Season Two

Episode Two: The Beast Within

By Thru Terry's Eyes & Tree

Part Three

The first bloody glow of dawn was shimmering on the horizon as John and Sam took up a position of relative safety behind a thick clump of bushes rimming the fencing running along the edge of the small compound. There wasn’t much to look at. One long barracks, a small hangar and a few outbuildings of varying sizes scattered about he dusty area. Now and again figures could be seen moving from one building to the other but not much else had been happening in the last eight hours.

Bobby’s presence on the scene for the past three days could attest to that. He had kept close watch on Haris’s base of operations since speaking with John. He and the small group of hunters that had joined them had maintained a constant surveillance of the area. Bobby felt fairly secure in the number of inhabitants inside, but as to what activities were being conducted he had no clue.

He glanced up as John and Sam settled in beside him, lowering his field glasses to nod at the two men. “John. Sam.”

John clasped Bobby’s arm but said nothing, accepting the glasses as Bobby held them out and scanning the compound himself.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam said softly. “Anything new?”

Bobby shook his head slightly. “No sign of Dean, or Haris,” He replied, looking away from Sam’s disappointment. “But they’re definitely moving out. No new people have come in and when the trucks come in, they come in light. But they leave heavy. With what I don’t know.”

John lowered the binoculars after he completed his scan of the area and sighed. “We need to get everyone together, make sure everyone knows their part.” He glanced back at the base. “I can’t believe you’ve been able to monitor this from so close. No guards, no patrols.” John spat disgustedly. “Arrogant bastard.”

John handed the glasses to Bobby and touched Sam’s arm to draw his attention from the compound. “C’mon, let’s go.”

* * * *

As they made their way back to the road other hunters materialized silently from the surrounding area, following along until John called a halt.

He paused before speaking, surveying this scruffy group. They brandished a variety of weapons. Their clothing and expressions were equally worn and battered. Young, old, a couple of women John would have thought twice about before taking on. He knew most of them, and if he didn’t, Bobby did, which was good enough. They had wanted to keep it to a small, trusted group.

John stood in the center as the other hunters slouched and hunkered down around him, waiting.

Sam stood to one side, avoiding their looks. He knew a couple of them casually but John had always kept Sam and Dean out of the mainstream of other hunters and he felt a little out of place under their intense scrutiny.

He knew John may have had their respect as a seasoned and formidable hunter, but their presence here had more to do with a mutual desire to bring Haris down than any love for John and his abrasive ways.

As far as John was concerned, looking around at his colleagues, this was a mission to rescue his son. If Haris went down in the process, all the better, but all he gave a damn about was getting Dean back. One way or the other. The thought that choked him was not knowing whether Dean would be the hazel-eyed son or the black-eyed demon John had shot. Either way, though, Dean was coming with them. That he might already be dead was not a thought John was willing to entertain.

John took a deep breath. “Okay,” he began, “any questions about what we have to do once we get in the compound?” He had already gone over the plan with everyone, but marine training demanded he go through it one more time.

“Sid, Micheal, Jefferson and Rennie-" he gestured at each individual in turn. Sid, a heavy set man around John’s age who looked like he would be more at home as a department store Santa; his companion, dark skinned Micheal, who rarely spoke and never looked someone in the eye unless he intended to kill them. Jefferson, the lanky Texan, who always seemed to be smirking, as if enjoying a never ending private joke. Rennie, a dark haired woman with a slashing scar down the side of her face and bigger scar she kept hidden inside.

“You’re all with me on the barracks, John confirmed. “The rest of you go with Bobby to the hangar once the explosives are planted at the outbuildings.” He swept them all with a hard look. “We hit hard and we hit fast. In and out. Surprise is all we have.”

He stopped again, looking at them all. “I know there are innocent people in there, including my son, Dean. We have to accept the fact that there will be collateral damage.” His gaze turned cold. “I will not accept Dean being a part of that damage. If someone finds him before I do, hold him until I get there. Are we absolutely clear on this?”

As the grizzled veterans mumbled and nodded assent, out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sam suddenly grimace, a hand shooting to his temple as he gasped, knees buckling…

* * * *

When the pain hit from out of nowhere, Sam couldn’t stop the gasping cry he made as his hands shot to his head, a searing blast of pain tearing through his skull as he stumbled to one side.

NOT NOW! He thought in horror as the vision engulfed him.

