another offer like this one.”

Sam wanted her help so badly that it physically hurt him. However demons lied and Sam had no illusion that she was lying to him right now. She needed his help for some reason and the fact she was resorting to bribery told Sam that she needed it willingly. Sam was loath to give it to her for that reason.

“We’ll find a way. Don’t need your help,” Sam maintained, but he could hear the waver in his own voice. Sam was no closer to finding a way out of the crossroads deal than he was of sprouting wings and flying out of here.

“A way?” she bit back at him, her eyes blazing suddenly, anger lacing her voice. “This isn’t a Disney movie Sam! There isn’t a rainbow and a pot of gold! Dreams really don’t come true! And sure, you can keep praying to god every night before you go to sleep but God… isn’t… listening!”

She spoke the last few words slowly, drawing out each one.

“Your brother has eleven months and then he’s going to burn over and over in hell. The pain, the agony…? You can’t even imagine what it’s like. It’s one thing to put a brave face on it but an eternity down there? Well… it makes forever seem like a day. Can you really do that to your own brother? The man who practically raised you, always looked out for you, sold his soul for you? Isn’t it time you stopped thinking about everyone else, Sam, and looked after your own family? Dean is all you have left. When he’s gone…? You’re on your own kiddo. No mother, no father, no brother… just poor little Sammy Winchester, wandering this cold, dark earth alone, running away from monsters.”

Sam frowned deeply at her words, each one of them stinging like a physical blow. It was the truth but he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t need to be reminded that in eleven months time his life was going to unravel and that the one person he had left in the whole world was going to a fate so awful that it plagued his dreams every night. He didn’t need to hear that he had failed his family, that they were all dead because of him, because of his demon blood, because of his elusive destiny, because some higher power had decided to play with them. He closed his eyes to stop his brimming tears from over flowing. He would not cry. Not in front of a damn demon anyway. He had his pride but the stress and the pressure was catching up to him. Sam was running out of steam. He was grinding to an emotional halt. He had reached the end of his proverbial tether.

The demon softened her tone as she continued to speak, slowly running a callous hand down his face.

“All I’m asking for is one day. Just one day, kid and your brother gets the rest of his life back. He’ll live to a nice old age just for one day. Your little family can stay together and everyone – including myself – has a happy existence.”

Sam glanced up at her incredulously. Happy existence? Was she deluded? What on earth could be happy about giving demons free reign? All Sam could see was a lifetime of chaos and terror stretched out before the whole world if demons were given the run of the place. He could never allow that. His father had fought and died to protect people from the supernatural. His mother had been taken from them by Azazel and Sam’s death at the hands of the Jake meant Dean was next to join the list. They had given up so much to keep this world safe – to keep him safe. It would not all be in vain. He would not trample all over their work. This was for the greater good – at least that was what he was telling himself.

Not only that but Sam had quickly come to realise that there was no way this bitch was going to help his brother, not without a catch, and Sam wasn’t prepared to take that risk. He would find his own way to free Dean of the contract. Helping a demon was to go against everything his family stood for, everything they had sacrificed over the years. Sam wasn’t sure he could do that – no matter how desperate he was.

“Screw your happy existence,” Sam ground out, “and while you’re at it screw yourself!”

“Oh, but you don’t even know what I want you to do.” Her expression was sanguinary and filled Sam with dread. He pushed that emotion aside. They needed him for something and whilst they still needed him Sam was fairly certain he would remain alive. Whilst he was still drawing breath Sam would fight – no matter what they did to him.

“I don’t care,” he spat.

“You’ve never been to hell, Sam, so it’s easy for you to say no.” He shivered as she traced a cold hand down his torso, stopping at the top of his jeans.

He shied back from her touch, his lip curling in disgust. He felt violated by her and there was nothing he could do about it. It only increased his feeling of worthlessness.

Deep down Sam knew none of this was his fault but still he blamed himself for letting Bael get the drop on him and once again putting his brother in danger. He knew Dean. Knew him better than his brother probably knew himself and right now Sam knew Dean would be tearing Utah apart looking for him, pulling all manner of crazy stunts just to save his younger brother. It was just another pile of guilt to add to the growing stack.

“You want to see hell, Sammy?” she asked softly, “I’ll show you.”

Placing both hands on the side of his head she closed her eyes.

“Fasten your seatbelt, kid. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

Pain exploded through his skull, white hot and unrelenting. It was worse than any vision he had ever had, worse than the pain Bael had inflicted on him. Cold and callous, the agony was akin to having a hot poker shoved through his brain. A wailing sound, followed by a whimper surprised him, especially when he realised it was coming from his own mouth and then darkness slammed into his sight, momentarily leaving him blinded.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Sixteen:

Severance

Sam awoke abruptly. He sprung into a sitting position, eyes wide and alert, heart pounding painfully beneath his ribs. As he came into alertness he realised there was something wrong with the scene he was greeted with.

“What the hell…?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around.

Confused, Sam took a moment to drink in his surroundings.

A long, latticed window on the far wall was letting light stream in through the dazzling, white voile drapes hanging at the frames. A heavy set wooden dresser was pushed back against the adjacent wall, an oval shaped mirror hanging above it, and two gold candle holders with furled legs positioned at either end of the surface. Painted white wood panelling covered the walls half way up and the bare wall above it was painted in a soft lemon.

More surprising was the double bed in which Sam was lying. Silk sheets were wrapped around his legs, leaving his bare chest exposed, pillows stacked behind him. Sam frowned. He didn’t recognise the room at all and yet he felt a vague familiarity, as if he should know it.

Here and there were little trinkets, souvenirs of someone else’s life: clothes left in piles from the night before, shoes at the end of the bed, a robe hung haphazardly on the back of the door. There was even a battered paperback thrown negligently on the nightstand.

Sam frowned as his brain took all of these images in. His last memory had been the dark haired demon grabbing hold of him so how the hell had he got here…?

Wherever here was…

Maybe he had passed out… been brought here by someone, but who? Who could have found him, gone up against two demons and brought him to this peaceful sanctuary? It didn’t make sense.

He didn’t dwell on it, however. His attention had been snared by something else.

Slowly, Sam untangled his long limbs from the blankets and swung his legs out of bed, his toes curling into the heavy shag-pile navy rug. The wall opposite the bed was splattered with picture frames. Sam roved his eyes over the display, his mouth dry. There were several photographs of his parents together, in various different places and a couple of Dean looking carefree. Sam smiled. His brother looked happy in these pictures, his cheeky grin splashed across his face. It was a universe away from how the real world was. Sam couldn’t remember the last time his brother had smiled; probably when he had killed yellow eyes.

Sam lingered on the picture for a moment, consuming the image of his brother’s happiness before moving onto the next. Sam’s heart froze in his chest, a sigh escaping his lips before he could stop it. He reached up and ran a trembling finger down the picture.

“Jess…”

He recognised the picture. It was the night of their first-year anniversary. He closed his eyes, his hand still on the picture as he remembered every detail about that night. The way her hair had looked, pulled up at the nape of her neck, curled in tight ringlets. The crimson dress that had clung to her figure perfectly, hugging all the right parts of her body. Her perfume… he could still smell it now. Not too strong but a pleasant floral scent.

The image of her pinned to the ceiling flashed through his mind and Sam winced. He had tried to put it behind him but which ever way he looked at it Jessica’s death was his fault. He should have done more; he should have taken his dreams seriously. It hurt with a physical ache that Sam could not shift. She had been innocent in all of this, dragged into something that was nothing to do with her because of him. That guilt ate at him constantly and had done since the night she had died. She shouldn’t have suffered like that. It wasn’t fair. Sam almost wished he could take back Stanford, wished he had never gone. She would still be alive if he hadn’t.

Sighing deeply, he reopened his eyes and continued studying the pictures.

“Sam?” The voice had come from downstairs.

Cautiously, Sam moved into the landing, his eyes briefly roving over the wooden spindled banister to the hallway below but he stopped suddenly, his eye catching something. There was a picture on the wall of him, Dean, and their father. There was nothing abnormal about it, apart from Mary was in the middle, arms wrapped around an adult Sam and Dean… which was impossible. His mother had died before he had even reached his first birthday.

More than a little freaked out, Sam pulled his eyes from the picture and moved across the galleried landing, taking the stairs two at a time. Something about all of this wasn’t sitting right and Sam wanted to find out what on earth was going on. What the hell was his late girlfriend, his parents and his brother doing on the wall of an unknown house?

There were four doors off the long hallway. The front door was a set of doubles, frosted glass bordering the frame and the other three, he presumed, led into rooms. The door at the bottom of the corridor was slightly ajar and Sam could hear someone – or something – moving about within the room. He flicked his gaze around the hallway and made a snatch for the only weapon he could find; an umbrella. It was hardly going to do serious damage to whatever was in the room but felt reassuring in Sam’s hands.

Slowly he crept towards the end of the corridor, his heart thumping, as another loud clunk came from inside. He paused at the handle, readjusted his grip on the makeshift weapon and pushed it open.

Something screamed – or rather someone. It was female, high pitched and familiar. Sam met her eyes briefly and felt the colour drain from his face, the umbrella slipping from his fingers.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered under his breath, his lips parting slightly.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” the screaming woman demanded but Sam couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t find the words. In fact he couldn’t do anything but stare. The surreal scene wasn’t quite registering with his higher mental centre. In fact nothing was.

“This isn’t real,” he murmured, finally finding his voice.

Jessica glanced up at him, wooden spoon in her hand, the pans boiling on the stove momentarily forgotten.

“Sam, baby, you OK?”

As she moved towards him, Sam took a step backwards. This was a dream. It had to be. Jessica was dead. There was no way she could be stood in front of him cooking. This was all in his head. The demon had done something to him, altered his perceptions. She wasn’t Jessica. Sure she looked like her, right down to the freckles on her face to her blonde hair but this thing in front of him wasn’t his late girlfriend. She couldn’t be. Jessica was dead. Sam knew she was dead. He had seen her burn. How on earth could she be here now, stood in front of him, cheeks dashed with flour, an apron wrapped around her tiny frame?

“Sam, you’re freaking me out,” the Jessica look-a-like said apprehensively when Sam didn’t offer her a response.

“You’re not Jessica.” He shook his head vehemently.

The demon was doing this. Somehow. Sam didn’t understand how but the rational part of his mind told him that this was not possible. She looked real enough, but she was not Jessica.

She gave him a strange look, her expression baffled.

“Sam… I am Jessica.” She moved towards him but he stepped back. This was a mind game, it had to be. There was no other explanation for it.

“Christo,” Sam blurted the Latin word out and prepared for her reaction. However her eyes remained normal, in fact she didn’t even flinch.

Not a demon… but what was she then? A shapeshifter? Sam needed an explanation for all of this. How the hell was his dead girlfriend stood in a kitchen baking?

“Are you drunk?” Jessica demanded, one hand dropping on to her hip, her brow narrowing.

“How… how’s this…? You’re not real.” He shook his head, fisting his hands into his hair, wanting to wake up from this mind-fuck. “I’m losing my mind. This isn’t right. You died. This is the demon. She’s screwing with my head. Making me see things I want to see.”

Sam couldn’t deal with this. It was too much. He had learnt to deal with Jessica’s death. It was the same way his family dealt with everything – he put it on that shelf of unresolved issues – but having her stood here, in front of him, alive… Sam wanted to block her out. He didn’t want to see her like this. It was too hard. He tried to pull back as she gently touched his arm, not even looking at her as he shifted back out of her reach. He couldn’t ignore the fact her hand had felt warm on his skin. Not a spirit then.

“I don’t know what you are, but stay the hell away from me!” Sam bit out disturbed a little by how hysterical he sounded even to his own ears.

She held her hands up defensively but did not attempt to move towards him.

“Sam, please calm down.” Her eyes were wide with fear.

“Stay away from me!” Sam’s voice was getting louder with each passing second but he couldn’t control himself. This was too much. It was salt in an open wound and his overloaded mind couldn’t carry any more weight. “It’s the demon… has to be… no other explanation…” He muttered under his breath, trying to rationalise this irrational situation.

“Demons?” Jess’ tone was incredulous, “Sam, what the hell are talking about? There’s no such thing as demons!”

She moved towards hum but Sam reached for the knife rack on the counter, dragging a long thin bread knife out, waving it at her.

“Don’t move!” he threatened. She halted suddenly; the fear crossing her face was gut-wrenching. He never wanted to see that look on her face again – demon spawn or not. “What the hell are you? Demon? Shifter? A spirit?”

She shook her head, confusion melting on to her face.

“Baby… your not… this doesn’t make any sense… let me call the doctor, please.” Her tone was pleading but it shook.

“Jess? Sammy?” The voice came from the hallway. Sam snapped his head around just as the kitchen door opened.

He almost laughed with relief. It was Dean. His brother. He would figure this out in a second. He would tell Sam he wasn’t crazy, that this impostor was not his dead girlfriend stood in front of him alive and breathing. But Dean’s wide-eyed gaze wasn’t focused on Jessica. It was fixed on him.

Sam frowned.

“Sammy…” Dean said with a sharp exhale of breath, his eyes gravitating to the knife in his younger sibling’s hand. “What’s going on, bro?” he asked carefully.

His brother side-stepped into the room and Sam realised he was putting himself between his knife-wielding crazy little brother and the fake-Jessica.

“She’s not real,” Sam blurted out, wondering why the hell his brother wasn’t understanding the severity of the situation. “She died, Dean! You saw it, you were there!”

“Sam, all I can see is you holding a knife to your fiancée and freaking out. Just relax, OK? Put the knife down.” His calming tone only fuelled Sam’s anger further.

“You pulled me out of the room! She was on fire! On the ceiling! Don’t you remember?” Sam voice broke as he flicked his gaze between the two of them.

They were sharing anxious looks. He suddenly wasn’t certain what he was saying. Had he imagined all of that happening? Jessica was here, stood in front of him, terrified, his brother wasn’t agreeing with him either and Dean had been there. Doubt overwhelmed him. Was he mad?

“Sam, c’mon man, just chill–” Dean began but broke off as two more people stepped into the room.

Gaze snapping to the newcomers, Sam’s head spun as he realised who they were.

“Mom…?” he barely whispered. “Dad…?”

His parents were eyeing him with the same fear that had been present in Jessica and Dean’s eyes but Sam didn’t care. He didn’t relinquish his grip on the knife. The whole scene had just shot from surreal to off-the-wall crazy in less than thirty seconds. Sam was so confused. They looked real – Jessica had even felt real – but three of the people in the room were supposed to be dead. Sam couldn’t wrap his head around that.

“What the hell is this?” Sam demanded, splitting his gaze between the four of them.

“Sammy…” Mary’s soft voice drifted into the air. Sam glanced at her. He wanted her to be real. He wanted all of this to be real but there was no way on earth it could be. “Put the knife down, baby.”

She stepped towards him and Sam shifted back but as she reached a hand out to him he didn’t react. He couldn’t. She was so close to him that he could smell her perfume, he could feel her warm breath on his face, her eyes gazing softly into his face – just like she had that night in Lawrence. It was too much and Sam’s resolve broke completely as she ran a hand down his cheek, her touch soft and warm. She felt real and he wanted her to be real so badly that he didn’t care if this was in his head anymore. His entire family were here, with him. He was no longer facing his life alone. He needed this love, this strong family unit more than he had ever needed anything in his life. Slowly Sam handed the knife over to his mother’s open hand.

“Son, what happened?” John Winchester’s deep gruff voice rang out, his face filled with apprehension, with such love.

His father… god all the things he wanted to say to him. All the apologies he wanted to make for nonsensical fights over the years. Sam stifled a sob and found strong arms wrapping around him. He resisted the hug for a second before he gave into it totally, breathing in his mothers scent as she held him. Sam had never imagined a single act could heal so many wounds, fix so many scars but for the first time in his whole life he felt truly safe. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“Are you real?” he breathed against her ear, tears freely flowing now. His head and heart were fighting against one another, trying to rationalise this whole thing.

She smiled at him.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m real.”

Sam glanced at Jessica who was watching him carefully. Reluctantly he pulled back from his mother’s embrace, studying his family incredulously. How was this possible? Part of him didn’t care, didn’t want to get to the bottom of it. This was what he had always wanted; normality. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact both his parents were stood in front of him. He almost reached out once more to touch them, to confirm in his own mind that they were really there and not just an illusion but he restrained himself at the last moment.

“I’m sorry, Jess,” he apologised.

The blonde girl crossed the kitchen, leaned onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. Sam started to pull back, taken aback by the gesture but the kiss was so familiar, so natural, just everything he remembered it to be and he found himself leaning further into it. Hundreds of memories came back to him. Nights him and Jess had slept together, romantic meals on birthdays, Christmases, valentines. The times he had watched her sleep, the times he had squeezed her and kissed her. The times she had reassured him and made him laugh. The hole she had filled at Stanford when he had felt so alone. So many different emotions assaulted him that it made his head spin.

His heart won the battle; logic went out of the window. He didn’t care how he was here; all that mattered was that he was.

“We… live here?” Sam asked carefully, when she finally released him.

Sam found his eyes wandering around the kitchen. This room was just as grand as the rest of the house. Granite surfaces covered overly expensive units; a large range was stood as the focal piece of the kitchen, pots and pans hanging from the ceiling.

“Did you hit your head or something?” Dean questioned in a manner that was so typically Dean.

“No…” Sam said with a small smile.

Maybe this was real. Maybe demons, ghosts, the last twenty-four years of his life had just been a bad dream. Maybe this – what was before him now – was reality. Sam clung to that notion, refusing to let it go. He needed to believe this was real.

He glanced around at the food preparations. “What’s this?”

“Christmas dinner,” Jessica said slowly, casting a glance at his family.

“It’s Christmas?” Sam asked, startled, noticing the potatoes on the stove and the tray of stuffing on the work surface.

“Well, yeah.”

“Are you OK son?” John inquired. The anxiety was back in the older man’s voice as he studied his youngest son.

“Yeah,” Sam said softly, “I’m fine, dad.”

“Why don’t we open the presents,” Mary suggested, breaking the tension in the room.

Sam snapped his gaze to her. “Presents? We have presents?”

In twenty-four years Sam could only remember a handful of Christmases in which they had exchanged gifts. Usually a hunt would take precedence. The idea of celebrating the holiday was foreign to him.

“Well not for you Rambo,” Dean chipped in. “Santa’s decided you’re getting coal this year.”

John slapped Dean upside the head, eliciting a howl of irritation from the man. Sam smiled. It was all just so… normal.

His family all headed into the adjacent room through a set of double doors off the kitchen and Sam almost swore under his breath. The living room was like a grotto. Tinsel ran across the top of the fire place, Christmas cards lined the shelves of a bookcase behind one of the couches but what really caught Sam’s eye was the six foot tree. Covered in baubles, lights and other decorations it was fabulous to behold. He felt like a kid in a candy store but he couldn’t stop gawking at it. He had never experienced anything like it.

“You OK?” Jessica asked moving in behind him, her hand slipping onto his shoulder as his parents and Dean sat down.

“Yeah,” Sam smiled at her, pressing his lips to her forehead, “I’m fine.”

Sam had never had a proper Christmas and as they exchanged gifts, laughing and joking as they unwrapped presents from one another, he felt a strange, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was everything he had ever wanted. Normality. His family all together. Dean happy. His parents alive. His girlfriend gazing at him with big loving blue eyes. He never wanted it to end.

“Well, this is nice.”

Sam snapped his head up at the voice and was on his feet before he realised he was moving. The yellow eyed demon was stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, his lips pulled into a wry smile. Sam glanced around at his family but they were still opening presents, seemingly oblivious to the man who was in the room with them.

“Christmas with the Winchesters…” The demon laughed. “You can be Tiny Tim if you want, Sammy. I’ll even bring a turkey.”

“Get out, now,” Sam growled.

“I don’t think so, kid.”

Jessica’s scream brought Sam’s head spinning back over his shoulder. To his horror her body was being dragged up the wall and onto the ceiling. Sam’s stomach clenched.

“No!” he screamed, attempting to run forward but is whole body seemed paralysed. He couldn’t move. Frustration built within him as he raised his eyes upwards. A crimson stain was growing around her middle, seeping through the material of her shirt.

Sam almost threw up as blood dripped onto his face, huge fat droplets. He scrubbed his face, trying to remove the stain, his hands quickly becoming blood slicked as the liquid continued to pour down.

“Stop it!” Sam whimpered pitifully, “Please! Leave her alone!”

Jessica screamed. Not just a yelp of pain but a stomach-churning anguished cry of agony. Sam fisted his head between his hands, trying to block the sound out but it was impossible. It was seared into his brain like a scratch on vinyl.

“Say goodbye to the rest of your family, Sammy,” Yellow Eyes taunted.

Sam glanced up just in time to see his mother pulled onto the ceiling as well, a similar stain widening around her abdomen. His father fell to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth, coughing and gasping as he choked on his own bodily fluids.

It was Dean’s death that hit him hardest however. He ignited, like a fuse covered in petroleum. Thick flames engulfed his entire body, his screams deafening. Sam closed his eyes, wishing this would stop, that it would end but he couldn’t block out their cries of pain. It was horrendous.

A hand grabbed his face and Sam’s eyes flew open. Hard yellow eyes were a few inches from his face.

“They’re dead because of you,” the demon growled. “You did all of this. If you weren’t here, Sammy, every single person you’ve ever given a damn about would still be alive.”

Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head, tears rolling down his cheeks, escaping from his eyes as they brimmed over his lower lids.

“It’s not real. All of this… it’s a dream.”

Flames erupted across the ceiling suddenly, and the stench of burning flesh lingered in the air. Sam screamed and then sobbed, a spasmodic shiver running through his body as he continued to cry.

“Stop this… please,” he pleaded. He had gone beyond dignity and pride now. Sam just wanted it to end. He couldn’t take any more. “STOP IT!”

The words died on his lips as everything in the room disappeared apart from him.

Suddenly able to move again, he spun three hundred and sixty degrees, searching for his family but they were gone. Confusion raced through his mind. What the hell was this? He dragged his arm over his eyes, wiping his tear stained cheeks, trying to make sense of this.

He had thought the nightmare was over but it wasn’t. In the corner of the room was the shadowed figure.

Sam hissed, his blood freezing and staggered backwards, his heart racing. He fell backwards, hitting the floor hard in his haste, and shifted back on his bottom, groping around for any kind of weapon he could use. His mind was racing. He had no idea what the shadow wanted but every time it had appeared to him something bad had happened.

The shadow stepped forward once more and as it did something weird happened.

The blackness began to swirl and melted into colours until finally there was a man stood before him.

“What the–” Sam began but trailed off.

The man was over six foot tall with short tightly curled black hair, a short trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the figure assured him, smoothing down his smart black pants before pulling at the collar of his white button up shirt.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded shakily. “Why the hell have you been following me?”

“I was watching over you, warning you that things were coming.”

Sam wasn’t sure what answer he had been expecting but it wasn’t that. His overwrought brain was having trouble keeping up with anything now and Sam had reached the end of his rope. He was tired of fighting.

“But… why?”

The man moved closer, his strong jaw line clenching as he let his eyes wander over Sam. The hunter felt completely exposed, like the guy was looking into his very soul.

“Because I can’t directly intervene. This is not my fight – not this time.”

“Are you a demon?”

The man laughed. “No. I’m not a demon.”

“Who are you then?”

“A friend. My name is Michael.”

“Am I dead?” Sam could think of no other explanation for all the things that had happened to him.

“You’re not dead.” Michael extended his arms out at his side. “This is Hell – at least a version of Hell. Think of it as an interactive dream.”

Sam was puzzled by his words but tried to work through what he was being told.

“So none of this is real?”

“All of it is real. If you believe it is.” When Sam looked confused the dark haired man gave him a patient smile. “You were expecting Hell to be fire and brimstone?”

Sam frowned at the man’s amused tone. Wasn’t that what they were always told about Hell? Demons complained that it was blood, bones, a prison of pure hate. Every description of Hell that Sam had ever heard involved fire.

“Well… yeah,” he admitted finally.

“Not all realms in Hell are physical.”

“There’s more than one part to Hell?” Sam asked, surprised.

“There are several parts actually. This is just one. They call this Amorpheus, the dream realm. It’s near the surface. People will stumble across this place by accident sometimes,” Michael explained, his nose wrinkling as he glanced around the perfectly average looking living room. “Ever had a nightmare that was so real? So awful that you woke clinging to your sheets? This is where you’ve been. Amorpheus is where all your worst fears become reality, so real you can touch and feel everything around you. A year here can seem like a lifetime. The hardest place to escape from is our own minds, our own doubts, our own fears. But it’s an illusion. All of it. Everything you see, everything you touch… nothing here exists and the key is knowing how to make it all disappear.”

Sam glanced around the living room that had moments ago witnessed the deaths of everyone he had ever cared about. It looked normal. He reached out and touched the couch, and was surprised when he felt the leather material under his fingertips. It seemed real enough.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time.”

“No,” Sam growled. He was fed up of being kept in the dark. “I’ve spent the whole of my life burying people I love, watching my family fall apart, fighting to save other people. If you have answers I want them. I think I’m owed that much.”

Michael considered him carefully, his head tilting to one side. “Things should have been different for you, Sam. Your life should never have gone this way.”

Sam frowned deeply at his words, trying to make sense of them but failing to do so.

“What?”

“They should have taken care of you. They should have raised you to know what your destiny is. Helped to hone your gifts.”

“They?”

Michael smiled.

“Enoch’s followers. Their Order was set up to protect you, and all the children like you, Sam.”

“The psychic kids…?” Sam released the breath he had been holding. “But I thought we were supposed to fight on Hell’s side.”

“That was never your true purpose.” An angry glare flashed momentarily in his eyes. It was gone quickly, however, as if it had never existed. “The Fallen interfered. Decided they could use you and the others for their own gain. They set the balance out of kilter and now the world is tipping on its axis. You have to put it right, Sam. Only you can do it.” The man broke off glancing behind him for a long moment as if he was seeing something Sam couldn’t. “I don’t have much time left.”

“Wait–” Sam grabbed Michael’s arm as he turned to leave. “You have to tell me what all of this means! Maybe if I can understand it I can–” He broke off, too afraid to admit his own fears to the stranger.

“Stop from turning to the dark side?” The man looked amused. “These things are not black and white. It’s the choices we make that define us, not what we are told we are. Do you think you are capable of true evil?”

“No,” Sam replied immediately.

“There is your answer.” The man smiled. “Your fate is in your own hands, Sam. The other children chose paths that were not theirs and left you alone to face this. It shouldn’t have been that way.”

“To face what? What were they supposed to help me with?”

“I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ve already lingered here too long. If she finds me here she will attempt to kill me and I don’t like fighting so early in the day,” he said with a whimsical grin that seemed somewhat out of place under the circumstances.

“Please, wait.” Sam groped for the stranger again, catching hold of his arm. The dark haired man turned slowly. “How do I help my brother?”

The man gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Sometimes all you can do is look death in the face. Then you will see the way out.” He glanced over his shoulder once more before turning back to Sam with a smile. “You will be OK, Sam. You are stronger than even you know. All you have to do is believe.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Sam admitted sourly. He wanted more answers. He wanted the man to tell him what the hell was going on. The look on Michael’s face told Sam he wasn’t going to get another word of reassurance however.

The man gave him a sympathetic nod.

“It is confusing but it will become clear.” He shrugged out of Sam’s grip. “It’s time to wake up.”

Sam frowned and opened his mouth to ask more. He didn’t get a chance. The scene swirled around him and suddenly he was slamming back into reality. His hurt body flaring with old and new aches as consciousness came back.

As he cracked his eyes open he was greeted by the female demon’s face. She was sat on her heels, eyeing him cautiously. Bael had moved from the back wall and was now stood closer too, glaring at Sam’s bound and bruised form lying on the floor. Blinking rapidly under heavy lids, Sam tried to push the vision from his mind whilst gaining clarity on the room once more. It was a difficult balance to maintain and it made him dizzy.

“It was just a dream…” Sam breathed heavily, trying to calm his pounding heart.

He knew it had all been some kind of trick which had fucked with his mind, but it seemed so real that he was having problems trying to come back to the real world. He had seen a lot of awful things in his life but not being able to escape from his own mind – his own waking nightmare – had been terrifying. He wondered if the man, Michael, had also been an illusion but Sam had found strange comfort in his words and he chose to cling to them, not wanting to let them go.

“That’s Hell, Sam,” the female demon said softly, “and that’s what every day of your brother’s existence will be if you don’t break that deal.”

Sam’s chest constricted painfully as he tried to drag air into his heaving lungs. It was one day. One small thing and Dean would never have to live through that. He could be free, have his own life without hunting and evil, be happy like he was in those photographs in his dream. Sam wanted that more than anything for his brother but could he really sacrifice the world? All those people who would suffer…

He glanced up at the demon, wet bangs sticking to his cheeks, matted with a mixture of his own blood and water. Conflicting emotions raced through his fragile mind as he made his decision. It wasn’t a decision he liked but stuck between a rock and a hard place, he made the only one he could. He loved his brother more than anything in the world and there was nothing he would not do for him but Sam could not bring Hell onto earth. He had eleven months left before the Crossroads demon would come for Dean and in that time Sam would figure out his own way to break the contract. He hadn’t sunk so low he had to make deals with Demons.

“Go to hell.”

She snarled at him and straightened from her crouch, glaring down at his prone form.

“You do not want to piss me off little boy. I can make life incredibly unpleasant for you.”

“How? Torture?” Sam ground out. He had no idea where he was finding the strength to fight but every word that defied her made him stronger. “Think we’ve established that screwing with my head isn’t going to make me do anything you ask.”

She smiled at him.

“Your brother’s still going to Hell Sam, and you’ve seen it now. Seen how terrible just a few minutes in that place can be. Imagine a life time.”

“I’ll find a way,” Sam maintained, “the crossroads demon can–”

“The Crossroads demon?” She mimicked him in a sing-song voice, laughing. “You think that pitiful little bitch has any say in this? That if you ask her nicely she will relent and give your brother’s soul back? It is not her contract to break. This isn’t a playground, Sammy, we all work. All of us have someone to answer to, someone above us. Someone more powerful than us. The demon at the Crossroads is no different.”

Sam frowned at her.

“Whose contract is it then?”

Bael stepped forward, his lip curling into a snarling smile.

“Mine.”

Chapter Seventeen:

Pseudomonarchia Daemonum

“We’ve got a bigger problem than Sam being missing.”

Dean glanced up from the chair he occupied, the laptop coming to rest next to him as his eyes locked on to the long haired hunter. Bobby had taken the girl to the hospital over an hour ago, leaving Dean with the demonologist – much to Dean’s displeasure. Bobby hadn’t exactly approved of his methods of information gathering but Joshua had barely been able to contain his disparagement. Dean didn’t care. He didn’t want the demonologist’s approval.

He could block out Joshua, however, but his inner guilt was another matter. That could not be silenced.

Dean knew all of this was his fault. If he had done something differently… taken a different route… stayed at Bobby’s… Sam would still be here, with him, and not being held by a friggin’ torture happy demon. That admission cut the hardest.

The two hunters had sat in loaded silence for the last twenty minutes. Dean just wanted to find his brother and it was frustrating as hell that no one could offer him any quick answers as to where Sam was. He almost wanted to shake the location out of Joshua but decided that path was dangerous; Joshua would probably floor him.

“What?” Dean demanded, unable to keep the disgruntled tone out of his voice. He didn’t miss the sour look Joshua aimed at him however. The tension between them was still palpable.

“The things that demon was talking about… they ain’t just half truths and scare tactics,” Joshua replied, his gaze lowering to the paper in his hands. “We’re in way over our heads here.”

“What the hell you talking bout Josh?” Dean’s patience wore out and his irritation surfaced. He didn’t have time for riddles. Every hour they sat here with their thumbs up their asses was another hour Sam was at the mercy of some friggin’ psychotic demon.

After Dean and Joshua’s argument over summoning Bael – one that Joshua had won but only because Bobby had threatened to have Dean tied up and shipped back to his scrap yard – Dean had taken to the laptop and begun researching for alternatives. He had hit brick wall after brick wall and Dean was close to pummelling something. Sure, there was information on Bael, but Joshua’s grim determination not to summon the damn demon was inching Dean’s anger closer towards dangerous levels. He couldn’t see any option other than dragging the demon back to the house and forcing answers from the bastard by any means possible. Although Dean wasn’t even so sure that was a good idea. His mind didn’t seem to be thinking the way it should at the moment and Dean wasn’t sure he trusted his own judgement.

“Well I looked into the Order of Enoch… it’s not the Breakfast Club, Dean. It’s serious shit.”

Winchester sat up straighter, wincing a little at the sharp pain that shot through his stomach. For the hundredth time that day he wondered what the hell that demon had done to him and decided Bael was going to take an excruciatingly long time to exorcise.

“The Order of what?”

“Enoch’s Order, your uh demon chick mentioned them.”

“So…?” Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling tired.

Joshua gave a frustrated snort before jumping into an explanation. Dean didn’t have to even look up to know the man was probably glaring at him. Joshua was as predictable as the day was long. In many respects the chestnut haired hunter reminded him of Sam. The demonologist had the same flare and enthusiasm for researching as his younger brother had. Two damn geeks in a pod.

He shuffled the bundle of research through his hands, his gaze wandering over whatever he had scrawled down.

“They supposedly started in biblical times. Set up to protect the world against the Fallen.”

Dean frowned.

“Fallen what?”

Joshua glanced up finally from the papers he had been perusing, his eyes shifting around the room a little before locking onto Dean’s face.

“Angels.”

Dean removed his hand from his eyes and flicked his brow.

“Angels?” he deadpanned.

“You believe in hell but not a heaven?” Joshua sounded surprised.

