Season Two

Episode Twenty-two: Dance With The Devil

By Kittsbud & Tree

Part Two

Dean

Dean came out of the bathroom, peeking around the door and listening to see if his brother had returned yet. Relieved when he was greeted with silence and an empty room, the young hunter slowly crossed over to the edge of his bed and dropped limply to the mattress.

The fact that he’d managed to hide out in the bathroom for nearly an hour without his brother being suspicious still amazed him.

Sammy must be really freaked about Alyssa and now the Mitchum kid going missing.

Still, if it was keeping his kid brother from noticing that the amulet was gone and that Dean was nearly falling on his face, then so be it. In truth, he felt way worse than the last time when he’d lost the amulet in the swamp, the vertigo and headache were off the scale. Even the hot shower hadn’t done a thing to revive him. In fact, if anything, it seemed to have sapped what little energy sleep had provided him last night, leaving him nearly too exhausted to even get dressed.

Dean looked at his watch. How long had Sam been gone now? Surely long enough to get a cheeseburger and coffee and be ready to walk through that door any minute.

“Gotta get your shit together, Winchester,” he admonished himself. “Either that or come up with some excuse that Sammy’s gonna buy, 'cause if he finds you looking like this, he’s gonna bust your ass.”

But deep down, Dean knew that time was running out. He knew it the moment he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror this morning. The dark circles under his eyes in sharp contrast to the pale tone of his skin, the shaking of his hands that simply refused to obey the commands of a mind that struggled to focus, or even the stomach that lurched at the mere mention of coffee or seized into painful cramps out of sheer spite it seemed.

No way I’m gonna hide this from Sam. You better hurry it the hell up Dad, times runnin’ out here. Once Haris is taken care of, then Sammy can be as pissed as he wants to be with me.

Looking at his watch once more and then to the motel room door, Dean was becoming a little worried. Shouldn’t Sam have been back by now?

He contemplated going out to look for his baby brother, but firstly he had no idea where Sam had gone for the food, and secondly it was simply more inviting to fall backwards on the bed and pass out.

Dean was about to choose the latter when his cell phone began to ring. Fishing it out of his jeans pocket, he spotted his father’s name on the caller ID and anxiously answered.

“Dad?” God, please let him tell me that they’ve got that yellow-eyed bastard already.

“Dean. Where are you?” John’s voice demanded.

“Still in Phoenix, Dad. Why? What’s going on?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I need you to meet me as soon as possible. I’m not far from you, in Prescott. Meet me at the first rest stop just outside of town.”

“Prescott? Dad, I thought you and Bobby were headed to Big Horn?”

“Dammit, Dean. Do as you’re told,” his father harshly ordered. “And come alone. Do not tell your brother.”

“Okay, but Dad…” But before Dean could ask anything further, the call abruptly ended.

He sat there for a minute more, staring incredulously at the cellular in his hand.

“What the hell? YOU ASS!” he shouted at the phone. “After all this? After these past few days, nothing's changed. It’s the same shit with you. Secrets, orders, treating me like I’m a child. What the hell do I have to do?” Apparently giving you everything I’ve had my entire life wasn’t enough. Apparently giving up my life to save my brother isn’t enough!

Dean raged for several more minutes, pent up emotions venting and stealing away precious strength and energy. It wasn’t that he had changed his mind in the least about what he had committed to doing, but that phone call had certainly caught him off guard.

Calmer now, the little voice in the back of his head began to scream. What had happened? Why was his dad now in Prescott when just yesterday he’d been headed toward northern Wyoming? Was he following Dean after all? And then there was the cryptic order to not to tell Sam. Was it still something to do with the amulet and Haris?

Worried, slightly panicked, Dean called up every ounce of strength and determination he possessed and pushed up off the bed. He walked over to the small table, casually noticing the laptop was on and Outlook open, but he didn’t bother to check out the emails.

Grabbing a piece of paper from the motel notepad, he hastily scribbled a note for Sam, telling his brother that he was taking the Impala to check out the still-faulty alternator before they left for Oxford.

Dean figured that ought to buy him enough time to get to Prescott and back, and besides, he’d already initiated that particular lie a couple of days back, much easier for his addled brain to perpetuate an old one than to start a new one.

Grabbing his keys, he hurried from the room, hoping he could get out of the motel parking lot before his brother returned and saw him. Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean pulled out onto the highway and was well on his way to Prescott, still vaguely concerned as to why Sam hadn’t returned.

It took Dean nearly an hour to reach the meeting point, having driven like he had the very Hounds of Hell trailing him the entire way. Plagued by a mixture of emotions the entire drive, once he pulled into the little roadside area, he forced himself to push all the feelings of anger, suspicion, and even fear aside as his eyes searched eagerly for his dad’s black truck.

Quickly scanning the area, it didn’t take long to see that besides his Impala and two other semis, the place was empty. Dean looked at his watch. Granted, he hadn’t exactly followed the posted speed limit getting here, but he’d assumed that his dad would have been here waiting when he got here considering how demanding he’d been on the phone.

