Season Two

Episode Two: The Beast Within

By Thru Terry's Eyes & Tree

Part Two

Haris strode smugly from the office, the telltale sounds of pain-filled grunts trailing behind him as the guard’s booted foot connected with the body of Dean Winchester over and over. As a demon, Haris took no physical pleasure from any activity, but human suffering in any form always brought a certain sense of satisfaction to him; especially when the words “pain” and “Winchester” were combined in the same sentence.

He well knew how obstinate and defiant Dean could be, had witnessed it first hand that night in the cabin when, cloaked in the skin of the elder Winchester, Haris had taunted the young man, even tortured him. In fact, he would have killed him then and there had it not been for Dean’s pathetic plea that brought John to the surface and briefly in control.

“Perhaps I should have finished him then,” Haris stated aloud. “Should have taken him out of the game when I had the opportunity.”

Regret was another emotion that demons did not feel, but just the same, Haris knew that he had missed an opportunity. Now, faced with a semi-possessed hunter and a powerful amulet, Haris accepted that his original plan had failed. Failure was also something that a demon did not experience, well at least not for long.

Master was unforgiving. Failure was not a result that was tolerated in the ranks and Haris well knew the punishment associated with disappointing his Lord.

Walking several more feet, Haris reached the door to another room. Reverently, the demon entered the space, darkness greeting him. With a wave of his hand, several candles throughout the room erupted into life, illuminating a large altar.

Standing chest high, the ceremonial table was covered in spent wax and dried blood. More candles lined the rear of the countertop, also lit and casting ominous shadows across a massive golden bowl and a slender black chalice.

Haris strode to the altar, his hands reaching out to grasp the large vessel. Nearly the size of a punchbowl, it bore a dozen ghastly faces, cast in relief, screaming out in silent agony. Haris ran a fingertip across the design, each face accounting for a human soul, subdued and trapped forever in the place humans referred to as Hell. The demon knew better though. Hell didn’t exist as a place so much as a condition. A condition to which he knew he might soon be subjected if his report to the Master was not acceptable.

Setting the bowl back onto the altar, Haris picked up the ceremonial dagger. Communication with the Master required a blood offering, and not just any blood, but blood from the body he currently occupied. Rolling up the sleeve on his arm, he inserted the tip slowly into the inner portion of his left elbow, burying the first inch of the blade. In a precise move, he drew the blade from left to right, opening the antecubital vein and brachial artery in one fluid motion.

Blood coursed from the open wound as Haris calmly replaced the dagger and held his arm over the golden basin. His blood, or more accurately, the blood of the body he currently possessed, quickly filled the bowl. He then took the black chalice, a near duplicate of the larger container, with its own macabre faces carved into the metal. Dipping it into the thick, warm liquid, blood spilled forth from the open mouths of the carved faces like a bizarre fountain.

Haris lifted the goblet holding it high above his head as more blood poured out of the chalice coating his hands, his forearms, and the altar below. He spoke the incantation slowly, not due to lack of familiarity, but rather reluctance; he knew Master was not going to be pleased.

The invocation completed, Haris returned the cup to the altar as the candles in the room flickered as if from an unseen wind. Selecting a larger candle from the table, Haris plunged the flame into the blood-filled chalice igniting a pyrotechnic display to rival that of any rock band concert.

Stepping back, the demon waited for the internal voice that signaled the connection with his dark lord.

“Yes my Master!” he acknowledged.

“Yes, the battle was successful. Many of the hunters that have plagued our ranks were destroyed”

“No my lord, we have not yet found the body of John Winchester. There was an explosion and many of the hunters were burned beyond recognition.” Misdirection.

Haris’ body jerked suddenly, his Master’s way of punishing the half-truth.

“No my lord, I do not have the younger son … but I antic …” The word cut off as an invisible hand clenched around the demon’s throat, silencing him. Haris strangled silently for a few moments more, his body held rigidly by another unseen hand.

The invisible force released, the demon slowly straightened. He knew that while he was held in high stead amongst the ranks of Hell, he also recognized that his Master would not tolerate another word of failure.