Dean wanted to point out that his life hadn’t exactly been a bundle of laughs. He had lost faith in any kind of higher power when he was four. Dean couldn’t imagine any God allowing a demon to kill his mother. Not only that but there was too much shit in the world, too many evils, too many horrendous acts that halted Dean’s belief in God or an angelic hierarchy. Despite all the impossible things Dean had witnessed he was highly sceptical of certain things; angels being one.

“I’ve seen demons, Josh. Exorcised them, shot them… in all the years I’ve been doing this shit though I’ve never seen a damn angel.”

The demonologist half shrugged, half scowled.

“Well I ain’t never been to Disneyland, kid, don’t mean it doesn’t exist,” his southern twang drawled sardonically.

“Angels? Come on, Josh, its bullshit! Angels don’t exist.”

“That’s not exactly true. According to Christian mythology the Fallen are essentially the angels that went with Lucifer when he was kicked outta heaven. I mean, it’s not that clear cut – there are different levels within that – but they were the starting point. Even your yellow eyed friend, Azazel is said to be one of the Fallen.”

“That yellow eyed son of a bitch was once an angel?” That admission confirmed to Dean that angels were definitely not real.

Joshua shrugged. “Is it that impossible? Every day we see things that most people would call you damn crazy for believin’ in and yet they exist.”

Dean pulled a face. “You’re telling me angels are real?”

Joshua pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes rolling upwards pensively.

“Truthfully…? I’m not sure. Facts have a way of becomin’ embellished over time, and time eventually gives way to legends…” Joshua trailed off, his attention deviating back to his notes. “I mean, there’s no proof, no witnessed accounts – apart from a couple of nut jobs from time to time, claimin’ to do things ‘cause God told them to – but even so…” He hesitated, frowning, “there’s twice as much lore on angels as there is on demons. Not to mention most demon doctrine stems from angelology. ”

“God…” Dean muttered closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the headrest. “Please tell me you haven’t spent the last hour chasing a friggin’ pipe dream.”

“Look, smart ass, I wanna find your brother too but I can only work with what I’ve got. And right now all I’ve got is a stinking pile of nothin’ so that’s what I’m workin’ on. You find anythin’ more, you let me know.”

He growled inaudibly under his breath but Dean was sure he heard something about ‘John’ and ‘damn stubborn Winchesters’.

Knowing it was pointless to piss Joshua off and that he really did need the hunter’s help to track Bael, Dean forced his charming side to the front seat, pushing his belligerent, irritable persona into the background.

“OK, so this Order… just supposing for a moment that we assume angels exist…“ He rolled his eyes a little. He was trying to humour Joshua but the notion of a higher power was almost laughable to Dean.

“Fallen angels,” Joshua corrected. “And from what I can gather they ain’t really angels in the halos and wings sense of the word.”

“You lost me.”

“They call them the Grigori. They ain’t really angels but they ain’t demons either. Kind of cut from the same grain but different.”

Dean was frowning before he had even finished speaking and Joshua looked almost as baffled by his own words as the younger hunter did.

“Great, now we’ve cleared that up…” Dean drawled. “What the hell does any of that mean, Josh? And what the hell does it have to do with Sam? He’s been missing for nine and a half hours and all you can tell me is a load of bullcrap about angels and friggin’ legends!”

Joshua’s expression was scathing. It spoke volumes. It told Dean he was an ungrateful bastard and that Dean should be kissing the floor beneath his feet. Not that Winchester blamed him. Joshua had spent the last hour pulling every article, calling every contact he knew to gain this meagre scrap of information and Dean wasn’t exactly flowing with gratitude.

“You think this is my idea of a good time, Dean? Rummagin’ through tonnes of goddamn research that doesn’t make a lick of sense while tryin’ to translate languages that most people haven’t even fuckin’ heard of?”

Dean jumped a little as the older hunter slammed his research onto the floor, pushing himself to his feet. Anger rolled off the man in heavy waves as he paced a little, his hands dropping onto his hips.

“You know what?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his gaze coming back to Dean. “You’re just like your goddamn father! Always demandin’ answers but never wantin’ to wait for them! I can’t just pull thousands of years of demonology out of my damn ass! These things take time and if I get it wrong, I get it in the neck! I have both yours and Bobby’s lives in my hands – and not to mention if I don’t figure this fucking whole damn mess out in time your brother’s! So yeah, this might not be what you wanna hear, Dean, but this shit – all this damn background readin’ about secret Orders and friggin’ angels – is necessary if we’re gonna figure out what the hell you two dumb asses are involved in!”

Silence filled the air. Dean risked a glance at the older hunter. Josh looked about ready to explode again. Winchester felt like he was playing Jenga and removing one block could bring the whole stack crashing down. Joshua had to be handled carefully. Dean had no illusions that he was tough but Joshua wasn’t exactly a kitten. Last thing he wanted was to aggravate him.

“Sorry man,” Dean apologised, hoping to placate the man. He really didn’t want to piss Joshua off. “This whole thing is driving me crazy. I wanna find him, Josh. I can’t stand thinking what this demon is doing to him.”

Joshua gave him a sympathetic nod that almost had Dean out of his seat and throwing punches. He didn’t need pity right now; he needed an address and a gun full of rounds. He would have settled for knowing his kid brother was still alive however. He controlled his temper, unwilling to start another slanging match that would resort in them killing each other or Joshua walking out. Neither scenario helped Sam.

“I know kid and we will find him. This seems like the long way round but if we don’t get the research right then we’re gonna wind up dead.”

We still might, Dean thought sombrely. It was a very real possibility. Their line of work was hardly hazard free. Dean had lost everyone he had ever cared about in his entire life to this crusade. Even Joshua had suffered personally due to hunting. No one in this underground world came out unscathed. Sometimes Dean wondered if it was worth it.

“So this Order…?” Dean said, holding an olive branch out.

He was impatient for answers, but Josh was right. They needed to find out as much as they could before they dove in head first.

Joshua took a shuddering breath, retrieving his notes from the floor, a slight flush in his cheeks. Dean smirked a little. It wasn’t often one of them threw a tantrum like a teenager. They prided themselves on being tough guys.

“The girl – she said the Order was lookin’ to kill your brother…” Joshua pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. Dean wasn’t entirely sure if the man was talking to him or to himself any more. He largely suspected both. “…this Order was set up to help the Watchers stop the Grigori from returning to earth after they were trapped… It’s mostly ramblings and legends. Whisperings of prophecies – the usual psychobabble bullshit…” He broke off perusing his notes once again. “…guess it depends what you believe man.”

“What’s all that even mean?” Dean asked with an irritable sigh. Joshua was making less sense as the conversation progressed. “Why the hell would some Order be trying to kill Sam?”

“I have no idea.” Joshua shrugged, a baffled expression wavering on his face. “I’ll need to do more research.”

“What about the demon? This Bael guy?” Dean pressed, itching to do something more productive than research. He eyed his weapon bag, wanting nothing more than to summon Bael and blow his friggin’ head off. He needed to find his brother quickly. God knows what Bael was doing to him.

“I found a number of things.” He finally reclaimed his seat, brushing his chestnut hair from his face. “Your guy Bael is a high rankin’ demon. Near the top of the Hierarchy as far as I can figure. Got a number of legions at his command as well. Last record I can find of the bastard was back in the eighteen-thirties… caused a hell of a lot of havoc in his time.”

“How do you know it was him?” Dean inquired, curiosity temporarily overcoming his need to pummel something. John had always taught him the importance of knowing your enemy and it was a lesson that was ingrained in every fibre of Dean’s personality. Some habits were hard to break.

“There’re signs. Markings. They’re noted in a journal I have that belonged to a hunter – a guy named William Hayes. Kept extensive lists of all the shit heads he fought over the years. Your guy Bael made the front page.”

Joshua pulled a small, leather-bound book from amongst his research and handed it to Dean. It was old and the material was well worn, scuffed at the binding and some of the pages were water stained. Carefully Dean opened the book and cast his eyes over the illegible inked scrawl. It reminded the younger hunter of John’s journal. Similar drawings of supernatural creatures. Pages of incantations, rituals, some in Latin, others in English. The first entry began around the eighteen-twenties and the last was marked as May second, eighteen-thirty-six. Dean was almost tempted to read it but impatience stilled his interest.

“Dude, where the hell do you even get this crap from?”

“I’m a collector, asswipe – and it’s not crap.” He snatched the book back from the hunter waspishly before continuing somewhat reproachfully. “This hunter, Hayes, wrote that he defeated Bael, banished his sorry ass into the deepest, darkest pit he could find before sealin’ it up and puttin’ as many goddamn protection charms in place as he possibly could.”

“Obviously didn’t work,” Dean grunted sourly, sinking back against the chair. His legs flopped into the middle of the room.

“Worked for long enough. Can’t find any accounts of Bael ‘til last week.”

“Does that thing tell you the places Hayes tracked him to?” Dean asked, hoping the demon had some kind of pattern to his movements – certain places he frequented. It was a long shot but it could help find Sam now.

“Uh…” Joshua flicked through the book, running his eyes over the text for a couple of minutes before he spoke again. “Hayes tracked Bael from Arizona, an’ across to Kansas. Last entry in the journal says he was headin’ north and Hayes was goin’ after the sonovabitch.”

Something in Joshua’s words tickled the back of Dean’s mind, stirred a memory. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull it from his brain. It took a couple of moment of harder thinking than Dean usually liked to partake in but finally he remembered. He made a grab for Sam’s research pad.

“Sam said demon activity was heightened around central Arizona, near Lawrence in Kansas, Southern Wyoming and on the east coast…” He finally located the page he was looking for and roved his eyes over it. “Jesus…”

The cogs in Dean’s mind seemed to roll and click into place suddenly as he read Sam’s work. It was like he had an epiphany, only Dean had never had one and he was pretty sure they didn’t come with dull, throbbing headaches.

“What?” Joshua asked apprehensively.

“It’s the same as Wyoming…”

“Dean…?”

“The Devil’s Gate…” he muttered under his breath. “Arizona, Phili, Lawrence…These areas are all surrounded by demonic omens but the centres are clean… not even so much as a goddamn spirit causin’ trouble.”

“You sayin’ these places are encircled by demons but the centres are demonic…” Joshua groped for a word, his mouth working for a second before he finally managed to force words out of it. “…demonic black holes?”

“Yahtzee,” Dean muttered. “It just happens that this Hayes dude tracked Bael north from Kansas, then supposedly trapped him, put protection rituals in place to keep him there…?” Dean raised his eyes, his expression sour. “Wyoming was surrounded by the biggest goddamn pentagram I’ve ever seen.”

Joshua frowned deeply. “You’re saying that this dude, Hayes, trapped Bael in the Devil’s Gate…?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he was saying. It couldn’t be coincidence that these other areas were displaying similar signs as Wyoming had just before Jake had opened the Devil’s Gate. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this son of a bitch was stuck in a hole and left to rot. It couldn’t be a coincidence that nothing was heard of Bael until three weeks ago when the gate had only been opened for four.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb, Dean tried to remember everything he had ever been told and put it into some semblance of order.

John had said the colt was made in eighteen-thirty five; the colt that could kill anything and was also the key that had opened the gateway in Wyoming. He had said that the gun was made for a hunter, a hunter who used a dozen bullets and then disappeared, the colt along with him – at least until Daniel Elkins got hold of it.

Was it that implausible that William Hayes had been involved in all of this? That perhaps he had laid the pentagram around the cemetery in Wyoming? That Samuel Colt had made the gun for him? Was this – the omens, the demons, the Order – just history repeating itself? Had this happened before, back in the nineteenth century?

Hayes’ last entry was May eighteen-thirty-six. Had he trapped Bael in the gateway – along with hundreds of other demons – set the protection pentagrams down and then what? Gone hunting? Dean frowned.

“Lemme see the journal…”

Joshua offered the book to him. Dean flicked through to the last page and read it. It was written like a diary entry, the date hastily underlined. The inked scrawl was difficult to read in places but Dean managed to translate most of it. It talked about leaving Kansas, that ‘he’ was moving and Hayes had tracked ‘him’ north. It didn’t say who this ‘he’ was but Dean was willing to bet it wasn’t Bael – he had been vanquished three entries back. He gave a frustrated snarl that it wasn’t more specific, that was no more information than that.

“What you thinkin’?” Joshua asked.

Dean shrugged. “I dunno man. You’re the friggin’ college graduate, come up with a theory.”

“Could just be coincidence,” Joshua replied, but didn’t sound sure of himself.

“Well I’ve definitely never been to Disneyland and I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“You think there are other gates? Like the one in southern Wyoming?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. But the similarities…?” Dean broke off with a shrug. They were hard to ignore. However something didn’t sit quite right. Jake had used the colt to open the last gate, and yet when Bael had taken Sam he hadn’t even touched the antiquated gun. It was still safely tucked in the bottom of the weapons bag. That in itself didn’t make sense. Dean had been out of it for a while. Bael would have had plenty of time to search for it. It was almost as if he didn’t want the colt… or need it. That was unsettling.

Joshua scrubbed a hand over his face, looking profoundly weary. “Swear to god you Winchester’s are gonna be the damn death of me.”

Dean studied the demonologist carefully. His memory filtered back to a couple of hunts in which Joshua had essentially saved his ass, back when Dean had been green as grass and believed in his own immortality. In a way Joshua and his father, Russell, had been as much a part of Dean’s life as Pastor Jim or Bobby. Friends in the hunting world were hard to come by and, despite his father’s sour temperament, John had still kept a handful of people close.

Dean had almost been eight the first time he had met the self-assured eighteen year old Joshua at Jim Murphy’s rectory. Even back then he had been a geek. He spent the whole weekend with his head in a book and from what Dean could remember he had done most of the research for the hunt John and Russell were working on.

Joshua had popped into Winchester life intermittently over the intervening years, usually on a fly-by visit to Bobby’s or Caleb’s to collect ammunitions but never for long. Dean knew that John had worked dozens of solo cases with him but Dean had only hunted with him on two occasions. The first time Dean met the demonologist properly was in 1996.

Dean had just turned seventeen and was heading a hunt for a werewolf. Joshua, Caleb, John and Russell had been involved. The whole thing had gone south from the start. It had been a frightening gig but Dean would not forget what the demonologist had done for him that day. In many respects, it surprised Dean when people went out of their way to help him. In a strange, maudlin way Dean didn’t really believe he was worthy of that attention, of someone other than Sam caring about him. They’d been alone for too long, been shut off from people and the rest of the world for too many years. Dean wasn’t sure he could let anyone – even Joshua – into his tight circle now.

“You can still leave man. This isn’t your fight. I wouldn’t think any less of you if you did,” Dean said quietly.

He wanted to give the guy a chance to walk away. He didn’t want Joshua’s blood on his hands when this whole thing headed up shit creek – which considering their past history was bound to happen.

Jacob glanced down at his hands, his eyes spacing at the clump of paperwork he was clutching.

“Your daddy saved my life on more occasions than I can remember kid.” He favoured Dean with a small smile but there was no humour in it; just sorrow and regret. “Be a poor way to repay him if I just walked out when his boys needed my help.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that and so he remained silent, shifting uncomfortably. Joshua returned his gaze back to his research, seemingly unperturbed by the almost chick-flick moment that had just occurred.

“So uh…” Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly “Can we use Hayes’ notes to track this demon? To find Sam?”

Joshua glanced up at him and smiled. “Yeah. We can.”

“Well that was a whole bundle of fun,” Bobby said with a sardonic smile as he stepped in through the front door, pulling his cap off as he moved into the room.

The mechanics face was glistening with sweat from the late afternoon heat outside. Dean was grateful the boarded up windows of the abandoned house provided them with enough shade to keep it cool.

“Problems?” Joshua asked, twisting on his knees to glance behind him at the mechanic.

The demonologist had a large map spread on the dusty floor and was knelt in front of it. With a red pen he was marking off points at random intervals, his gaze flicking between Hayes’ journal, and Sam’s notes. Sometimes he would pause for a couple of minutes and simply stare at the points he had highlighted before sketching a finger across the map, muttering under his breath. Dean had been watching him for the last twenty minutes and was grateful Bobby was back. He was getting twitchy. The book Joshua had shoved in his hand to read had long since been discarded, lying across his chest, spine in the air. He couldn’t concentrate on the words any longer.

“Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.” Bobby snorted. “Cops round here aren’t as believin’ as they are back home.”

“We’re not gonna get a not-so friendly call from the boys in blue, are we?” Dean asked offhandedly but there was a tinge of anxiety in his voice that he could not withhold.

They had enough problems without the police tailing them as well. Not to mention Dean was a wanted felon. A long haul in prison was definitely not on his priority list.

“I fed them some cock-n-bull story bout findin’ the kid beaten in a backstreet. By the end of it they were paintin’ me as some kind of friggin’ hero.”

Dean almost snorted, imagining Bobby as some kind of neighbour Spiderman figure. He quickly schooled his features however as the mechanic shot a dark look his way.

“Where you pair up to then?” Bobby was already moving towards the seating arrangement where Dean and Joshua were sprawled out. “Found anything more?”

“A whole host of dead ends…” Dean muttered sourly. “Oh and some organisation that’s committed to terminating angels.”

Bobby’s expression was a mixture of amusement and irritation. “You bang your head when you fought that damn demon?”

Dean scowled. “No. It’s some whacked out theory Josh has come up with.”

Joshua’s expression could have wiped out small towns. “You want me to lay your ass out on the floor Winchester?”

Dean raised a brow. “Take your best shot. Hey, I’ll even give you the first punch free.”

“I was hunting shit when you were rolling round your bedroom floor with plastic guns kid!”

“Boys!” Bobby snapped, essentially cutting Dean’s comeback off. “How in the hell is this macho bullshit helpin’ Sam?”

Joshua looked suitably chastised and Dean found it somewhat difficult to see him as a thirty-eight year old man in that moment. He looked like a naughty school kid – not that Dean hadn’t adopted a sheepish look, but he looked nowhere near as contrite as the demonologist. Bobby, Dean had noticed, seemed to bring that reaction out in a lot of people.

“Start explaining what you’ve found,” the mechanic demanded, successfully halting any further retorts from either man.

Complying with Bobby’s request, Joshua began to reel off all the information he had just told Dean about Enoch’s Order and Bael’s past. The younger hunter rose to his feet and moved away from the older men, not wanting to hear it again.

Dust kicked up off the floor as he moved, the blood smears from the tussle with Bael still evident. Dean knew he had to be patient, that he had to let Joshua complete his research if they were ever going to find his brother but it didn’t stop him feeling inept. He had promised the kid that nothing would happen to him and now Sam was at the mercy of a blood-thirsty demon. It didn’t sit well with the hunter at all.

Staring for a moment at the thick sulfur trails lining the sill of the window nearest to him, Dean frowned deeply. He had saved Sam from the Yellow-Eyed Demon only to hand him straight over to Bael. The irony of it ate at him. He shook himself, clearing the cobwebs that were weaving scenarios throughout his brain. Sam was alive – he had to be. Dean figured he would know if his brother was dead. He would feel it. Of that he was certain.

As Joshua finished reiterating his research, a stunned quiet settled over the room. Dean glanced over his shoulder, unable to stop the grin from forming. Bobby’s brow was nearly in his receding hair line and his lips were twisted incredulously beneath his facial hair.

“Angels?” Bobby demanded sceptically.

“Told you he had a whacked out theory,” Dean muttered turning back to the window.

Joshua snorted, flicking his hair of his face, his eyes dark.

“That’s just what the damn books say! Why bother askin’ me to do the damn donkey work on this if you don’t wanna hear what the hell I’ve found?”

Bobby held his hands up defensively. “Look kid, I don’t mean any offence but you gotta admit this sounds pretty far-fetched – even in our line of work.”

“I looked in the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum to confirm this… there’s pages of this stuff, all about angels and demons. Most of its crap. Some of its not, but I didn’t write the damn thing,” Joshua growled, “I can only tell you what it – and about a dozen other damn books – say. This subject ain’t an exact science!”

“Simmer, dude,” Dean said, receiving a level glare. He merely smiled back at the demonologist.

Joshua looked like he was going to start an argument but then he took a shuddering breath instead, lowering his gaze back to the map.

“I think I found your demon anyway.”

Dean straightened, immediately moving closing to the demonologist.

“Where?” he demanded, his irritation forgotten instantly. Joshua evidently hadn’t; he still sounded sour as he spoke.

“Well I tracked the omens – where the deaths occurred, electrical storms… the usual crap. Most of its centred around small towns in Arizona and Philadelphia but there’s also a lot of hot air blowin’ round your home town, kid.”

The mention of Lawrence made Dean wince. It was always a sore point. He brushed it aside harshly, refusing to dwell on the past. The present was kicking him in the face and taunting him already without adding more issues to the pile.

“Dude, that’s like a needle in a two thousand mile haystack,” Dean exclaimed, his desperation and frustration evident in his tone. Joshua hadn’t provided answers; he had merely given him more problems.

Joshua gave him a smug look. Dean wanted to smack it right off his face but Bobby was eyeing him, a brow raised. Dean took the warning and moved on. He could take on Joshua but him and Bobby…? Dean wasn’t so sure about that one.

“Yeah it is. ‘Cept I ain’t an expert in this crap for nothin’, Dean. Most of it’s low level stuff – kinda just rockin’ the boat, child’s play – but your guy Bael has a distinct style. I found a number of deaths in Sam’s research that I’m sure are his handiwork.”

That sounded more positive. Dean perked up.

“Where?”

Joshua beamed. “Nowhere near any of these other omens.”

“You saying they’re a division?” Bobby asked, flicking his gaze between the map and the demonologist.

“Not exactly… there’s definitely something going on around these places. Something pretty similar to your Wyoming case but whatever it is Bael ain’t there.” Joshua shrugged. “Maybe he ain’t interested in whatever they’re doin’.”

If Bael wasn’t interested in potential Devil Gates then what the hell was he interested in? What was he doing? More importantly why the hell did he need Sam to do it?

“Where’s Bael then?” Dean asked impatiently.

Joshua’s haughty smirk was beginning to severely irritate Dean.

“Not to far from here. About fifty miles south, off the I-70. All centred around here…” Dean leant over as Josh pointed to a spot on the map.

Dean studied the area carefully. There didn’t appear to be much in the way of civilisation surrounding the spot and this was accentuated by heavy woodlands running for about five miles in either direction. He pulled a face.

“Christ Josh, there’s nothing there but a shit load of trees! How in the hell are we supposed to find Sam in that?”

“Follow the sulfur trail, Dorothy, all the way to Oz.”

“Can you do that?” Dean asked, surprised.

Joshua gave him a level stare, his left hand dropping on to his hip. He looked more like an irate mother at that moment than a demon hunter. Under different circumstances Dean would have laughed at him. However, he couldn’t bring himself to joke around. Not when Sam was still missing.

“Did I not just say I’m a damn expert?”

“Yeah, you did,” Dean replied nonchalantly, glancing at the map once more. It was still an hour’s drive away. He hoped Sam could hold on for that long. He reached down and grabbed his weapons bag, carefully slinging it over his shoulder, wincing a little. “Let’s hit the road.”

Dean was going to find his little brother and when he did Bael was going to roast slowly over a nice hot spit.

Chapter Eighteen:

Twist of Fate

Sam Winchester had felt every kind of pain imaginable in his short but eventful life. He had been shot, stabbed, beaten, strangled, thrown into walls, floors, doors and every other surface imaginable. In fact, there wasn’t really any part of his body that hadn’t experienced pain. He could suck it up, deal with it, get passed it. This, however, was not like any injury he had ever received in his life.

The mental torture had continued for what seemed like a life time – it could have been longer, he really wasn’t sure. Images of everyone he loved dying had become a horror movie on loop and each vision seemed to step up a notch, finding worse ways to damage his already fragile mind. But there was more; worse to come.

In one vision his father had been taunting him, telling him how useless and worthless he was, reminding him that he had killed his mother, and would soon kill his brother. In another his mom had been pleading with him on the ceiling whilst she burnt, cursing him for being born. There were others of Jessica asking that dreaded question, ‘why Sam?’ and finally images of Dean burning to death whilst telling him how much he hated his younger sibling.

Sam wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He was stuck in a perpetual nightmare and he had no way of stopping it.

Then he would wake, and come out of the dream state, his soul frayed and torn. The female demon and Bael were always there, standing over him like vultures waiting for a dying animal to finally choke its last breath so they could eat it. Sam’s desperation and despair was becoming a running theme. He wanted to be saved from this mind fuck but no one came. No one threw him a life raft. No one dragged him out of the swirling river threatening to pull him under and drown him. He was alone; alone with the haunting memories that assaulted his heart and mind continually.

The physical beating he endured at the hands of Bael was a welcomed relief from the darker parts of his dreaming. At least the pain reminded him which reality was real… for a time. After a while Sam stopped being able to separate the two worlds. They both seemed to drip into one another, creating some kind of swirling vortex of nonsensical events that he couldn’t put into any kind of order. In his hazy state he could hear someone telling him fight back but he didn’t know who was saying it. If he had known Sam would have pointed out he didn’t know how to fight what was in his head.

As the hours crawled by everything melded into a blur of images, confused thoughts, and soul destroying feelings. None of them were good. Time lost all meaning and he didn’t trust his own eyes to tell him the truth any more. So when Sam came around on the floor of the almost-basement room he wasn’t entirely sure if he was still dreaming or not.

After a moment of straining his ears to listen he thought he must have been. The voices speaking seemed oddly distorted and far too distant to be real. He wasn’t given much opportunity to dwell on that however.

The sharp kick to his ribs that exploded into agony throughout his whole chest brought him painfully back to reality. He coughed weakly, blood dripping down his chin, splashing onto the floor beneath his face. He was hurting everywhere. He was pretty sure was bleeding internally. The amount of blood in his mouth pretty much confirmed it for him.

“Stop…” The broken, cracked voice confused him until he realised it was his own.

He hadn’t meant to speak.

At least he didn’t think he had. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing any more. He splayed his contracted, numb fingers onto the floor behind him, needing to feel something solid, wanting to connect with reality again. The bindings on his wrists cut deeply into the already raw skin but it didn’t deter him. He needed to know this was real.

The ground felt cold and wet but firm… but then so had everything else he had touched. It didn’t solve his confusion.

A hand, strong, firm and hard grabbed his face, lifting it off the water logged floor, his body following with it. He was now sat up but he had no way of steadying himself. He lurched to one side, the ground below him hurtling nearer. He closed his eyes, bracing his body for the jarring pain that he knew would come as he hit the floor but it never happened. The crushing grip on his jaw had kept him upright.

Sam struggled to focus his gaze, his hair dripping into his eyes. Blurry was becoming normality but at least this time his sight did eventually clear.

Deep sunken black eyes and dark hair silhouetted pale skin as the female demon came into focus. Her grasp was brutal and painful. His cheeks hurt under the pressure of her fingers. He felt bruised – more than bruised – his face ached like someone had taken a hammer to his jaw. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

“Stop? You forgot to say the magic word.” Her voice dripped with scorn, perhaps something more. Maybe it was just the ringing in his ears making him hear tones that weren’t really there. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. It didn’t work. His head still felt congested.

He flicked his heavy, swollen lids from her face. She was difficult to look at. He felt like she could suck the very happiness from his soul.

As he let his sluggish gaze wander around the room, trying to catalogue his surroundings as much as he could, he noticed candles first. Dim flickering flames fanned upwards, spluttering in the draft, bathing the room in a freaky orange glow. He wasn’t entirely sure if there had been candles earlier. His mind refused to comply at the moment.

Then he noticed the floor.

The waterlogged concrete was scored with some kind of marking that engulfed him and the female demon both. Sam didn’t recognise it but knew he should have. His befuddled mind tried to make sense of the image he was seeing.

Two circles within one another, a host of jagged text – Latin he though detachedly – and various illustrations. He couldn’t make out the pictures properly however. His vision was wavering again. Slowly shuttering his eye lids, his sight momentarily came back into focus enough to finish his scan.

At the top of the circle was a triangle with an oval shaped within it. On top of the oval was a silver bowl. Sam couldn’t see what was in the bowl. He didn’t really care; his eyes were burning once more.

Heavy lids struggled to stay open, reduced to nothing more than half-mast slits, his eyes gritty under the puffy skin. He was tired. He wanted to sleep. Exhaustion was embedding further into his body but she would not let him sleep. She never did.

Sam wished he could see more but dizziness was overtaking him once more.

“You know what to do, Sam!” She growled, frustration biting in her voice. “Fight! Be all that you can be. Open your mind!”

She had said those words to him a hundred times it seemed. He remembered that at least. They didn’t make any more sense now then they had before. What was he fighting? How could he fight any of it? He had tried anyway; it didn’t work. He knew a number of times he had attempted to fight the dream visions, to stop one of them dying. It happened no matter what he did. He was thwarted at every turn. It was a perpetual game of cat and mouse and he was cheese; the bait.

He tried to pull back out of her grip – his face was really hurting now – but she wouldn’t release him; she held him tighter if anything. Sam tried to brush it off as nothing more than a minor irritation. Like a horse, shaking off a fly. It wasn’t easy; she wasn’t being gentle.

“How?” His thick tongue stumbled over the small word pathetically. He was sure he wasn’t supposed to cower or be afraid. He was supposed to fight but he didn’t know how to. He had lost the will to stand up to her. He just wanted this to end.

“You know how, Sam.”

Sam… even the name sounded strange, disjointed, not really his. Not like it had before. Now it felt borrowed, foreign, like he was wearing someone else clothes that were a size too small. His head tingled like hot pins were stabbing through his skull. Nothing seemed real any more.

“I don’t,” he assured her, hoping she would give him the answer. Somehow he knew if he worked this out he would wake up. He desperately wanted to wake up. He wanted the images to stop. He didn’t want to go back into that hell again.

“All you have to do is believe, Sam.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “Just believe in yourself.”

He frowned. The words triggered a memory, one that sat just out of reach. He knew it was important to remember it. He closed his eyes tightly. If he could block everything out maybe he could find the answer. He just had to believe.

It’s an illusion. All of it. Everything you see, everything you touch… nothing here exists and the key is knowing how to make it all disappear. All you have to do is believe.

The man, in his dream, Michael… He had told him to believe. Could Sam make it disappear? Maybe Michael had been an illusion too. He had seemed so much more than that though. He had felt different from everything else he had seen – everything apart from Bael and the she-demon. They felt real too.

The woman snarled at him, dragging his attention hastily from his musing.

“You know how to do this Sam! Just open up to your gifts.”

Hand still gripping his chin, he felt the synapses in his brain tingle. It was almost like that excited-scared feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when you were nervous, only Sam knew this was followed by the headache from hell.

As the pain began to roll in, like a wave on the sand inhaling before it let out a long exhale, Sam tried to pull his face out of her grip. He didn’t know if she was dragging him back into Amorpheus or if she was merely frying his brain with that electric pain she was an expert at. He didn’t care; he didn’t have the strength to undergo either scenario.

It wasn’t his choice, however.

Like a flash-flood, red hot knives stabbed through his whole body. He convulsed in her grasp, lurching sideways as he crashed into the floor, the momentum jolting his entire right side. Twitching violently, agony lanced through his skull suddenly. The abruptness took him off guard and a carnal yelp of pain shot out of his mouth before he could curb it.

His body shook over and over, lightning pain threatening to swallow him whole. It was unbearable. Biting down on his lip until he tasted bitter metal in his mouth, mixing with stale blood from earlier, he tried to ignore the fire ripping through him with each paroxysm. Distantly he could hear a voice droning, saying something but he couldn’t make sense of the words. His head was swimming and his ears felt stuffed full of cotton wool. The pressure against his windpipe as his neck snapped back and forth was increasing painfully and the hunter’s vision wavered. His lungs burnt with the need to inhale, to get even a small amount of oxygen in, but he couldn’t. He was suffocating.

And then it stopped, leaving him gasping on the floor. The voice had stopped talking as well. He curled his bound legs into his torso, his heart racing so fast he thought it might burst out of his chest and tried to breathe through it.

As the pain in his head receded to a dull throbbing, Sam found himself grateful that she hadn’t thrown him back into another nightmare. He could deal with physical torture to an extent. The mental persecution was another matter.

“C’mon Sam! Play the game!” she snapped impatiently.

“I… don’t know what you want…”he replied between ragged gulps. “What do you want me to do?” Sam hated himself for speaking those words. He loathed his own weakness. He should have told her to shove it up her ass but he was tired and hurt. He just wanted it to end.

The female demon smiled, her lips contorting into a ghastly grin.

“Maybe you don’t at that.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ear, still eyeing him. “The Circle you’re lying in is a Key. Think of it as a giant cell phone receptor to downstairs.”

“Yeah? Who you calling?” Sam muttered listlessly, slurring the words. He was too drained to give it the bite it should have had.

“I’m not calling anyone, Sammy, you are. You’re the only person walking this stinking earth at the moment who can do this.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one in your generation still alive. The others are too young.”

“I don’t understand.” His voice sounded thick in his own ears, his thumping heartbeat was beginning to drown out all other sounds.

She knelt beside him. One knee was on the ground, her other foot flat on the floor. Resting her elbows across the step-like limb, she leaned over him, running a hand down his clammy cheek. He wanted to pull away, repulsed by her touch, but he didn’t have the strength to move.

“Poor baby… all hurt and exhausted. I can make it all stop, you know? The pain… the suffering… all of it. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted back, Sammy. All you’ve gotta do is a little favour. If you do this for me, my friend Bael will rip that little contract into pieces like it never existed and you and your brother can carry on with your pathetic lives like all of this was just a bad dream.”

He didn’t answer her. He was too busy trying not to throw up. His throat was already burning, a sour acid taste mingling with the coppery taste of blood. He was sure he had vomited earlier; he could smell it in the air. It lingered, like a pungent poison, sickly and vile. It made him gag a little. She took his silence to mean he wasn’t interested however.