Dean settled back, sinking into the leather seat and closing his eyes, fighting back the vertigo that had been threatening for miles. The annoying pounding in his head was keeping time with the beating of the heart in his chest and it felt ominously like a clock, ticking off the remaining seconds of his life. Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew his body was failing him, organs beginning to work overtime to compensate for having the very life force being drained out of him.

And I’m out here chasing my dad down?

He sat there for thirty minutes more, counting vehicles that went by that weren’t his dad, counting heartbeats that were being wasted while he waited. Growing more and more irritated, Dean finally yanked the cell from his pocket and hit the speed-dial for John.

It rang once, twice, three times, and Dean worried that it was going to voicemail when suddenly his dad’s voice sounded in the receiver.

“Dean? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” John answered in a panic.

“What’s wrong? Am I alright? My ass is going numb sitting here waiting on you,” Dean snapped back.

“Waiting on me? Where are you?”

“Prescott, exactly where you told me to meet you.”

“Dean, I’m not anywhere near Prescott. Why would you think that?” John asked. My God, he’s disoriented.“Dean, where’s Sam?” Gonna have to tell Sam now, Dean needs help.

“I didn’t bring Sammy, Dad. You told me to come alone. You said not to tell Sam. Dad, what the hell is going on? Did you not call me two hours ago and tell me to meet you in Prescott ASAP, no questions asked?” Dean reminded, the intensity in his voice tinged with confusion and anger.

“Dean, I never called you. I swear. Bobby and I are nearly to the Big Horn Medicine Wheel. I figure we’ll be ready to summon Haris by tonight.”

“Dad, I’m not crazy.” Or am I? What if my brain is melting down now too? “I know that call was from you, er… well, it sure was someone with your voice,” Dean stammered.

“Dean, have you found out anything else about that Alyssa girl?” John asked suspiciously.

“Uh, nothing about her really. But, Sammy did find something about that Mitchum kid from back in Oxford. He’s gone missing too. We were going to take off today and check that out since there’s nothing more back in Phoenix,” Dean explained.

There was a moment’s silence when suddenly Dean rose up in the seat.

“SHIT!” he shouted across the phone. “Dad, I gotta get back to Phoenix now.”

“Dean, what is it?” John asked worriedly.

“I dunno, nothing I hope. I’ll call you as soon as I get back there.” Please don’t let me be right, he thought, thumbing off the call before firing the car back to life.

He pulled back onto the highway, narrowly missing an oncoming truck as the Impala fishtailed violently between the lanes.

If he was speeding on his way to Prescott, then he was nearly supersonic on his way back to the motel. Never considering himself a praying man, Dean was close to sending up a few silent words to the Big Guy as he rushed to get back to his brother.

Don’t let there be any State Troopers; don’t let me throw up right now; please let me keep the car on the road; please, dear God, let Sammy be there when I get back!

First Alyssa, then David Mitchum; if it was Haris, then the coincidence of psychic kids now suddenly going missing was too much to ignore. Add in the bogus phone call from his dad, and Dean felt pretty certain he had been baited away from his brother.

Please let Sam be there when I get back, please let Sam be there when I get back… the litany played over and over in his head.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, stopping the Impala with a screech of tires and the smell of hot brakes. He stumbled/staggered out of the car, barely containing the bile that had risen to the middle of his throat and burned there. He knocked on the door, calling out Sam’s name even as he fumbled with the key.

“Sammy! Come on dude, open up,” he yelled, finally managing to get the key into the hole despite seeing three keys and fours keyholes with his currently blurred vision.

Flinging open the door, he rushed inside to… emptiness.

“Sam?” Dean called out, running quickly to the bathroom. Please let him be in the bathroom, please let him be in the bathroom…

Returning to the main room, Dean looked around. All of their belongings remained untouched, yet there was no sign that his brother had ever returned. The note Dean had left earlier remained on the small table next to the laptop.

Dean sagged down into the chair by the table, staring absently at the screen. He rubbed angrily at his uncooperative eyes that insisted on blurring, pushing the base of his palms roughly into each orb until he could focus on the monitor.

And then he saw it. “Time to say goodbye” in the subject line. In a flurry, he opened the email and read it.

What an idiot he’d been. While he’d been trying to avoid Sam and keep his own little “secrets,” Sammy had obviously been keeping one of his own.

Dean pulled the cell phone from his pocket and although he knew he wouldn’t get anything different than the last fifty times he tried his brother’s cellular on the way back, he dialed Sam’s number.

“Come on Sammy. Please answer the damn phone,” he pleaded.

Dean waited with bated breath as the call began to connect, waiting for his brother’s voice to tell him to leave a message. But instead, he heard a familiar female voice.

“We’re sorry, but the wireless customer you are trying to reach is currently out of service…”

Dean listened to the message repeat twice more before he numbly disconnected the call. His head was spinning, his stomach twisting spastically, but he wasn’t sure if it was the result of the amulet being gone, or because of the horrible fear that was now gnawing at his guts.

Scrolling down the list of contacts in his phone, he found his dad’s number and waited for John’s voice to answer.