“I have the elder Winchester son. He is under my control.” Technically speaking. “He will bring us the father and brother.”

The candles on the altar flared brilliantly just as Haris’ body was lifted and launched across the room, slamming into the far wall before crumbling in a heap. The demon staggered to his feet once more. He knew he was on dangerous ground with his commander. One more false step and he might be joining the tortured faces on the chalice.

“Master, I will not fail you!” Haris insisted, a final assurance offered.

Disconnected, the yellow-eyed demon stepped back away from the dark altar. Relief spread through him as he extinguished the remainder of the candles with a subsequent wave of his hand. Grabbing a towel from another nearby stand, Haris methodically wiped the remnants of his dark work from both arms before rolling his sleeve back down. Running his hands over his shirt and trousers, he smoothed away the wrinkles that the wall had caused just moments before. The smug smile returned, his “game-face” back in place as he stepped back into the hallway, making his way back to the large office.

Both the guard and his prisoner were gone when Haris entered the room, but a small pool of congealing blood marked where the defiant young man had been beaten.

Dean Winchester!

He knew it was only a matter of time before his lord learned about the amulet, learned that Dean was not “completely” under his control. He simply had to rectify that situation. He needed the dark-haired hunter in order to gain control of his younger brother and he required Dean fully possessed and serving him.

Granted, the amulet had caught him off-guard, but after centuries of planning for the ultimate battle, he had learned to be patient and methodical. Every human had their price or their breaking point. The same would be true for Dean Winchester, Haris simply had to figure out what that trigger was for the young man.

Sliding into the leather high-back chair, Haris reclined, hands behind his head in contemplation. Physical torture hadn’t worked thus far and playing on Dean’s family loyalty had only served to inspire more defiance. Every time Haris thought he nearly had the young man converted, he would spring back with renewed rebellion.

The amulet again! It had to be! The power had grown to where it could influence its guardian as well as protect him. He simply had to get the charm off the young man.

The soft creak of a hinge drew Haris’ attention to a young woman that stood in the doorway to the office. Another of the large guards escorted her inside as she sullenly carried a tray of food in her hands.

Dirty blonde hair lay in tangled curls about her face. Cleaned, she would have been very attractive, but the ragged clothing and smudged downcast face made her look pitiful and weak, a helpless victim.

As she rounded the edge of his desk, Haris reached out to brush a lock of hair away from her eyes. She visibly flinched, recoiling from his touch, blue eyes going wild with fear. As he absently continued to draw his fingers through her hair, his own yellow-eyes narrowed as he realized his oversight.

What a fool he had been…trying to sway a hunter with the wrong bait.

“What a pretty thing you are,” He crooned to the girl, a clawed fingertip subtly moving to the corner of her eye, holding there, poised to impale the orb. “So vulnerable, so innocent. If only there was someone that would rescue you from the torment I have planned.”

The girl screamed as demonic laughter filled the room, seeping out into the hallway and down the corridor to where a dark-haired hunter cringed.

* * * *

Sam and Zack drove the first half of the thirty minute trip back to town in a heavy silence so complete it filled the car to a point it barely left room to breathe.

Sam, face set in a scowl, fingers curled around the steering wheel like talons, shot Zack an occasional glance, mouth tightening as he did so, but still said nothing. His body language, however, was screaming.

Zack sat as close to the passenger door as he could get without hanging out of the window, shifting restlessly from time to time. Braced for what he wasn’t exactly sure, but nerve endings singing a warning to be ready for whatever Sam might do.

“Sam…” Zack’s voice was hoarse, subdued.

“Shut up,” Sam snapped without looking, fingers gripping the wheel even tighter.

“Please, Sam.”

Sam threw a glare at him this time, his growl of “What?” not even slightly encouraging.

Zack stared at the floorboards. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his own hands twisted together in a knot.

Sam laughed. A brittle snort of derision. “Yeah, I’m sure. Sorry it didn’t work!”