“You know, Sam, considering we hold your brother’s life in our hands, you’re not exactly being co-operative.”

Sam ignored her, closing his eyes tightly. Everything was moving again. Nausea was creeping in like a silent thief, waiting for the opportunity to strike. He swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down his throat, hoping his contracting stomach would settle.

“Do you even want to save Dean? Or are you just going through the motions, making the right noises at the right times?” She demanded.

Sam snapped his eyes open and glared at her, ignoring the way the room was tilting to one side. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to save his brother, but he had a feeling her price was going to be too high; she would want too much from him.

“Dean got lucky kid,” she continued, “He got a much sweeter deal than he should have. Your dad didn’t even get an hour. You never wonder why Dean got a year?” She laughed a short sharp bark under her breath.

What the hell did she mean by that? Sam wanted to ask her, wanted to press her for answers but he was scared of being pulled into another battle of words when he wasn’t able to defend himself.

“Just how far would you go to save your brother, Sammy? Would you die for him?”

In a heartbeat. Sam would willingly give his life for Dean’s, however he kept his silence. He didn’t want to give her any more ammunition. She already had enough as it was.

“Would you give your soul, Sammy, in exchange for Dean’s?”

Sam lowered his gaze to the floor. He didn’t want his brother to go through this torture. Dean sacrificed so much for him and this demon was offering a way out. Sam wanted to take it. He wanted to save his brother like he had saved him so many times before.

Guilt and self-loathing washed over him in heavy squalls. What would it matter if he died? Sam was the weaker brother. The pain in Dean’s ass. Every problem they had ever had was caused by Sam. He had killed their mother. John had died because of Sam’s links to yellow eyes. Gordon Walker had hunted them because of Sam’s psychic powers. Even McGill and Amory’s trigger happiness had been because of Sam. The younger hunter couldn’t help but wonder if Dean would be better off without him. He attempted to still the tears that wanted to escape from his eyes but he couldn’t prevent them. He blinked heavily, wanting nothing more than to wipe his wet lashes but his bound hands prevented that. He felt disgusted by his own weakness.

“You know, the silent treatment is really starting to grate on my nerves kid. You don’t wanna piss me off. I can always shorten that contract,” Bael growled from the wall.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat, his tear stained cheeks momentarily forgotten as he snapped his head to the dark haired male demon. He broke his silence.

“You can’t!” Sam blurted, Bael’s words sparking anger and fear in the young hunter. “You made a deal! You gave him a year!”

The female demon laughed and glanced over her shoulder at Bael. “He seems to think you’ve got morals.”

Bael shrugged, grinning as he traced a finger over his lips.

“Morality is overrated.”

“At least I’m not playing lapdog to a dead has-been demon,” Sam muttered, attempting to gain some control of the situation. He wanted to bring the conversation back to a level playing field.

“Azazel?” The female demon’s lip curled. “You think this is about him?”

“Isn’t it?” Sam demanded harshly, running his dry tongue over his cracked lips.

He was tired but he wouldn’t give up and roll over. He was a Winchester and crying like a pathetic child was only enforcing his father’s words. Sam wasn’t weak, he had never been. He just wasn’t the person John wanted him to be. Sam had come to peace with that and he wasn’t going to let two demons shake his foundations any longer. Sam was strong. He could fight this. He just had to believe he could. It was easier said than done but for a moment it gave him a false sense of confidence. It gave him the strength to resist a little longer. It gave him a renewed ferocity when he spoke again.

“I know about the other gates… You want me to open them, like Jake did in Wyoming.”

Sam had pretty much put two and two together whilst he had been researching. It didn’t take a genius to work out what the omens meant. There were too many similarities between the other areas and Wyoming. He wasn’t sure why him and the psychic kids were the only ones who could open these gateways to Hell but Sam was damned if he was going to do it. He wished he had told Dean all of this but everything at the house had happened so quickly that there hadn’t been time. Hopefully he would figure it out from his research but Sam wasn’t counting on it. He knew his brother was clever but Dean wasn’t going to be thinking in straight lines at the moment. Sam prayed to god that his brother figured it all out in time… before Sam did something he regretted.

“Clever,” she murmured. Her raised brow belied her stoic expression. She was surprised. “You figured all that out by yourself?”

“Wasn’t exactly difficult,” Sam muttered, “you left a trail so big a five year old could have figured it out. Only, I’m not doing your dirty work. You want those gates opened you get the colt and you do it yourself.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and smirked down at him.

“Only one problem with your thesis, kid. You’re assuming that I’m finishing Azazel’s work.”

“Aren’t you? Isn’t that what this whole goddamn show is about? Isn’t that why there are groups of demons running around these areas were the gates are?”

“Not really. Think of them as a diversion,” she replied. When Sam gave her a puzzled look she continued her explanation. “Oh come on Sam! I know all about your brother’s reputation as Super-Sam protector! I knew as soon as Bael took you the kid would be looking for you. Had to give him something to do while we were getting this party started. I figured demon activity across four States would keep him busy enough.”

“So the demons in Arizona, Kansas, Phili, Wyoming… they’re just a distraction?” Sam asked sceptically. He was sure he was on the right lines with his gateways to Hell theory. He had to be… didn’t he? But he wasn’t so sure. She was making him doubt himself.

“In a word. If they succeed in opening the gates then good on them but I highly doubt they will. They don’t have the magic touch,” she said cryptically.

“So if it’s not about opening the gateways then what the hell is it about?”

“You Sam. It’s always been about you.”

Sam blinked rapidly, his brow furrowing deeply.

“What? Me? Why?” Sam asked thickly, his voice hitched as he spoke. He ignored how pathetic he sounded, how scared he was, but his fear was starting to consume him.

“Because of who you are.” She smirked grotesquely. “Azazel thought he could use you to open the gateways but he never saw your true potential. He never realised what a gift you really are. Your blood… it’s what makes you so special. Your generation isn’t like any of the others.”

Sam frowned at her words, not really understanding what she meant. She was talking again however.

“I guess he hoped with a little help you could all be persuaded to fight on our side, you know? Turn all that nasty demon bigotry somewhere else. It worked too – for some of you.”

It explained a lot. After a year of wondering it gave Sam a reason why so many of the psychic kids had turned to a darker path; Ava Wilson, Max Miller, Ansem Weems, Jake Talley – they had all murdered people using their abilities – and it was because of the demon blood in them. Azazel’s blood. Were there more kids like them that had given in to the corruption the female demon was talking about?

Ava had mentioned others that had turned up at Cold Oak over the five month period she had been there. Yellow eyes had also mentioned other generations in Sam’s dream. How many others like him were there? How many others had Azazel had tried to inflict his poisonous blood on before Dean had finally killed him in Wyoming?

The demon leaned forwards, her lips close to his ear, halting Sam’s musing. Sam’s stomach was doing rolling somersaults, his head was doing worse.

“But not you, Sammy,” she whispered softly, “you were the hardest to break. No matter what Azazel did to you, no matter who he took from you, you never gave into the darkness in your soul. Poor mommy, little Jessica, your daddy… and now Dean. You just resisted that carnal instinct to kick back and go Jack Torrance on the world.”

Sam winced at her words.

“But you could have stopped it all. You could have saved everyone you ever cared about if you had just opened up to your gifts instead of pushing them down and trying to ignore them. Isn’t that the rub huh?” She laughed gutturally.

He ignored her scathing words, not wanting to believe what she was saying. It hurt too much to think he could have stopped all of this. It hurt enough when Sam had realised his dreams before Jessica’s death had been visions of the future. Now he was being told he could have saved his father as well. Sam wanted to fist his hands over his ears and block out her words but he couldn’t. His guilt was insurmountable and if what she was saying was true Sam would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

“All you have to do, Sam, is let your abilities stretch their legs. The key will do the rest and then all of this–” she gestured around the room haphazardly, “–will disappear. The pain, the dreams, the guilt… all of it. You get to go back to your brother and whatever you kids call normality these days. Hell, go to Vegas or something, celebrate him being a free man.”

“So you release Dean… but what about me?” Sam wavered. This could be the answer to the whole deal and Sam wasn’t about to push her request aside; at least not until he had heard it. He was keeping a tight hold on his flailing emotions with some difficulty.

“You just have to be a vessel.” She pulled back from him, rocking on the balls of her feet. “Think of it as a loan. All I need is your body – just for one day. Just to release my friend. Then you get to go on your merry way… so to speak.” She finished ambiguously.

“Your friend? Who is your friend?”

“Oh he’s someone very special, Sammy, and with your gifts, your blood…? Well… it’ll certainly give him a jump start in life.” She broke off with a smirk.

“So what? You pull him outta hell and he hitches a ride in me? Then what? He gets bored and moves out again?” Sam couldn’t keep the scorn out of his tone. Demon’s lied, Sam knew that and he had doubt in his mind that she was lying to him right now. There was no way he was getting his body back if he did this. He wasn’t stupid.

“Well OK, I might have exaggerated the one day part. I mean, I doubt Vegas will be on the cards any time soon, but isn’t that the whole point of sacrifice? There aren’t any winners, Sammy, only losers but isn’t it worth it if it means your brother gets his freedom back? Aren’t you willing to give up your life for Dean’s? Hasn’t he given enough for you? He’s lost everything because of you and what you are. Aren’t you willing to do something selfless for him for a change?”

You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and I don’t care what it takes. I’m gonna get you out of this.

Sam’s own words came back to haunt him. There was nothing Sam wouldn’t do to save Dean but her price was too high. Something screamed in the back of his mind that this wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to save Dean but Sam wasn’t supposed to die doing it. Dean would never allow it. Sam knew giving in was wrong and yet if this offered Dean a reprieve from the hell Sam had just experienced…? Sam wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He had an answer to the problem but he hadn’t envisioned that breaking Dean’s deal would mean his own death. Confusion rolled through his brain as a myriad of thoughts overwhelmed him. Sam shook himself physically, trying to dispel her words from his mind. He had more questions and he wanted answers.

“Who is this he?” Sam demanded. She raised a brow at him as Sam continued. “Well if you want me to give my damn body up, least you can do is tell me who is getting it.”

“He’s known by many names but I know him as Semyaza.”

The name sounded familiar. Sam was sure he had read it during his research into Azazel. More than sure in fact but the memory sat just out of reach. He racked his brain and then it hit him. It was like walking into a speeding car; painful, quick and potentially lethal.

“He’s one of the Fallen…” Sam muttered as realisation set in. he snapped his gaze to her. “You want to release one of those things?” Sam demanded stunned. “One of those… Grigori? Like Yellow Eyes?”

“Azazel,” she corrected with a snarl. “He has name. You might want to remember it, kid, considering how friendly he is with your whole damn family.”

“Had,” Sam replied coldly. “He had a name.”

He gave her his best glare but in his current state it came out more as a squint. Her expression however was frightening. Sam swallowed convulsively, fear spiking through him painfully. Then the expression dropped off her features hastily however and was replaced with an impassive stare.

“You’re right. Azazel got sloppy and it got him killed but Semyaza is in a whole other league to your little yellow eyed friend.”

“Yeah? Then why’s he need me?” Sam retorted but it sounded weak. He was losing his will to fight. Confused thoughts and guilt whispered in his mind. Sam tried not to listen to her words, her taunts, but he couldn’t help it. His defences were low and he had reached the end of his rope. He didn’t have any fight left in him.

“When the first war between the Grigori and the Seraphim ended things got a little messy. Semyaza wasn’t exactly well behaved. Caused a lot of shit amongst your kind.” The female demon smiled fondly at the memory. “The Seraphim didn’t like it. You see, most of the Fallen were simply trapped in the earth, placed in the deepest darkest holes that Michael and Raphael could find but not Semyaza.”

She rocked back on her heels again, arms wrapped around her knees. There was a fired glaze in her eyes that put Sam on edge.

“They knew he was powerful and that no prison would hold him indefinitely so they tore his corporeal body apart, scattering him into the four corners of the world. His soul though… they sent that to Abbadon – the deepest realm in Hell – so that even if he escaped he could never become whole again. But as with all great plans there are always loop holes – if you know how to find them.”

“Me…” Sam said slowly, realising were all of this was going. “I’m the loop hole… that’s why you need my body…”

“Yeah.” The female demon smiled like a patient mother would to a young child who had discovered something without the aid of an adult. “You see, Sammy, in order for Semyaza to come back there are a number of obstacles to get over. You solve the majority of them.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you need me. Why not someone else? The world is filled with people. Use one of them as a damn vessel.”

“Oh if only it were that simple,” she said softly. “Luckily for you kid I’m feeling generous enough to give you a history lesson. Pay attention. It’s not exactly bedtime reading.”

She sucked on her lip thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again.

“After the great war between the Grigori and the Seraphim,” she shot a withering glare at Sam as if he was somehow personally responsible for that before continuing, “the Grigori were exiled, but Michael, Raphael and the others knew they would never stay contained, that eventually they would break free of their imprisonment ‘cause they were strong; maybe stronger than the Seraphim, I don’t know. I’ve never fought a Seraph before.”

Sam risked removing his gaze from the dark haired demon in front of him and glanced at Bael. The demon was leaning back, one foot of the floor, the other bent at the knee, foot pressed against the wall. His expression was uninterested as he examined his nails absently.

“But this is where the story gets interesting, Sammy, so listen carefully.” Her purring voice brought Sam’s eyes back to her face. “Michael created a back up – people that would be strong enough to fight against the fallen Grigori. They were his gift to the humans; to make sure the past could not repeat itself.”

She got to her feet slowly and glared down at him, her black eyes like onyx even in the spluttering candlelight.

“They call them the Watchers – only they don’t watch. They fight like nasty sons of bitches. No one really knows much about them apart from what the legends say and that ain’t exactly flattering kid. They call them demon executioners, killing machines, and they don’t give a crap who stands in their way as long as they get the job done. But I do know one thing about them and I know this for a damn fact. They are the only ones with the power to contain or release the Fallen.”

Even in his hazy mindset Sam knew what she was saying. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place and Sam didn’t like were they were falling.

“And you think I’m one of these… these things – these Watchers? That I can release this Semyaza guy?”

“I don’t think, kid, I know you are,” she replied. “And the thing is, Sammy, to do it you’ve gotta open up to your gifts. You can’t open the gateway where Semyaza’s being held if you don’t.”

“So you need me to release him and then I’m supposed to let him kill me?!”

“Kill is a dirty word,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “Think of it more as borrowing your body with the intent of not giving it back.”

“Forget it,” Sam retorted immediately.

There was no way in hell he was releasing another demon like Azazel. Yellow eyes had ruined his life – and a lot of other people’s – Sam wasn’t going to be responsible for inflicting that same pain on others.

Her smile dropped off her face and was replaced with a snarl.

“Then Dean dies. Right now!”

“No!” Sam yelped, panicked. “You can’t! Please! This isn’t Dean’s fault!”

“Oh come on Sam! Why the hell do you think your brother got a damn year? If he’d of bargained long enough he could have got ten, twenty… whatever the hell he wanted! We needed that deal – no matter what!”

Sam frowned deeply at her words, not fully comprehending where she was going.

“What?”

“Your pathetic love for one another makes you weak! We needed you to help us willingly Sam and that was never going to happen. But Dean’s deal…? It gave us leverage. You Winchesters and your need to throw yourselves to the lions to save one another was the only damn way we were ever going to get you to do this! It’s kinda sad really. You’re going to destroy the world because you can’t stand to lose your brother.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her lips tugging upwards at the corner. “You have to make a decision, kid. Time’s up. Who will it be: you or your brother?”

“I’m not playing your sick games,” Sam mumbled but his resistance was weak. He felt like he was being herded into a corner.

“Then Dean dies!” she snapped.

“No!” Sam whimpered. “Please… don’t do this!”

“Come on Sam. This isn’t a game! You’ve got five seconds and then Bael’s going to collect your brother.”

She started to count down. Sam’s heart felt heavy in his chest, every beat a pained explosion. He didn’t want to make this decision. He didn’t want to choose between humanity and his family.

“Please…” Sam begged as she reached three, his brow furrowing deeply.

“Make a choice.” Bael’s voice taunted.

Four… the next number would be the decider. Sam had to choose. Panic, desperation… too many emotions assaulted him. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to make this choice. He felt overwrought, like a cloth that had been wrung out too many times. The demon had him over a barrel and she knew it. Sam would not sit by and let her take his brother to Hell. Not a chance. He would not let Dean die for him. Not this time. Sam had the opportunity to fix this, to put this all right. It was the one thing he could do for Dean. Sam just hoped his brother would be able to get passed this, to move on and live his life. It was a foolish hope but Sam couldn’t think about it. If he did, he wouldn’t have the courage to do what was needed. Sam didn’t care about anything else.

“Five.” She purred the number slowly, her gaze lingering on him. “Well? Time’s up kid. It’s now or never. What’s it gonna be? You or your brother? Your brother or you?”

Sam swallowed hard and raised his eyes to her face, ignoring the almost hungry expression she had adopted.

“Me,” Sam replied quietly, lowering his gaze back to the ground, “take me.”

She smiled.

“Good boy.”

Chapter Nineteen:

Russian Roulette

The dark haired female demon had moved from Sam’s side over to where Bael was stood. Her back to the room, she was speaking in low tones that he couldn’t pick out over the continuous thumping in his head and ears. He was glad she had moved away. He felt stifled under her constant gaze.

Carefully, he dragged his face across the floor, ignoring the burning pain racing through his skull and glanced around. He was scared – terrified, if he was being honest. He would willingly give his life for Dean but Sam knew this was it. This was the end. He was going to die and unlike last time he had far too much time to think about that impending doom.

He didn’t want to die. Sam didn’t remember much from last time apart from the pain. The pain had stayed with him even when he had been resurrected. However that fatal stabbing had been quick. There had been no time for fear, no time for regrets, just a longing to lie down and sleep. Sam wanted that innocence this time but he would not get it. He felt like he had been dragged to the scaffolding and told to put his head on the block. He could almost feel the cold axe blade on his neck as the executioner lined up the swing. His heart fluttered a little at that notion.

Physically shaking himself, Sam pushed those thoughts away. He couldn’t think like that. He had to be strong. He had to be brave. He had to take whatever was coming and deal with it. The alternative was worse.

Sam knew he had been offered a way out here and he wanted to grasp it with both hands. Dean had been given another chance and Sam could not turn that down. Dean had given so much for him – had done so much for him – and now Sam had the opportunity to do something for his brother. Sam would not cower. He would take what was coming. He would suck it up. Was that not the Winchester way? Suck it up and get on with it? Sam would make his father proud. He would provide the ultimate sacrifice. He would prove that he wasn’t the weakest link in the chain. He had a lot less to lose.

If Dean died his soul would be dragged into hell. Sam could stop that. His own soul was clean. Sam knew he had nothing to fear in death. He would see his mother, his father…Jessica… His lips moved into a small smile, his eyes closing as he pictured her face. Death was not the end, merely a beginning. Sam could see that clearly now.

All you can do is look death in the face. Then you will have the answer.

Sam knew what Michael had meant by those words now – at least in his hazy mindset he thought he did. Death was nothing to be frightened of. It should be embraced. Sam would finally be free of all of this. Never again would he be hurt. Never again would he suffer. He could finally rest. He was tired of fighting a losing battle. Suddenly he understood what Dean had meant, why he was relieved that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. His brother wanted that feeling too but a lifetime in Hell was not the way to do it. Sam could give Dean his freedom back this way with no provisos. That thought gave him the strength to embrace his impending death. Sam could do this because Dean needed him to do this. This was the one thing Sam could do for his brother and by god he was going to do it.

“Not going to sleep on me here, are you kid?” A rough slap across the face pulled him cruelly from his inner musings.

Sam opened his eyes slowly, the female demon’s pale face coming back into focus. Both she and Bael were stood over him now, their expressions a mask of triumph. They had what they wanted. Sam would do what they had demanded of him. Under normal circumstances Sam would have felt angry about the situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. In a weird way he actually felt at peace. Twenty-four years of living in a traumatic bubble of demons and monsters was about to end. Dean would be safe from other hunters, from the problems Sam brought him. He could live his own life, without constantly having to throw himself in front of moving traffic to save Sam. It was reason enough for the young man to do this.

“No…” Sam’s voice rasped with the effort of speaking. His throat felt tight, constricted like a bunch of rubber bands had been forced down his windpipe. “What… what happens now?”

Sam was eager to have this over with. He didn’t want to draw this out; he didn’t want to lose his nerve. He was ready to do this now. He needed to do this now before his fear returned. Sam wasn’t sure he could keep up the pretence for too long. His stomach was already tingling with cold electric.

“The usual,” she replied haphazardly. “Some chanting, a lot of fancy gesturing and then you do your thing.”

Sam closed his eyes momentarily, running his tongue over his cracked, dry lips. She made it sound easy but she had conveniently missed out the part where a friggin’ demon took up residence in his body.

“How?” Sam asked.

She shifted her gaze to Bael, a sickly smile creeping onto her face but it was the male demon who spoke.

“You have to open the place where he is being kept.” Bael ran a hand over his dark facial hair, his face still contorted into a smirk. “She will guide you through it.”

Sam glanced up through swollen lids, his vision wavering a little as the female demon crouched down beside him, a finger trailing down his left cheek. The young hunter flinched at her touch but was helpless to stop her defiling him.

“Don’t worry baby,” she cooed. “Mommy will teach you everything you need to learn.” The patronising tone set Sam’s teeth on edge.

Bael began to chant in Latin. The words cracked into the thick air like swirling smoke. This was it – the end. Sam took a shuddering breath. He tried to find some kind of inner courage but it was hopeless. His fear stabbed through him, taking him by surprise. His heart felt as if it was in his throat. He was pretty sure a cough would force it into his mouth. His head felt fuzzy; hazy and heavy. Bile crept out of his digestive system. Nausea swept through him as his body tingled with anxiety and his pulse thumped heavily in his neck, pounding down through his aching chest.

“All you need to do, Sammy,” the woman murmured under the loud snap of Bael’s voice, “is imagine the gate… picture it in your head. Imagine opening it. The key will do the rest.”

Sam raised his eyes to her. He was going to die, and her expression showed no remorse at the fact. Worse still, he was going to unleash this thing on humanity. Sam wished he had the strength to say no. He didn’t want to do it. He wanted a way to stop this. He wanted a way out of this without Dean suffering the consequences. If it was just a simple exchange of Dean for Sam there would be no question in his mind but the entire world was going to suffer for this.

Sam tried to rationalise it.

Dean could stop this thing. They had defeated Yellow-Eyes. This would be no different. Sam skipped over the part where it had taken twenty-three years to track and kill the Demon however. He had to hold on to some hope – even if it was a fool’s hope. He had to believe he wasn’t doing this for selfish reasons. He had to believe that this wasn’t going to destroy the world. Otherwise he wouldn’t have the strength to do it.

Slowly and cautiously Sam did as she had asked. He built a picture in his head. He envisioned what she had asked him to. It was difficult. His wavering mind and vision made it near to impossible to hold anything in his head, let alone a complicated thought process. Every time he built the image it would disappear with a stabbing pain that lanced through his skull.

“If you want to play hide and seek, you should learn to walk without sounding like a tank.” The female demon’s voice echoed around the room. She snapped her head around, turning to look up the length of the room as if something had snared her attention. Bael’s reading halted also.

Sam’s heart fluttered a little as he realised she wasn’t talking to him. The picture dropped and his mind went blissfully empty.

Dean?

He hoped it wasn’t his brother. This demon was psychotic and Sam couldn’t face any more death scenes – real or not. Sam raised his head off the ground, ignoring how heavy it was, ignoring the shake in his neck as he struggled to keep it upright.

However, the figure that stepped out of the darkened shadows of the room was not Dean. Sam’s heart gave a quiver of apprehension at the newcomer.

The man was tall, possibly a few inches shorter than Sam himself; it was difficult to tell from his position. He had longish, shaggy brown hair and the beginnings of facial hair; it was as if he had not bothered to shave for a while rather than by choice. The man moved forwards slowly, the worn waistband of his jeans partially occluded by a heavy leather belt that disappeared beneath a dog-eared brown leather jacket he was wearing.

“Jacob!” Bael hissed.

Sam’s head automatically turned to the demon, somewhat surprised at the revulsion in his voice.

The brown haired man didn’t even acknowledge the male demon, his eyes solely on the woman.

“You’re right,” he drawled harshly, “I’m getting far too old to play games, Eleksha.”

“I’d say I was glad to see you, Jacob, but I would be lying,” she replied rancorously.

The man, Jacob, favoured her with a thin lipped smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I know you think this is gonna make some big difference to your cause but you’re wrong.”

Jacob briefly shot a glance at Sam. There was something in that glance – however short – that Sam couldn’t figure out. Fear? Anxiety? Sympathy? He couldn’t get a read on his expression however before the man had snapped his gaze back to Bael.

“What’s the matter,” Bael snarled, his lips curling into a disfigured smile. “Hellfire getting a little too close for comfort?”

Jacob shot him a withering glare.

“All you’re going to do is replace one hell with another. Nothing will change!”

Sam felt the tension in the room growing like a poisonous cloud of gas, smothering the air, sucking the oxygen out of the atmosphere. He felt like he was imposing on a private moment, one that he had no right to witness, but tied up like a hog-roast on the floor didn’t really offer him any alternative.

“You of all people should understand why we are doing this, Jacob.” Eleksha’s tone was dark, hard even.

Sam noticed the tremor that ran through the man but the hard expression and grim determination in his eyes never wavered. Bael noticed it also however.

“I see some wounds never really heal,” Bael snarked. “Do they?”

Jacob flicked his eyes to the demon. Blue sapphires, hard as agates, unrelenting and bitter, glared out from under long, brown hair.

“Does it still keep you awake at night?” Jacob shot back, his brow disappearing beneath unruly, shaggy bangs.

Sam was surprised that both demons flinched at his words. The distraction however was a welcomed relief; he had been forgotten in favour of this stranger and Sam was grateful for the respite. He shifted his hands slightly, hoping he could loosen his bonds but they were impossibly tight, pinching his raw skin. His fingers were numb. He was beginning to lose sensation completely which worried him.

“Hell is bad enough for a demon, but for a Watcher…?” Bael snarled. “Every day must have been a nightmare.”

At those words Sam snapped his head to Jacob. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more – the implication that he had been to Hell or that he was a Watcher. He certainly looked the part from what the female demon, Eleksha, had told him about the mysterious group. Dangerous, cold, hard…

Sam’s head was still aching and his thoughts were becoming more muddled as he tried to make sense of this nonsensical event. He felt bombarded with information; overloaded like a bucket filled to the top, water was spewing over the edges onto the floor.

“I trapped you there once, Bael,” Jacob reminded him sharply, “do not think I cannot do so again.”

“Your time has come and gone, old man,” the demon growled. “A hundred and fifty years in that wasteland can really mess with your mind. Tell me, can you even use your damn abilities any more?”

A mirthless smile crept onto Jacob’s face that sent a chill racing through Sam.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

What happened next was so quick that Sam didn’t really comprehend it straight away. He barely saw the knife leave Jacob’s hand, didn’t even see where he had pulled it from.

Eleksha didn’t make a sound as her eyes dropped to the blade now buried hilt-deep in her stomach. Her mouth formed a surprised ‘O’, her hands coming to the protruding object. Horror filled onyx irises raised to the Watcher; questioning eyes, possibly even incredulous. She twitched, convulsing on her feet, her lips parting in shock. Her body swelled and flickered, orange light racing through her frame as she gasped her last rattling breath. It was exactly the same as what had happened to yellow eyes when he had been shot with the colt… only this wasn’t the colt, it was just a knife. Sam watched her tremble once more, her hands blood slicked.

And then she was falling.

Her legs crumpled beneath her like tissue paper. Bael moved in a heartbeat, fumbling hands catching her as she fell, her dead weight dragging them both to their knees. Sam was surprised by the amount of grief in the demon’s eyes as he pulled her torso against his own. The blackness bled from her irises, and melted into deep blue as her head dropped onto her chest.

Bael shook her, a strangled sob emitting from his throat. It was a low guttural sound but it held a wealth of sadness that Sam hadn’t imagined a demon could feel. Eleksha’s neck rolled backwards over his arms as he held her, her dark hair fanning out like waterfall, cascading onto the floor like a black curtain.

Sam swallowed hard. Bael was no more than three feet from him and the sorrowful look in his eyes was replaced with something else – a carnal animalistic rage. Sam wanted to move away. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between himself and the demon. He scooted back a little on his side as Bael rose to his feet, gently lowering Eleksha’s body onto the ground.

“You sonovabitch!” Bael snarled. The demon moved quickly, flicking his hand upwards.

Jacob’s feet left the floor, throwing him through the air like he was nothing more than a rag doll. The Watcher crumpled as he hit the far wall with a resounding thud, a groan escaping his lips. Bael was already moving towards him, his expression murderous. Sam wanted to stop this; Bael was going to tear him apart.

Jacob stirred on the ground, struggling into a sitting position against the wall, blood trailing his face from somewhere beneath his hair line. His shoulders heaved as the demon came closer, his eyes flickering anxiously.

“No…” Sam murmured as Bael seized hold of Jacob’s jacket, dragging him to his knees. The man barely protested, long limbs trailing behind him as he lurched listlessly to one side as the demon released his grip. He didn’t hit the floor however.

In a swift motion the Watcher was sailing through the air once more. A crash echoed offensively through the long room as the man collided with an old bookshelf, the wood splintering into fragmented section as he landed on top of it. Jacob writhed momentarily amongst the seas of debris, engulfed beneath a cloud of thick dust before he managed to rise onto trembling limbs. Viscous crimson liquid had congealed with grit and dirt around his left eye now and his split lip was pumping blood like a water fountain.

The Watcher flopped onto his back, dragging a shaky hand over his face, smearing the blood across his dirty cheeks as Bael approached once more. He scrambled backward on his hands even as he reached under his jacket with fumbling fingers.

Sam half shouted a warning as the demon stepped over the wreckage of broken furniture, wood cracking beneath his heavy feet, to reach the man. His face was murderous but Bael didn’t see the danger. He didn’t realise what Jacob was searching for under his jacket until it was too late.

Five gunshots resounded into the air. Each one was like a bomb exploding, each one reverberating around the pained vaults of Sam’s head.

Bael jerked in time with each shot before crashing to his knees himself, his boneless body slumping like a new born foal that hadn’t yet found its feet. His face found the floor as the last bullet was released from the chamber.

The man Jacob carefully but quickly pushed himself up, his left arm wrapping protectively around his torso, the other still holding the gun on the demon. Bael didn’t stir however, his prone form remained unmoving on the ground. Bullets… rock salt… whatever it was wouldn’t keep Bael down for long but it would at least buy time.

Seemingly satisfied that the demon wasn’t going to attack, Jacob limped over to Eleksha. He gave the female demon a brief glance and for a moment Sam was sure he saw regret in his blue eyes. If Jacob was sorry for killing her it was short lived. In a quick motion, Jacob placed a foot on her chest and, with the sickening squelch of flesh and muscle ripping, dragged the knife from her body. Sam grimaced at the action. There was still a person underneath the demon.

The man, however, did not seem to care. He glanced briefly at Bael’s still form on the floor and then at Sam, the knife clutched in a white knuckled hand. Blood dripped off the blade, splashing on to the floor in thick droplets mixing with the waterlogged floor to create a diluted blood pool but Jacob made no move to clean the knife. His gaze was already refocused on someone else: Sam.

The young hunter could almost see the indecision in his face as Jacob weighed up his next move. He didn’t like the look being directed at him and felt his body go cold all over. It was the look his brother got right before he took out something supernatural, only Sam was the ‘something supernatural’.

After the longest second in the world, Jacob stepped towards him, his decision made. Sam threw his tied legs against the floor, gaining enough friction to move him a foot or so backwards but the man had two working legs and Sam wasn’t going to out run him in this state.

As Jacob knelt down in front of him, Sam held his breath and kicked out his feet at the man. He hoped to knock him off balance but his body was too hurt and he was too exhausted. He barely grazed him. Sam wasn’t even sure if he connected with him at all. Jacob placed a firm hand on his legs, the knife shifting in his grasp. Sam bucked his body – or at least he tried to. He wasn’t going to give up that easily. It seemed unjust that he had been saved from death at the hands of the two demons only to have this man steal his last breath with a knife whilst he was tied up and helpless.

Jacob placed a strong hand on his legs and firmly held them, stopping Sam’s futile attack. There was nothing Sam could do but watch as the knife came down, the blood shimmering in the poor light. Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip, waiting for the pain. It never came. Instead his legs splayed out as the bindings on his feet were cut. Confused, Sam raised a wary gaze to the man.

“What the… who… what’s…’” Sam couldn’t put his befuddled thoughts into words as the long haired man stared at him.

“No time for questions now kid,” was all Jacob said as he leaned over Sam’s front and seized his wrists.

The smell of old sweat stung Sam’s nostrils as the man imposed further into his personal space and began sawing at the bindings. The pressure released suddenly, his anaesthetized hands flopping onto the ground behind him like a dead weight. Sam’s shoulders ached with the throbbing numbness of being stuck in one position for too long. For a moment he actually couldn’t move his atrophied muscles. That was all forgotten however – for the moment at least. Sam merely stared at the man – his would-be rescuer with suspicion and confusion. Was this man here to help him, or kill him? Sam wasn’t sure if this was some kind of trick. Maybe he was still stuck in a nightmare. Perhaps that explained how the female demon, Eleksha, had been killed. It wasn’t possible to kill a demon with a weapon… was it? He thought of the colt. It was the only gun he knew that could kill anything supernatural. Was it that unreasonable to think Jacob’s knife could do the same? Sam didn’t know and at that moment he didn’t care. His body was singing to him and it was an agonising solo.