“Dean? What’s going on? Are you okay? Is Sam okay?” John fired off rapidly.

Dean couldn’t speak, he couldn’t breathe, his brain couldn’t even process what was happening. He could only manage two words.

“Sam’s gone…”

Sam

Something was burning into his flesh, cutting with its rough ridges until he was sure if he looked he would have red welts impressed into his skin. The pain was palpable and yet somehow dulled by the fact that he couldn’t see its cause in his current state.

Sam was tired, tired not because he needed sleep, but fatigued by a more mental exhaustion that had taken away his consciousness hours before and even now stopped him becoming fully awake.

I was at the Medina house, then the coffee shop…

Coffee shop.

The memory brought back fresh pain and in an instant Sam recalled his unknown attacker and the agony that had come with the newcomer’s presence.

Sam tugged at his bonds, the pain turning to adrenalin-fuelled anger that made him become more alert – more awake. His eyes fluttered as he willed them to open – to see the place where he had been deposited.

The place wasn’t what he had expected. There was no roof above the hunter’s head, only a bleak rustle as overhanging branches chafed one another as the outdoor breeze teased at them.

There was very little light, but in was hard for Sam to tell whether it was the trees blocking out the sun’s rays or whether it was early morning, or indeed dusk. Since his abduction he had managed to lose track of all time, and any sense of direction.

Without something to use as a starting point, he couldn’t be sure, but Sam guessed he was no longer in Arizona.

Blinking, Sam tried to push away the gritty, blurred vision that plagued his view, trying to look down at the ropes that bound him to the tree trunk. The twine was thick, like something from a turn of the century sailing ship, and it was the rough fiber from its strands that he could feel digging into his flesh.

The rope held his arms back around the tree, as well as securing his waist and legs so tightly he hardly felt any sensation anymore, beyond a searing tingling.

Sam tilted his head back against the bark, letting his eyes clear enough that he could see other shadows in the small glade – all of whom appeared to be secured in a similar fashion to himself.

“Hey! Can anybody hear me?” The plea came out rough and uneven, and Sam realized his throat was so dry it felt like his vocal cords might actually crack if he spoke again. He coughed, trying to use his own saliva to lubricate his suffering throat.

From the shadows, several groans responded to his voice, if not his actual question. His presence had been noted, but apparently he was the only abductee strong enough to make actual conversation at this point.

Shit…

Sam took a calming breath. What would Dean do right now?

Thinking back, Dean didn’t have such a great track record when it came to being strapped tight to a tree either. Back in Burkitsville and Kentucky the elder Winchester had relied on outside assistance for escape.

Great, Dean, that means I have to rely on you to save my ass.

Except Sam had no clue where Dean was, or if his brother was even alive. Hell, for all Sam knew, Dean might be one of the other bodies he could see strung up in the dell.

“Dean?” Sam forced his eyes to refocus on the nearest tree and the person that was tied there.

As he scrutinized the human shape, he realized it was too small to be his brother. It was a girl, a girl he recognized all too well.

Alyssa!

Alyssa’s arms seemed to be bearing her weight as her lifeless husk hung limply from the tree. Congealed blood covered her lower lip and chin where it had obviously once flowed in abundance. More of the sticky red liquid clung to her blouse, covering her chest with a bizarre red patchwork of startling color.

There was no way for Sam to be sure, but from the waxen shade of her features and the amount of blood loss, it was a fair bet that the girl was dead.

Why rescue her to simply kill her?

The move didn’t make sense – not even in Haris’ warped little world. Which lead to another more startling possibility.

Maybe none of this was Haris’s doing.

Sam felt a fire begin to kindle in his stomach and bile rise in his throat. If Alyssa was here, and very dead, that meant she had never sent any e-mails or made any mystery phone calls to him. If Alyssa was innocent, that meant that the yellow-eyed freak probably was too.

So who the hell else would kidnap psychic kids only a handful of people even know about? The hunters again?

If Rennie had really regrouped so soon, would she waste time like this? Sam didn’t think so. She was most likely so pissed at the Winchesters he’d have had his brains splattered all over Arizona by now. She certainly wouldn’t drag him off to some wilderness location to do it.

So who else is here trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and why?

“Hey, c’mon, somebody’s gotta hear me!” Sam strained again, pulling at his restraints to look to his left just a little more.

There was again no reply, just softer, almost inhuman moans like he had been deposited in some corner of Hades where the souls of the innocent dead were tormented.

Still, the maneuver had its benefits. With a slightly clearer view, Sam could now see another victim's face enough to recognize his features.

David Mitchum, the psychic from Nebraska, was yet another special kid who had apparently been taken against his will.

The kid was bloodied like Alyssa and his skin was pale, but Sam at least thought he saw the shallow rise and fall of his chest, signaling that he was still breathing – albeit barely.

“David? David, it’s Sam Winchester. C’mon David, you remember me…”

The youth whimpered in response, his head still hanging loosely on his chest. There was no fight left in him, no strength to even acknowledge he’d understood the hunter’s questions.