* * * *

The floor was covered in pools of red. In the peripheral of his “sight” Haris stood to one side, arms crossed, looking bored and irritated. His gaze was fixed on the huddle of bodies gathered in the center of the room. Sam’s eyes swept across the chamber, past the crumpled forms of several young women, their faces frozen in stark terror, the blood spreading on the floor emanating from their torn bodies.

His gaze came to rest on the action taking place in the center of the room where several large men with ink black eyes were engaged in the enthusiastic beating and kicking of a figure twisted on the floor, trying ineffectually to protect his face and belly by curling into a ball. His muffled cries and grunts of pain tore into Sam with every blow.

“Enough!” Haris called suddenly. The assault ceased instantly and the tormentors fell back, breathing heavily, their victim writhing at their feet.

Haris knelt next to the figure and with surprising gentleness rolled him onto his back, drawing a low cry from the broken form as he did so.

“No more, please…”

Sam’s heart froze as Dean’s battered features were revealed. His eyes barely open, blood and bruises covering his exposed skin.

Haris shook his head slowly. “This can all stop, Dean. You can end it right now,” he said in a soft, reasonable voice, a father reluctantly administering punishment to an errant child.

Sam felt sick.

“You know what you have to do.” Haris held out his hand. “Give me the amulet, Dean, and all this goes away. No one else dies because of you. The pain stops. Everything will be all right. I promise…” Haris was practically crooning now. His other hand stretched out to Dean’s sweaty, blood-matted hair and stroked gently.

Dean groaned, unable to move away from the hateful touch. So tired…

Eyes down, he made two abortive attempts to grip the blackened amulet before he could make his shaking fingers close around it. His breath choked in a sob.

“NO!” Sam screamed, clutching the explosion in his head as he watched a trembling Dean lift the cord from around his neck and hand it Haris, whose eyes began to glow such a brilliant yellow they appeared to be on fire.

Sam screamed again as Dean suddenly fell back to the floor, a twisted smile pulling at his lips as he began to laugh softly, staring at the ceiling, his eyes blacker than midnight.

* * * *

John crossed the short distance to Sam in two quick strides, pushing aside Jefferson and Micheal who were trying to come to Sam’s aid, not sure exactly what he needed as he thrashed on the ground.

John pulled Sam to him, trying to shield the young man from the view of others.

“Dad…my God, I saw him…saw what they’re doing!!!” Sam clutched his head and rolled into his father.

“It’s okay, Sam! Shhh! Quiet, it’ll be okay…” John’s desperate attempts to hush Sam were pointless as Sam was not even slightly in control of himself.

“Dean’s gonna give it to him!” Sam cried, “He’ll turn if he does. Dad he’ll turn!!” Sam gripped John frantically, staring past him at something only he could see.

Bobby, as startled at the rest, abruptly realized this was not good. The hunters standing around were starting to look at each other and Sam with growing alarm. They were, by nature, a suspicious lot and most of them had a “shoot first and worry about the consequences later” attitude.

“Okay, c’mon!” he snapped. “The kid's been sick, let’s leave 'em alone. Give 'em some room. He’ll be fine.” Bobby hurriedly shooed the other hunters away, pushing those reluctant to leave along. “We’ll be leaving in a minute, do what you need to to get ready and we’ll meet at that big dead tree in ten minutes!”

Bobby shoved the last man ahead of him and turned to shoot John a desperate look. John thanked him with his eyes and turned back to Sam who appeared to be coming out of it.

“Talk about lousy timing.” John groused. He brushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes and held him steady as Sam shakily got to his feet. “Of all the damned people to have that happen in front of!”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, coughing, still holding his temple. “I can’t control it…”

“What did you see?” John hissed when he was sure the others were out of earshot.

“My God, Dad, they’re beating him to death!” Sam tried to keep his voice down. “All these women around him, dead. There’s blood everywhere!” John grabbed Sam’s arm as he swayed.

Heart in his throat, John forced himself to be calm. “What else?” he gritted.

Sam paused trying to make sense of it. “Haris is trying to get Dean to give in to something. He wants Dean’s amulet…I don’t know why, but it’s important.” Sam shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever it is, Dean’s still fighting. But -" Sam caught John’s shirt in his fist. “Dad if we don’t get to Dean in time, he’s gonna give the amulet to Haris and it’ll be too late!”