“Think you can stand?” Jacob’s eyes bored into Sam’s face, searching for any sign of weakness. It was a look that said Sam was standing whether he could or not. Still a little weary of the man, Sam briefly studied him through pain-filled eyes before nodding.

“Yeah… I think so.”

Jacob nodded and re-sheathed his knife at his waist.

Gently, the man rolled his arm under Sam’s and started to drag him up off the floor. Lying down hadn’t been so bad. Sam’s pain had been relatively controlled in one position but moving was torture. So many different injuries made themselves known in that one movement that Sam’s vision completely blacked out for a moment. His ribs burnt, his shoulders ached, and his head spun on its axis, wheeling out of control.

As the room came back into focus, Sam realised dejectedly that he had only made it as far as his knees. Jacob fisted fingers in his t-shirt were the only thing holding him upright. Blue eyes watched Sam carefully as he took shuddering breaths, trying to control the dizziness rolling through his mind like a squall.

“OK?”

Sam nodded slowly, his brain rattling within his skull at the small movement.

Getting to his feet was worse. Sam’s legs had been contracted for so long that they refused to hold his six foot four frame upright without support. Trembling beneath his weight, he was practically drooping onto the stranger, struggling to stand at all. His knees almost sagged back onto the ground but Jacob’s strong grasp kept him straightened as he rolled his shoulder under Sam’s left armpit to give more aid. Jacob avoided Sam’s right limb as much as he could – something Sam was grateful for. His shoulder was clearly dislocated again and hung at an odd angle at his side. It hurt like hell. It was just another pain to add to the extensive list of pains he already had.

“Easy…” Jacob murmured.

Slowly they moved towards the door on the far side of the room with measured steps. Each movement was agony but Sam tried to ride through the pain, pulling his lip between his teeth. His chest felt as if it had been crushed by a sledge hammer by the time they reached the exit but his legs were starting to feel a little better as the blood began to flow freely into the muscles once more.

A groan brought their attention back to the room suddenly.

Bael was beginning to stir, his fingers unfurled on the floor as he slowly drifted back into awareness. Sam felt Jacob tense and the older man turned to him.

“Go through this door, there’s a ladder right in front of you. Climb it. At the top you’ll come into a cabin. Take the furthest door into the main room and the front door is on the left. My truck is parked about half a mile up the track. Keys are in it.”

He was being offered a life line, a head start. Jacob was willing standing between him and Bael, giving Sam a chance to escape. Sam wanted to take it – he knew he would not get far before Bael woke fully, even with Jacob’s help – but this was suicide. Jacob could not fight Bael and live. It was impossible. The demon was too strong.

Sam stared stunned at the man for a moment and then flicked his eyes to the demon who was now on his hands and knees – albeit groggily. This man had saved his life, rescued him, there was no way in hell Sam was leaving him to face Bael on his own. Jacob latched onto his thought pattern immediately and untangled himself from Sam’s lanky frame, giving him an ungracious shove towards the exit.

“Go!”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be OK,” Jacob told him, “just get out of here, kid!”

When Sam didn’t move Jacob pushed him again and the younger hunter stumbled unsteadily through the door with the momentum. He turned immediately and glanced at the man. Jacob’s hard exterior had been broken down and the man stood before him wore a pleading glaze.

“You have to go, Sam. It’s you they need. Not me.”

Sam frowned deeply at the words, his brow wrinkling at the implications.

“Jacob…”

“If you don’t leave right now, I swear to God I’ll kill you myself!” Jacob barked, raising the gun at him, cocking it and pulling the safety back. Real bullets… rock salt… both would hurt like a bitch and Sam wasn’t sure his battered body could take either at the moment. “For Christ’s sake kid, just get the hell out of here!”

Sam stepped backwards into the vestibule, his heart pounding. He hated himself for doing it, for leaving Jacob to deal with a super-pissed off demon alone, but truthfully Sam wasn’t sure he would be any help anyway. He was barely managing to stand on his own.

Once he had cleared the door way, Jacob slammed it shut behind him. Sam jumped at the harsh sound and stared at the closed frame for a second before forcing his feet to move. He wasn’t entirely sure how long his legs would keep moving and he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Bael as he could in the meantime.

He threw a hand out, catching the ladder and steadied himself as another wave of dizziness washed over him. His eyes squeezed shut as he let his head drop onto his chest for a moment. His fingers tightened around one of the rungs of the ladder to stop himself falling down. When it eventually passed Sam opened his eyes, slowly blinking the spots dancing in his vision away and raised his gaze up the ladder.

The thing was old, metal and rusted in places. Wincing as he lifted his left foot Sam placed it on the rung and began the arduous one handed climb. Every step hurt, every step inflamed his injuries, but he didn’t stop. He forced himself to keep going. Freedom lay nearly in his grasp. If he could just reach the top and get to Jacob’s truck he could get out of here.

The hole became lighter as he neared the top and by the time he emerged he was wheezing and panting like an old man.

Carefully, he hauled his body out of the hole and flopped onto the wooden floor, his exhausted body refusing to allow him a graceful exit.

He lay still for a second, his chest heaving as he struggled to pull in air but he only allowed himself a brief rest before he was dragging himself onto his knees.

He had come up through the floor into what appeared to be the kitchen of some kind of dilapidated cabin.

Old battered counters were still in-situ and the sink was rusted in the bottom. Cobwebs as thick as dream catchers lined the ceiling, shimmering as they caught the light. Sam pushed his hands into the splintered floor and forced himself onto shaky legs, staggering as he moved through to the next room.

It was just as filthy and neglected as the kitchen. Thick dust layered the bare wood floors and a granite hearth lay on the far wall. Although there was not a stick of furniture in the room, besides a rack of fire stokers and a wood bucket, Sam suspected he was stood in what must have been the living area.

Off the main room a set of double sliding doors were pushed back to reveal a second room – possibly the bedroom. The left door had come out of the runner and hung precariously on by a thread, threatening to fall at any point and the wood was as rotted as the rest of the building.

Sam ignored the room, recalling Jacob’s directions and headed in the opposite direction towards the front door. He half staggered, ricocheting off the walls like a pinball in his attempt to remain upright. It was proving somewhat difficult. His legs faulted beneath him, knees buckling, quivering like a bow string after the arrow had been released. He had to stop twice to gain his balance before he was able to continue. By the time he reached the exit everything was swirling around him like a maelstrom.

He threw a sluggish hand out, half guessing where the door was and gave it a push. It was rotted and swung open with only minimal protest, wood-dust crumbling beneath his finger tips.

It was almost sunset. Sam shivered violently as a cool breeze brushed along his wet clothing, throwing his body into a cold shock almost. Despite that the fresh air was a welcome relief from the stagnant basement he had been locked in.

Forcing his feet to move once more, Sam stumbled onto the porch of the cabin, his left hand grappling for anything to stop him lurching over. From appearances, the building – or shack to be more precise – was completely derelict. There was no other word to describe it. Constructed entirely of gnarled wood, every inch of it was decomposing; crumbling into piles of dust at the merest glance. Old cream paint flecked the cladding but it looked like it hadn’t been renewed in years and only served to add to the run-down ramshackle appearance of the entire cabin.

There were no other buildings that Sam could make out and the house looked to be fairly isolated. Trees hedged onto the main lawn about twenty feet away and a dirt track disappeared into the woodlands ahead of him, swallowed by the waxing darkness.

Taking the steps down from the porch slowly, he grimaced and groaned. Each movement jarred his body and tore through him like red hot fire. He clutched his right arm across his chest, ignoring the shooting pains racing through the joint but it was his legs that gave him problems. They gave out on the last step.

A yelp was followed by a whimper as Sam face-dived into the leaf tossed ground. Instinctively, he threw his hands out but immediately regretted it. His right shoulder protested so violently that bile rose up his throat. Taking shuddering breath after shuddering breath was the only way he managed to prevent his empty stomach from convulsing. He wasn’t completely successful however and he managed a couple of dry heaves – all of which hurt his bruised ribs like a knife wound – before he was able to curtail the insurgent organ.

He willed his heavy body to move off the ground, knowing Bael could be hot on his tail right now but nothing wanted to comply. As much as he wanted to stay there and sleep it was not an option right now. He needed to get the hell out here, find a payphone and call his brother; his cell was in his rucksack which was with Dean…

Dean… God he hoped his brother was OK. His last memory of him wasn’t good. Sam recalled his unconscious form, blood stained, pale and in pain. Sam shivered, the earthy smells of the fallen leaves around him infusing his senses. He had to find Dean. He had to get up and keep moving.

Move your goddamn ass, Sam!

He repeated the words over and over and finally found the resolve to push himself onto his knees.

As he straightened his head spun, the world colliding around him but as his dizziness abated Sam realised something was severely wrong. He went as still as a rabbit caught in headlights. It wasn’t his body that had given up on him this time, it was his luck. Slowly and carefully he raised his eyes, glancing through his sodden bangs at the four figures stood in front of him and swallowed hard.

“Hello Sam.” The blond man who had spoken was grinning at him maliciously. The others were huge and hulking and to make matters worse all of them had handguns aimed at his head.

Sam gulped, his jaw trembling.

This could be problem…

Chapter Twenty:

Road to Nowhere

The blood red SUV hurtled down the freeway.

It was coming up to dusk and dusty pinks and watery oranges were washed onto the horizon as the sun sank lower on the horizon. The road itself was busy, cars dodging one another as they levied for positions in the lanes, overtaking slower vehicles whilst the landscape surrounding the highway zipped passed in a blur of pale greens and browns.

Dean followed Joshua’s car closely, the Impala barely breaking a sweat to keep up with the huge GMC tank in front. It just proved that bigger wasn’t necessarily better. Dean’s baby could out race most things.

Leaning his left elbow on the window ledge, his head resting on his fist, the other hand gripping the steering wheel, Dean felt profoundly weary. Every week it was something different; some new big-bad to fight. Dean just wanted to be left alone. He was tired of this shit following him and his brother around. What he would give for a normal existence! Well, if he had anything left to give. Parentless, friendless, homeless and soon to be soulless. He could have filled a book with the things he didn’t have.

In the back of his mind the dry voice that taunted him from time to time was telling him to pull himself together. This was not the time to break down and enter a therapy session about the ‘what-ifs’ of his life. Things sucked. They always had. Dean reckoned they always would. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand: finding his kid brother and bringing him out of this in one piece.

He wasn’t as good as he thought he was at hiding his feelings and putting all that emotional baggage on the Winchester shelf of unresolved issues. The thought of Sam provoked a tremor to run through the twenty eight year old man’s frame that was both potent and draining. How was his brother holding up as the captive of a psychotic demon? Sam had been missing for too long now and Dean was worried. God only knew what the demon was doing to him. Whatever it was Dean would do worse when he found the stupid son of a bitch. Much worse…

He pulled his spaced out gaze from his inward pondering and refocused his attention back on the road and the SUV he was trailing. They had been driving for just over an hour now and Dean’s impatience was growing like a storm on the horizon. He was eager to find Sam. It was nearly eleven and a half hours since the kid had been taken and Dean couldn’t help the fierce claw of fear that tore at him. He internally ached. His outward expression was – as always – stoic and unyielding to his emotional turmoil, but the closer they drove to where Joshua thought Bael was the more panicked Dean felt. He had no idea what to expect when he found Sam. He had no idea what the demon was capable of and Bael’s final words to him were more than unsettling.

“I’m just the messenger…”

Those words were playing hell with Dean’s mind. The messenger for who? The thought of demon Fed-ex almost provoked a laugh. It would have if the situation hadn’t been so goddamn serious. Dean had assumed that with yellow eyes dead the only things they would have to fear were other hunters like Gordon – other hunters wrapped up in conspiracy theories about Sam being some kind of anti-Christ. This whole stinking mess evidently went a lot deeper than Dean had ever imagined. It was a mess. Their lives were a mess. Everything that could go wrong in a lifetime had done so for the Winchester siblings. Bad luck seemed to follow them like a stray puppy only this one had teeth and claws. But then, that was them all over, wasn’t it? Most people travelled up shit creek without a paddle; they didn’t even have the boat.

“Dean? You OK?”

Dean cast a side long-glance from the SUV to the passenger seat.

Bobby was eyeballing him carefully, his arms crossed over his chest. It was a look Dean had come to recognise – a look that said bullshitting was not an option. Dean had, however, been playing the game for too long. He was the undefeated bullshitting champion and no one was taking that title from him. Instead of answering truthfully, the dirty blond haired hunter shrugged half-heartedly.

“I’m fine, Bobby.”

“Bullshit!” The mechanic snorted, eliciting a slight eye roll from Dean. Evidently he needed to work on his act a little more. “I’m nowhere near fine, so I’m guessin’ you’re about as far from fine as its possible to be.”

Dean frowned deeply, and turned his attention back to the road. As always Bobby had managed to see into the heart of the situation but Dean was too drained to open up. He was on the verge of cracking as it was. Like the plates moving beneath the earth’s surface, readying for an earthquake that would swallow up whole towns, it was a crevasse Dean wasn’t prepared to open. Not yet at least. A gratuitous chick-flick heart-to-heart wasn’t going to help find Sam and right now that was all Dean cared about. He would deal with his fucked up head after his brother was safe. His guilt and self-loathing would only distract him and distractions resulted in loss of life and limb. Dean wasn’t willing to sacrifice that much just to ease his poisoned conscience.

“You think Josh can really track this demon?” Dean asked, avoiding Bobby’s question. Avoidance was another thing Dean was a champion at. He’d had enough practice over the years.

“Dean–” Bobby began, a hint of irritation underlying his concern but Dean cut him off before he got into full swing. He understood what the man was trying to do but it was unnecessary. Dean didn’t need to talk about this. He really was fine. Well, as fine as it was possible to be knowing the only person you gave two shits about in the whole universe was at the hands of something evil. God his life was a joke.

“Bobby, I appreciate what you’re doing, but really I’m OK.”

Dean gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile but he had a feeling the mechanic would see right through it. Bobby had known both Dean and Sam since they were kids. He knew them both far too well – inside out, wasn’t that the phrase? Bobby knew them upside down as well. Keeping secrets from him wasn’t easy.

If the older hunter wanted to continue the conversation he didn’t. Thankfully he let it drop. Dean resisted the relieved sigh he had been holding in and instead rubbed a burning eyelid. Exhaustion was stalking him like a reaper; just out of sight but near enough that he could feel it biting at his heels.

“Josh…” Bobby said with a deep resounding sigh, “…he’s the best, kid. I wouldn’t have called him in if I didn’t think he could help.”

Dean nodded slowly. He knew Joshua by reputation within the hunting world as well as on a personal level. If Sam wasn’t available to do the whole geek thing, Joshua was as good a substitute as any other. In fact, as loathe as Dean was to admit it, Joshua was probably just as clever as his brother. It eased his tension somewhat knowing the demonologist was here to help. Dean didn’t do the whole trust thing very well but he trusted Bobby and, on some level, he even trusted Joshua. The man had saved his life in the past. It didn’t mean he owed him a break, but Bobby’s assurance that he would come through for them now was enough – for the time being.

“Well, I hope his demon-senses are as good as he makes out,” Dean muttered.

This was the home stretch. They had located Bael. All they had to do now was exorcise its ass back to hell, grab Sam and get out of there.

Easy.

Dean almost laughed out loud.

Nothing they ever did was easy. Sometimes Dean was sure they were cursed. People talked about karma biting you on the ass but Winchester karma was a force unto itself. Dean wondered what the hell he had done in this life time to warrant such bad luck. It was like he had a constant cloud of crap following him around.

The SUV indicated a left turn, the orange lights blinking frantically as the tank-like car turned off the main road. Silence crept into the Impala again as Dean continued to mirror every movement Joshua took. Bobby hadn’t tried to force the conversation and had remained quiet, staring out of the side window as the landscape whipped passed. Dean wasn’t sure he could maintain the façade of a normal conversation without cracking up. His sense of failure was insurmountable. Once again he had let Sam down and the price had every chance of being too high this time. Dean had nothing left to give to save his brother if he died this time. He had nothing left to bargain with.

For the hundredth time since they had got on to the road, Dean scowled at the dark turn his thoughts seemed to be taking. The ‘glass half empty’ routine didn’t fit him well. Even when things fell spectacularly on their ass, Dean, somehow always managed to keep a positive view of things – outwardly at least. Wasn’t that his modus operandi? To hide behind humour? To fall back on inappropriately timed jokes? To crush all his pain and self-loathing into a series of well-strung together witticisms? Dean had to admit he was exceptionally good at doing so. Except at the moment he was finding it near to impossible to find anything remotely funny about this situation – fake or otherwise. It was still too soon after Cold Oak and Dean’s shelf was too full. Emotional baggage was beginning to rain from the sky in a blaze of fire and lightning that would have put even the upcoming apocalyptic end of days display to shame. And yet, somehow, Dean managed to school his features and retain that stoic, uncaring expression that had become a trademark expression from the age of four.

He nudged the wheel a little to the left and sighed deeply. The road twisted into the distance, snaking through heavy woodlands against the backdrop of the vast mountains. The sun was still on the horizon but it had begun to disappear behind the trees and the sky was starting to darken, the hazy reds fading into bruised purple. Absently Dean flicked the headlamps on as dusk clouded over the road and dragged a hand over his eyes. He was exhausted. How long had it been since he had slept? Dean didn’t even know. He didn’t care either. He wouldn’t stop until his brother was safe.

After another ten minutes or so, Joshua pulled the SUV down a small, narrow dirt track. Dean followed, carefully guiding the Chevy behind the red GMC truck. Nearly seven hundred yards down it the SUV ground to a halt, the red glowing brake lights dimming, before extinguishing completely as the engine cut. Dean copied the movement, twisting the keys in his hands as he reached for the door handle.

Hastily he climbed out of the vehicle as the chestnut haired demonologist approached the Impala.

“Why we stopping?” Dean demanded, his arms spread out from his side, palms upwards as he questioned the southern hunter’s motives.

There was nothing notable about the spot. Thick tree trunks with heavy green foliage lined the ill maintained road, dipping in the distance into a slight valley on one side. Unlike Colorado Springs there were no vast mountains standing like sentinels on the horizon but the rolling hillsides were a pleasant break in the landscape nevertheless. Dean preferred the image to one of looming skyscrapers and stark, uncaring high-rises any day.

Joshua didn’t seem to be listening to Dean’s questioning however. His gaze was lowered to a small black device clutched in his right hand. It was no bigger than a cell phone but bulkier, about the width of his palm. It was emitting a low whining sound that was akin to a mewling cat and a row of red LEDs were blinking frantically. It looked expensive – overly expensive. Dean knew what it was. He had seen enough of them over the years but it didn’t stop him from scowling at the demonologist’s indulgence. It probably cost more than a three course meal at a five star restaurant. He eyed the EMF meter with disdain for a second before raising green eyes to meet Joshua’s lowered head. He wanted an answer.

“This is the place. EMF’s goin’ crazy,” Joshua murmured, raising his eyes from the device and peering through the trees lining the road. “I couldn’t get a good look but there’s a house down the bottom of the trail and coupla vehicles… looks like we got company waitin’ for us.”

Dean nodded, taking the information in with minimal reaction. He had never really expected this to be easy. It would be far too much to ask for. In his mind he had briefly hoped he could walk in, blow Bael’s ass into Hell, grab Sam and run. He should have known this was bound to be one of those ridiculously over the top perilous situations in which near death was bound to be a constant companion.

No longer content to stand still, Dean, was already moving over to the trunk of the Impala. He didn’t care who was down there. The National Guard, the Marines; Christ, the whole of NATO could have been lined on the front porch with guns, tanks and air support, it didn’t matter. If Sam was within the house Dean would take every single person who stood in his way apart.

Jiggling the keys in the lock until it gave way with a satisfying, almost melodic click, Dean pulled the trunk open and lifted the hidden panel. As he had done so many times before he jammed a shotgun under it and let his eyes wander over the artillery. He put up a good show of trying to decide what weapons he would need, but in all honesty Dean was trying to figure out a way to leave Bobby and Joshua here. He had never intended to take either man into this battle but he had a feeling neither of them were going to walk away either.

Realising he had been in the trunk for longer than was necessary, and that the illusion of rooting around in there with a purpose was quickly dissipating, Dean finally grabbed for a couple of guns and stuffed them into his rucksack.

“Thanks, Josh. You and Bobby head back into town,” Dean said casually, shoving a couple of rounds of rock salt into his jeans pocket even as he spoke, “I’ll call you when I’ve got Sam.”

Dean didn’t even need to pull his head out of the trunk to know the mechanic and demonologist were exchanging glances. Nevertheless he wanted to gauge their reaction and so he turned his head to the pair of them. Bobby’s expression was incredulous, but Joshua’s was unreadable. Dean couldn’t decide if he was pissed or relieved.

“I can handle this alone,” Dean added, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

“Dean–” Bobby began but Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand. It was easier to fight Bobby before he got onto his high horse. After he mounted he got a little unreasonable and Dean wasn’t sure he would have the strength to argue the point.

“Thanks for the help, Bobby, but this is gonna be dangerous. I can’t do this if I’m worrying ‘bout you and Joshua.”

It was more than that. Dean couldn’t have their deaths on his conscience. He already had enough emotional baggage clipping at his heels as it was without adding more.

“Yeah,” Joshua said quietly, sucking on the inside of his cheek, pulling it between his teeth, “unfortunately, kid, it’s not your choice.”

Dean scowled at him. Did he not realise he was trying to save their lives?

“This isn’t a friggin’ game, Josh! You could get killed in there!”

Joshua shrugged, irritation brewing under the surface of his calm façade. It was like a wind storm swirling into a full-blown mean-assed twister; quick and potentially dangerous.

“And you’re suddenly demon proof, ass-wipe?” A roll of eyes was all Dean managed before Joshua was speaking again. “You think me and Bobby are just gonna let you walk into that buildin’ alone?”

His voice was hard and verged on obnoxiously loud. It grated on Dean’s already aching head in a nails-down-a-chalk-board kind of way.

“Not your choice man,” Dean threw back with a slight shake of his head.

He slammed the trunk shut meaningfully and shifted the bag onto his shoulder, the weight of the guns digging into the tender flesh. The pressure on his aching ribs and abdomen was unpleasant but not unbearable. Even if it had been horrendously painful Dean didn’t have time to deal with his own injuries. He was pretty certain he was keeping his pain at bay by nothing more than sheer stubborn will.

Dean started to move over towards the path, planning on leaving both men at the roadside, but unsuspecting, strong hands fisted into his jacket suddenly, throwing him against the side of the Impala. The force of it – not to mention the surprise – elicited a grunt from the blond haired hunter as the air was temporarily pushed out of his lungs.

“You stubborn bastard!” Joshua growled, slamming Dean once more against the metal frame of the car, his fingers curling further into Dean’s clothes. Dean flinched, struggling against the firm grasp.

“Take your goddamn hands off me, Josh!” Dean growled, bucking against the hold but Joshua was surprisingly strong. His extra height and girth gave him a distinct advantage over Dean and the younger hunter didn’t like it. He wasn’t used to being on the losing side and the demonologist wasn’t showing any sign of relinquishing his grip on Dean. In fact, he fisted his fingers deeper into the material, shaking him a little.

“What the hell do you think going in there alone is going to achieve, Dean?” Joshua retorted, teeth barred. He looked like a rabid dog for a brief moment. “All you’re gonna do is get your fucking self killed! What use are you to Sam dead?”

Dead? Dean snorted. Wasn’t that the rub? He knew he shouldn’t have retaliated – the man was just looking out for him – but the mixture of fraught emotions and raw anger coursing through his veins was not willing to be silenced. It came to the surface like a naughty kid, pushing a strung-out mother’s buttons to test the boundaries.

“I’m already dead, Josh!” Dean snapped, his angry gaze meeting Joshua’s furious one. “Didn’t you get the fucking memo? I got eleven months! What the hell does it matter if I go before schedule? All I care about is saving my brother! If something happens to me in the process, so fucking what? But I won’t let you and Bobby go down for this as well! This is my damn fight. Not yours.”

Joshua looked for a moment as if he was going to smack him in the face. His anger was a little scary. Dean pressed further into the Impala’s cold surface, wishing he could put more distance between himself and the long haired hunter.

“I care! OK? I fucking care! You think that just because you made that stupid contract that your life means nothing? You think me and Bobby want to bury your dumb ass before your year is up?” Joshua shot back, his expression livid, a wild look in his eyes. “You think we want to explain to Sam why we let you go in there alone – to explain why bits of you are splattered all over some shit heap in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere?”

“Joshua!” Bobby, who had gone as still as a rabbit in head lights when Joshua’s temper had finally snapped, seemed to break out of his trance and was moving, his fingers grappling with the demonologist’s grip.

Joshua shrugged the older hunter’s hands off his shoulders as nothing more than an irritation and shook Dean again. The younger hunter, however, had already stopped fighting him. He was too tired to care any more. He felt himself wilting in Joshua’s grasp.

“You’re not superman, Dean! You don’t have to do everything by yourself!” Joshua removed Bobby’s hands once more, his other still firmly gripping Dean by the collar of his jacket. “Your stubborn assed Winchester pride is gonna get you all friggin’ killed and we’ll be the ones who have to pick up the damn pieces!”

The words hit Dean heavily – harder than he would have imagined they could. It was more than fear, more than friendship; it was deep-seated love and care in the demonologist’s eyes. It was a promise to an old friend that Joshua planned to keep. Dean found himself wondering just how close this rangy, long haired hunter had been to his father.

“Christ sake, Josh! Let him go!” Bobby barked.

Finally the mechanic managed to pry the older hunter from Dean and drag him back, both arms clamped around his torso. The demonologist swung out of the mechanics hold, brushing his dark bangs out of his face, his lip curled angrily. Dean was a little taken aback by the attack and covered his shock by tugging at his disarrayed clothing, pulling it back into place.

“You wanna play the hero, fine, play it Dean, but I’m comin’ with you.” Joshua pointed an angry finger at him. There was so much rage, so much atonement even in that one gesture. It was as if the demonologist had the weight of a life time’s regret on his shoulders and was looking for a way to silence those inner demons. “You try an’ stop me and I’ll friggin’ tie you up and leave you here. Swear to god! I’m not just gonna sit by and wait for you to die!”

Dean winced at the resolve in the older man’s tone. He didn’t want Joshua to come with him. He didn’t want the man’s life in his hands. Dean couldn’t handle that. He didn’t need help. He could do this alone – like he had always done this alone. Sam was his brother – his responsibility. However, Dean wasn’t an idiot. He knew this had gone beyond his ability to control. Joshua wasn’t about to be cowed and Dean felt the mantle of power being removed – somewhat forcefully – from his own shoulders.

Joshua’s frame was heaving; his hands planted firmly on his hips as he took laboured breaths. Dean watched him carefully for a moment before shifting his gaze towards the mechanic. A side long glance at Bobby, however, told him this was not a fight he was going to win. He saw the same resolve in his eyes too.

“Bobby… please…” Dean tried to appeal, but the mechanic shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’ve known you boys pretty much your whole life, Dean. I’m not sure I could live with letting you go into that house alone knowin’ there’s a damn demon waitin’ for you.” The tone was quiet but firm.

Dean glanced between the two men and sighed. The hand had been dealt and the cards were not the right ones. Dean knew this was a game he had no chance of winning.

“Fine,” he sighed reluctantly. “Let’s go find Sam.”

Chapter Twenty-One:

Bad Bones

Sam’s head was reeling.

The metallic click of the safety being released on a handgun made him go cold all over, the pregnant pause that followed resounded in the air as if a shot had already been fired. Sam closed his eyes tightly and took a shuddering breath. Was nothing in his life ever simple?

He had escaped the clutches of a sociopathic demon with homicidal tendencies, only to end up on the bad side of four trigger happy assholes. This whole situation reeked of an unfairness that made him want to stomp his feet and throw a tantrum like a belligerent toddler. However, at the moment, it was taking all his strength to remain on his knees without biting the ground.

“Where’s the demon?” The voice was sharp, like a knife blade. Sam slowly prised his eyes open and gazed at the man through half-mast slits.

Four figures were stood over his hunched form, leering at him through hard lids. The man who had spoken was the eldest of the group, possibly in his late forties, perhaps early fifties. His dark hair was flecked with grey streaks and receding at the temples like an inhaling tide on the beach. His mouth was pulled into a tight line that accentuated his strong, square jaw and his entire look was offset by the completely black outfit he had donned.

“Where’s the demon?” the man repeated firmly.

When Sam merely stared at the man, confusion bleeding onto his wearied features, one of the other men spoke up.

“I’d answer him, kid. Bryman tends to get cranky when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

The second man was much younger than the other three but what he lacked in age he certainly made up for in height and girth. He was huge. Dark black hair was cropped closely to his scalp and he had huge brown eyes that were watching Sam apathetically. However, even despite the stubble sprouting across his chin and upper lip he still appeared somewhat baby-faced, like he was just cutting his teeth in this strange quartet, looking to find his place in the pack. Sam only hoped he wasn’t planning on using him as an example of his talents – whatever those talents were.

Lowering his eyes to the leaf tossed ground, Sam let his gaze loosen on the heavy brown boots the younger man was wearing. Strong boots… durable and built to last in any condition. They had come prepared. They knew his name. Had they followed him here? Were they linked to the demons? What did they want?

Sam’s foggy head couldn’t make sense of the events. He was tired and he was hurt. He just wanted to sleep but these guys were not about to let that happen.

“Hey, kid?” The man, Bryman, was speaking again. When Sam maintained his silence he decided the best course of action to gain his attention was a cuff across the back of the head.

Under normal circumstances it would have caused nothing more than a fleeting pain, a minor irritation. In Sam’s current condition the gesture was amplified ten fold. His vision splintered and fractured momentarily, spots dancing in front of him. He fell forwards onto his hands, his head bowing onto his chest as he took a shaky breath.

The men weren’t prepared to let it end there, however.

A firm and calloused hand seized his chin, dragging his head upward. Lazily Sam opened his eyes an inch, peering at the man with blurry vision. Bryman was half crouched, half doubled over, his grasp on Sam’s face unrelenting.

“You open them damn gateways, hell spawn?” The voice was low but Sam didn’t miss the bite in it. Even fighting fit, Sam doubted he could beat this guy. He was a solid wall of muscle.

“No…” Sam muttered thickly even as he ran his tongue over his lips, attempting to moisten them.

“Don’t lie!” Bryman spat, releasing Sam’s face with a shove that almost sent him sprawling onto the floor. As it was it took all of his energy to keep himself upright. “Don’t lie to me.”

The younger Winchester wanted to contest Bryman’s words, wanted to tell him how he hadn’t done anything wrong – despite coming close to it – but his brain to mouth pathways were blocked and no sounds, articulate or otherwise, were made. It didn’t matter, Bryman hadn’t expected an answer.

He had already turned to the other two men within the homicidal party whilst the baby-faced man kept his handgun locked on Sam’s head.

“Don’t think about moving, kid,” the younger man growled out.

Sam raised his eyes to the baby-faced guy and gave him a sardonic smile. Really, where the hell was he going to go? He could barely stand, let alone run. The gun was completely unnecessary but Sam knew the purpose of keeping it aimed on him; fear. They wanted to keep him scared and as loath as he was to admit it, it was working. Sam was frightened but he had also reached a breaking point. He was too tired to keep fighting people. He was too tired to keep defending himself and he was too tired to be afraid. It was draining all his energy.

Sam’s eyes roved over to the other two men and he let his gaze settle there for a moment. One had dirty blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, the other was a hulking black man with a shaved head. Both were just as big as the other two men and looked equally as dangerous.

“Cross, Walton, check the house.” It was an order, not a request and the two men saw it as such. They took off, casting nothing more than a brief glance in Sam’s direction.

With a shuddering breath, Sam ignored the two remaining men and concentrated on dragging heavy air into his hypoxic lungs. His chest was burning and every inhale sent sharp pains thrusting through his rib cage.

“You didn’t open the gates.” Bryman had turned back to face Sam and was eyeing him with distaste, as if he had stepped in something nasty. “Not from here. The gates need physical contact.” Bryman added quietly. “What did that piece of crap want with you then?”

To answer was death; to remain silent was just as suicidal. Sam had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. Every word out of his mouth would be a nail in the coffin and Sam hadn’t come this far to die at this man’s hands. He was finding it difficult to keep up with his own conflicting emotions but the smell of freedom had provided him with a strength that Eleksha and Bael had previously sucked out of him. Sam fisted invisible fingers into it and held onto that strength as tightly as he could manage. He had already given up once today. He wasn’t about to do so again.

“Why don’t you ask them?” Sam suggested sluggishly, peering at the man with unfocused, rheumy eyes. He had passed the point of cowering. If they were going to kill him Sam wasn’t about to sit and keep his mouth shut.

“Them?” Bryman demanded. He then nodded, a curling smile crossing his face. “Eleksha.” It was said without mirth. Evidently Bryman knew about Bael’s demon bitch.

“Of course.” The baby-faced man grinned broadly. “In Bael’s empire the population is one – Eleksha. I bet you and that demon-whore got on like a house on fire.”

Sam didn’t miss the barbs in his words. There were too many to overlook them. Even the subtle undertones were pointed. They must have known about the fires, must have known about Sam’s history, about his abilities. Under normal circumstances Sam would have taken it to heart but he was too drained to care what this guy thought about him. Everyone seemed to be convinced he was the antichrist and for the time being Sam was inclined to let them believe it. Nothing he said was going to change their views anyway. He had tried to do so in the past. It never worked.

“Yeah… one big happy Brady Bunch reunion…” Sam muttered.

“Drop the attitude, Winchester,” Charlie snapped, “my finger might accidentally slip on the trigger if you piss me off.”

And there it was. The guy was flexing his muscles. Sam hated being right sometimes.

“Charlie!” Bryman’s voice snapped into the air. The baby-faced man swung his head over his shoulder to glance at his boss. “Take it down a notch. Dead people don’t talk.”