“C’mon, dude, I know you can hear me-”

“He can hear you, they all can. Well, at least, those that are still alive can…”

Someone stepped from the gloom, his face only millimeters from Sam’s as he looked into the hunter’s eyes. A smile played across the kidnapper’s lean features, and he backed up enough so that Sam could get a better view.

Without any questions, Sam new this was who’d attacked him at the cafe. “What do you want from me?”

The man’s steel-blue eyes peered at Sam, his smile never wavering. He wasn’t charmingly handsome in the way that Dean was, but Sam guessed there was something about him that would no doubt attract the opposite sex just as easily. His hair was closely cropped, almost prison style, and his musculature suggested he worked out more than just once a month.

“Who says I want anything?” The voice matched the face perfectly. It was soft, alluring, but most of all deceiving.

“Then why are we here? All of us,” Sam demanded, muscles tensing against his bonds as he glanced at the other captive figures around him.

The man moved closer again until he was leaning next to Sam’s ear. “Because you’re my bait,” he whispered tauntingly. “It doesn’t matter to me, though, if you're dead bait…” He stepped back into a shaft of light breaking through the tree cover, allowing the newfound luminance to reflect off his eyes as they momentarily flashed a stark glistening black.

Sam sucked down a breath before retorting. “You’re a demon? Am I supposed to be impressed? Do you know how many of you bastards I’ve sent back to hell lately?”

“Oh, I know.” The demon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the tree Alyssa was tied to. “My master knows everything you’ve been doing. Everything, Sammy…”

“That’s because we’ve hunted his ass for so long he sees us every time he looks over his shoulder.”

“Hunted?” The demon ran a finger over Alyssa’s lips until it came away covered in a film of thick, coagulated blood. He peered at the glop, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger before reaching out and smearing it on Sam’s forehead.

The shape was rough, but the upside down triangle, complete with what appeared to be a large “X” transecting its center was clearly some kind of symbol or sigil.

“My master is the hunter, not the quarry. Luckily for you, today you are merely the lure. You’ll die far less painfully than otherwise.” The man’s eyes once again colored over into shining balls of pure raven and he began to chuckle at the frown on his captive’s face. “Why Sammy, I do believe you’re lost for words-”

Sam jerked his head backwards trying to avoid the demon’s sullied hand any further. He had no idea what Alyssa’s blood had formed on his brow, but the sensation of the drying liquid on his flesh was somehow repugnant. Sam didn’t like being bait, and he didn’t appreciate not knowing who he was conversing with. Meg had been one thing, so had Alyssa, but this new demon was different.

And what if he was actually the lure to draw Dean or John out? Something was going on between those two back at the motel. What if they’ve hidden something from me again? More secrets, more lies?

Sam squirmed, letting the rope cut into his skin without even noticing the soreness and blood it brought with it. If this was about his dad or brother, then he’d stick the damn demon out to the end.

John and Dean had protected him from Haris for years, and now he was going to extend that courtesy right back by not telling the bastard in front of him a thing.

Not one damn thing.

“I’m not helping you draw anyone out to this place. I know what you can do to me. I’ve seen your kind's work first hand, but I’ll never help you. I’ll die first.” Sam spat the words in the demon’s face, spittle from his mouth making the creature flinch as it touched his skin.

The thing wiped away the moisture with the back of his hand, smiling again – that oh so subtle and very evil smirk that meant he was still in control. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Sam. I can do so much more to you than Haris ever did to your brother back at the cabin that night…”

“Go get a life, sulfur breath.”

“Oh, but I have a life. A very nice one since I inhabited this body.” The black-orbed thing began to circle Sam. “The question is how much life do you have left, hunter? You see, my master taught me well, and he has forgotten more about inflicting pain than you could ever hope to imagine. Than even Haris can hope to imagine…”

“Dude, I can imagine a lot.” Sam smirked back at the creature, finally resigned to the fact that maybe Dean’s gung ho philosophy was sometimes right. If you were going to go out, then never give the bastard you were fighting the satisfaction of seeing you give in.

The demon stopped its long strides around the tree and cocked its head inquisitively like an animal. The rumors it had heard about the Winchesters were apparently true after all. Watching this one suffer would give it almost more pleasure than seeing its real target destroyed.

Almost.

The thing dipped its head as if in mock prayer, and when it looked back up to Sam, only the black of its eyes showed. Intense concentration governed its features as it converged all of its unholy powers on the youngest Winchester.

“Tell me, Sam, have you ever eaten at one of those fancy restaurants? Have you ever imagined what it must be like to be boiled alive like a lobster?”

And in that instant Sam didn’t need to imagine anything.

Somehow, he wasn’t in the woods anymore. He wasn’t tied to a tree. Sam was being boiled alive until his flesh felt like it would drop freely from his bones, leaving only a bleached white skeleton as evidence he’d ever existed.

The hunter yelled out as a white hot version of Niagara seemed to engulf him in its steaming fountain, flaying his skin like a vaporous whip until he could see the oozing, raw tissue below.