Zack ignored him, going on in desperation. “I didn’t mean for things to end up like this! Haris swore you and Dean wouldn’t be hurt -“

Sam laughed again, cutting him off. “You really are an idiot!” he replied. “What the hell did you think would happen when he got us? We’d all sit down and talk this out over a beer?”

“I had no idea Dean would end up possessed!” Zack protested, knowing his defensive position was weak to say the least, but unable to stop himself from trying to make Sam understand. “How could I have known that?”

Sam slammed on the brakes so hard the car fishtailed to a halt.

Zack was pitched forward, stopping himself from smashing into the dashboard by throwing his hands up.

Before he could do more than catch his breath Sam was on him, the muzzle of his gun digging into Zack’s throat, his face so close Zack could feel the heat of Sam’s breath. His heart racing, Zack spluttered, “You gonna kill me now? John said to let me go!”

Sam thought about Dean, writhing on the floor, a bullet fired by John in his shoulder, the cold blackness in his eyes. No matter how horrible the images that played through his mind about what Dean was going through at Haris’ hands, he knew they were nothing compared to the reality.

The pressure on his throat increased and Zack gagged.

“I should kill you,” Sam hissed. “Us alone on the drive to town. You catch me by surprise. Dad would expect me to defend myself.” Sam put his lips close to Zack’s ear. “He’d be pissed at me, but I’m used to that, and I really don’t think in the long run he’d give a damn one way or the other about what happens to you.”

Sam abruptly released Zack and sat back, Zack’s head thumping against the window. Sam dropped his gun hand into his lap, covering his eyes with the other hand, drawing in and letting out a long breath.

Zack stayed frozen against the door, heart pounding.

“What did you mean when you said the Winchesters were cursed?” Sam demanded unexpectedly, still staring out the windshield.

Zack relaxed slightly. “I didn’t mean anything, Sam. I was just trying to come up with something that would make you guys let me go.”

Sam’s head snapped around to glare again at Zack, who couldn’t quite stop his flinch at the sudden movement.

“That’s crap, Zack, and you know it!” Sam said in a low, intense voice. He twisted the key in the ignition, the Impala roaring back to life. Slamming the car into gear, Sam hit the gas, starting them back to town. Several minutes passed in silence, Sam finally pulling into town and heading for the bus station.

“I’m tired of all these damned secrets. All this need-to-know shit!” Sam hit the steering wheel. “I have a right to know why Haris has targeted my family! Why he wants me!”

Sam stopped the car and grabbed Zack’s arm as he started to get out. “You owe me,” he said. “You tell me what you know. Please.”

Zack pulled loose and heaved himself out of the car. “I’m sorry, Sam. Really. I don’t know anything.”

Sam’s hand dropped to the seat and he sighed.

Zack didn’t move away from the car. He bent, leaning into the passenger window, meeting Sam’s desperate gaze.

“Talk to your dad, Sam. He knows. He knows everything.” Zack backed out of the window, turned and walked quickly away, vanishing into the bus station.

* * * *

Inside Barracks

Dean swayed unsteadily, one hand reaching out to the wall in an effort to hold himself upright, while the other was extended before him in a less than effective effort to ward off another blow. He was having a hard time finding a portion of his body that had not suffered from the harsh kicks of the guard’s boots. In fact, his first mistake was regaining consciousness from the initial beating in Haris’ office. In retrospect, maybe staying on the floor might have been a better choice as yet another savage blow was launched at his head.

Sometime during his oblivion, another equally mammoth sentry had joined the mix and the two were now taking turns using Dean as a punching bag. Figuring that it would be much harder for their feet to connect with his head were it not on the floor, Dean struggled to remain upright.

Blood trickled from a cut beside his right eye, flowing down his face until it dripped from his chin and joined the reopened gunshot wound in his shoulder. There were other cuts as well, mostly scrapes from the rough rubber soles of the guards boots where they connected with unprotected flesh. All in all, Dean was pretty confident that this must be what it felt like to go five rounds with Mike Tyson.

‘Well, at least neither of them have bit my ear off yet!’ He thought to himself, ironic humor bringing a brief smile to an otherwise haggard face.