The younger man, Charlie, smirked but when he spoke there was a level of remorse in his tone.

“Yeah, yeah, boss. I got it. Too early in the day to splatter brains.” He turned back to Sam and gave him a meaningful glare that suggested it wouldn’t always be too early. Sam replied with a wry smile of his own. He would have thrown back a witty remark that would have made Dean proud, but his head wasn’t functioning the way it should have.

Bryman moved closer to Sam, running a hand over his thinning hair before he crouched down in front of him. His gun was resting in his right hand lazily but his stance suggested one move and early or not Sam was going to be eating metal.

“What did you do for them?”

“Nothing,” Sam replied slowly and quietly.

His eyes on the floor only seemed to anger the man more. Fingers fisted into his t-shirt abruptly and Sam found himself lurching forward under Bryman’s death grip as he yanked him roughly towards him. Sam practically fell into the man’s arms, his balance lost under the swirling vortex of dizziness.

“What did they want?” Bryman repeated abrasively.

“I could still put a bullet in him, Bryman.” Charlie shrugged nonchalantly. “I find it makes people co-operate a helluva lot more than normal.”

Sam inwardly groaned but the only external sign he gave that he was worried was a slight flicker of his eyes from Bryman to Charlie. He wasn’t sure if his body could cope with being shot on top of everything else.

“You know what? Shoot me…” Sam muttered through lethargic lips.

He was tired of convincing people he wasn’t what they thought he was. If they were going to kill him Sam wanted it over already. He was too goddamn exhausted and in too much pain to take any more. He wished unconsciousness would take him but the blackness remained at the edge of his peripheral vision, never coming closer.

“I didn’t open any gateway. Didn’t do a damn thing,” Sam continued thickly.

He didn’t mention that he had come close to releasing one of the Grigori. It was an event that Sam didn’t plan on revealing to anyone – just like his soiled blood. There were some skeletons that were never coming out of his closet.

“Don’t tempt me,” Charlie shot back with a growl, shifting the gun in his hands.

Sam took a deep breath; this wasn’t going to end well. What he would give for Dean to appear right now – white horse, and sword to match. He wouldn’t even mind the damsel in distress jokes his brother would throw his way. He needed help. He couldn’t fight this any more by himself. He wanted – no, he needed – Dean. He needed that reassuring smirk, that smart assed mouth. He needed his cool, calm and collected presence here. Sam wasn’t sure he had the strength to fight any more. He could feel his energy being sapped and with it his resolve to stand up to these guys and make it out of here in one piece dissipated.

“It’s important we know, Sam.” Bryman was speaking again but his voice sounded distant. Sam’s ears were ringing, his body felt like lead and his head was spinning. Before he could stop himself he was lurching forward, the ground swirling closer towards his battered face.

He almost made it. Almost. Steady hands caught him before he hit the ground and righted him, pushing him back onto his knees ungraciously. Sam bit his lip, drawing blood at the pain that reverberated through his entire torso.

“Not time to sleep yet, Damien.” It was Charlie’s voice but Sam could no longer see his face. Everything was swimming.

“You know, the Order wants us to kill you, no questions asked. I could do it, just one shot.” Bryman emphasised his point by pressing the barrel of his Glock against Sam’s temple.

The metal was cold and the pressure against his skin was intense. It wasn’t easing his pounding head. Sam closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come. At least this would be quick. One shot and all his pain was over. Sam almost welcomed it… and then the gun was removed. Sam blinked and raised his gaze to the man.

“Killing you won’t provide answers, however. You tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you live.”

It was a lie. Sam knew a thing or two about liars. God, he lied his ass off every day. He impersonated law enforcement, doctors, health officials, Sam had pretty much lied his way into every situation imaginable and he recognised a liar when he saw one. This guy, Bryman, was feeding him a line of bullshit. No way was he letting Sam walk out of this one.

“What did they want?” Bryman repeated harshly.

“Semyaza.” Sam hadn’t realised he had spoken aloud but the sharp intake of breath that resounded into the silent evening air told him he had.

“Semyaza?” Charlie breathed the name. Sam hadn’t imagined a name could provoke such a reaction, could draw such fear but Charlie sounded terrified.

“They needed you to release him?” Bryman demanded sharply but there was a waver in his voice. “Because of your gifts…?”

“Yes…” Sam muttered, swallowing down the bile that was once more creeping up his throat. There was no point in denying it any more. They were going to kill him no matter what he said.

“Did they succeed?”

“No.”

Still on his knees, Charlie’s strong hands holding him up, Sam reeled as a fist full of knuckles caught the side of his head. His ear burnt and his jaw ached as his head snapped to the side, the tendons in his neck tightening with the momentum. His sight fractured again as his heavy head rolled onto his chest. He was struggling to keep conscious and the non-too-gentle tug of sleep was pulling him, urging him to give into it. Sam wanted to, more than anything, but a sharp slap around the face brought him painfully back to reality. He blinked indolently, his brow furrowing as he tried to still his rattling brain.

“You know, no one likes a liar, Sam,” Charlie snarled.

Sam’s throat and face were throbbing. If he had the energy he would have curled into a ball and cried. As it was he let his body loll forward, supported only by the kid who was intent on hurting him. It was irony to its fullest extreme.

“You wanna live to see graduation kid, I suggest you back the fuck off.”

Even through his hazy brain waves and fuzzy head, Sam recognised the voice. His heart quivered in his chest as he struggled to pull his head up and swivel glassy eyes over Charlie’s right shoulder.

This time he did sob.

He allowed himself a short, sharp whimper of relief and that was all.

It was Dean. It was his goddamn brother!

Dean was stood like a god – albeit an incredibly pissed off god. Lip curled, stance outraged, his shotgun was in his hand, pulled against his right side, poised for action. Dean’s face was a mask of pure rage as he glared down the barrel aimed at Charlie. Sam had never seen his brother look so angry. He was a tower of fury; unyielding and frightening. Sam was glad that look wasn’t directed at him.

Closing his eyes, Sam carefully reopened them, certain that Dean would disappear with the action. He didn’t however. He was still there, in the flesh: six foot one, and a hundred and seventy-five pounds of terrifying fury. Sam had never been so happy, so grateful and so frigging angry in his whole life. What the hell had taken him so long? This was cutting it close – even by their standards. Charlie and Bryman both turned their heads to the new voice.

Bobby seemed to melt in from the darkness, flanking his left side, shotgun raised. Another man swept in from the right, also armed. His expression was murderous. Sam was a little surprised when he realised who it was; Joshua Turner. What the hell was he doing here?

Sam didn’t care either way. Dean was here and that was all that mattered. He just hoped Dean could get them out of this in one piece. Judging from his brother’s expression Bryman and Charlie were getting out of this in several.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Blood Ties

Sam hadn’t been wrong when he had described Dean’s rage.

He was furious. Beyond furious in fact. Dean could feel the anger coursing through his blood like a poison threatening to overload his system. He felt like Vesuvius before it erupted and coated the unsuspecting town of Pompeii in molten rock.

Dean’s vengeance, however, was going to be worse.

Carefully – and with a degree of stealth – the three hunters headed down the path towards the house. Armed, ready and trembling with a mix of anger and dread, Dean’s mind was doing somersaults. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine what state he would find Sam in. The situation was too similar to Cold Oak. Far too similar.

Visions of Sam dropping onto his knees in front of him, teeth bared in agony as Jake slammed the knife into his back clouded his thoughts like a hurricane. It was violent, savage and severe. Dean couldn’t push it from his head no matter how hard he tried. The images flashed unbidden and uninvited; the twin demons of failure and guilt threatened to consume him.

As they came to the edge of the dense woodland, the three men paused, moving off the road and instead crouched in the undergrowth. They were not ready to announce their arrival yet. John had taught Dean well and one of those lessons had included being prepared. Dean wanted to know what he was facing before he went in. As Joshua was fond of pointing out, he was no good to Sam dead.

Thinking of the demonologist, Dean absently flicked his gaze over to where Joshua was squatted.

The southern hunter was quietly loading rounds into his shotgun, his blue eyes totally consumed in the action. The barrel snapped shut with a dull thunk that was lost in the early evening air.

On the other side of him, Bobby was leaning on his rifle, one knee pressed into the leaf-tossed ground, his left arm draped across the other as he studied the scene before them. Dean’s weapon was already loaded. He wasn’t taking chances this time. He wanted to be ready. His hand strayed absently to the waistband of his jeans, fingers brushing the handgun there, reassured by the cold feel of metal. He also had a knife concealed in a sheath at his ankle just in case. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t taking chances. He had lost Sam once; he would never allow that to happen again.

Dean rose a little on the balls of his feet and glanced over the top of the undergrowth. The cabin lay ahead of them. Two shiny black SUVs were parked haphazardly on the driveway in front of the building as if the drivers had had the devil on their tails. Dean could just make out a handful of shadowed figures silhouetted against the sunset. He moved forward quickly, half crouching as he swept across the driveway to get a better look.

He reached the vehicles first and ducked behind the bulky wheel of the one nearest to the house. Joshua and Bobby were less than a beat behind him and were as silent as a cat.

The skeletal arms of the trees seemed to dance in the cool summer breeze like clawed predators waiting to strike at any moment. The waning sun hit the yellowed grass bathing the landscape in eerie blood reds that sent a chill up his spine. It looked like a massacre had taken place.

Craning his neck around the bumper, Dean took a sweeping glance around what was essentially the front garden. He shifted nervously on his feet trying to get a better look at his surroundings.

The cabin stood to the left hand side casting darkened shadows that seemed to wilt everything that it touched but it was the scene in front of the cabin that caught Dean’s eye. It was surreal.

Sam was on his knees – barely – and god was his kid brother a mess. His face was swollen and bruised like a coloured map of his last eleven hours in captivity. Each mark told a story of what Sam had endured and Dean knew it wasn’t pleasant; if the purple smattering of bruising didn’t tell him that, the way he was hunched over did. Sam was barely keeping himself upright. He looked about ready to collapse.

To add insult to injury, Sam was coated in blood and dirt, his pale face was practically hidden beneath the dried crimson liquid. His arm hung limply at his right side, distorted and bent at a strange angle – the arm Dean had performed physio on, the arm that had almost been back to full strength. Dean wondered if it was beyond repair now. It looked in bad shape. Sam’s other hand was planted on the leaf-tossed ground and shook under the weight of his lanky frame. Dean made to move from cover shifting his gun in his hand but Bobby threw an arm across his chest effectively stopping him.

“Before you go bowling in like a bat out of hell,” Bobby murmured quietly, “assess the damn situation first.”

Dean scowled. Sam was within his reach and he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to get his brother and protect him from these two dumbasses. However, Bobby’s logic wasn’t completely lost on him. Dean knew he was right. They were Sam’s last hope of getting out of this damn mess in one piece and they had to get this right the first time. There was no room for mistakes.

Joshua half raised from the balls of his feet, shotgun hanging limply at his side, and peered through the driver’s side window before crouching once more.

“Two guys I can see, but with the two cars…?” Joshua spoke softly. “I think we have to assume they didn’t ride solo.”

Dean agreed completely but didn’t respond. He clenched his jaw tightly, trying to control the fury racing through his body. It wasn’t easy. In fact, he was fairly certain he was failing miserably at the task.

“I’ll go have a scout ‘round. See if these two assholes are travellin’ with company. Wait for me to come back.” Joshua melted into the tree line before either Dean or Bobby could argue.

Dean had already turned his attention back to Sam.

His brother’s head lolled forward onto his chest as if keeping it upright was an impossible task. Dean grimaced. He was sure there were other injuries hidden under Sam’s clothes but he couldn’t assess them properly from where he was crouching. He wanted nothing more than to run over and triage him but there was a major problem.

The two assholes with guns.

Dean took a brief moment to study them from his position, unable to prevent the lip curl and low snarl that emitted from deep within his throat.

One was in his late forties. He had a receding hairline and his short, dark hair was flecked with grey. His head looked like it had been sprinkled with salt and pepper.

The other man was younger. He too had dark hair but considerably more than the older man. Huge muscles curved under his black shirt that would have given Dwayne Johnson a run for his money. The guy was one step from Mr Universe.

He was towering over Sam, his gun angled at his head trying to put the fear of god into the kid, and it was working. Sam looked subdued, broken, and defeated. It cut worse than any knife wound ever could to see his strong brother submitting to a kid barely out of high school.

Dean wanted to kill them. He wanted to rip the pair of them apart. He had no idea who the bastards were and frankly he didn’t care. His only thought was getting that gun out of his brother’s face.

Joshua reappeared abruptly like a shadow. He leaned back against the side of the SUV as he brushed his long chestnut hair from his face.

“House is empty but there are a couple of sets of tracks around the back. Not sure if they’re these guys’ or Sam’s.”

Or they could belong to more trigger happy hunters.

Dean pulled a face. He didn’t like going in so exposed but time was running out. They didn’t have a choice.

Bobby cautiously lowered his rucksack onto the ground and slowly pulled the zipper back. Drawing two handguns from the bag he handed one to Joshua and tucked the other one down his waistband.

“Eyes open when we go in – in case they’ve got friends with them,” Bobby murmured softly but Dean wasn’t listening. His attention had been snared.

“Did they succeed?” the older man’s voice snapped through the silence like an explosion. Dean met Bobby’s eyes briefly before he peered around the end of the car.

“No…” Sam’s voice cracked and hitched as he forced that one word through his lips. Dean winced. He had never heard his brother sound so broken, so hurt. His brow narrowed as his anger mounted with each passing second.

The younger man slammed a fist into Sam’s face suddenly. Dean twitched with the action, feeling the punch as if it had been aimed at him personally. His younger sibling’s head snapped to the side, his body listlessly lurching with the momentum.

Sam slumped forward into his attacker’s arms, barely maintaining a grip on consciousness. It was followed by a slap to the face aimed at keeping Sam’s half mast lids open. It was completely unprovoked, completely unnecessary and Dean was moving before he even thought about it. Gun raised, he bolted across the driveway covering the space in less than a breath.

“You wanna live to see graduation, kid, I suggest you back the fuck off,” Dean growled, cocking his shotgun and swinging it between the two men.

Both men spun toward Dean’s voice, their own weapons following before their gazes wandered to the side of him. Dean heard Bobby and Joshua moving beside him and risked a shift of his eyes to make sure they were in position. Bobby shot him a level stare that spoke volumes. The mechanic was pissed. Not that Dean blamed him. He hadn’t exactly given Bobby a heads up about his intentions before he went barrelling solo into a potential gun fight.

Dean gave him an apologetic shrug before turning his attention to his brother.

Sam slowly lifted his head. It took him a moment to make it rise and even then it swayed on his shoulders like he was drunk.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice slurred the name, a hundred emotions in that one word and Dean knew every single one. He had never heard his name invoked in such a manner before and it tore at every protective streak he had.

“I didn’t realise you had invited guests, Bryman,” the younger man said.

There was an air of cockiness to him that rubbed Dean’s nerves raw. The kid was fresh faced and probably just out of frigging high school. What the hell did he have to be smug about? Dean could take him with one hand tied behind his back.

“I didn’t,” Bryman snapped, flicking his handgun between Dean and Bobby. “I suggest you keep on walking asshole.”

The younger guy pulled the safety catch back on the gun and aimed it at Sam’s head for emphasis.

It was all Dean needed. He didn’t hesitate. He would never hesitate again. He had learnt that lesson the hard way. Dean would never let Cold Oak happen again.

He fired.

The bullet whirred through the air and hit the younger kid in the shoulder with the squelch of ripping flesh and a splash of blood.

The kid grunted, lips parting as he reverberated on his feet from the impact. Credit were it was due he managed to stay on his feet longer than he should have been able to, but finally his body gave out. His legs buckled, quivering frantically, before he dropped onto his knees and slid fully onto the ground.

“Charlie!” the older man exclaimed, moving forward to help the kid.

Dean didn’t even watch him go down. He had already shifted his gun to the other man.

“Back… Off… Now,” he ground through clenched teeth. He almost wanted him to move. He silently prayed he would. Dean had no objection with using as many rounds as it took to blow these two assholes apart.

Bryman tore wide eyes from Dean and glanced at Charlie writhing on the ground. It had to hurt like hell. Being shot was painful enough but at such close proximity and with such a powerful weapon it was pure luck that Dean hadn’t blown his shoulder straight off his torso. He couldn’t bring himself to pity the kid, though.

“Toss your gun over,” Bobby snarled from Dean’s right side.

Bryman hesitated, indecision and anxiety crossing his face briefly, then, somewhat reluctantly, he tossed his gun towards them. Bobby quickly retrieved it, his rifle still aimed at the man.

Carefully, Dean moved towards Sam, his gaze split between the men and his brother. When he had shot the arrogant asshole Sam had gone down too. His body hadn’t been able to maintain an upright position without support and his prone form was now sprawled on the ground, sickeningly still. Dean’s stomach clenched painfully.

Please let him be alive.

Swallowing hard, Dean stepped over the writhing kid, Charlie, and slowly knelt down in front of his brother placing his gun on the ground next to him. Dean was almost scared to touch Sam, scared that he could hurt him more. It took more courage than it should have – more determination than was necessary – but with a deep exhale Dean reached out a trembling hand and touched Sam’s bruised face gently. He was clammy and cold, and it filled Dean with dread.

Open your eyes, Sammy. Please, just open them.

Dean needed to see those hazel eyes. He needed Sam to reassure him he was OK and that Dean hadn’t screwed up this time.

It was the longest minute of his life but finally Sam’s pain-filled, unfocused eyes blinked open. Dean wasn’t sure if Sam was even seeing him but they were open. His glassy gaze rolled sluggishly as his brow wrinkled. Agony was etched into every inch of him.

“Sammy…?” Dean tried tentatively, hoping to get a response.

Sam’s gaze halted and shifted toward Dean.

“Knew… you would come,” was all Sam said. It was enough. He was OK. Dean smiled in spite of everything and exhaled in a rush of bated air.

“Yeah, next time leave me something more to go on.” Dean ran a hand through his brother’s hair, ignoring the quiver in his own limbs. He was too relieved to care if he was shaking like a girl. Sam was OK – that was all that mattered. “Your clues were friggin’ impossible.”

Sam made a convulsive sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. Dean suspected it was probably both.

“Hey, Sam… you’re OK now. We’ll have you patched up in no time.” Dean gave him a reassuring smile hoping his brother wouldn’t see through it. Sam was going to take more than patching up. Dean could see the broken, disillusioned, dead look in his brother’s eyes. It wasn’t an expression he associated with Sam and that frightened Dean.

Gently, Dean squeezed Sam’s left shoulder, hoping the gesture would offer something to his younger sibling. He needed Sam to be strong right now if they were going to get out of this mess.

What the hell had they done to him?

Dean tore his gaze from his younger brother’s face and roved his eyes over the kid’s body, unable to meet his wounded hazel eyes any longer. It was too hard.

“Jesus Sammy…” He winced at the state of his brother. He was a mess. “What the hell did they do to you?”

Sam didn’t answer – not that Dean had expected him to. That was a conversation for another time.

“Can you sit?” Dean asked, searching his brother’s face. Sam’s brow furrowed deeply, dark bangs trailing into his pained eyes, but he gave a slight inclination of his head.

Carefully and slowly, Dean helped Sam onto his knees. It wasn’t easy. The kid was a dead weight and every movement seemed to aggravate his injuries. When Sam dragged a sharp breath through his teeth, Dean shot a glare at the last remaining member of the trigger happy duet. God, he wanted to put a bullet in that bastard’s head.

Dean snapped his gaze back to his brother just in time to catch his flaccid body awkwardly. Sam lurched forward, his head rolling on his shoulders as he tried to keep the heavy appendage upright. They had been in some bad spats over the years but Dean had never seen Sam this badly injured – at least not before Cold Oak. It physically hurt him.

“Whoa…hey… easy kiddo,” Dean said even as he was grabbing fingers full of Sam’s shirt. It took all of his own strength to keep his brother sitting but thankfully, after a moment, Sam seemed to settle on his own.

There was a kind of relief in the contact. Sam was OK – albeit he was going to take a hell of a lot of patching up – but he was alive and he was OK. For Dean that was enough – for now. Eleven hours of pure panic and nail biting terror poured out of him as he pulled Sam into a hug. It was totally out of character but Dean couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to let Sam out of his sight again.

“Your brother is dangerous.” Bryman’s voice cut through the moment like a blow to the head.

Dean didn’t relinquish his embrace on Sam but he did snap his gaze to the man, his lip curling.

“If you have to shoot me, Dean, then do it, but I can’t let him walk out of here. There’s too much at stake.”

“Preaching to the wrong choir asshole,” Dean growled. “You touch him – Christ, you even look at him again – and I’ll decorate the porch with your friggin’ brains!”

“Dean…” Sam’s strained voice brought Dean’s head back around. “Bael…”

“He’s still here?” Dean asked, searching his brother’s face a little apprehensively. His last meeting with the damn demon hadn’t exactly gone to plan. At least this time Dean was prepared.

“Yeah…” Sam muttered, glancing at him through swollen eyes. “There’s… two others… with these two…” Dean immediately raised his head and glanced around, eyes alert. Sam gulped spasmodically trying to make his voice work. When he managed to speak it cracked and hitched. “They’re… the house…”

Even broken and bruised Sam was still looking out for him. Dean couldn’t help but think how close he had come to losing the kid. He pushed it out of his mind. He had to get Sam to safety. He would deal with the rest of the asshole party later. Besides, Joshua had checked the house and hadn’t found anyone. That in itself worried Dean. If they had gone into the house but not come out again where in the hell were they? He shoved that thought to the back of his overloaded brain. They would cross that bridge when they came to it.

“One problem at a time dude,” Dean murmured. “We need to get you out of here first.”

“Can’t… stand.” Sam sounded apologetic. “My legs… they’re uh…”

Sam broke off swallowing hard. His eyes squeezed shut and his brow tightened painfully. It nearly pushed Dean over the edge to see his brother so hurt.

“I’ll help you.” Dean tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. He really wanted to pummel the crap out of someone. “You hurt anywhere else?”

Seriously hurt…

Dean didn’t say the words, but Sam seemed to realise what he was asking. Did he have any life threatening injuries? Sam shook his head slightly, bangs shifting across his face.

“Just… bruises…” Shivering uncontrollably, Sam grimaced. Evidently the bruises were enough to deal with.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his undershirt off. Carefully, he wrapped Sam’s right arm in it and tied the sleeves around his neck. He had to give the kid his due; he barely made a sound as he moved the broken limb. Satisfied that the knots on the makeshift sling would hold Dean draped his jacket around Sam’s shoulders, hoping it would exude some warmth into his frozen frame.

“You think this will end here?” Bryman said but there was a hint of desperation in his voice that had Dean’s head turning towards him once more.

The man was moving slowly forward towards the three of them with measured steps, his hands raised defensively. It was like watching a wolf in a hen house pleading he was harmless.

“They will hunt him his entire life. He is the only one who can do what they want him to do. The Order, demons – god, even other hunters – there is nowhere Sam will be safe.”

Dean growled a litany of curses under his breath but wasn’t given the opportunity to respond. A gun shot rang out.

It hit just in front of Bryman’s feet, smouldering in the earth, stopping the man in his tracks.

Joshua re-cocked the gun with a wry smile

“The next one won’t miss, dickhead.”

“You won’t shoot me,” Bryman replied calmly, but a slight twitch that ran through his body suggested he wasn’t as collected as he was portraying.

“Oh really?” Joshua raised a brow, his lips twitching. “Move again – I dare you.”

Bryman either sensed Joshua was serious or thought better of provoking him to act on his challenge. Either way he didn’t move again. He cast a sullen glance at Sam.

“You think it fills my people with joy to hunt down one of our own?” Bryman said. “We were set up to protect kids like Sam, to protect the Watchers. This goes against everything we stand for.”

Watchers… kids like Sam… Dean heard the words but they didn’t register immediately.

“You’re… you’re saying he’s one of those things? One of those things that hunt the Grigori?” Dean demanded, unable to keep the scepticism out of his voice.

Dean had wondered about the possibility of Sam being a Watcher after Joshua had mentioned it but he hadn’t really put much stock in it. The thought that his little brother had some kind of higher destiny was almost laughable. However, judging from Bryman’s expression it wasn’t a joke; he was serious. Deadly serious.

Bryman raised a brow. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

Dean fixed him with a level glare. He really hated this smug bastard.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re trying to kill my brother.”

“Because of his blood.”

Bryman’s answer halted Dean’s reply. He maintained a grip on Sam but left him kneeling on the ground as he turned back to the man.

“His blood? What the hell about his blood?”

“Dean, please.” There was panic in his brother’s tone that sent fear lancing through Dean’s heart. Was there truth in what he was saying then? Dean wasn’t sure, but he knew Sam better than anyone on the planet and right now Sam was terrified. Whatever Bryman knew, Sam didn’t want Dean to know.

He tore his gaze from his younger brother and glanced at the man. His expression demanded answers and Bryman seemed all too happy to give them.

“Azazel… he came to your brother’s generation. He baptised them with his blood on the night they each turned six months old.”

For a moment Dean merely blinked foolishly at the man and then the words hit him – hard. People describe moments that change your life but for Dean this was the big one. It was like watching his entire twenty-eight years collide with the universe and explode into fragments of emotional turmoil that milled aimlessly about the stratosphere.

Azazel… Yellow Eyes?

Sam had his blood in him?

Dean’s body went cold. Subconsciously, he removed his hand from Sam’s shoulder, taking a step towards Bryman. He wanted to pound the man’s face in for lying but then Dean wasn’t really sure he was lying. Sam’s reaction had been… well, bizarre.

He shivered, a convulsive tremor running through his frame. He had no idea what the hell any of this meant. Part of him didn’t even believe the bastard but the dry voice in the back of his head told him it was true. It explained a hell of a lot. It explained more than Dean wanted to admit.

The demon virus that Sam had been immune to… Christ! No goddamn wonder he was immune to it! His genetic make-up prevented the infection from spreading into his body. Why yellow eyes had wanted his brother. Why his father had told him he might have to kill his brother. Why his mom had died…

Dean’s head spun, his mind rolled, and his stomach catapulted into his throat. This was too much. This was insane. Completely insane. It had to be. He rubbed a finger and thumb over his eyes wondering if this was just a game Bryman was playing.

“They thought they could use the Watchers to open the gates to Hell – to release the Hierarchy and the Fallen,” Bryman continued solemnly. “Your brother is all that remains of that damn experiment. They’ll never stop hunting him for that reason and that is why he cannot live.”

The older Winchester shifted green irises towards Joshua, trying to gauge the hunter’s response to the news that the kid they were trying to protect was one of the things they had spent their lives trying to destroy.

The demonologist’s brow was tightly furrowed but he hadn’t moved his gun off Bryman. If he was fazed by the news of Sam’s demon DNA he was doing a good job of hiding it.

Briefly, Dean gave a thought to what would happen once he got his brother out of this. Would Joshua see it as his duty to stop Sam? For the greater good – wasn’t that the phrase everyone seemed so damn fond of these days? Suspicion and mistrust pummelled his brain but he forced himself to overlook it for the moment. Right now he needed allies and Joshua was on his side – for now. He would deal with later after the event.

“Dean…?” The air seemed charged with electricity, loaded with palpable tension.

The blond hunter slowly turned his head back to his brother. Sam looked completely broken – dishevelled even. Without realising it both brothers stood on the edge. One wrong move and they would fall into the abyss.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t even know if he should try. This was beyond his level of expertise.

He rubbed his eyes again feeling the weight of the last decade and a half bearing down on him. People had told him what Sam was and Dean had vehemently denied it. He hadn’t believed it. God, he didn’t want to believe it. Even Sam had told him he was akin to evil. Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth trying to control his messy thoughts and emotions. How long had Sam known about his tainted blood? How long had he kept this secret? Numerous questions assaulted Dean’s mind and he didn’t have a damn answer for any of them.

“Dean?” Sam repeated.

He sounded six years old again. Small, frightened, and needing his big brother’s unconditional love. There was so much pain in that one word, and it wasn’t because of the bruises. Fear, loathing, guilt, self-hatred, shame and finally recrimination. Pleading eyes gazed at him asking for forgiveness, asking for acceptance, asking that his older brother didn’t walk away from him. That he didn’t see him as a monster.

But was he a monster? He had demon blood. The Demon’s blood. The Demon they had lost both their parents to. The Demon who had started this whole damn crusade. Dean let a shaky breath out.

The truth was Dean didn’t see a monster. All he saw was Sam looking at him with those emotionally charged eyes that could melt even the hardest heart. All he saw was the kid he had raised. The kid he had taken care of for twenty-four years. The kid he had tucked into bed for more nights than he could even remember. The kid he had comforted when he was scared or ill. The kid he had spent his whole life protecting.

His baby brother.

Dean didn’t see demon blood. He didn’t see evil coursing through Sam’s veins. How could he? He knew Sam inside out and there wasn’t an evil bone in his body.

Purposefully, Dean walked back to him and placed a tentative hand on his cheek. Hazel eyes risked meeting green. They wanted assurance. They wanted Dean to tell him he was still his brother, that this didn’t change a damn thing and it didn’t. Not in Dean’s mind. Sam was still Sam. Nothing could ever change that.

“Dean?” Sam barely breathed his name, scared, solemn eyes gazing at him.

Dean didn’t hesitate any longer.

This didn’t mean a damn thing.

He couldn’t see Sam as a monster. He never had. Not even when Gordon had told him he was one. Not even when his father had told him he might have to kill Sam. Not even when Meg had possessed Sam and sent him on a killing spree that would have given Ted Bundy a run for his money if Dean hadn’t stopped him.

The kid on his knees in front of him, bruised and broken was still the same Sammy Dean had pulled out of the fire twenty-three and a half years ago. Nothing could change that.

“C’mon little brother,” Dean said softly, meeting Sam’s perplexed eyes, “time to get out of Dodge.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. It was enough. Sam let out the breath he had been holding and Dean felt all the dark emotions leave his body.

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Lady Luck

“I can’t let you leave with him.”

Bryman’s voice sounded tight as he forced it out of his constricted throat. It was like watching water trying to push its way out of an obstructed hosepipe. Dean recognised – and heard – the fear in his voice but he also saw the reluctance in his face. He was a man facing an impossible task but Dean also realised his was a man who would complete his mission – no matter what the cost was to himself – and that was frightening. It made him unpredictable.

“Try and stop us asshole,” Joshua growled, his shotgun levelled at the man.

Whilst Dean was grateful for the show of loyalty, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was feigned. This had gone from a simple case of demon abduction to learning Sam had demon DNA… blood… Whatever the hell it was. Either way it wasn’t quite the same game any more. The rules had changed and Dean wasn’t sure how far Joshua’s loyalty stretched. Could the demonologist overlook this? Could Joshua put his own troubled past to rest and see Sam as the person he was despite his demonic baptising – could Joshua forget how the supernatural world had screwed him over and separate Sam from that? Dean wasn’t sure. His own life had been touched by evil too but he could overcome it – but then Sam was his brother. Joshua had no ties to them other than his respect for John. It made Dean extremely wary.

“You have no idea what we’re facing here,” Bryman maintained, a slightly wild look in his eyes. “If they get hold of Sam – the things he can do will destroy the world! You have to understand why we’re doing this! We’re protecting humanity! We’re not monsters.”

Dean turned slowly but his expression was murderous. This guy was really pissing him off. Dean was quickly reaching the end of his tether. He had come so close to losing Sam twice in the last month. All this talk of murdering his kid brother wasn’t doing much to curtail his rising temper. He snarled a low sound in his throat.

“You touch my brother and I swear to god I’ll kill you.” It was a threat Dean fully intended to keep.

“Damien’s hardly defenceless,” Charlie muttered through clenched teeth, the heel of his hand firmly pressed into his shoulder.

Blood was seeping through his shirt, trickling between his fingers, and his face was far too pale. Dean knew the kid was on a downward spiral. He needed a hospital. The limb itself was pulled lifelessly across his knees, the palm facing upwards, unmoving. No amount of physio was going to fix the joint; Charlie’s arm was pretty much screwed. Dean knew enough about injuries to recognise that. He felt guilty for all of about two seconds. After all, the bastard had pointed a gun in Sam’s face. To Dean that was justification enough to blow the kid’s head off. Losing an arm seemed a small price to pay under the circumstances.

Turning back to his younger brother, Dean bent down, his own skin pulling tightly over his bruised ribs. Ignoring the pang of dull throbbing that raced through his torso Dean cautiously threaded his arms around Sam’s waist and hefted Sam onto his feet. Adrenaline was the best natural pain killer in the world but when it wore off you knew about it. Right now Dean was starting to feel throbs and aches and, without any shadow of a doubt, he knew they would escalate into full blown agony later. For the time being Dean ignored it, pushing his pain threshold as high as he possibly could and focused on Sam.

He was careful to avoid Sam’s strapped up shoulder but it made it difficult to get his dead weight brother onto his feet. Sam was barely managing to make anything work.

After a moment of struggling Bobby strode over, his rifle still sweeping between Bryman and the downed Charlie. Dean noticed a brief glance shared between the mechanic and demonologist. No words were passed but Joshua gave a slight inclination of his head before returning his gaze – and shotgun – to the two men.

Evidently satisfied that Joshua could hold his own against them, Bobby moved to Sam’s other side taking the additional weight. The younger man’s legs trembled beneath him as he straightened and Dean felt the tremor run through his brother’s frame as he tested the jelly-like limbs, hissing in pain.

“You OK?” Dean queried, eyes searching the younger man’s contorted face.

“Little dizzy…” Sam barely mumbled through cracked lips.

“Your legs…?” Dean was worried maybe there was something more as to why Sam couldn’t stand. Was his brother more hurt than he was letting on?

Sam seemed to read his anxiety.