Sam tried to scream again, tried to fight the pain as Dean once had from a demon’s attack, but this time there was no Colt, no rescuing brother.

As the barrage of heat continued, even his cries were stifled as the cascading water seemed to melt the soft tissue on his lips, welding them together into silence.

John and Bobby

John finished the call with Dean feeling as though he was about to be sick. He knew Dean was taking the brunt of Sam’s disappearance and on top of everything else, John could tell that his eldest wasn’t handling it well.

There was a weakness to Dean’s voice that the young man couldn’t hide over the phone. John was certain that he’d even heard his son unsuccessfully stifle back a fit of coughing that turned into retching although Dean tried to cover the noise by putting his hand over the phone.

I’m losing him! I thought I was so smart, had it all planned so well. But that bastard Haris was smarter and now I’ve lost Sammy and I’m losing Dean for no reason.

He threw the phone on top of the dash with an angry curse that startled Bobby seated next to him. Defeated and uncertain, for the first time in his life, John Winchester wasn’t sure what to do next.

“John, how’s Dean holding out?” Bobby asked.

“How do you think he’s holding out? He’s dying, Bobby and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it now. I’ve been so goddamn stupid,” John snapped back.

“John, you gotta calm down. We gotta think. We’re not going to do either of your boys any good if we don’t think this through.”

“Bobby, Haris has Sam, God only knows where, so we can’t exactly summon him. We’ve already melted the amulet down and recast it into a bullet, so there’s no going back for Dean. So tell me, exactly what is there to think about? Whether or not to bury my boys side by side?” he demanded.

“John Winchester! Damn you to hell! How dare you give in now. You got those boys into this mess. I’m not sayin’ that I don’t understand your reasoning but dammit, now’s the time to get your ass in gear and fight to save them, not to sit there whining like a friggin’ bitch. Now what’s it gonna be?” Bobby demanded.

John swallowed hard, feeling his hand clench as he considered planting it into his friend’s bearded face. But even as he glared at Bobby, he knew the harsh words were spoken not to be hurtful but to gain a necessary reaction.

“I’m not giving up, Bobby. I’m just so damn tired. Every damn time we get close enough to get that sonofabitch, he just seems to pull further away from us. Now he’s got Sam and I don’t know what the hell to do,” John replied back wearily.

Bobby softened slightly, he hadn’t meant to be callous or insensitive, but he also knew that time was against them.

“So, we heading to meet up with Dean?” he asked, hoping that John was at least considering going to get the older boy.

“Yeah, I want him with me at the… well, we can use all the help we can get to track down Sam,” John quickly covered. “He’s on his way from Phoenix, figured we could hook up somewhere near Provo.”

“And then what?” Bobby asked, a tease of a plan forming in his mind. “How will you go about finding Sam? It’s not like you can still summon Haris and shoot him with the amulet bullet.”

“I don’t know, Bobby. I just know I got to get to Dean first. I can’t leave him alone right now, no matter what else happens. He doesn’t deserve to be alone at the end.”

“I agree, so I was thinking. I need you to drop me off in Salt Lake City,” the seasoned hunter added quickly.

“Salt Lake? Why?” John asked, feeling as though his friend was deserting him.

Bobby sucked in a deep breath. He knew he was about to tread into some dangerous territory, but he just wasn’t willing to throw in the towel and idly sit by while John buried his eldest son. Granted the amulet had been destroyed, but that didn’t mean that there couldn’t be some other options for the eldest of the Winchester sons.

“Look, I know you said you checked high and low and I’m sure you did. But I’m gonna go find that Mann character again and see if he has any other information. Maybe there’s still some way to save Dean since we haven’t used the amulet yet. Maybe there’s some way to put things back right, some way to still save Dean,” he implored.

John shook his head sadly. “Bobby, I told you, I chased every lead, tracked down every reference to the amulet. I’ve been to Mann’s twice already. I did everything but put a gun to the old man’s head. He doesn’t know anything more. There’s no way to break the link between the amulet and Guardian. There was no turning back the minute that amulet began to melt. I’ve as good as killed Dean with my stupid plan to destroy that demon and save Sam.”

“Well, what do we have to lose at this point?” Bobby suggested. He looked out the passenger window of the truck, trying to hide the sudden knot that had risen in his throat.

“John, look, I love those boys like they were my own. Hell, they might as well be my own for as much as they grew up around me. I can’t, I won’t, stand by and watch your son die. It’s just that simple. Give me one day. I’ll fly down to New Orleans, find Shadrack Mann and see if he can tell me anything more. We just can’t give up.”

John Winchester didn’t have to force the small smile that spread across his haggard face. For a man with few friends in this world, Bobby Singer was easily the closest thing to a best friend that John had left.

While he held little hope that Bobby’s mission would be successful, John was grateful that the experienced hunter was willing to try. At this stage, he was so overwhelmed with desperation that, short of a miracle, he held little hope of seeing either of his sons celebrate their next birthdays.

They continued down the highway in silence, neither man having anything to say that would be appropriate under the circumstances, John consumed by worry and self-recrimination while Bobby wracked his brain trying to recall any useful piece of legend or lore that might help them in this situation.