Dean braced for the next blow to land, his body stiffening for the inevitable assault. He put forth his best, most well practiced, look of “screw you”; hoping perhaps that at some level the two bruisers might be intimidated.

The next strike came at his head, but at the last moment, Dean was able to duck down, the guard’s fist flashing past him, skimming across the top of his spiked hair and followed by a grunt as the guard’s momentum carried him past and into the nearby wall. The grin that spread across the hunter’s face was short-lived, quickly replaced by wide-eyes as both black-eyed men charged him simultaneously.

Back to a corner, Dean had no place to retreat as the two larger bodies slammed into him, smashing him against the wall and driving his head once more against the unyielding concrete block wall. The room spun sickeningly, objects both animate and inanimate cloned themselves in Dean’s blurred, double vision. He felt several more blows land to his torso as his legs gave out again, dropping him in a heap to the floor.

‘Damn … and it took me ten minutes to stand up straight the last time!’ he thought to himself.

Get hit... fall down … get up … get hit again … fall down again … pass out … wake up … repeat – the monotony of the routine was almost humorous to Dean’s punch-drunk mind.

Copper filled his mouth, blood finding its way down his throat and antagonizing an already empty stomach. Had he eaten anything in recent memory, Dean would have taken great joy in puking on the nearest offending boot. Instead, he settled for hacking out a large glob of blood and spittle that splattered against the tan suede of the nearest guard’s footgear.

The demon-possessed man looked down to his feet then back at Dean, black eyes flaring. Hands closed around the hunter’s neck as he felt himself lifted from the floor, his feet dangling in the air. As choking became gasping, Dean felt panic rise in his chest. He struck feebly at the thick corded arms that held him suspended as consciousness began to drift from him. Just as his eyes began to slip shut, the door to the barracks room swung open, Haris striding into the area.

The demon casually noted Dean’s currently lofted position and with a wave of his hand, the young man was dropped to the floor as the guard holding him was flung backward, the sickening sound of bones crushing as the huge body fell. The tell-tale black fog seeped out of the destroyed body and rapidly dissipated out a nearby vent.

“I believe I said to keep the hunter alive!” Haris shouted at the emaciated husk. Stooping down, he offered a hand to a stunned Dean who swatted it away and rose stubbornly, albeit slowly, to his feet.

“Suit yourself Dean.” Haris shrugged, straightening. He turned and motioned toward the still-open door.

A young woman slowly advanced from the hallway carrying a small tray laden with food. She mutely stepped towards Dean, her face downcast, blonde hair shrouding her but unable to hide the subdued slump of her shoulders or the multicolored bruises on her bare arms.

She set the platter at his feet, the inviting odor of grilled steak infiltrating Dean’s nostrils as his stomach screamed out for recognition. Just as quickly, the girl took two steps back, glancing up briefly to meet his gaze. The absolute terror in her eyes burned into his head as all thoughts of hunger were replaced by anger and resolve.

Haris moved up to her right side, his hand coming to rest on the crown of her head as he began stroking her like a docile pet. The young woman shrunk visibly at the demon’s touch, goose bumps raised on her skin as she shivered involuntarily.

Dean caught the girl’s reaction and Haris likewise noted Dean’s. He smiled in satisfaction watching the young man tense up with anger in response to the condition of the young woman.

Brushing aside her stray locks to reveal an unblemished, porcelain face, Haris shrewdly studied Dean’s hoping for the desired effect.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Clean her up and she could rival any of the greatest beauties of the ages.”

Dean glared at the demon, suspicion tingling the skin at the back of his neck.

Haris continued. “She can be yours Dean. One of the perks of being on the winning team. You’ve always wanted a family, why not start with her?”

“I have a family!” Dean snapped back.

“Had, Dean. Must I keep reminding you?”

The silence in the small area was deafening, words forcing reality on the hunter and reminding him of the emptiness inside him that had nothing to do with the lack of recent meals.

“No! Not like this!” Dean refused.

Haris shrugged and in a single fluid motion he snapped the blonde’s neck dropping her lifelessly to the ground. Dean screamed out in rage and denial, shocked at the swiftness of the murder that occurred before him.