“Just… just give me a minute…” Sam gave him a wry smile which faded into a wince as he shifted between his feet as if trying to figure out which limb would hold his lanky body up better.

Dean would have given him all day if they had time. They didn’t however. Time was the one thing they never seemed to have enough of. Their entire lives were a perpetual countdown.

In spite of that, Dean allowed Sam the second he needed to right himself. Sam finally managed to get some traction in his muscles and stood on his own but Dean didn’t remove his grip yet. No point in running before he could even walk.

“Dean…” Bryman started. He swallowed a little uneasily as Dean turned his hard gaze to him. When he continued he seemed a little unsure of himself – not that Dean blamed him. He was extremely angry and he was behind the barrel of a lethal weapon. “You have to understand that while Sam lives they will try to use him to release the Fallen. He is the last of the Watchers Azazel baptised! Even if I let you go now, others will come. The Order will not let him live. There’s too much at stake.”

“Then I’ll kill each one of them too!” Dean snapped. “Every single person you send to kill my brother I will take out!”

It wasn’t an idle threat. Dean meant every word of it. He was tired of playing by the rules. No one else did. Why they hell should he?

“Don’t tell me you got started without me.”

Dean half turned to the new voice, retaining his hold on Sam but bringing his shotgun up. Paroxysmal waves of panic hammered beneath his bruised ribs and sweat was trickling down the back of his neck, tingling as the cool evening breeze dragged her ethereal fingers across his skin. He didn’t know the guy and that worried the hell out of him. Was he one of Bryman’s asshole parade? Sam said two others had gone into the house but Joshua hadn’t found anyone when he had scouted around…

Shifting on his feet Dean subconsciously shielded Sam with his own body letting Bobby take the remaining weight. It was a move so familiar, so ingrained into his genetic make-up, that it was as reflexive as breathing. Dean didn’t even notice he had done it.

“Jacob.” Bryman growled the name like it was poison. Dean frowned deeply. Not a friend then… there was too much hatred in Bryman’s voice to suggest he even liked the guy, let alone had brought him here willingly.

The man merely smiled as he leaned idly against the railings of the porch. He was tall with shaggy long brown hair and he was coated in blood like he had stepped into a shower of crimson. It reminded Dean of the scene from Carrie. The thick viscous liquid was matted into his hair and darkened his shirt but he seemed oblivious to his injuries.

“Dean… he’s OK… he helped me…” Sam said sluggishly, a trembling hand reaching out for his arm.

The older Winchester glanced back at his brother and then at the stranger. He might have helped Sam but this guy was OK when Dean said he was OK. Not a moment before. Dean wasn’t exactly floating on trust right now.

Jacob grinned broadly.

“Thanks Sammy. Nice to know you’ve got my back!” He was twisting a long-handled ivory-hilted dagger in his hands idly. The gesture reminded Dean of a poisonous spider waiting for an insect to fly into its web so it could eat it.

Flicking his head over his shoulder, Dean didn’t miss Sam’s frown and the uncertainty in that one expression. Whoever Sam thought this guy was previously he was now having doubts.

His attention was diverted as the man pushed off the railing and paced the porch, taping the blade of the knife against his palm. There was something about him that had put Dean’s guard up immediately – despite Sam’s protestations. Perhaps it was the slight upward curl of his lips or the confident swagger as he moved – he wasn’t sure. Either way Sam’s conviction that this guy was ‘ok’ was quickly slipping. Dean didn’t trust this asshole at all. His spider senses were tingling like crazy.

“So this is what Escott sends to defend humanity?” Jacob glanced between Charlie, who was still on his knees blood pouring between his fingers, and Bryman. There was scorn in his expression. “A has-been solider and his green-as-grass sidekick. I’m almost offended.”

“I didn’t realise you were here, Jacob,” Bryman muttered caustically. “I would have rolled out the red carpet. It’s not every day we have a celebrity amongst us.”

Jacob merely smiled at him, ignoring the bitterness directed at him. Water off a ducks back… more like fire off a petrol doused house. Calm before the storm came to mind and it wasn’t a storm Dean wanted to be involved in. He wanted to grab Sam and leave. Let these assholes play a battle of words. Dean had lost interest in the whole affair. However, Dean realised there was no way Bryman was letting him leave with Sam. Surprisingly, that sentiment extended to Jacob as well.

“You’re playing with my toy, James,” Jacob said pleasantly, “I want him back.”

Bryman squinted at the man stood before him as if seeing him for the first time and then swivelled his eyes to Sam.

“Your toy? And I just thought you had a thing for lost causes.”

“It’s a terrible flaw in my personality.” Jacob sniffed impassively, examining his fingernails apathetically, “I’m trying to rectify it.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bryman demanded, but there was a hint of caution in his voice. Dean didn’t think Bryman was afraid of Jacob but he was definitely wary. His cautious stance and flickering gaze put Dean’s guard up. “If Escott finds out you’re meddling in the Order’s business –”

“–Escott won’t live the week out.” Jacob interrupted quietly, his eyes locked on Bryman. “Neither will your Order.”

The Watcher moved slowly but purposefully down the steps of the cabin, his eyes on Sam, the knife held loosely in his left hand. They weren’t sympathetic eyes or comforting. They were hard, frightening, and dark. Dean felt Sam shift tensely behind him. He didn’t need to see his little brother’s face to know he was anxious. He could feel it radiating off him like a raging inferno. It only heightened his own concerns.

What the hell was going on? And why the hell did they always seem to get caught up in something that had an epic end-of-the-world ring to it?

The older man frowned deeply at Jacob’s words but there was a flicker of incredulity in his face.

“You think you can take the Order on? You think you can defeat the chosen of Enoch? You? A pathetic, broken piece of shit?” Bryman snorted derisively. “You haven’t got it in you to take us down single-handily.”

Jacob stared at him for a moment and then threw his head back. He laughed – and not just a chuckle or a giggle but a belly deep laugh that sent chills through Dean.

“The chosen of Enoch?” Jacob demanded once he had gained control of himself. “Is that what you’re telling yourselves these days?” His lips twisted sardonically. “I’ve never heard anything so sad in my life. You’re nothing more than ants bowing before gods.”

Bryman raised his gun and growled an oath under his breath. Jacob shifted his gaze lazily to the man.

“Gonna shoot me, James?” Bryman faulted momentarily, the gun trembling in his hand for a second before he tightened his grip on the metal. Jacob held his arms out invitingly, the knife still clutched in his hand. “Take your best shot.”

There was no humour in Jacob’s tone now. It was sharp and hard like uncut granite.

“Give me a reason not to,” Bryman growled in reply but Dean heard the waver in his voice. “I know what you are,” he added quietly, but his voice carried across the open space as if he had shouted it.

What you are? Dean didn’t know what Bryman meant by that but he figured it wasn’t good. He shifted his own weapon in his hands, reassured by the weight of it.

Jacob merely smiled coldly.

“You’re in my way, James.”

Jacob flicked his hand upwards and Bryman’s feet were torn from the ground. His anger was quickly replaced with surprise as he flew through the air as if someone had a rope around his waist and had pulled it quickly. Bryman was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Dean glanced back at his brother. Sam’s gaze had followed Bryman’s impromptu flying lesson but had come back to Jacob. He was studying the Watcher intently. A myriad of emotions brushed his face; confusion, anxiety and then, eventually, understanding.

“Bael…” Sam said finally, his voice hitching, his eyes widening.

Dean had never heard such fear in his brother’s voice before and that frightened him. Sam wasn’t easily scared. He found himself wondering once more what the demon had done to Sam whilst he had been missing.

“Bael?” Dean mouthed the word, unsure if he had actually managed to vocalise any sounds at all.

God could this situation get any frigging worse?

Jacob – or Bael even – smirked callously.

“Ding, ding, ding! And the points go to my favourite contestant, Sammy Winchester.” He gave him a sarcastic smile. “Congratulations. Do you want the speed boat or the body swap?”

Body swap? What the hell? Dean flicked his head over his shoulder to look at his brother. Sam’s jaw was trembling slightly and he seemed to sag in Bobby’s arms. What was going on? Dean’s overwrought brain was struggling to keep up with the Sammy Winchester chat show. Demon blood, body swapping… Dean was confused. He felt like he had come into a conversation mid-flow and tried to put in his ten cents worth only to find out they were talking about something completely different.

Jacob/Bael suddenly seemed to notice Dean for the first time. He gave him a lopsided smile before he draped his arms over the railings of the porch. It was the easy expression of a man who did not fear anything.

“Well, well, well. Dean Winchester. This is a surprise. How you doin’ kiddo? You enjoying your year? Got any plans to go to Vegas? See the world? Maybe all those damn tourist dives that everyone harps on about? I don’t know, I’ve never been on a terminal contract to Hell. I have no idea what you crazy kids do for shits and giggles these days.”

Dean snarled. “We exorcise scum bags like you.”

Bael raised a brow.

“Touché.” He smiled and then sighed mournfully. “In the good old days it was different. Women, alcohol, regular torture sessions… seriously, humans invented worse things than even I could have dreamed up! The middle ages were one big party.”

“Yeah… I bet you were a real Van Wilder,” Dean ground out.

Bael smirked balefully and raised the ivory-hilted knife to point at Dean.

“I’ll get back to you Deanie. We’ve got a lot of shit to discuss, but our business can wait for later. I got bigger fish to fry right now.” The demon turned back to Sam and positively grinned. “You know, my offer still stands, Sammy. Take it. It’s less painful than the alternative. Either way – willingly or not – you are going to do what I ask.”

Dean growled under his breath. “He’s not doing a damn thing you ask! Back off!”

“Or what? You’ll make me pay?” Bael rolled his eyes.

“How ’bout I just blow your friggin’ head off?” Dean snapped, fingering the trigger of the shotgun.

“Harsh words. I think you hurt my feelings a little.” The demon possessing Jacob flashed a grin. “If I had feelings of course.”

“I could just pack your ass off to Hell.”

“That would be a neat trick, Dean,” Bael said absently. “Many have tried – and failed.”

“William Hayes succeeded,” Dean countered.

Bael scratched at his cheek, his brow raising.

“Wow. You really have done some reading on this. Yes, Dean, William Hayes succeeded. But he was nothing like you. He had power that you couldn’t even comprehend and yet he still ended up doing time downstairs. It broke him, completely and utterly. That’s what Hell will do to you. A shell of your former self. After a while you’ll stop remembering who you are and why you’re there. You’ll forget everyone who ever mattered to you, everyone you ever gave a shit about. It will all just fade… like the mid morning dew–“ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Only more flaming chasm of pain and despair.”

Dean shrugged negligently but he couldn’t prevent the sliver of fear that ran through him. He really didn’t need to be thinking about his eternal vacation to Hell – not now, not ever. Dean would willingly go to Hell to keep his brother alive but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared of his fate or that he didn’t worry what would happen to him downstairs. Physically shaking himself, Dean forced himself to focus on the present. None of them would even have a future if they didn’t make it out of this one.

“I’ve already got my ticket,” Dean replied with a level voice. There was no way in hell he was letting this son of a bitch know his words were affecting him. “Don’t think it will matter much if I go now or in a year’s time.”

Bael roared with laughter.

“Oh Deanie, Deanie! Really, that is the funniest damn thing I’ve heard in… oh I don’t know? A century or so at least. Don’t you know the house always wins? And in this case, I hold all the damn cards.”

“I won’t let you roam free, Bael.” Bryman seemed to find his voice suddenly, cutting through Dean’s comeback. He had made it to his feet but he was swaying like a leaf in the breeze. Blood was trickling freely from his left nostril and he held his body awkwardly as he hunched over in his attempt to straighten. Bael’s pitching had evidently hurt the man.

The demon slowly twisted his head toward Bryman. It was freaky to see so much rage emanating from Jacob’s pale blue eyes.

“And how exactly do you plan on stopping me, James? Gonna ask me politely? Shoot me? Douse me in holy water? Try and exorcise me?” Bael laughed. “Your beloved leader obviously isn’t teaching his students what they need to learn. None of that crap works on a thing like me.”

His words permeated the air like poison. Bryman shifted his gaze to Sam.

“He can stop you.”

Bael raised a brow and smirked.

“You think he wants to help you? Your Order tried to kill him!” Bael gaze turned inwards suddenly, his eyes distant, “Jacob wasn’t happy about it either – he tried to stop you from taking out that generation.” He drew out the name of the man he was possessing, over emphasising it. He shuddered violently, bright eyes shifting to Bryman. “Man are his memories a scary place! Did you find anything to bury of your friends after he ventilated them?”

“McGill and Amory?” Bryman breathed incredulously. “Jacob killed them?”

Dean himself reeled at that piece of information.

“Seems he had the foresight to realise that Sammy here could be the only way to stop me – decided to take out the hunters before they caught up with the prey.” He glanced down at his lean frame and studied his hands. “I like this body but Jacob isn’t a patch on the kid. I can smell his power from here.” He broke off and smiled. “And his blood… Azazel? Man, I knew that guy was far too clever for his own good. Although I’m not entirely sure our beloved leader realised himself what he had unleashed. A normal Watcher would never be subject to possession but with our blood…? Well it tips the scales somewhat.”

“You think I’m really gonna let you unleash that bastard on the world?” Bryman spat caustically.

“I don’t think you have much say in the matter, really,” Bael replied grimly.

“The Order won’t roll over for you Bael.”

“This is not a game, boy!” Bael snapped. “I’ve walked this earth since she was infant, suckling on the universe’s breast! I have fought your Order over and over and I am still here. You think you can best the Hierarchy – best me?” He snorted incredulously. “The days are long gone when you had any power over us, James. Enoch’s Order is failing and all your precious leader is doing is sending each one of you into the fire to burn.”

“I won’t let you take him,” Bryman responded with a stubborn shake of his head. “I’ll kill him before I let you turn that bastard loose on the world.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped angrily. “No one is killing my brother.”

But Dean’s words were ignored. Bael had thrown his head back and was laughing manically. Dean couldn’t help but flinch at the sound. It was cold.

“Do you think you can? You think with his abilities he would ever allow you to kill him? You know better than any here, James, what the kid is capable of. Even on your best day you would still be a fraction of what he is.”

“You think I came here alone?” Bryman spat.

Bael scratched at a blood stained cheek with the tip of the knife.

“Your little friends won’t be joining us, I’m afraid,” he said, stifling a bored yawn.

“You killed them,” Bryman replied flatly. Dean had to hand it to Bryman. If that news surprised or distressed him he never let it show.

“You say killed, I say ripped their damn hearts out of their chest. Semantics…” Bael smiled, “wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

“You son of a bitch!” the man growled, his façade slipping like an ill fitting mask, rage flashing in his face. Bael’s gaze was lowered, however. He was using the dagger’s point to pick dirt from under his fingernails, Jacob’s dark hair hiding his face. Even so, it was obvious the bastard was smirking.

“Life’s all about survival, kid. They tried to kill me so I killed them. Couldn’t have that now, could I? If it’s any consolation they put up a pretty good fight. I didn’t realise Escott taught short distance sprinting but even I was impressed by their speed.” Bryman snarled a litany of curses under his breath but it only seemed to spur the demon on further. When Bael glanced up he was positively grinning. “I’m pretty certain there’s enough of them left to bury. Although I wouldn’t leave them in the woods too. Don’t want local wildlife making them into their next meal.”

“No… no…” Charlie muttered under his breath, his pale face seemingly more ashen with Bael’s revelation. “You can’t have killed them… no…!”

“Aww,” Bael’s tone was mocking. “Where they your friends Charlie?” The demon snorted. “I think your apprentice might squirt a few tears here, Bryman.” Bael turned back to Charlie, his lips pulled into a smirk. “Trust me when I tell you they are in a better place, kid.”

Bryman shook his head as if he could refute Bael’s words but Dean knew the demon was telling the truth. Joshua had said there were footprints around the back of the house. It was obvious who they belonged to now. Even Dean had to cringe at Bael’s description of how he had killed them. He didn’t like these men but he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“I don’t care who you are,” Bryman said but he seemed to lose some of the bite he had previously had, “I won’t let you release Semyaza.”

The demon snorted.

“For millennia your Order has tried to hold us back, has tried to stop us becoming what we should be. Azazel destroyed the last batch of Watchers, tainting them with his own blood, forcing Enoch’s followers to act against the things they were set up to protect. Your time has come and gone, James. This is the beginning of the new world! Your archaic organisation no longer has a place in it. I plan to see to your downfall personally and when I’ve finished with you I’m going to rip this stinking planet apart piece by piece. And Sam here is going to help me.”

Dean had really had enough. He didn’t care what Hell wanted with his brother any more. He was tired of playing. He was tired of listening to Bael and Bryman parrying words. Sam needed a doctor, a hospital, a goddamn surgeon. Dean wasn’t prepared to wait for them to finish this little conversation.

Dean shot, fired, and meant it to kill.

Bael was quick however – impossibly quick – but not quick enough. He shifted, twisting his borrowed body to the side and caught the bullet high in his shoulder rather than in his forehead where Dean had aimed. He jerked backwards with the force but stayed on his feet. Dean knew bullets wouldn’t do a damn thing to a demon but he had expected some kind of reaction. He didn’t get it. Bael merely righted himself before he lowered his gaze to the smouldering wound. Had he been fully human he would have gone down.

“Huh. Look at that.” He poked at it with morbid fascination, thick blood coating his fingers. “Rock salt stung like a bitch but man that hurts! I forgot how pleasurable pain can be.”

He raised his eyes slowly but they were no longer Jacob’s blue sapphires. Cold, black abysses met Dean’s green irises and they screamed rage.

Dean felt his feet leave the ground abruptly. Wind whistled passed his ears as he defied Newton’s laws of gravity and flew through the air like a human-shaped dart. It wasn’t the first time something supernatural had thrown him through the air like this but the speed and power behind Bael’s telekinesis was frightening. Dean cringed and prepared himself for the pain as the ground hurtled closer towards him. This was going to hurt like a bitch.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Dean’s hip jarred and the shock reverberated up his spine as he slammed into the floor. He was certain he had broken at least half the bones in his body as he lay on the ground winded and throbbing with a multitude of pain.

Pushing himself onto shaky limbs Dean could do nothing but watch helplessly as Jacob/Bael swept across the lawn towards Sam. It was like watching a lioness coming in for the jugular of a downed antelope. It was brutal.

But Dean had forgotten he wasn’t alone. He was so used to it being just him and Sam that he actually startled as Bobby and Joshua both released shots at the demon possessed man. Their bullets hit wide of the target but they continued to release rounds.

It wasn’t enough.

Bael was moving with alarming speed – speed that Dean hadn’t imagined the man possessed. He removed the mechanic from the picture as if he was nothing more than a minor irritation.

A brief inclination of the demon’s head and Bobby was driven onto his knees clutching his stomach, yelping in agony. The mechanic lowered his head onto his chest, both hands wrapped around his stomach as a blood-curdling yell stole from tight lips. Dean couldn’t see the older hunter’s face but he knew there was pain etched into every inch of his face. He knew because Bael had done the same thing to him and whatever it was hurt.

Joshua took longer to go down.

His lips twitched as he tried to resist whatever the hell Bael was doing to him but his gaze remained hard and cold. He couldn’t hold back for long however. Joshua’s hand moved to his abdomen, white knuckles pressed against the flesh there as his brow lined and his eyes blinked frantically. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down the side of his face but all the will in the world could not stop the demon’s wrath. Joshua finally relented and doubled over. The cry that came from the man sounded so unnatural that Dean couldn’t believe it had come from the demonologist. Joshua clamped his arms around his midriff as an unseen hurt raced through his tall frame, every inch of him screaming agony. Then, without warning, liquid sprayed from his mouth like a geyser. It was unrelenting and completely violent. The force of it made his body snap back and forth as the fluid expelled itself in spasmodic, paroxysmal waves of torture.

Dean had thought it was vomit but a trail of crimson that had escaped from the corner of Joshua’s mouth and was trickling down the side of his jaw told a different story. It was blood. Dean’s heart froze in his chest as Joshua gurgled and coughed, drowning in his own fluids. Three heaves of projectile blood vomiting and Josh was on his knees, one trembling hand planted into the stained grass, the other curled around his stomach as blood continued to spew down his chin. Pitiful whimpers and pain-ridden gasps were mixed within the choking.

“You see, this is what happens when you interfere,” Bael said derisively.

His black eyes were shining brightly and his mouth was turned up at the corners. He moved towards Joshua and gave him a patronising pat on the back as he coughed a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

“That’s disgusting.” he said, wrinkling his nose as he straightening from his stooped position. Joshua raised his head slowly, bloodshot eyes glaring at the demon.

“What the… hell did you do to me…” Joshua gulped, his voice cracking as he spoke. His throat must have been raw because he was barely managing to articulate any sounds and the ones he did were rasping and hacking. “You… ah god…” He swallowed hard, blood dripping from his lips as he dropped his head forward onto his chest.

Bael grinned.

“God? You can call me Bael.”

Helplessness washed over Dean as he watched his friends suffering. He had to stop this. Bael was going to kill them all. He glanced back at his brother, fear and panic impregnating the air.

Sam was staggering backwards, fumbling in the grass for Bobby’s rifle but his leaden limbs were sluggish. Dean knew he wouldn’t reach the weapon before the demon reached him.

He hated being right.

Bael was on him in a split second. In one swift movement Sam was dragged off the floor by his throat and suspended in mid-air under the demon’s grip. Not an easy task considering Sam’s freakish height.

“No…” Dean murmured as he watched Bael choking his brother. “No!”

This was not happening. Dean was not letting Bael do this again. He had spent the last eleven hours searching for Sam. Eleven panicked filled hours hoping he was alive. Dean hadn’t come this far to let Sam die at this demon’s hands.

It took all of his will – more than he possessed – to make his hurt body move. Dean forced himself onto his feet, ignoring the pull on his ribs, ignoring the pain in his side, ignoring the tremble of his jelly-like legs, ignoring everything other than Sam. He staggered as he stumbled forward, knees almost touching the ground but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Sam was twitching in Bael’s grasp, desperately trying to pull air into his oxygen starved lungs but the demon wasn’t giving him an inch. Heavy eyes were being pulled into unconsciousness and it was more than Dean could stand. He could not watch Sam die again. Not this time. Not ever.

With nothing more than sheer determination Dean pulled the knife from his ankle sheath with shaky fingers and, with the dregs of his depleted energy, he leapt at the demon like a wild animal. Bael was quicker. He saw Dean coming and unlike Dean his wounds hadn’t slowed him down.

Dean didn’t see the knife leave his hand, but he felt the cold kiss of metal as it plunged into his stomach. There was no pain at first just an uncomfortable sensation and then his brain and pain receptors caught up. It was like two express trains racing down the same stretch of track and the collision was horrendous. It stole his breath, made his head roll, and sent a wave of nausea so violent that his stomach contracted painfully. Everything went fuzzy for a moment, flickering like a light bulb on its last legs. Dean didn’t realise it but he had stopped running. He was sure he had stopped breathing. The pain… it was like nothing he had ever felt before. Cold metal suddenly felt white hot and seared his insides like acid. He could hear Sam… screaming? Was he screaming or was that his own voice? Dean wasn’t sure.

“Oh god…” he murmured, wide-eyed, unable to take his gaze from the surreal sight of a knife protruding from his abdomen.

Then he was falling. He sank to his knees heavily, the dead weight of his six foot one frame crushing his kneecaps into the grassy ground. He barely registered that pain. It was no more than a minor irritation. Slumping forward, his legs tucked underneath his bottom, he sluggishly lowered his eyes to the knife and wrapped a shaking hand around the hilt. Every instinct in his body told him to pull it out but he knew that was a mistake. A hazy memory of his father explaining about foreign objects came floating into his mind.

Bael’s face appeared in front of his flickering vision suddenly. Black eyes smiling.

“Well, this is a damn mess, isn’t it? Guess this means I get to cash in that deal early huh?”

Dean frowned at the demon wondering what the hell he meant by that but a surge of agonising pain fractured his thoughts.

Bael glanced over his shoulder to where Sam was struggling to get to his feet before bringing his gaze back to Dean. The older hunter dragged his eyes to meet his brother’s. For an impossibly long moment the two men just stared at one another. There was so much said in that look. More than words could ever achieve.

“No…” Sam’s lips mouthed the word but Dean couldn’t hear his voice. In fact he wasn’t sure if Sam had actually managed to speak out loud.

“If you have any goodbye’s to say to little Sammy, I’d do them now.” Dean brought his heavy eyes back to the demon’s face. Bael was still smirking. “Your brother, Dean…? He’s mine.” He leaned forward so that he was close to Dean’s ear. His breath was hot and fetid against his clammy skin. Dean wanted to pull away but his vision was wavering so badly that it was taking all of his effort to even remain on his knees. When the demon spoke it was in a soft whisper. “I told you, Dean. The house always wins. See you in Hell, kid.”

Then everything went black.

Chapter Twenty-Four:

The Watcher

Sam watched helplessly as the demon threw the knife. He barely saw it leave his hand – barely saw anything other than the hilt protruding from his brother’s abdomen. He couldn’t take his eyes off the surreal image.

Dean’s gaze lowered to the knife, his eyes wide and his expression shocked.

“Oh god…” Dean muttered, his hand fumbling blindly for the weapon.

Time seemed to slow, stop even, as Dean’s legs collapsed under him. Sam ignored the spots parading in front of his eyes, rapidly blinking the haze from his sight as he tried to push himself onto his feet.

“Dean!” He cried his brother’s name out but it didn’t sound like his voice.

The demon moved towards Dean, smirking at Sam as he took measured steps and crouched down, his lips near to his older brother’s ear. Sam tried to rise but his legs wouldn’t function. His desperation was increasing with every passing second.

This could not be happening.

Joshua and Bobby were on the ground still. The demonologist was no longer vomiting blood but he was still bent over, scarlet trickling down his chin as he wheezed painful breaths through a constricted windpipe. Bryman was out for the count and Charlie was lurching on his knees like a drunken sailor.

Sam was alone.

He was the only man left and he was barely able to stand, let alone fight a super-pissed off demon.

Desperately, Sam crawled across the floor, half on the balls of his feet, his left hand on the ground steadying his lurching body. His limbs protested at the movement but he didn’t allow himself the luxury of feeling the pain. He needed to see if his brother was breathing. He needed to check he was still alive. He hadn’t come this far to watch Dean die now.

“Get the hell away from him, you son of a bitch!” Sam growled as the demon straightened from his crouch.

Dean raised rheumy eyes to Bael, his lips parted in surprise before he listed sideways and sagged into the grass.

Sam was still moving. He had no idea how he was even on his feet but he was still moving. He almost reached his brother. He almost got a hand to Dean’s foot. Almost. But Winchester bad luck never cut them a damn break. This time wasn’t any different.

Bael glared into Sam’s hazel orbs as he dragged him backwards by his dislocated shoulder. To say it was painful would have been the understatement of the century. It felt like it had been severed from his body with a dull knife. Sam halted immediately as the limb was yanked cruelly. He couldn’t prevent the yelp of pain as white hot agony tore through the top of his torso and down his arm. Waves of dizziness and nausea raced through him. He almost blacked out. He was close. He could see the darkness hurtling towards him, getting closer and closer until he was nearly shrouded in nothingness.

And then Bael released him.

Sam dropped unceremoniously on to the ground, his hip cracking as he made contact with the hard floor. Automatically, he cradled the injured arm to his chest, trying to dispel the agonising throb of damaged ligaments and muscles. His shoulder was on fire. It hurt so badly that Sam wished he could tear it off just so he didn’t have to feel the pain any longer. Gulping spasmodically he attempted to breathe through it, but it was a foolish hope to think he could. His entire right side was raging.

“Times up, kid.” Bael paced the space in front of him. “I’m tired of playing the game. I want action, the big showdown, the final judgement and all that crap.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder to where Dean was curled on his side, unmoving. The demon’s gaze followed Sam’s.

“You really think he can save you? That you can save him? This isn’t a fairy tale Sammy, there is no happily ever after. I’ve lost everything – everyone I ever cared about tonight. Why the hell should I let you have the one thing you give a shit about?”

Sam wanted to point out that he hadn’t killed the female demon, Eleksha, but thought better of it. Bael wasn’t exactly in a forgiving mood and arguing with him wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Sam’s only concern at the moment was Dean. His brother needed help and, whilst Bael was throwing meaningless words around, Dean was bleeding out. Sam’s stomach threatened to turn inside out at that thought.

“I won’t help you,” Sam maintained with a stubborn shake of his head, his eyes locked on his brother’s back. Dean hadn’t moved since he collapsed and Sam’s fear was growing.

He was brought back to his current predicament ruthlessly. Bael seized the dislocated shoulder joint, pushing solid fingers into the swollen muscle. Sam was sure he heard the bones snapping beneath the unrelenting grip. He bit down on his bottom lip until he tasted iron but he couldn’t stop the tortured sob that flew out of his mouth.

His left hand moved before he even thought about it, grappling at the demon’s wrist, trying in vain to unhinge him. It was a waste of energy. Bael’s death grip was unshakeable.

“Stop…” Sam wheezed between whimpering breaths.

“You can’t stop me, Sam.” Bael wrenched him forward so his face was less than an inch from Sam’s, his nails digging further into the inflamed flesh. “You could have saved your brother but now…? Now, you will all die.”

The pressure on his shoulder was so intense that Sam’s own body reacted instinctively. He shoved into the demon with such force that Bael lost his footing and slipped onto his back.

Sam was moving before Bael had even touched the ground. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he rolled onto his left side hoping he could lever himself off the ground. Bael was fast to react however and was already on his feet, looming over him.

There was no way Sam could fight Bael. He was stronger, quicker, and he was unrelenting. He risked a side-long glance towards his brother and felt his fear rising. Dean should have been up by now. There wasn’t a chance in hell his brother would let him face this demon alone. If Dean wasn’t up and shooting his mouth off then that could only mean one thing – Dean couldn’t get up. That thought alone had Sam’s sight wavering again. Dean couldn’t be…

No.

Sam refused to believe his brother was dead.

Bael seemed to read his internal conflict and grinned.

“Last chance, Sammy. Join me. I mean, what the hell else do you have left, kid? Your brother is almost worm food and your so-called friends…” Bael gestured at Bobby and Joshua with a negligent flick of his hand. “You think they give a crap about you? You think they will throw themselves on the fire to save your tainted ass? When it comes down to it Sam, they will hit the deck running and you’ll be left all alone to face the big, bad world.”

Sam swivelled his gaze towards the two hunters. Bael was right. Bobby and Joshua would never be there for him – not like Dean. Once his brother was gone… Who the hell did he have left? No father, no mother and soon no brother. Sam was tired of trying to fight a losing battle.

Bael moved closer and knelt down in front of Sam.

“People lie, Sammy. They tell you what you want to hear. Truth is you’ll always be alone because of what you are. But if you help me now…? All that goes away. All the pain, the suffering… finally you can rest. You can stop running. Don’t you want to stop running?” He turned his gaze to Dean briefly. “Don’t you want your brother to have a chance of normality too? Let him live the last eleven months of his life peacefully, without fear? Without worrying about you?”

Sam wanted that for Dean. He wanted it so badly it was like a physical ache but Sam wasn’t prepared to screw up humanity for it. What was the point of letting his brother live his life for eleven months if the world was crawling with demons? Dean would still hunt – he didn’t know how to do anything else. It would change nothing.

The young man shook his head.

He had lost his parents, his girlfriend, his life for this cause. And for what? Because of something that was done to him when he was a baby! Something that he had no control over. The Order thought he was dangerous – the Order that was set up to protect children like him, Watchers like him. Sam was sick and tired of being hunted. He was sick and tired of having his life controlled by external forces and he was angry as hell that his brother was going to suffer because of it all.

Guilt, grief, and overwhelming sorrow slammed into him like a hammer to the face but it was quickly replaced with anger. Sam was tired of playing the victim. If he did what Bael wanted him to do he was dead. If he didn’t do it he was also dead. Either way the odds weren’t in his favour. Sam was going to die no matter what he said, and if he was going down he wasn’t going down easily.

“No… no!” Sam ground out between clenched teeth. He wasn’t sure what he was even saying no to anymore. Bael’s hold over Dean, releasing Semyaza, Jacob’s possession…

Sam just kept repeating the word like a litany. Whatever Bael wanted, Sam wasn’t going to do it.

“No! No! NO!”

“You think this is a goddamn democracy kid?” Bael said as he absently kicked Dean’s leg. He raised a brow at the lack of response from the older hunter. “Guess it’s time me and your brother got going but this was real fun, kiddo. We should definitely do it again.”

Sam felt his whole body contract with fury. The bastard was grinning. Grinning! Dean was bleeding to death and the bastard was frigging grinning.

His body was shaking, but not with pain, not with fear, but with deep-seated fury. Sam had never felt such a raw emotion. It rolled through him like a twister hitting an unsuspecting town.

Even looking back at the event afterwards, Sam had no idea what happened. He could never describe how he unlocked the box in his head, but something in the back of his mind snapped. Twenty-four years of hurt and anger broke like a wire being pulled between two pairs of pliers. It came out of him in a freak adrenaline rush; unstoppable and insurmountable. Sam yelled a roar of pure anger and frustration.

Bael’s brow dropped and then his eyes widened. The look of horror in his face was only removed by sheer shock as he was flung through the air by an unseen force.

He landed about six meters away in a heap of tangled limbs but he was up quickly, his expression a mixture of amusement and fear.

Sam had no idea how he had done it but he knew Bael’s flying lesson had been because of him. However, it felt different from the other times he had used telekinesis. Unrefined and uncontrolled power ebbed through his body, burning his system like a raging inferno. A dull pain had settled behind his eyes and god it hurt. He felt as if his skull was being crushed in a vice. Fisting his fingers into his hair Sam screamed as liquid, hot acid poured into his brain. He felt sick. He was sure he probably had thrown up. His stomach was rebelling violently.