Arriving in Salt Lake City several hours later, John pulled up to the airport's departure terminal, letting the engine idle as Bobby swung the passenger’s side door open and dropped down from the cab. He turned and paused for a moment, trying his best to offer John some semblance of an encouraging smile.

“You’ll find Sam,” he said positively.

“I will,” John replied.

“And you’ll make that bastard Haris pay.”

“He’ll never pay enough, Bobby. Not for all the grief he’s caused.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to Mann’s place,” the hunter stated. “Tell Dean to hang in there for me.”

“I will.”

Bobby nodded a goodbye before grabbing his bag from the bed of the truck and walking into the airport terminal. John watched him walk away, feeling a quick pang of solitude strike him.

He’d never minded working alone before, but just now, with his world feeling as though it was crashing down around him, John felt very much deserted and on his own. When Bobby’s tattered and grease-covered baseball cap could no longer be seen amidst the throng of travelers, John pulled the black pickup back onto the roadway and head out to meet Dean.

Good luck my friend! And if there’s a God in heaven, maybe He’ll shine down on you, ’cause He's he sure turned away from me. But what can you expect? He might have been willing to sacrifice His only Son to save the world, but I hardly think He respects me for screwing up and losing both of mine!

Sam

The pain hadn’t gone away, not even when unconsciousness had finally taken him. It had still been there, gnawing, biting, searing into his flesh even as his mind had tried to black it out. Was this how Dean had felt after Haris’ attack back in Wisconsin? Had Dean felt the sharpened demonic talons tearing into his insides long after he’d appeared comatose?

Before, Sam could only try to imagine what his brother had gone through that night. Now, now he was feeling hell’s embrace from his own perspective, and it was telling him in no uncertain terms that Dean must have wanted to die a thousand times over as he’d been pinned to the cabin wall, blood dribbling from his mouth as his innards were torn apart.

Dean…

The one sole thing save his father that Sammy wanted to live for, to fight for, to kill for even, if need be. Once there had been Mom, Jess; but now, all that was left were the last vestiges of a family warped by an evil they could only try to suppress, never beat.

Dean…

The name burned into Sam more than the steaming water from the demon, urging him, begging him to awaken. Gotta wake up. Gotta find Dean before the demon does.

Sam’s eyes flashed open wide and he sucked down air like a fish tossed from its watery home - the breathlessness brought on by panic for his sibling rather than his own wellbeing.

After two more lungfuls, the panting subsided, leaving only the sensation that his body must be blackened and charred from its earlier immersion in Hades' searing waterfalls.

Sam leaned his head back against the tree, wanting but not quite daring to glance down at his body. He could still feel the hot liquid melting his clothes to his flesh until the upper layer of his skin had simply flayed away, leaving a raw, oozing pulp behind.

But then, nobody could live through that, could they?

Plucking up courage, he swallowed hard and finally let his eyes meet his chest. The familiar tan jacket looked innocently back at him fully intact. No scorch marks, no flaps of cloth sticking to his reddened and crisped skin.

“You bastard!” Sam wasn’t sure if the demon could hear him. He wasn’t even sure if the thing was even in the clearing, but it didn’t matter.

The thing had tricked him – stealing into his mind and using his own gifts against him – there had been no steaming vapor, no stream of jetting hot liquid lashing away his skin.

If the demon was around it didn’t respond and Sam exhaled, all the fight draining from him as suddenly as it had appeared. He was tired again. The mental illusion he’d been forced to endure had been ten times more powerful than one of his own visions, and those visions took enough strength from him on their own, without the intrusion of a demon controlling them.

Sagging back against the trunk, Sam let his tingling limbs fall limp, relaxing as much as his static position would allow. Around him, he realized that the glade had darkened. If it had been daytime before, then surely now, night was fast approaching.

As if to prove his theory, a lone wolf howled somewhere out in the wilderness. The animal was far enough away to sound muted – unreal – and yet, Sam knew, still close enough to be dangerous when the sun finally gave way to the stars.

Wolves were hunters, drawn by the scent of their weakened prey, and tonight Sam was smack in the middle of what could only be called a lupine banqueting hall. How many of the bodies around him were already dead? How many would succumb finally to the sharpened fangs of the wolves as they tore at the sweet, bloody flesh drawing them here?

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” The voice was weak, pathetic, but it was evidence that he was not the only living thing in the clearing.

“Over here.” Sam strained once more against his bonds, needing to put a face to the semi-familiar tones he was hearing. With the added darkness, it was even harder to see, but somehow he pinpointed the young man who had spoken among the shadows to his right. “Matt? Is that you?”

The young man nodded as if speaking was more than an effort. He was a psychic, a freak like Sam who had the added ability to set fire to things like some mentally-controlled pyromaniac. It had been a year, maybe more since the Winchesters had encountered Matt in the town of Odon, but Sam had never forgotten him.

Sam never let himself forget any of the special kids. They shared an unknown link – a bond of sorts – and it was probably that link that would see them all die here today.