“Okay, Sam, I understand. We gotta go. Are you all right? Can you make it?” John bobbed to see Sam’s face more clearly.

Sam wiped his eyes and straightened. “Try and stop me!”

John clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s go!”

* * * *

Inside the Barracks

Where do I take this pain of mine
I run but it stays right by my side
So tear me open, pour me out
The thing inside that screams and shouts
And the pain still hates me, so hold me… until it sleeps …

Pain and numbness, generally opposites, but given enough pain, either mental or physical, then numbness will soon follow. Such was now the case for Dean. How many times had he unconsciously hummed Metallica, had hummed this song, not cognizant of the lyrics but comforted by the strong rhythm which could numb him into ignoring whatever pain was plaguing him. Now, it mocked him with its appropriateness, no longer distracting or soothing, the words reminding him of the evil thing inside him and the futility of the situation he was in.

Three days; the beatings at the hands of Haris’ latest guards continued until nearly every inch of his body was covered in bruises. Three days; more young women were paraded before him like animals at an auction only to be slaughtered by the demon when Dean would not, could not, hand over the amulet. Three more days that his conscience tore him apart from the inside, chastising him for being so weak, so pathetic. And three more days for him to sink further and further into the darkest recesses of his mind.

Around him, the bodies of the dead girls littered the floor like broken dolls left behind by a spoiled child. So many bodies spread before him that he shrunk back into his favorite corner, compacting his body as tightly as possible in an effort to separate himself from the carnage. Everywhere he cast his eyes, Dean was met with the stark reminder of his refusal to submit to the demon’s demands.

He dry-heaved at the sight of the thick, gelled blood surrounding the lifeless forms, but nothing came up, his stomach having long since given up reminding him of its emptiness.

When had he eaten last? Days? Weeks? Did it even matter any more? God, he was so tired. Maybe if he could just close his eyes and sleep. Maybe he could wake up from this nightmare, Sam shaking him alert and standing over him with those eyes that always looked so damned sincere, so concerned.

Sam! “Sammy!” his voice called out weakly, dry from thirst, hoarse from screaming.

“You’re not gonna let me die in peace are you?”

“I’m not gonna let you die at all!”

If only it were true! If only Sammy were alive and rushing to save him. Funny! He’d always considered himself his baby brother’s self-appointed savior and protector, but how many times had Dean been the recipient of Sam’s stalwart determination to redeem him?

What did it matter now anyway? Sam was gone, Dad was gone, and there was no one left that cared enough to come and find him. He was lost.

Lost in a trance, his eyes focused on the blood on the floor, blood on his brother’s throat, all his fault!

He crimped his eyes closed once more. Even in the self-imposed darkness, the images of the dead women burned into his brain. They were dead because of him; there was no denying that fact. Their blood was on his hands, no amount of justification could wipe away the stain. Would there ever be hope for redemption? Was he becoming a corporeal version of Claviger? Just because he hadn’t actually done the killing like the ancient cowboy, he was just as surely guilty of the crime.

“You hate me because you see in me what you may one day become … " Claviger’s prediction seemingly coming true as the demon inside Dean stirred.

Layla’s words came back in a rush to haunt him. “He was once a good man, now turned so inherently evil he is hard to destroy.” Who had she really been talking about? Had she somehow known that he, like Claviger, would somehow succumb to evil? And like Claviger, did he too need to be destroyed?

Dean wrapped his arms, stiff and sore, tighter around his chest, hugging himself as he slowly began to rock back and forth.

Although he could close his eyes to prevent seeing the butchery splayed out all around him, the victims’ final screams still sounded in his head, deafening him. Reaching up, elbows tucked into his chest, he cupped his palms over his ears. Just like the visage that was etched into his minds-eye, the screams continued inside his skull.

“Stop, stop, stop, STOP!” Dean shouted, trying to drown out the voices in his head.

Deep inside, the demon growled. Dean could feel it making its presence known, could sense it rising up to battle him; battle the amulet?

“Dean! You can make it all go away. The blood, the screams, the nightmares, the pain!” the demon within pressed him.

“No!” He refused, weaker than before, determination slowly fading like the last rays of sunlight before nightfall.

“But Dean, you haven’t even heard my offer yet!” Haris stood before him, silently appearing in the room, his voice booming and breaking through the internal dialogue.