And then it dissipated. His surroundings flickered momentarily before clearing and sharpening again. Jacob’s body came back into focus in a lazy blink of his eyes.

“Feedback’s a bitch, isn’t it?” Bael smirked, ignoring the new blood trickling from a gash on his right cheek. “All that raw talent… if you had only learnt to control it…?” he shrugged. “Not that it will do you much good now. But then there’s a reason hindsight is such a bitch.”

Sam ignored the taunt. His headache had mellowed to a dull throbbing but even that was enough to put his pain receptors on meltdown.

Bael didn’t offer him any respite – not that Sam had expected it. There had been no rest when he had been Bael and Eleksha’s captive either.

The demon moved like dangerous breeze, his hands coming to the side of Sam’s face. Black eyes closed and Sam felt the vortex open. He knew what was happening. He knew the demon’s intentions before he had even laid a finger on him, and, more importantly, Sam knew there was no way he could stop it. Bael’s efforts were a hell of a lot clumsier than Eleksha’s but the fact he could do it was enough. Swirling blackness encroached on his vision as Sam was pulled into the dream realm, into Amorpheus.

“You think you can beat me, Sammy?” Bael drawled, smirking maniacally. Sam didn’t answer. His heart was pounding in his ears and sweat was trickling down his neck. He had no illusions that the demon was stronger – despite his brief forte into telekinesis. Sam knew this was not a battle he could win, and yet he had to do something. Dean, Bobby, Joshua – god even the two jackasses from the Order – would die if he didn’t. He tried to focus on the demon but reality was fading around him. It was like someone was turning the dial down on a dimmer switch.

Michael had told him he could make Amorpheus disappear if he didn’t believe, and Sam didn’t but it was still pulling him in. A brief image of Dean hanging by a rope around his neck flashed in front of him. Sam shuttered his eyes quickly and it faded. Another image of Dean stabbed through the heart appeared just as quickly before Sam had time to react.

“Nuh… no,” Sam pleaded brokenly. He didn’t want to go there but his pounding head was making it difficult to think or even react to what Bael was doing to him.

He was being pulled into the dream realm and there was nothing he could do about. The trees were blurring and starting to be replaced with sharper images of a dirty motel room. Earthy smells were fading into a dank, musty stench. Sam was falling into Amorpheus and he was completely powerless to prevent it.

He clawed desperately onto reality, straining to keep a foothold. He couldn’t watch Dean die in his head again. He couldn’t lose his parents and Jessica again. His fragile mind was close to breaking as it was. Sam had taken on as much as he mentally could withstand. He was close to tipping over the edge.

Hazily, he heard Bael speaking.

“You could never win this war, Sammy. You belonged to us from the day you were born. You should have stood with us – where you belonged.”

Sam’s fear rocketed about twenty notches higher as the motel room became clearer with each passing second. He was screwed. Bael was going to win this. Sam didn’t have the strength to fight. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself out of Amorpheus – he didn’t even know if it was possible to pull himself out of the dream realm. He was too hurt, too tired and too scared to stand up to Bael anymore.

They had won. Twenty-four years of fighting and the demons had won. Sam couldn’t resist any more and what the hell did it matter anyway? Dean was dying. Sam didn’t want to live without his brother – couldn’t live without his brother. He didn’t want to be alone.

And then it all disappeared.

The motel vanished and the trees were back. The chilled breeze brushed across Sam’s clammy face, his dark bangs trailing into his frightened eyes. Slowly Sam raised his head, his gaze following. Bael’s expression was completely baffled. The black bled out of his irises, replaced by pale blue as he dropped onto his knees and took a shuddering gasp.

Frantic fingers reached out and grabbed Sam’s left arm.

“Sam…” Jacob panted. “You… have to kill it… my knife… just…” He broke off taking another rasping breath. “I… can’t hold onto him… not for long…”

“Jacob?” Sam didn’t bother to mask his surprise.

“… You have to… you have to do it now.”

Sam shook his head. He couldn’t kill him. Not like this. Not in cold blood. Jacob had saved his life. He couldn’t do it.

“The knife, Sam!” Jacob snapped.

Sam swung his gaze to Dean, and Jacob’s eyes followed. Jacob’s knife was still imbedded in his brother’s still form and Dean’s blade had fallen when he had been stabbed. Sam couldn’t see where it had landed.

Jacob blinked frantically, his face contorting suddenly. “He’s… too strong.” His nails dug deeper into Sam’s flesh. “Do it… you have to…”

Sam’s mind felt like it was being torn in two. He couldn’t kill Jacob. He couldn’t. It went against everything he stood for. This wasn’t Bael sat before him. This was a human – a human who had saved his life.

A human who was barely keeping a hold on a dangerous demon, he reminded himself sombrely.

With fumbling fingers Jacob pulled a gun from under his long, leather coat. It slipped through his blood-slicked hands onto the ground in front of Sam. Jacob pulled a face.

“Can’t do it myself…” Jacob said closing his eyes. He was hurt badly from his encounter with the demon. He was covered in too much blood not to be.

“There’s gotta be another way…” Sam pleaded, lowering his eyes to the gun.

Jacob gave him a wry smile. “Bael… he’ll kill us all… You have to…”

Sam stared at the gun as if it was poison and then, slowly, picked it up with a trembling hand. He really didn’t want to do this. This went against every instinct in his body. Sam wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t a murderer but Jacob was pleading with him to take his life right now and end this whole mess. It was too hard. This wasn’t a ghost or a demon. Jacob was a person. He wasn’t evil, and yet he was right. Bael would kill them all.

Reluctantly, Sam raised the gun, aiming at Jacob’s head. The weapon felt heavy in his hand, heavier than it should have. Sam frowned deeply as the Watcher closed his eyes and nodded sluggishly.

“Do it…” Jacob told him.

Sam pulled the safety catch back, wincing at the sound and ignored the tremble in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered as he fingered the trigger.

Jacob twitched suddenly, his head snapping back and forth as he convulsed violently. Sam hesitated for a moment, his sluggish mind unable to comprehend what was happening. It was a mistake. He should have fired. His hesitation cost him the upper hand. Sam knew he was screwed before black bled back across pale blue irises.

Bael snarled.

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you it’s rude to point a gun in someone’s face?”

The weapon flew from Sam’s hand and his head jerked to the side as the demon back-handed him across the face. Bael was on him before he even had a chance to react. Straddling him, the demon pushed Sam onto the ground and wrapped cold hands around his throat. The pressure was horrendous and his neck felt like it was about to snap. Sam threw his left arm up, pushing the heel of his hand into the demon’s face, desperately trying to unseat him. But Bael was strong – too strong for Sam to handle in his weakened state.

Darkness began to creep into his peripheral vision, clouding the white spots that were dancing in front of him. Sam was going to die. Bael was going to kill him and Sam wasn’t about to let that happen. Not whilst Dean lay bleeding. Not whilst Bobby and Joshua were hurt. Not whilst the world stood on the brink of a demon take over.

Not ever.

His blood was pounding through his veins and his heart was hammering in his chest. He just needed to get the demon out of Jacob. Sam wasn’t sure why that was so important, but somehow he knew it was. His subconscious seemed to drag it out of his mind and suddenly the knowledge of how to do it came to him. Sam had no idea how he knew. The information was just there.

“You should have just done as you were told, Sam,” Bael taunted him with a sickening smirk. “This could have all been solved in a nice, congenial manner. Why fight what you are? Fly free, kid. Be all that you can be. These pathetic humans…? You can destroy them – hell, you can destroy the whole goddamn world if you want to. Stand with us, where you belong. Open your eyes and become who you are destined to become!”

Sam glanced over at Dean.

“You’re forgetting something, Bael,” he snarled, his lip curling.

“Yeah?” Bael asked, amused. “What’s that?”

Sam turned his head, his vision clear for the first time in hours, and met black eyes.

“I don’t want to stand with you.”

Sam grabbed the base of Jacob’s chin and muttered one word.

“Out.”

It was all it took. His vision lurched suddenly and something felt like it snapped in his head. The flood gates opened and swamped him like a rising tidal wave. It was like nothing Sam had ever experienced in his life. A feeling of ecstasy raced through his entire body. He was soaring like an eagle caught in a wind stream. His surroundings sharpened around him. Colours seemed brighter, smells more fragrant, sounds clearer. His senses were on overload. It was dizzying. Every inch of him tingled with electric excitement, and it was growing with each passing second, like a lightning storm, brewing on the horizon. It was as if he had overdosed on adrenaline. Sam felt different. He felt alive. He felt… he felt strong.

Closing his eyes, he turned his gaze inwards. In his head he built a picture of Jacob and mentally he peeled back the Watcher’s body. Flesh, muscle, arteries and veins flew passed his gaze as he delved deeper into the image. It was completely surreal but, at the same time, it felt completely natural – like breathing – like this was something Sam had always been able to do.

He dug further into the vision, passing ribs and finally Jacob’s pumping heart. It was pounding frantically in his chest cavity, blood spurting aggressively into the huge coronary arteries so it could be pushed around his body. Sam focused on the image he had built and swung his gaze around the inside of the Watcher’s body.

It took less than a minute for Sam to find what he was looking for.

Just behind Jacob’s heart was a small black growth. About the size of a coin, it was attached to the pink fleshy muscle and it was leaking black pus. Sam knew what it was instantly.

It was Bael.

Sam thrust his fingers into the demon tumour and pulled back. It ripped from Jacob’s heart, steaming as it was separated from its host. It was like removing a parasite, and it was satisfying as hell.

Sam snapped his eyes open.

The scene that greeted him when his surroundings came back into focus was completely different from the picture he had built in his head. Bael was still straddling him but his head was tilted to one side, confusion etched onto his bestial features.

“What… what the hell did you do?” The demon demanded, trembling.

Bael twitched like he had been burnt. He pulled back from Sam, staggering to his feet, his black eyes wide with horror.

“You unlocked your abilities…”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. Sam wasn’t sure what it was but he recognised the terror in the demon’s voice. He was scared of what Sam was – of what he could do. Sam gave him a tight lipped smile and raised himself off the ground onto his elbows.

“I was never yours, Bael,” Sam growled, “and I never will be.”

Then, without warning, the demon threw his head back and screamed. Black smoke erupted from his mouth like a plague of locusts swarming on a corn field. It swarmed in the air above them before shooting east and disappearing onto the horizon. Jacob sagged forward, his head lolling onto his chest as he exhaled deeply.

Sam dropped his own head back onto the ground and took heavy, shuddering breaths. He closed his eyes tightly. He had no idea what he had just done – or even how he had done it – but he felt elated. Sam drank the euphoric sensation in, unwilling to let it go. It was intoxicating.

“Nice job…” Jacob muttered thickly. “Thought you were… actually going to… have to kill me there.”

Sam opened his eyes and sat up slowly. He expected pain from his bruised torso but whatever he had done seemed to be masking his injuries for the moment. Not that Sam cared. It was the first time in hours that he hadn’t been in agony.

“What did I do to him?” Sam asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He wasn’t sure he could handle being told he was a monster. Jacob absently probed his temple, wincing at the crimson blood staining his fingers.

“In laymen’s terms… you evicted him,” Jacob said softly, his eyes searching the sky for any sign that Bael was coming back. “Just one of the many gifts Michael gave to us, Sam – the power to control demons. There aren’t many of us who can do it, however. Your abilities are stronger than any Watcher I’ve ever known.”

Ava Wilson could do it, Sam thought sombrely, wondering just how many of these abilities he had. He shuddered involuntarily. Was he becoming like them? Like Ava and Jake? Was he giving into the dark side of his ‘gifts’? That thought process terrified Sam. He tried to rationalise it. He had done it to save his brother and the others, but try as he might Sam felt he was sliding down a dark slope.

Seemingly satisfied that Bael wasn’t about to return, Jacob glanced back at Sam.

“Demon’s are friggin’ cowards…” He groaned as he pushed himself onto his feet, brushing the dirt from the knees of his pants.

“Sam?”

The younger hunter turned his head to the voice and realised Bobby was moving warily towards him. The mechanic still had an arm curled around his stomach tentatively but at least he was on his feet again. Joshua, on the other hand, was cautiously pushing himself onto shaky legs, testing the limbs gingerly. Sam had no idea if the two men had seen what had just happened or if they knew what he had just done and that put Sam on edge. He had saved them all but his preternatural gifts put him on par with many of the things they hunted – and Bobby and Josh were great hunters.

Sam averted his gaze from the two older men. For now his psychic display would have to wait. He had bigger problems.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice sounded broken and unfamiliar. It was laced with alarm and trepidation.

Sam sought out his brother.

Dean was still lying prone on the ground, his back to him, his legs bent into his body. He hadn’t moved since he had taken the knife to his gut and that worried Sam. His stomach tingled with cold fear.

Pushing himself to his feet, Sam staggered across the garden towards his brother. His gait was unsteady, but because of his haste rather than his injuries. He dropped heavily next to Dean’s body, fingers reaching out to touch him. Dean was curled on his side, the knife buried deeply in his stomach. Blood had soaked through his shirt and the wet material was clinging to his body like a scarlet second-skin.

“Jesus…” Sam exclaimed, panic washing through him. Dean’s pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He looked terrible. So terrible in fact that Sam was surprised when green eyes blinked slowly open. He didn’t think Dean could be alive – let alone conscious.

“S’it over?” Dean asked, his gaze rolling unsteadily underneath half-mast slits.

“Yeah…” Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Dean was talking. That meant the wound couldn’t be that bad. It meant they had time to fix this – that the wound hadn’t been immediately fatal. “It’s over, Dean.”

For now at least.

They would have to deal with Bael at a later date no doubt but for now it was over.

Bobby sank onto one knee next to the older Winchester. Carefully, he lifted Dean’s shirt and skimmed gentle fingers around the wound. His expression was anxious.

“We need to get him to a hospital, Sam. This is pretty friggin’ deep.”

Sam nodded. The knife had hit Dean’s right side, just above his hip and his shirt was more red than the original white it had been. He probably needed surgery.

“No.” Dean grabbed the mechanics wrist, bloodied fingerprints marring his skin. “No hospital. Too risky.”

“Dean–“ Sam began but was abruptly cut off.

“No, Sammy, Bobby can fix this…”

Sam frowned at his brother’s pigheadedness.

“Dean, you could bleed to death if you don’t get help.”

“Better doing that in a motel then as a ward of the State…” Dean muttered through clenched teeth, his heavy eyes closing.

“Can we argue about this in the damn car?” Bobby scowled.

Sam wanted nothing more than to leave, but they still had a problem. He glanced over his shoulder at Charlie, who was now sprawled on the ground face down. Bryman was still out cold.

“What about them?”

Bobby followed his line of sight and shrugged. “We’ll call an EMT from the road.”

There were multiple injuries between the five of them but Joshua and Bobby were able to support Dean enough to make it back to the cars. The older Winchester was practically carried by the two hunters, his legs buckling with each pain-filled step.

Sam hovered anxiously, his eyes roving over his brother constantly as he tried to assess the damage. He still felt exhilarated from his fight with Bael. In fact, the only way he could describe it was he felt drunk. He was grateful for the sensation, however. Sam wasn’t sure he could have made it back to the car on his own without this new-found adrenaline rush. His injuries were nothing more than a dull ache. It was only his shoulder that was throbbing painfully and Sam could deal with that.

Reaching the cars, Bobby and Joshua lowered Dean into the back of the Impala gently. The mechanic immediately pulled his first aid kit out of his rucksack and started to clean around Dean’s wound. Joshua straightened up tentatively, moving out of the way to give Bobby room to work.

Sam flicked an anxious glance at his brother. They had survived too much to let it end here. Sam was praying to anyone who would listen that Dean would be ok.

The demonologist moved over to the hood and sank against it wearily, his arm wrapped around his middle. The man was evidently still in pain and his shirt was blood stained from his exorcist-like vomiting.

For a long moment Joshua merely stared at him. Sam shifted uncomfortably under the gaze. They all knew about his tainted demon blood now and Sam wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. What did Bobby and Josh think of him? Did they see him as evil? Did they see what Enoch’s Order did – what Gordon Walker had tried to kill him for? Did they want Sam dead? Sam swallowed hard, uncertainty and fear running through his body.

“Your brother’s had worse, Sam.” Joshua said finally, his voice strained as if talking hurt. “Little knife wound ain’t gonna keep him down for long.”

Sam wasn’t sure what he had expected Joshua to do or say but he had certainly thought the demonologist would make a point of his blood tainting. Sam had met Joshua a few times but he was well aware of his history. Demons had been as much a part of his life as they had the Winchesters – only instead of losing his mother to them Joshua had lost two sisters and a brother. Whatever the demonologist’s thoughts were he seemed content to keep them to himself for now and Sam was thankful. He wasn’t sure he could deal with anymore conflict.

“He needs a hospital,” Sam said quietly.

Joshua arched his brow.

“Could say the same ‘bout you, kid. You look like seven shades of crap.”

Sam let out a long breath, holding his injured arm tightly against his chest. “You don’t exactly look so hot yourself.”

Joshua scrubbed a hand over the dried blood crusting his face. “Difference is I’ll clean up and look handsome again,” he flashed a brief smirk.

Sam appreciated the levity, but he still couldn’t help but worry about his brother. He flicked his gaze through the back window. Bobby was packing the wound with gauze and Dean winced at every touch.

“I know a physician,” Joshua said, following Sam’s gaze. “Once Bobby’s patched Dean enough to move him we’ll head over to his clinic. He’ll fix your brother up – no questions asked.”

Sam smiled gratefully. “Thanks man.”

“I guess this is were I say goodbye,” Jacob said quietly. He was hovering to the side of the injured party. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Sam frowned at the guy. He had saved his life and Sam wasn’t sure he was comfortable with leaving him here alone. Jacob shrugged as if sensing Sam’s oncoming protest.

“Someone has to clean this damn mess up, and besides, Bael can’t have gone far. He and I have a score to settle.” Jacob gave him a half-hearted smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Enoch’s Order…?” Sam started but trailed off. He wasn’t sure he wanted answers, and, even if he did want answers, he wasn’t sure what he wanted answered first. Jacob took that decision out of his hands.

“They will continue to hunt you. They believe what they are doing is right and that you are dangerous. You’ve stayed off their radar for a long time, Sam. No reason to think you can’t do it still – especially now that you’re aware they are out there.”

Sam frowned deeply.

“What exactly are the Watchers…?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“You mean are they human?” Jacob asked knowingly.

Sam shifted uncomfortably.

“I… uh… I guess.”

Jacob considered him carefully before he spoke.

“This doesn’t change who you are Sam. Any of this. You are still the same person you have always been. Your blood, your supposed destiny…? It doesn’t make a difference to anything. I mean, you’ve had Azazel’s blood in you for twenty-three and a half years and you haven’t turned into one of them yet.” This time when Jacob smiled it was sincere. “I think it’s safe to assume that you’re not going to grow horns and a tail over night just because people know about it.”

Sam let the breath he had been holding out. “Thank you.”

“William Hayes.” Joshua’s incredulous voice had all heads turning to him. The demonologist was staring at Jacob as if he had grown two heads. Even as he pushed himself off the hood of the Impala he was studying the man with intense scrutiny.

“What?” Sam demanded, but the Southern hunter’s eyes were focused on the Watcher.

“You’re William Hayes,” Joshua said.

Jacob lowered his eyes but there was a tightness in his expression.

“In another life perhaps, but that man no longer exists.” Jacob gave the demonologist a sad smile, but his eyes moved towards Dean’s slumped form. “Hell changes a man – for better or worse William Hayes is dead.”

“You trapped Bael the first time… in the Devils Gate – back in 1835?” Joshua asked, lips parting in surprise. Sam wondered if the demonologist had truly believed his accusation.

Jacob gave him a weary nod.

“Clever, very clever, Joshua. But yes, I did. I lost many good friends doing it.” Jacob took a shaky breath, pain filling his eyes. “Seven of us went into the fray and I was the only one to come out alive.”

From his expression, Sam wondered if Jacob wished he had died. Bael had said the Watcher had spent over a century in Hell and Sam doubted they had been pleasant years.

“Bael dragged you into Hell?” Sam questioned, repulsed by the thought that the man had spent such a long time imprisoned. But then, Jacob seemed to have come out relatively unscathed.

Or maybe not.

A notable shudder ran through the Watcher.

“Actually it was Azazel, but that is a story for another time – when your brother isn’t bleeding all over the back of his car.”

Sam nodded and stretched his left hand out. Jacob studied it cautiously for a moment and then hesitantly took it, shaking it.

“Thank you. For everything. You saved my life down there.”

Jacob laughed. “Never had myself painted as much of a hero kid, but thanks all the same. Keep safe, ‘kay?”

Sam watched as the man turned and headed back down the road towards the cabin but his attention was snared as Bobby appeared out of the back of car, wiping bloodied hands on his jeans.

“That’ll stop the bleeding till we can get him somewhere to take the damn knife out.”

Sam merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak without losing it. They still weren’t out of the woods yet –figuratively and literally. He wouldn’t be able to relax until they were.

“He’ll be OK, won’t he Bobby?” Sam asked, holding his breath as he waited for the reassurance he was desperately craving.

“He’ll be fine.”

Sam prayed that was true and that Bobby wasn’t simply telling him what he needed to hear. Knife wounds were tricky at best. There was so much risk involved with them; the possibility the blade had hit something vital, internal bleeding, not to mention the risk of infection.

Dean was going to that damn clinic whether he wanted to or not – even if Sam had to drag him kicking and screaming.

Sam took a step towards the Impala, wanting to check on Dean but the ground seemed to move beneath him. He swayed on his feet suddenly as a wave of unexpected dizziness hit him. His adrenaline levels were coming down quickly and as it did every bruise was making its pain known. Sam grimaced. He had hoped the sensation would last longer than this.

“You OK?” Bobby asked anxiously as he reached out and steadied him.

“Just dizzy…” Sam licked his lips as he closed his eyes. Strong, firm hands guided him over to the car and gently lowered him onto the front passenger seat. He was starting to feel drained and exhaustion was creeping up on him like a setting sun. Sam waited till the swirling vortex had dissipated before daring to open his eyes.

Joshua and Bobby were both watching him anxiously.

“It’s passing,” Sam muttered. “But uh….Thank you. Both of you.” Sam wanted to say more but his throat was hurting and it was too hard to put into words how grateful he was.

Joshua shrugged with a wince, his face coated with dried blood.

“You can thank us later, kiddo – when there’s not a psychotic demon on the loose and a damn cult that wanna kill you.”

Sam wondered what the Order’s retribution would be. He was more terrified of Bael’s retribution. Would he come for Dean as he had promised? Would he take his brother before the year was up? A tremor ran through his frame and he had to force himself to push the problem to the back of his mind. If they didn’t get Dean to a hospital soon that problem would no longer exist.

Sam let Bobby help him get his throbbing legs settled in the foot well before he dropped his head back against the seat. He was exhausted and he hurt in places he didn’t know he could hurt.

“At least this proves what I’ve always said…” Dean murmured lethargically from the back seat.

Sam frowned deeply.

“What’s that?”

“That you are a damn freak.”

Sam flicked his head over his shoulder and glared at his brother incredulously. How the hell was he finding the humour in this situation?

He wasn’t entirely sure what reaction he had expected from his brother following the revelation of his demon blood – perhaps disgust, hatred, even fear – but Sam hadn’t expected acceptance. At least not this quickly. However, all he had seen in Dean’s eyes was acceptance. Some bonds were impossible to break. They had come too far to give up on one another now.

It went deeper than that even.

Sam was all Dean had, and Dean was all Sam had. It was a vicious circle and both siblings were damned if they were going to break it for anyone – or anything. Sam only prayed that sentiment remained once Dean was back on his feet. Time was a great healer but it also gave dark thoughts a chance to cultivate. For now Sam didn’t care about what happened later. All that mattered was that Dean hadn’t given up on him yet.

With that in mind, Sam allowed himself a brief laugh.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a damn jerk.”

Dean’s eyes slipped shut but his lips curled at the corners into a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, Sammy, I’m a friggin’ jerk,” Dean muttered, slurring his words together like he was on his twelfth shot of vodka.

Sam settled back into the seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make his body hurt. Once he was almost comfortable – or at least as comfortable as he was going to get under the circumstances – he allowed his burning eyes to close.

Dean paused for a moment before he continued.

“But you still love me, right?”

A smile ghosted Sam’s lips.

“Yeah, Dean. I still love you.”

Dean muttered something incomprehensible as he started the heavy decline into unconsciousness. It was a journey Sam was all too willing to accompany him on.

Chapter Twenty-Five:

The End of the Road

Sam hated hospitals. He hated them for the same reasons most people hated them: they meant something had gone horribly wrong.

Over the years they had tried to avoid professional medical assistance as much as possible. Too many broken bones and stitches raised the brow of most local authorities and John Winchester had been adamant about staying off the radar – and out of child services books. Sam and Dean had got used to that way of thinking and it had become habit more than anything else – especially now with them being on the F.B.I’s wanted list. Most of the time they could patch each other up – both boys were experts at fixing up most wounds.

This time was different.

Sam wasn’t a surgeon and Bobby couldn’t fix Dean. The wound was too deep. The older Winchester needed proper care, and that meant hospital – no matter what the risks.

Exhaling deeply, Sam tried to ignore the stench of antiseptics, the bustle of green scrubs as medical staff rushed around and the trepidation of death that lingered in the air like a rain cloud of doom. It wasn’t easy. Everywhere he looked were apprehensive faces of relatives waiting to find out if their loved ones were all right.

Sam lowered his head so he didn’t have to see their dismayed expressions and shifted the ice pack on his right shoulder. Dean had been rushed into surgery upon arriving at the small hospital. That was six hours ago. Six long hours ago. Sam needed news. Any news. He just needed to be told Dean would be OK. He couldn’t rest until he knew his brother was going to make a full recovery, but he hadn’t heard a damn thing and the waiting was killing him.

Sam tried to stop dark thoughts from encroaching on his mind as he sat in the tiny waiting room, but it was a futile task. Whichever way he looked at this Dean was in surgery with a knife in his gut because of him. Bael had taken Sam because of who – or what – he was, and Dean had come to save him. Now Dean was badly hurt and that was Sam’s fault.

More than that, Sam had learnt things about himself that he didn’t want to know. His powers… his abilities… his psychic shining… Whatever the hell it was had manifested during the fight with Bael. Not only had it manifested but it was more potent than it had ever been. This wasn’t a few death visions and a little telekinesis. Sam had removed a demon from a human host without even breaking a sweat. He had literally reached into Jacob’s body and dragged Bael out. That scared him, but what frightened him more was how he had felt doing it. Sam had never been more alive than he had in that moment. It was intoxicating and it was addictive, and it was freaking him out.

Ava and Jake had both spoken about that feeling – about how amazing they had felt opening up to their abilities. They had both chosen a dark path once they had given into it. Sam feared he would go the same route – that he would become what Enoch’s Order believed he was: a monster.

“What d’ya do?” Joshua demanded. “Grab your doggy bag of fluids and hightail outta the three-star room the Doc gave you as soon as I went to get coffee?” Sam’s maudlin thoughts splintered suddenly.

He glanced up at his IV bag before turning his gaze to the demonologist.

Joshua was leaning against the door frame of the waiting room, his legs crossed at the ankles. He had two Styrofoam cups in his hands and his expression was a mixture of amusement and irritation. Bobby followed closely behind him but was already moving into the room, a stack of paperwork clutched in his hand, a cup of coffee in the other.

“I want to be here when Dean gets out of surgery,” Sam said quietly, lowering his gaze to the floor. He knew none of this had been his fault, but Sam couldn’t help the guilt from consuming him. It wasn’t only Dean who had been hurt because of him.

Joshua finally stepped into the room and sank down into the empty plastic chair next to the mechanic. Carefully he placed one of the cups on the small side table, juggling for space amongst the old magazines that littered the surface.

Silence engulfed the room and Sam shifted apprehensively. He had only met Joshua a couple of times in the past and he had to admit that he felt somewhat uncomfortable sat this close to a demon killer – especially considering Joshua’s reputation within the hunting world. Sam wondered what the demonologist thought about his tainted blood. Would the man see Sam as a threat now?

He shot a sidelong look across the chairs, but Joshua was staring into space, his arms folded over his chest. Sam couldn’t get a read on what the man was thinking.

“I forgot how much damn paperwork these things require,” Bobby grouched, breaking the quiet. Sam let himself take a long relieved breath, grateful some of the tension lifted with the mechanic’s voice.

“Sorry,” Sam said wincing.

Bobby dismissed the issue with a wave of his arm.

“How’d ya feel ‘bout being Sammy Singer… nephew of an esteemed mechanic and part-time demon ass kicker?” Joshua said seriously but his lips twitched at the corners. Bobby gave him a level glare.

“You wanna walk home boy?”

Joshua sighed deeply. “You need to lighten up old man.”

“Any word on your brother yet?” Bobby asked, even whilst shooting daggers at the demonologist.

Sam shook his head. He hoped the whole mantra of ‘no news is good news’ stood in this case.

“You had a doctor check you over yet?” Bobby continued.

“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly.

He had been treated by a green as grass intern, a Doctor Elaine Stubbs – which she had repeated a million times in a nervous voice. She’d been nice enough though. Normally Sam would have talked to her just for politeness sake, but he’d been desperately waiting for her to leave so he could come down to surgery and wait for Dean.

“And?” Bobby pulled the lid off his own coffee and blew the steam before taking a tentative sip.

Sam shrugged. “I’ll live.”

“Don’t let him fool ya. He’s not doin’ as well as he’s makin’ out.” The demonologist had washed the blood off his face but the neckline of his shirt was crusted with dried brown flakes. “I spoke to Derren’s Intern.” Joshua added as Sam opened his mouth to refute his words but Bobby spoke first.

“What did the Doc say?” Bobby demanded, ignoring Sam completely for the moment.

“Said a helluva lot,” Joshua said, his eyes moving to Sam’s face, “severe dehydration, two broken ribs, a shit load of bruising to his chest and face – not to mention a concussion and the worst dislocated shoulder she’s seen in years. The lovely Doctor Stubbs also said she ordered Sammy here on bed rest.” Joshua glanced around the waiting room. “I sure as hell can’t see a damn bed in here kid.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably under the two hunter’s scrutinizing gazes.

“I need to make sure Dean’s OK,” Sam said finally. It sounded pretty weak to his own ears and, from Bobby and Joshua’s expressions, they thought the same thing.

“You think your brother’s gonna thank us for lettin’ you spend the last hour sittin’ in some damn chair when you need to be in a bed gettin’ better?” Bobby demanded irritably.

“I’m resting,” Sam grumbled. The pair of them were worse than his brother…

OK, maybe that was an exaggeration. No one could top Dean’s big-brother-over-protectiveness. Not even John. “You known him long – Doctor Prestwich I mean?”

“Derren?” Joshua scratched at his cheek. “Known him pretty much my whole life, kid. His dad was a hunter, so was his grandfather. Knows a helluva lot about our world and how to fix things most doctors would be baffled about. He’s been mendin’ my ass for as long as I can remember.” Joshua let out a long breath. “Your brother’s in good hands.”

Sam shifted restlessly in his seat. He was grateful for the reassurance but it didn’t put his mind at rest. Nothing would until he saw Dean with his own eyes.

“Dean’ll be OK, Sam,” Bobby told him sincerely.

“Yeah,” Sam murmured, hoping it was true, “he’ll be fine.”

Sam roved a swollen eye over the two men’s faces and couldn’t help but wince. Although Josh had washed the majority of the blood off his skin, he had refused to change into a hospital gown and the neckline of his shirt – and most of the front – was stained with brown-crusted blood. Bobby was less blood stained, but he looked exhausted. Under his eyes were smudged with black and the weary slump of his shoulders spoke louder than any words. He was hurting and he was tired.

“You and Bobby are both OK, aren’t you?” Sam asked apprehensively.

Joshua patted his leg.

“Don’t worry bout me and the old man. Doc had one of his lackeys check us over. We’re both fine – might have the stomach ulcer from hell in a coupla months, but for now we’re OK.”

“Bobby said you’ve got an apartment close to here. You should both go home and sleep. You don’t have to stick around,” Sam said quietly. “Me and Dean –? We’ll be OK.”

Joshua gave him a level stare, but Bobby’s expression was a mix of incredulity and annoyance.

“They say the acorn don’t fall far from the damn tree… in the case of you Winchesters I think the acorns never left the goddamn tree.” The mechanic scowled, shaking his head.

Joshua was already shrugging.

“As invitin’ as that sounds, think we’ll stick around for a bit, kid. Not like I’ve got Jessica Alba waiting for me in bed.”

Sam half-smiled. He was too tired to do much else.

It was an hour later before the esteemed Doctor Prestwich finally showed his face. Still garbed in his scrubs, the man strolled into the waiting room like a presence unto himself. He was short at around five-foot-six and his hair was hidden under a multicoloured surgical cap. Piercing hazel eyes sought out the group before he moved over to them. Sam was already pushing himself onto shaky limbs.

“Derren…?” Joshua began, his face lined with worry. “Any news? And please remember only you have MD after your goddamn name.”

The doctor gave his old friend a small smile, but he addressed Sam when he spoke.

“Dean’s surgery went really well. He had some damage to his kidney, but I was able to repair it without any complications. We’ve got him on a transfusion to replace the blood he lost, but aside from some bruising and a couple of cracked ribs he’s doing fine. He’s in recovery now but you can go and see him as soon as he comes out.”

“He’s gonna be OK?” Sam questioned, holding his breath.

“It looks that way,” Derren replied. “Your brother was lucky.”

Lucky? Sam wanted to point out that it made a damn change. Usually all they had was bad luck. He held his un-slung hand out and shook the doctor’s hand firmly.