“Sam.” Matt struggled to keep his head up, the blood and bruises on his face telling a familiar tale. “Sam, what’s happening?”

“I…I don’t know,” The hunter answered apologetically. “Do you know how you got here? Think, Matt, it might be important.”

“I don’t remember. I was…was moving around a lot. Keeping a low profile after what you told me.” Matt coughed, the harsh sound emanating from his chest making Sam flinch. “No one knew what I could do, Sam, no one.” Finally the psychic drew enough fear-induced strength to peer at Sam, his muscles shaking with the effort. “Is this…is this the demon you told me about?”

Sam thought about it. About everything that had happened, everything he’d seen and heard, but nothing, not one thing pointed to Haris. Maybe that was the trick, because hell, demons lie, but he just couldn’t see the point of that. He couldn’t see the point of anything in the whole damn warped world he inhabited anymore.

“I don’t think it’s the demon,” he answered truthfully. “But it’s something close, maybe even something worse.”

“Oh, don’t you two know it’s particularly rude to talk about a person behind their back?” The black-eyed creature from earlier stepped from nowhere, like some Vegas illusionist. “Perhaps it was remiss of me not to tell you my name, though? Maybe if you’d known who you were dealing with?” The thing huffed melodramatically, eyes for now a more human icy-blue. “My close friends call me Eli…”

“Should we be shaking in our boots? Because, trust me, Eli just makes you sound like some country yokel. You know the type? Grinning half-wit sitting on a bridge, playing Dueling Banjos?”

Sam made the vocal retort his brother would have been proud of, but inside his mind was desperately trying to focus on just what “Eli” might mean or be an abbreviation for.

“Oh, very amusing, Samuel, but I think I’m a little further up the hierarchy than that. Maybe I can help you out with the shaking in your boots, though?” Eli turned, not to Sam, but to Matt, this time clasping his hands together in front of him as he focused his demonic abilities.

Matt screamed, but at first Sam couldn’t tell what was happening. Was the demon making the psychic think he was boiling, as he had Sam?

Matt yelled again, and this time Sam realized the kid’s legs were both shaking violently. With a sickening pop, Matt’s left femur snapped in two, followed by his right less than a second later.

There was no outward evidence of the damage, but the way Matt simply sagged against the ropes, letting them take his full weight, told half the tale. If that wasn’t proof enough, there was more torture yet to come.

Eli held up a hand, whirling from Matt to push his face so close to Sam’s he could smell the acrid stench of death personified. “Can you hear that, hunter?” He smiled. “That’s the sound of your friend’s bones grinding together until they’re just dust.”

Sam flinched, but the unmistakable noise of something slowly crushing made him want to be sick. It’s just another mind game. Who the hell is this freak? “Let him be you bastard!”

Eli seemed to read Sam’s mind. Apparently, it was a trick he was good at. “I’m not a freak, Sam. I’m a warrior serving a master, just like you-” The thing shrugged. “Of course, I hold far more power in my realm than you ever will. You with those pathetic little gifts… whereas I was made for war…”

Sam blinked, eyes narrowing as he finally realized who he might be dealing with.

I’m a warrior, I was made for war.

Eli was a contraction, an abbreviation of a name Sam had seen long ago in a book given to him by another hunter. Eli was short for Eligos or Abigor, as he was sometimes known. The book had been The Key of Solomon, and the demon in question was no small fry. He was a leader, a demon who held control of fifty legions of his kind.

And his one sole purpose was war.

There’s a storm coming…

Sam closed his eyes as he heard Bobby’s voice over and over in his head. He was getting answers, but answers that made no sense. Eli claimed not to work for Haris, and yet they seemed to both have the same goals. Was it all a lie? Just another trap elicited by the yellow-eyed monster?

“I’m not afraid of your tricks anymore, Eli.” Sam opened his eyes and stared right through the demon. “I know who you are. I know you think you’re some big shot who controls fifty legions, but really? You’re just a faker, an illusionist…”

“Oh, I like magic, Sam,” Eli confessed, sauntering back to Matt. “I really do. But I like pain too…” The demon ran a finger along the unconscious psychic’s thigh just enough to press into his flesh.

With a sickening squish, white splintered and deformed bone stubs erupted from Matt’s skin, cutting through his jeans like carved spikes. The edges of the milled femur dripped blood, and in a few places, fatty tissue still clung to their surface.

Matt’s legs had sagged beneath him before, but now as they half-collapsed he appeared more like some ugly, deformed rag doll than a human.

Sam felt his stomach growl, the urge to retch only stifled by the fact that he’d had little or nothing to eat for hours. “You sick sonofabitch.” He shook his head, unable to look at Matt’s torn body any longer. “I’ll make sure you and Haris go down for this. And if you kill me? Hell, my dad and brother are just gonna be so much more pissed when they get their hands on you…”

“Hands?” Eli smirked again, looking down to where Sam’s huge paws where tied around the tree. “Funny you should mention hands.” The demon took a hold of the hunter’s chin, roughly twisting Sam’s head to the side. “Did you know there are two hundred and six bones in the human body, Sammy? And twenty-seven of them are in each hand…”

“Don’t call me, Sammy.” Sam jerked his head from Eli’s physical grasp, but the demon didn’t try to reaffirm its grip.