The demon never skipped a beat, motioning once more as the remaining guard opened the door and another young woman was forced into the room. Brunette this time and like her predecessor, she could have been beautiful were it not for the beaten and broken demeanor.

The demon placed his hand on the back of the girl’s neck, a whimper escaping her lips as his fingers curled around her throat. Dean jerked forward, fists clenched and ready to attack should Haris make any further threatening move.

“How about this one Dean? More to your liking? So innocent, don’t you think?” the yellow eyed fiend questioned, his hand constricting tighter.

The young woman’s delicate fingers flew to her neck as she began to gasp.

“Stop it!” Dean shouted. “Don’t do this!”

Soft doe eyes widened in desperation as the young woman frantically clawed at the demon’s hand but, Haris refused to relent.

“I’ll stop Dean, in exchange for the amulet,” he offered nonchalantly.

Heart and head immediately began to clash. There was no way Dean could stand by and watch another innocent woman be slaughtered because of him, no way his battered soul could withstand it, yet he knew just as certainly that he could not part with the amulet either. Without the amulet, he was certain that he would fully succumb to the demon, not to mention that the last time he was without the amulet, it nearly killed him. Still, what was his life worth anymore anyway? Why not sacrifice it for the life of someone more deserving to live? Maybe it would be a small reconciliation for the blonde, for Layla, and for Sam.

“The clock’s ticking, what’s it going to be? The girl or the amulet?” Haris demanded.

Reluctantly, defeat evident in both his eyes and his body language, Dean slowly reached up to the knot behind his neck. As he fumbled, his fingers shaking with the emotional turmoil, Haris stepped forward smiling in triumph.

Drawing near to the young hunter, the demon moved away from the girl eager to receive his long awaited prize. Eyes downcast, Dean’s hand moved to his chest where the darkened charm lay against his shirt. His palm encircled the ancient bauble, gripping it tightly in his closed palm.

From within his black suit coat, Haris produced a small, dark box with gold runes covering the sides. He slowly lifted the lid, revealing crimson colored satin lining the inside. Extending it outward in his hand, he awaited the amulet.

Every muscle in Dean’s body was coiled like a snake, pent up anger, frustration and pain nourishing him like no amount of food ever could. As the box slid into view, he looked up and for the briefest moment, coal-black empty irises flashed at his captor.

Opening his hand, the amulet did not fall into the proffered container, but instead fell back against his body. The empty box, not to mention the stiff middle finger of Dean’s right hand that waggled in front his face, alerted Haris to the fact that he had been duped. In that instant, the young hunter sprang forward, grabbing the hand of the submissive young woman and bolting for the still-open door.

Running as fast as his abused body and the frightened girl would allow him, Dean headed toward the large double doors he had spotted earlier when he had been taken to Haris’ office. Just as he approached, the doors swung open and two uniformed men entered, blocking the escape route. As large as the carbon copies that had been guarding Dean, he knew there was no way to get past them with the brunette in tow.

Spinning around, he saw Haris and the remaining sentry moving in from the opposite end of the hallway. Glancing nervously, both obvious exits blocked, Dean pushed the young woman behind him in an effort to shield her as the demon approached.

As he neared, Haris nodded his head slightly in Dean’s general direction, his yellow eyes swirling like flames. Dean could feel the girl’s body jerk behind him, could hear her scream abruptly stifled by a gasp. He turned to aid her just as her chest burst open, blood cascading down the light green jersey she wore. Brown eyes stared downward as she watched her own life pouring out.

Dean could feel his own chest hitch in response, the nightmare of being ripped apart still fresh enough in his mind that he grimaced, his hand unconsciously reaching to his heart, feeling it pound beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

Frozen in the memory, Dean could only stare as the young woman collapsed to the floor, eyes dilated in death. He screamed in rage, his fists pounding into the wall behind him over and over.

“Not again! Not more innocent blood on my hands!”

Haris stepped forward, toeing the dead girl like a piece of garbage.

“There’s plenty more where she came from Dean! We can do this all night!”

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