“Thank you.”

Derren Prestwich smiled. “Just doing my job, Sam.” He turned to Joshua, “I take it you want the knife?”

Sam nodded before Joshua could answer. The knife was special. Sam had seen the damage it had caused to Eleksha when Jacob had stabbed her with it. With Bael on the loose, Sam felt better knowing he had something that could take the demon out of the picture permanently.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “we need the knife back.”

Derren nodded. “I’ll have it cleaned and brought to you.”

Joshua followed the doctor as he left the room leaving Sam with Bobby, interrogating the man further about Dean’s injuries. The mechanic shifted his gaze towards the younger hunter.

“Josh is a good man, and a good hunter. He respected your dad.” Sam wasn’t entirely sure what the mechanic was getting at and so remained silent. “Point is, kid, you don’t have to worry about him runnin’ his mouth off.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Thanks, Bobby. For everything.” The words seemed hollow and empty. No amount of thanking would ever show how grateful Sam was for the man’s help.

“You boys… you’re the closest thing I got to my own family. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you both and all this shit…? We’ll fix it, son. I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way. OK?”

Sam let out a deep breath. “Yeah, Bobby. We’ll find a way.”

It was almost thirty minutes later before Sam was able to go in and see Dean. His legs trembled beneath him as he moved towards the room his brother was occupying. The last time Dean had been in a hospital bed he had been comatose and close to death. Their father had died that day, trading his soul for his eldest son’s life.

Sam steeled himself for the tubes and machinery, but it was still a shock to see the wires emerging from his brother’s still frame.

Dean was swamped by the bed and equipment. His skin was ashen and his eyes were tightly closed. A nasal cannula was positioned on his face and the unfamiliar hiss of oxygen mixed with the beeping of various equipment. Sam flicked a gaze around the room before slowly walking around the end of the bed and gently lowering himself into the low-backed plastic chair.

Bobby and Joshua had gone to get some more coffee but Sam knew the two men were giving him some space. He was grateful for the action. He didn’t think he could do this with an audience.

For a long moment Sam merely stared at his brother’s face, praying for a glimmer of green eyes or even a smirk. He needed some kind of response from his brother. Dean was never quiet and the silence was freaking Sam out.

Cautiously, he reached out and brushed his fingers against his older sibling’s hand. He wasn’t sure why but he was surprised the skin was warm. He knew Dean wasn’t dead but he just looked so…

Sam pulled his hand away and rubbed his eyes. Exhaustion was bearing down on him like a ten tonne truck. His fear had kept him alert for the last seven hours but he felt himself lagging now. His body was urging him to sleep but his mind wasn’t ready to rest. Not yet. Not until Dean came around.

“C’mon big brother, time to wake up,” Sam muttered thickly.

There was no response apart from the steady bleeping of the heart machine. Sam exhaled deeply and sank back into the chair. “I know we don’t uh talk much about stuff but…getting stabbed by a psychotic demon for me wasn’t exactly one of your best plans, Dean.” Sam chastised the sleeping form of his brother, before he glanced down at his knees. “Why do you always have to save me? Why do you always do that? Put yourself before me?”

He hadn’t realised he was angry but the bite in his voice said otherwise. There was a relief in the emotional outpouring however, a relief that he could tell Dean what he felt without being cut off or having the subject changed. Sam was tired of hiding his feelings and he couldn’t keep up the façade any longer. A month of holding everything inside, a month of pretending everything was ok, a month of brushing the deal under the rug – it was a month too much. He couldn’t pretend this shit didn’t matter any more. He didn’t want to pretend. He was tired of acting his part. Dean might not have cared about dying but Sam couldn’t pretend it didn’t faze him any more.

“I don’t know why, but for some reason you don’t think I need you as much as you need me, but you’re wrong Dean. You’re really wrong.”

Anger dissipated as his voice broke. It was the cold, hard truth of the matter. Sam really did need Dean. Even at Stanford Sam had needed Dean. He’d never felt whole whilst he was there and, although Jessica had filled the void his brother had left for a while, he had never felt complete.

“Truth is I need you just as much – probably more. You’re my big brother and when you –“ He broke off unwilling to say the word. Dean wasn’t going to die. Sam wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t lose you. I can’t and I won’t. And I wish to god you had never made that goddamn deal and… and I had a chance to get you out of it… I should have taken it. I should have…”

Sam took a shaky breath, ignoring the tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine life without his brother. His brother, Christ, the only person Sam had left in the world. The man who had sacrificed everything for him. The man who had practically raised him. The man who had protected him from the darkness in the world. The man who… The man who had given his soul for him.

The injustice of it burnt through his heart like a hot poker had been shoved through his chest. Was it not enough that he had lost his parents, and Jessica? Now he was supposed to lose Dean too? Sam couldn’t. In fact Sam wouldn’t. He was angry as hell with Dean for making that deal but, at the same time, he also understood it. He would have given his life for Dean. He should have given his life for Dean.

“We can’t keep giving our souls for each other. This rate there’s gonna be nothing left of us to give.” He lowered his gaze, his brow creasing. “I don’t know what to do any more Dean. I don’t know how to fix this. I know I promised I would but I don’t know how to and it’s… it’s killing me.”

He covered his mouth with his left hand and leaned forward, his elbow resting on his knees.

“I give Bael what he wants and Hell comes to earth. I don’t and you… you die. I should have done it. You would do it for me. Screw the consequences. What the hell’s it all that matter if you’re not here anyway?” Sam sniffed, his face twitching as he tried to prevent the emotional breakdown building within him.

“I don’t want to go on without you. I mean, I’m supposed to fight this damn war alone?” He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t do it alone. I don’t want to do it alone, Dean. I need my…”

He broke off with a stifled sob, his eyes closing. He didn’t even try to stop the tears. He was too tired to fight himself. The last month was catching up to him and Sam couldn’t hold himself together – he didn’t want to hold himself together. Hot, liquid tears were streaming down his bruised cheeks as his shoulders trembled with each convulsive sob. He was falling apart at the seams and he couldn’t pull himself back together. He reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand and squeezed it in his own. Eleven months would disappear in a flash. Eleven months and Dean would be dead. Sam couldn’t wrap his mind around that. He didn’t want to wrap his mind around that.

“You gotta wake up.” Sam stared at his brother’s face through his water-filled gaze. “You gotta wake up because I need… I need you to be here. I need you… I need you to give me the strength to fight… I need…” He brushed his fingertip across wet lashes and took convulsive breath. “I need you to be my big brother, Dean. I… need… you.”

Waking up was harder than it should have been. His body was reluctant and his mind was still floating in an abyss of nothingness. Dean wished he could stay in that catatonic state but a dull buzzing sound was getting louder in his ears.

“Dean?” The buzzing sound was a voice. Dean was sure he recognised it but he couldn’t get a good enough hold on the acoustics to put a name to it. “Dean?” The voice tried again.

Dean slowly tried to prise his eyes open but nothing wanted to comply. Frustrated with his own body he forced his lids apart.

His eyes burnt as unnaturally bright light hit the back of his retinas. He blinked, trying to ignore the itching sensation.

“You back with us son?”

Bobby. It was Bobby’s voice.

Dean nodded; at least he thought he did. His muscles seemed to have a life of their own and Dean was certain they didn’t involve his requests at the moment. As if to highlight the point his eyes slid shut of their own accord.

“Hey, hey… stay awake, kid. No more snoozin’, Sleeping Beauty. God knows you’ve slept long enough.” It was Joshua who spoke this time.

Dean acquiesced to the demand reluctantly. His body didn’t want to wake up.

“That’s it.” Bobby was speaking again. “Stay with awake, son.”

Dean’s vision evened out after a moment. His surroundings began to sharpen and his head felt less fuzzy. He was in a bed, a soft warm bed. The smell, the sounds, the whitewashed walls… Dean recognised them. Hospital. He groaned. This was the last place he wanted to be.

Bobby and Joshua were hovering over him, relieved smiles on their faces but Dean’s eyes were immediately moving. Finally they settled at the side of his bed. Sam was slumped in the chair. Emotionally charged hazel eyes were studying him carefully.

“What… what happened?” Dean’s voice slurred and broke as he spoke. His throat was like sandpaper.

Bobby glanced at Joshua and then slowly began to fill in the gaps that Dean had missed. He told him about how Jacob had managed to gain control back from Bael and forced him from his body. How they had got back to the cars and patched Dean up as much as they could before driving twenty minutes to the hospital he was now a patient in.

“How long was I out?”

“Six hours in surgery,” Joshua answered. “It’s taken you an age to wake up.”

“Four hours to be exact,” Bobby continued to explain. “You kept slipping in and out of consciousness but the last three times you’ve come round you’ve been getting more coherent.”

“Well, as coherent as a Winchester can be,” Joshua added with a smirk before he sobered. “This is the longest you’ve stayed awake, kid, so try stay with us.”

Dean nodded slowly, but he was only half listening. He sought Sam out again. His brother looked withdrawn and tired. His face was a mass of bruises and his arm was in a sling, but it was his expression that worried him the most.

“Sammy, you OK?” Dean asked. His brother was quiet. Far too quiet.

Sam eventually glanced up at him and nodded slowly. “I’m fine, Dean.”

The kid was lying his ass off. Dean could tell immediately. Heavy bags were prominent under bloodshot eyes and he had that kicked puppy look about him. He rolled his eyes slowly towards Bobby and Josh.

“Why don’t you guys go eat and get a drink?”

Both hunters nodded. Bobby squeezed his arm. “Good to have you back, son.”

Dean forced a smile.

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.”

Grabbing his jacket, Bobby led Josh out of the room, He gave the two Winchester sibling’s a final look before he closed the door behind him. Dean waited till he heard the faint click of the door shutting before switching his gaze back to Sam.

“Sammy?”

Sam met his eyes briefly before glancing away.

“Doc said you were lucky. You didn’t damage anything too much. Could have been a whole lot worse.”

“Sam?” His younger brother stopped talking. “What happened after I was stabbed?”

Sam’s brow furrowed and averted his gaze.

“Bobby told you-“

Dean cut Sam off before he had a chance to continue. Even in his morphine haze Dean knew he was being bullshitted.

“C’mon, I’m not an idiot. Bobby’s story had so many friggin’ holes in it that I can’t work out were the truth ended and the lies began.”

Fidgeting in the chair, Sam shifted weary shoulders. “That’s what happened.”

Frustration overwhelmed the older sibling. “You gotta stop doing this Sam.”

“Doing what?”

“Lying to me – thinking that you have to do this crap alone.”

Sam glanced up at him. His expression nearly broke Dean’s heart. Sam didn’t need to say the words, but Dean heard them all the same.

I am alone.

Dean’s eyes twitched as he struggled to keep his resolve. It was difficult when faced with Sam’s despair.

“Sam…? Talk to me.”

His little brother lowered his head and let out a long, tremulous breath.

“I’m scared, Dean, and I know I have no right to be, considering you’re going to –“ Sam trailed off, his brow twitching. He paused for a minute as he collected his thought together. Dean allowed the silence to grow, waiting for his brother to speak again.

“I… I did something -to Bael.” Dean knew it wasn’t what Sam had originally intended to say but the kid was barely keeping it together and Dean didn’t want to push him.

“Something like your psychic mojo something?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged indifferently but there was a tightness around his eyes. “I guess. Jacob called it eviction. I kinda pulled him out of his body.”

Dean blinked. Even drugged up that sounded bizarre.

“Like literally pulled?”

Sam didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His expression said it all. Dean exhaled deeply, closing his heavy eyes.

“And Bael?”

“Gone. Don’t know where.” Sam let out a shaky breath that spoke volumes. He was frightened and the fact he wasn’t trying to conceal that fear worried Dean. “Bobby and Josh are looking into it but I doubt they’ll find him,” Sam said, his lanky body wilting as if the world was placed firmly on his shoulders.

“Hey, don’t worry, Sammy.” Dean reached out a hand and closed it over his brother’s own. There was something oddly comforting in the gesture. Sam was real and whole, and they had made it out of the fight in one piece. That was nothing short of a miracle in Dean’s eyes. “That son of a bitch ain’t getting anywhere near you,” he added.

He meant every word of it. Demon boy wasn’t getting within an inch of Sam ever again. His younger brother gave him a grateful smile but lowered his gaze after a moment. Dean frowned. He was losing Sam to melancholy once more. Dean had to keep his brother talking but he was fighting a war on two fronts: his brother on the one side and the pain relief on the other. Dean was struggling with both.

“So that Jacob dude…” Dean was surprised by how much his voice slurred. He shook himself mentally and the room came back into focus. He hadn’t even realised it had become hazy. “Who is he?”

Sam shrugged again.

“I don’t know. A Watcher, I guess. He saved my life though. If he hadn’t been there when-” Sam trailed off, his cheek twitching a little.

“Where’d he go? Afterwards I mean.”

Sam lowered his hazel eyes. “I don’t know, Dean,” he said in a quiet, monotone voice.

The older Winchester sighed deeply. He was starting to feel more alert, although the pull of sleep still lingered at the edge of his mind, just out of sight. Dean pushed it further away, not wanting to slip back into unconsciousness again. He didn’t want to leave Sam like this.

His younger brother continued to speak.

“But the knife Bael stabbed you with…? It’s like the Colt. It kills demons.”

Another lethal weapon… Dean frowned.

“Do they sell these things somewhere we don’t know about?”

Sam gave him a forced smile but it quickly faded. Staring at the floor once more, Sam’s brow tightened. There was hesitancy in his face that practically radiated self-hatred.

“Dean…? About the uh… the things Bryman told you…” he broke off. Dean knew his brother was unwilling to say it.

“About the demon blood?” Dean’s fingers curled into the sheet that was covering him up. “Doesn’t change a damn thing, Sam.”

“This is serious, Dean.”

Dean raised a lethargic brow.

“What’s more serious is why you didn’t tell me about your whacked out DNA strand, Max Guevara.”

Sam’s brow creased further.

“I don’t know,” Sam said finally. “I guess… I guess I thought you would look at me differently.”

“You thought I’d find out and hit the road without you,” Dean corrected with a shake of his head. “Dude, you think I sold my soul for the fun of it? I did it because you’re my brother and nothing will ever change that.”

He shrugged but he wasn’t sure if his body complied with his request. Everything felt detached and numb. He ran his tongue around his mouth attempting to moisten it but it was impossibly dry. Sam carefully leaned forward, his good hand pressed to his ribs as he rose to his feet. Grabbing a glass of water off the side table, Sam placed the straw between Dean’s lips and helped him to drink.

“Small sips,” Sam ordered quietly, but Dean drank greedily. He felt as if he hadn’t drunk anything in days. Finally Sam pulled the glass away. “Don’t over do it – you’ll make yourself sick.”

Dean exhaled, wondering when Sam had become so damn bossy. Sinking back into his pillows, he took a moment to catch his break but he continued what he had been saying.

“This blood thing… it doesn’t change who you are, Sam. You’re always gonna be my pain in the ass – albeit it freaky – kid brother.”

The blood thing didn’t change anything really. Not in Dean’s mind. But it brought problems of its own. Sam would be hunted for the rest of his life. He would never be safe and Dean wasn’t going to be around to protect him. That tore at him like a physical wound. What would happen to his brother when he was dead?

“Other than your shoulder and the mangled mess of your face are you hurt anywhere else?” Dean asked, effectively changing the subject.

He didn’t want to think about the future. It was too hard. He raked his gaze over his brother’s bruised face and finally settled on the sling holding his injured shoulder in place. He knew there were other injuries under his hospital gown and Dean felt a tremor of anger race through his body. When they finally caught up with Bael, Dean was going to make the bastard suffer.

“Sammy? You in any pain?”

Sam laughed incredulously.

“You’re the one who just had a knife removed from his gut.”

“Yeah,” Dean gave him a wan smile, “but I can take it. So…?”

Sam sighed deeply. “I’m OK, Dean.”

“’I’m OK’ isn’t really an answer, you know?”

Sam let out a frustrated breath.

“My shoulder’s gonna take a hell of a lot of physio but the Doc thinks it will heal. Other than that – a concussion and a couple of cracked ribs. The rest is pretty much bruising.”

Sam was lucky. It could have been a whole lot worse, Dean thought sourly. Having a knife pulled out of his abdomen seemed a small price to pay for Sam’s safety. Didn’t mean it wasn’t going to hurt like hell later but, for now, Dean was floating on a pain-free cloud of morphine. It was good.

Dean wasn’t an idiot however, he knew this whole thing had been hard for his brother and he could only imagine what the demons had done to him. It cut Dean up to see his brother hurting so badly. The physical wounds would heal in time; the mental scars were another matter. Dean hoped he could pull his brother out of this one and give him the strength to fight another day.

“You know, you keep knocking that head of yours and I’m gonna have to become the brains of this operation.”

Sam gave him a half-hearted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Dean paused, hesitant words forming on his lips before he finally plucked up the courage to speak. He didn’t do well with the whole emotional side of life. This was Sam’s area and Dean felt completely out of his depth. However, he could see this was tearing Sam apart and Dean had to try something – try anything to stop his brother’s internal suffering.

“Sam… you uh… you need to talk about this? About what happened when Bael took you, I mean?” He winced at his lame attempt, but there was concern underlying it. He was worried about his younger brother. He was quiet, withdrawn and not the ‘Sam’ Dean knew.

Sam’s brow tightened and his body went tense. Dean didn’t need him to speak to know what his kid brother was thinking. The trauma was splashed across his face.

“No,” Sam said vehemently.

Dean nodded, but made a note to talk about this later. He would get it out of Sam one way or another. He sank back into the pillows and closed his eyes.

“So… when you kicked Bael’s ass…? Would you say it was more Batman or Spiderman style? Or did you go the whole damn nine yards and hulk up?” Dean murmured through barely moving lips, cracking a lid open. “I’m not sure you’d look good in tiny purple pants though, Sammy.”

Sam raised his head, his expression bemused. “What?”

It was worth it just to see the look on the kid’s face. Dean couldn’t help but grin.

“Well c’mon, it’s not every day we have a superhero moment. Just humour me, ‘kay?”

Sam frowned. “Dean, I’m not a superhero.”

Dean finally opened both eyes and studied his brother for a moment.

“You saved the world, Sam. That sounds pretty superhero-ish to me.”

His brother shifted uncomfortably. “I did not save the world.”

“You stopped Bael from resurrecting that fallen angel dude.”

“Dean–” Sam started to protest as he pulled a face.

“C’mon Sam,” Dean muttered sluggishly, blinking as sleep beckoned him, “we averted the apocalypse. Isn’t that what superheroes do?”

Sam hesitated and Dean could almost see the cogs in his brother’s mind turning.

“If I’m a superhero you do realise that makes you my sidekick – and no offence but I don’t think you can pull off tights, Dean.”

Dean scowled but he was already starting to fall into the morphine abyss. “Dude, I can totally pull off tights.”

Sam gave him a full dimpled smile that made the tension leave Dean’s body instantly. If Sam was smiling there was hope.

If in doubt always fall back on humour. It had worked when they were kids and it worked now, as adults.

“Have you forgotten Halloween?” Sam snorted softly. “That year you dressed up as Superman…?”

But Dean wasn’t listening. Sam was smiling and for now that was enough. He let out a small sigh as he shut his eyes. They had made it out with no casualties. In the hunting world that was nothing short of a frigging miracle, considering the way the odds had been stacked against them. They would deal with whatever psycho demon threw at them when he decided to show up again – and when Dean finally got his hands on Bael…

Well, Dean would have thought of a hundred ways to kill the bastard but he had already begun to slip back into unconsciousness.

Epilogue:

Final Meetings

It was a little after midnight.

Heavy fog had rolled in an hour or so ago, shrouding the fields in a blanket of smoke that hid everything from sight. The air itself seemed thick and heavy underneath it. On the horizon the pregnant moon hung low, her belly rotund and glaringly bright against the onyx sky.

Walter Kircsh leaned back against the headrest and nudged the steering wheel to the left. The winding road beyond the reach of the headlamps was lost in the oppressive blanket of dark, disappearing into the abyss of nightfall as if it had never existed.

The man stifled a yawn, blinking the gritty sensation of sleep deprivation from his eyes. Exhaustion was wearing heavily on him and he cursed himself for not stopping in the town he’d passed an hour ago. What he would give for a warm motel bed and a nice hot meal – Christ, even a damn shower wouldn’t go amiss.

Scrubbing his fingers over his tired lids, he cranked the window down and turned the radio on, hoping both would keep him alert enough to reach a safe stopping place. Mid-way through some chart topping mind-numbingly dull pop song, the radio sprung to life, the soft orange glow from panel illuminating the front of the car.

Why the hell did I agree to do this damn presentation?

Walter had been asking himself that question for the last fifty miles. Somehow he knew he had been duped into it by his boss. He wasn’t sure how, but then his boss was a master manipulator. Walter had seen him talk clients into buying everything bar the damn kitchen sink – he was pretty sure Jeff could even sell that to some unsuspecting sap if he wanted to. He was an asshole through and through but he was amazing at his job. Walter had been in Sales for long enough to recognise a pro when he saw one at work.

His attention was diverted from his musing by the radio cutting in and out suddenly.

Frowning, he reached down and pushed the button to change the station but the stereo continued to jump on and off before it went completely dead.

Great! Another sixty miles to go with no radio! Could things possibly get any worse?

Walter had no sooner thought those words when the engine spluttered. The car coughed once, attempting to restart, before it gave a shuddering death rattle and rolled to a halt, the headlamps extinguishing.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he muttered irritably under his breath. It was pitch black outside. The moon had seemingly disappeared behind the clouds and the road was cloaked in shadows.

Scowling, the man reached across the passenger seat and dragged open the glove compartment, pulling a flashlight out. Twisting the torch in his hand, he flicked the switch on and was grateful for the thin slice of white illumination.

Climbing slowly out of the car, Walter shone the beam around landscape. The road itself was surrounded by trees that seemed to fade into the distance like dirty smudges on a dark page and there was no sign of life in any direction.

He dug in his pocket and pulled his cell phone out and held back a scream of frustration. Not even one lousy bar. Great. He was stuck in the middle of god knows where and apparently he was also in a cell phone black hole.

Walter resisted the urge to kick the crap out of his car. What a place to break down! He’d passed through several small towns and yet the heap of junk had given out in the middle of frigging nowhere.

What the hell was it they said about sods law? Oh yeah, it stinks.

Exhaling irritably, he bent down into the driver’s seat and fumbled for the lever to pop the hood. He wasn’t a mechanic by any stretch of the imagination but he was praying it would be something obvious, something he could bodge together enough to make it to the next town and a qualified mechanic. He rubbed his hands together, his breath steaming in the cold night air and flicked the flashlight beam over the engine. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Walter frowned deeply. He was completely out of his depth.

“Great!” He growled, slamming the hood back down.

He glanced up the road, stuffing his hands into his pockets to ward off the chilly night air. Nothing moved on the horizon, even the wild life seemed silent. The quietness was freaky as hell. He had driven into the back of beyond and there wasn’t a chance in hell that someone was going to come down this way.

There was nothing else to do but start walking. Hopefully as he got nearer to a town his cell reception would pick up and he could call for help.

Walter had barely taken three steps when something caught his eye. Something was moving on the skyline. At first he thought it was a trick of his eyes but as it moved closer he realised it was a… a black cloud?

What the hell?

Walter had seen some weird shit in his time but he was pretty sure he’d never seen a cloud move the way this one was.

His heart gave a nervous flicker beneath his ribcage as it came closer. Walter wasn’t sure why but he was frightened. Subconsciously, he staggered backwards, wanting to put as much distance between him and the cloud as possible.

Something hit hard against the backs of his legs, eliciting a gasp of surprise from the young man, his heart thumping fiercely. Spinning his head over his shoulder he realised it was the bumper of the car, but it didn’t curtail his fear. He couldn’t explain why he did it – and he had no doubt he would feel stupid for it later – but he turned and ran.

He didn’t get far.

A shooting pain lanced through his spine. Caught off guard, he tripped over his feet and fell clumsily onto the asphalt. His knees burnt as they made contact with the hard surface, but he didn’t have time to think about that. The cloud was racing towards him – actually, it was fucking hurtling towards him!

This is friggin’ insane, absolutely stark-raving–

And then his mind went blank.

Bael planted a hand in the ground and rose onto shaky legs, testing the unfamiliar limbs. They felt weird; too short maybe… This guy was certainly smaller than his last host.

He shook them out, dancing on the spot for a moment as he tried to get used to them. Bael often thought possession was like wearing a new pair of jeans. At first they seem tight and foreign but after a time they came to fit like a second skin. In this case Mr Walter Kirsch was literally going to become a second skin. Nothing like a new meat suit to make a guy feel like a changed man.

Things hadn’t quite gone to plan this evening and Bael felt the tension settling around his ‘new’ shoulders. Maybe when he found a nice place to settle he would cause a little chaos, make sinners of a couple of humans, play with some entrails… Whatever took the edge off his sour mood. Of course, that would have to be somewhere far away from the Winchester’s.

His lip curled at the thought of the two hunters. They had proven difficult to say the least. Bael had assumed his plan was fool proof and that Sam would have acquiesced to his demands. He hadnt. In fact the kid had remained irritatingly resolved not to comply with his wishes.

Bael had to give the little shit credit where it was due though. He had known stronger men crumble under Eleksha’s gifts. In fact he wasn’t entirely sure how the kid had come out of Amorpheus unscathed and managed to open up to his damn abilities in the process. Azazel had bitten off more than he could chew with that one.

The demon stopped suddenly and went as still a rabbit in headlights. A sliver of ghostly fingers ran up his spine, sending a chill through his borrowed body.

Bael knew instantly he was no longer alone. A bestial grimace graced his lips as he turned slowly on his heel.

A figure stepped out of the shroud of darkness and moved closer to him. He was taller than Bael’s new host, standing well over six-foot and he had deep ebony hair that was cut short. He moved forward with what most people would have seen as confidence, but Bael saw it for what it was; he was an arrogant little bastard. Always had been, always would. Something’s even time couldn’t change.

“Well, well, well, Vassago,” Bael said under his breath, shifting on his feet cautiously, “long time, no see. I thought you were a resident downstairs. ”

“You think you’re the only one who had the balls to climb out of that hole?”

Bael raised a brow, watching the kid carefully. His stance was relaxed but that didn’t mean the son of a bitch wasn’t dangerous as hell.

“You climbed out of the gateway?” He demanded sceptically. Despite the fact Vassago was stood in front of him it was difficult to believe the kid had done so. It was like giving an earthworm tools and asking it to build the Pyramids.

Vassago shifted his eyes to Bael.

“Is it really that shocking to think I could?”

“No,” Bael replied carefully, “just unlikely – considering. So what? You climbed out of Hell a month ago and decided to call a reunion now? Why?”

Vassago roved a critical eye over the abandoned Ford, ignoring his question.

“This is what you’re driving?” He asked, glancing up.

Bael kept his gaze focused on the demon.

“I don’t have time for your crap, kid.”

Vassago crossed his arms over his chest, and pulled away from the car.

“I heard through the grapevine you’ve been busy.”

That caught Bael’s attention. He snarled.

“Been keeping tabs on me?”

The younger demon rolled his eyes.

“Please! I’ve got better things to do with my time than follow you around.” He traced a finger down the side panel of the car. “I was in the area. You really got your ass handed to you on a plate back there – and by a Watcher… It’s kind of lame, really. I thought you were above that. But then, I guess history does have a way of repeating itself.”

If the kid was looking to get a rise out of him then he was pushing the right buttons. Bael opened his mind, intending to blast the little shit into the next State but Vassago raised his hands defensively.

“Whoa, hold on a second. Before you do something stupid at least hear me out.”

Bael held back for a second. He was curious as to what the younger demon wanted and smearing him across the countryside wasn’t going to get answers. However, he was still irritated about his snipe and Bael couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Did you just come to gloat or to piss me off, Vassago?”

“On the contrary,” Vassago smiled. It was so sugar-coated that Bael’s new teeth ached. “I want to help you.”

Bael’s face dropped into a frown. That he hadn’t expected. “Why?”

“Why not?”

It was a loaded question and Bael didn’t want to answer it. “I guess Hell really does change a demon,” he muttered.

Vassago’s expression darkened.

“You have no idea how much.”

Bael eyed the kid carefully. He was well aware of what Vassago could do. All too aware. He had seen the little shit in action in the past and it wasn’t one of his favourite memories. Vassago might have been one of the younger demons in the Hierarchy but he had a flare for carnage. He made Eleksha look like a kitten in comparison.

“Get to the damn point, Vas.”

The younger demon grinned.

“The Winchester boy…? He’ll never do what you want him to do. I heard things about the kid while I was downstairs. You’re flogging a dead horse.”

Bael raised a brow.

“You worked all that out by yourself?” His tone was scathing. He clapped his hands together in mock applause. “Well done. If only you had been here… oh, two days ago. I could have saved myself a whole lot of friggin’ trouble.”

Vassago gave him a tight lipped smile. “Do you want my help or not?”

“I don’t need the help of a piss-poor half-rate demon.”

Vassago gave him a hurt look but it was clearly feigned.

“Ouch. Never heard of tact, Bael?” The kid snorted, “Either way, we have similar agendas, and while those agendas are the same it seems stupid not to work together.”

Bael narrowed his brow suspiciously.

“And what agenda would that be?”

“The Grigori… and the gateways,” Vassago replied simply.

Bael rolled his eyes and moved towards the car. He was already bored of this conversation and he really didn’t need Vassago’s help.

“I work better on my own, kid. Go find some rich asshole to possess before some crazy hunter sends your scrawny butt packing back to Abbadon.”

Vassago snarled, slamming the palm of his hand against the driver’s side door as Bael tried to open it. The sound of metal crunching punctuated the silent night like a gun shot.

“Don’t treat me like a child, Bael!”

Bael scowled at the kid, glaring at him.

“You are a child, Vassago. Quit trying to play in the big league. You’ll get hurt.”

The older demon had expected Vassago to lose his temper again but the younger demon smiled at him instead.

“You can dangle Dean Winchester like a carrot in front of little Sammy for the rest of time, but he’ll never open those gateways and he wont lead our people into the supposed glorious ‘Golden Age’.” Vassago tone dripped with scorn. “Azazel was stark-raving mad to think he could ever get a Watcher to stand with us – and you’re even crazier for trying to finish what that mad son of a bitch started.”

Bael was moving before he even thought about. Fingers curled into Vassago’s jacket and slammed the younger demon into the side of the car. He grunted as he impacted but he was grinning.

“You want to take a trip down memory lane, kid? I’m sure Mammon would welcome you back downstairs with open arms.”

Bael didn’t miss the brief flicker of panic in Vassago’s face, but it didn’t stay for longer than a blink of his eyes. His smile had been replaced by a sour, thin-lip scowl.

“End of days is coming, Bael. Things are moving. The first stage has come to pass – as it was written it would. It’s only a matter of time before we squash this pathetic race into the dust. You don’t need Sam Winchester to do that. Not any more.”

“What the hell…” Bael released him with a vicious shove and watched as the kid pulled his clothes back into place. “Go screw around with someone else, Vas, before I really make good on that threat.”

“You don’t need him.” Vassago repeated stubbornly. He was practically beaming.

Smug little shit. What the hell was he so friggin’ happy about?

“What are you talking about? Only a Watcher can open or close the gateways to the Fallen.”

“That’s not entirely true, now is it?” When Bael gave him a quizzical stare Vassago’s smile widened. “Oh c’mon Bael, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten everything you ever learnt.”

Bael gave him a cold glare. “You’re walking in a pipe-dream world, Vas. They died out in the first Grigorian war. Or has Hell rotted your mind that much that you forgot that?”

“I didn’t forget,” Vassago said, draping his forearms over the roof of the car. He flashed a confident smile that almost had Bael wiping the floor with the kid. He resisted however. Bael had to admit the demon had snared his attention. “I’m well aware of my heritage, Bael.”

He opened and closed his mouth. This was ludicrous.

“There hasn’t been a Nephilim in… what? Two millennia?”

“Two and a half,” Vassago shrugged, “but who’s counting?”

“Blood and fire!” Bael muttered. “You really have lost your damn mind, haven’t you? Well, let me remind you. The Nephilim are dead. Go find someone else to piss off kid, before I remove your head from your shoulders and send it downstairs with whatever is left of the rest of you.”

“That’s gratitude for you!” Vassago growled, but he was still smirking. “But they’re not dead. I’ve heard whisperings that the Nephilim walk amongst us again.”

Bael snapped his eyes to him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Raphael made sure they could never return.”

“He did. But the world is a wonderful place, Bael, and miracles…? They happen every day.”

“You’re telling me there is a Nephilim? On earth?”

Vassago pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his black eyes hungry.

“Not one – twins.” He purred the word.

“Twins?” Bael demanded sceptically.

“I don’t know how – frankly, I don’t care how – but they’re here. Saw the little cherubs with my own eyes.” he practically shivered with excitement.

Bael narrowed his eyes, studying the younger demon intently. Vassago wasn’t lying. He really believed there were two Nephilim alive. He had either been cleverly duped… or…? Or it was true.

He felt his face shift into a grin.

“Twins, huh? Well… this changes things quite a bit.”

Vassago matched his grin.

“It changes things a helluva lot.” Vassago folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “So, what d’ya say partner? I scratch your back, you don’t stab mine. Have we got an arrangement?”

Bael’s lips tugged at the corner before unfolding into a smirk. Vassago was a wolf in sheep’s clothing but his help was invaluable. As loathe as Bael was to admit it, the kid was a blessing in disguise.

“Yeah, kid.” He held out his hand and Vassago shook it. “We’ve got a deal.”

Things were looking up. First, he would deal with the Winchesters and then… well with two Nephilim at his side…? The world was his playground.

He grinned. Things were definitely looking up.