Dean looked up, his face blanching as he saw the small figure held before the demon. The boy was no more than six or seven, eyes peeking from behind a shaggy brown mop of hair. Like a puppy, the boy was all limbs, gangly and needing to grown into his frame.

“Remind you of anyone?” Haris taunted, clearly relishing the effect that the boy was having on the hunter.

“You bastard!” Dean snarled.

He tried to avoid looking at he terrified eyes of the little boy, but the piercing blue-green bore into him; pleading, begging, hopeful, Sammy! Dean turned away, trying to hide the exhaustion and defeat that he knew was evident on his face.

“I can’t save you Sammy! I couldn’t save you before and I can’t save you now. I can’t even save myself. I’m sorry! Forgive me – please!”

“This can all stop Dean. You know what I require! Give me the amulet and the boy goes free!”

The demon clamped his hand onto the junction of the boy’s neck and shoulder, claws digging into the soft flesh as the child whimpered and nearly dropped to his knees. Brows raised, eyes wide, the boy extended a hand out towards Dean silently imploring the young hunter to come to his rescue. Small fingers barely touched the skin on Dean’s arm and he flinched, the contact stinging him with brutal reality.

“The amulet, Dean?” Haris reminded. The demon’s hand gripped tighter as the boy cried out, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. Beatings could be tolerated, pain could be pushed down, and hunger could be ignored, but guilt ate at you, devoured the very essence of what made a man a man. So much blood! Blood on the floor, blood on Sam’s throat, blood on his hands. He was tired of blood; his, theirs, anyone’s and he wasn’t about to watch this innocent boy’s blood be spilled because of him.

Reluctantly, remorsefully, beaten and broken, Dean reached up to his neck. His numb fingers began working the knot that held the talisman to his body. His eyes never left the face of the little boy, trying to relay some sort of confidence and reassurance while the demon within him laughed in derision.

Glancing up at Haris, the cord nearly apart, Dean expected to see a similar look of smug satisfaction. Instead, he was surprised to see yellow eyes startled and rapidly moving about. It took several more seconds before his head finally blocked out the voice of the demon and his own internal barrage, his ears picking up the rapid “popping” of automatic gunfire.

As his hands dropped away from his neck, Dean watched as Haris ordered the guards out to check on the disturbance. Turning to face the hunter, the demon could not hide the concern from his face.

“I’ll be back Dean. We’ll pick up where we left off,” Haris promised, but for once the ominous tone to his voice was missing.

The demon strode from the room, dragging the young boy behind him as the sounds of gunfire grew closer. Dean leaned back against the cool wall, listening to the weapons barrage. Voices, human voices, accompanied the dull thuds of bullets as they ricocheted off of wood and concrete.

“DEAN!” His name shouted over and over from the exterior hallway, but Dean didn’t hear it.

“Resist, Hold on, Stay Strong!” over and over, the mantra began replaying again.

“You’re not gonna let me die in peace are you?”

“I’m not gonna let you die at all!”

* * * *

At the large dead oak, the other hunters were gathered, checking ammo and making last minute comments in low undertones. The talk ceased as John and Sam approached, a few of them casting Sam odd looks. Sam ignored them.

John checked his gun. “We ready for this?” He accepted the nods and murmurs of assent from the others. He nodded at Bobby. “Let’s do it.” He moved to the front of his group and headed toward the compound. Bobby and his men moved to the left and vanished into the trees.

* * * *

Getting in through the gate was easy. No one challenged them as they cut through the padlocks and shoved the gates aside. A little hesitantly, but finding the absence of confrontation irresistible, John and his companions raced to the barracks and glued themselves to the sides of the building, peering carefully into the dirty windows.

There was a sharp blast and Sam was shocked to see Michael suddenly pitch backwards and land in the dirt several feet away, minus a large part of his skull, blood pouring from his head.

Sid yelled as his friend was thrown backwards. He didn’t need to go to him to know he was dead.

More gun blasts poured through the windows and black-eyed men suddenly rushed out the double doors.

Sid went insane, grabbing a machete from the sheath on his back and wading into the knot of Haris’s servants, gun roaring in one hand, blade slashing with the other, indiscriminately lopping off whatever body parts were presented to him from the men who had murdered his partner.

The other hunters took advantage of Sid’s mad diversion, firing their own weapons and going at it hand to hand if needed. They were outnumbered but the men attacking them were moving without a plan, only the desire to eradicate. A single-mindedness of purpose that was not that difficult to overcome.

An explosion sounded behind them and one of the outbuildings was blown apart. Friends and enemies alike ducked and covered their heads as they were pelted with debris. No sooner had the one gone off then the other two buildings were blasted skyward.

“C’mon!” John yelled at Sam, shoving him into the now unbarred doorway. Behind him Sam could hear Rennie screaming like a banshee.

Jefferson and Sid stumbled through the door, Sid turning to squeeze off one more shot into a still moving body. Sam grimaced, but he understood. They were not taking prisoners.

Rennie stepped in. “What now?” she demanded, blood dripping from her forehead.

John looked down the long corridor, festooned with doors, all closed.

“Start searching the rooms! If you find prisoners, release them, but tell me if you find Dean!” he gestured with his gun and they spread out, opening doors and making rapid sweeps of the rooms.

“Be careful, Sam!” John called to him as they split up.

Sam nodded and moved on down the hallway. He could hear more muffled gunfire and yelling outside. Smoke and dust from the explosions was starting to fill the air, making it hard to breath.

He moved down the corridor, jumping a short set of steps and began searching the rooms on this lower level. Gunshots rang out behind him but he ignored them, moving on from room to room, each new door a promise and a lie. Dean wasn’t in any of them. Mostly what he found was bloodstains. Too many and too big, in almost every room. One or two still had the cold body that the blood belonged to lying stiffly on the floor but one look and Sam could tell they were beyond any help he could offer.

Angry and growing more and more frustrated, he didn’t even try the last door, he just kicked it open in a fury.

* * * *

Dean jerked at the sound of the door crashing open, starting reflexively, but beyond actually caring enough to lift and his head and see what it was. Haris back, no doubt, with that little kid, ready for more fun and games. Dean couldn’t take anymore, of that he was sure. The gunfire Dean had thought he heard was obviously a figment of his desperate imagination.

“Dean, my God!”

Dean’s head did snap up that time, hearing that voice, knowing he’d finally lost his mind. Desperate hands grabbed his arms and he cringed away, farther into his corner, throwing his filthy blood-streaked hands up to protect himself.

“Leave me alone, you bastard!” he gasped.

“Dean, it’s me, Sam! Look at me! It’s okay, you’re okay! We’re here to get you out!”

Dean felt large warm hands on the sides of his face. Even as he tried to jerk away, his eyes finally got the idea and Sam’s shaggy haired face swam into focus. He gaped in disbelief, his heart pounding in his ears. His fingers closed spastically over the fabric covering Sam’s arms, shaking uncontrollably. His eyes searched the smiling face in front of him.

“It’s a trick…” he whimpered. “I killed you…”

“No! Dean, you helped save me. I’m here, Dad’s here. I swear...God, Dean, what’s that son of a bitch done to you…” Sam’s voice thickened as he took in Dean’s battered features, torn clothes, the blood. His eyes swept over the room, at the bodies strewn carelessly over the floor. The blood pooling everywhere that Dean had tried so hard to get away from by cramming himself as far into the corner as he could.

Dean suddenly clawed Sam into his arms, grasping him in a crushing embrace. “You’re alive!” he choked, fingers digging into Sam’s back. “You’re alive…”

Sam returned the hug, giving Dean what comfort he could. “I’m fine, Dean I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.” Sam braced himself. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here, we don’t have a lot of time.” He helped as Dean struggled unsteadily to his feet.

They had barely made it upright when Dean’s eyes went wide and he made a weak effort to push Sam to one side.

“Dean, what are you-" Sam gagged as an arm like a bar of iron closed around his throat and he was dragged backwards, away from Dean.

Dean stumbled back against the wall with a cry.

Sam struggled, but his air was effectively cut off and even as he flailed, he could feel darkness closing in.

Haris gave a little, allowing Sam to suck in a short breath. “Well, hell, Dean! I guess even you must have realized by now that Sam isn’t dead.” Haris laughed. “What can I say? I’ve always been fuzzy on details. No problem though. Since he is alive-" Haris eased his hold once again but Sam’s struggles were getting weaker, “for the moment, anyway, he’s a much better bargaining chip than that raggedy-assed kid I had in here. So what do you say, Dean? Hand over the amulet. I may have lied about Sam being dead but I don’t have the slightest problem correcting that situation,” Sam choked as Haris tightened his grip. “Right now!”

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The Winchester Chronicles