The creature appraised Sam like it was choosing meal from a menu. “You have to be so careful what you say to demons, Sammy. Aren’t you glad you didn’t say ‘bite me?’” Eli stepped dead center into the middle of the dell, letting the first rays of moonlight play of its now oily orbs.

With a chortle it waved a hand in front of Sam’s face, wriggling and stretching its fingers in some bizarre show of both power and ridicule. As the strange display continued, Sam began to feel his left hand begin to thrum, all four metacarpal bones vibrating with such intensity that his whole hand shook, throbbing through his palm, wrist and arm.

Sam howled as the earthquake beneath his flesh came to a crescendo, the bones finally snapping with the stress placed upon them. He squeezed his eyes closed, biting into his lower lip until he drew blood – anything to stifle not only the pain – but also his cries of agony.

Never show a demon you have any weakness…

Eli nodded, satisfied as he watched the muscles on Sam’s face contort and twist as he attempted to hide his suffering.

“If we’re just bait, why is Haris having you do this? Doesn’t he need the kids like me for some Godforsaken purpose?” Sam spat out the questions through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as he absorbed the pain, trying to keep it at bay. It’s not real. It’s not real…

“Haris? Oh, Sammy, you just don’t listen. Didn’t I tell you I don’t serve that second-rate traitor?” Eli rolled his eyes playfully, teasing his victim. “My master is much more powerful. Let’s just say, this is my boss’s way of teaching Haris a lesson-”

“Your boss?”

Eli’s eyes sparkled like the dark night sky, illuminated by a myriad of stars. He reached out, flicking a hand over the bloody sigil he had scrawled on Sam’s forehead in Alyssa’s blood, but he gave no further explanation. “I’m bored of this game.”

Sam opened his mouth, but abruptly closed it again as he felt his already broken hand begin to pulse anew. Anatomy wasn’t his strong suit, but he knew enough to realize that the eight tiny carpel bones were the next on Eli’s list of things to crush.

The familiar thrumming was followed by something new, something like bone grinding on bone until Sam could contain the pain no more. He yelled out, the unexpected noise disturbing nestling birds from the trees where they had perched for the night.

Eli smirked with pleasure as Sam writhed against the tree trunk, unable to escape the pain. But the demon was still not sated. As the hunter squirmed, he focused on yet another bone, making his way up Sam’s arm like he was completing a puzzle.

A lone bat fluttered overhead, scared by the fresh cries, but it would not be the last scream that interrupted its nightly hunt.

As Sam’s radius snapped in two like a twig, the sheared ends grinding on one another like flour being milled, Eli began to laugh, his chortling filling the bleak Wyoming landscape like the wild howl of some indigenous predator.

“Oh, and, Sammy?” He finally snickered. “It’s sixty legions…”

Dean

Dean struggled to focus on the road ahead of him. He’d considered sticking to the interstate, the four-lane offering a faster route to Provo, but blurred vision and high speed didn’t tend to make the best driving companions and he didn’t need the unwanted attention of some Highway Patrol officer pulling him over for erratic driving and conducting a field sobriety test, or worse.

So the back country two lanes would have to do. Problem was, this particular two lane country road hadn’t seen a highway road crew in several years and was so scored by pot holes that Dean was certain the Impala was likely to lose part of her transmission in one of them fairly soon.

That was if he didn’t lose control of his stomach first and wreck the classic car while he was heaving all over the interior…

Great! Never figured to check out with my stomach and intestines coming out of my nose! Always thought I’d go out in a blaze of glory, taking as many evil sonsabitches with me as I could!

The tires struck another asphalt crater and Dean’s body lurched forward. His free hand clutched at his abdomen as the spasms there flared unmercifully, then rushed to his mouth as his already barren stomach threatened to invert, although he had no idea what could possibly be there to bring back up.

He rolled down the window further, allowing the air that was whipping by to cool his face and help clear the unsettling sense of “sickness” that was enveloping him. Wiping a sleeve across his forehead, he wasn’t horribly surprised when it came back saturated with perspiration.

It had been that way in Louisiana, back in the swamp when the amulet had been lost before. The headaches, the blurred vision, the stomach pain, the drowning in sweat. None of this was new, but it sure seemed worse, almost as if his body knew that this time, the amulet was gone for good and was never coming back.

So long, see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya! Have a nice life there Winchester. Now why did this Guardian-amulet thing have to be like Superman and Kryptonite but in reverse? Why couldn’t it just be something quick, instead of this prolonged agony bullshit?

“Yeah, and when has anything in my life ever been quick and easy?” he asked aloud. “Well, except for that nurse in Pittsburgh. Now that was quick and easy, but oooh, was she ever good.”

Dean jerked the steering wheel sharply, his momentary reminiscence causing him to veer over into the oncoming lane. The jerky movement sent a jolt of pain up through his stomach and deep into his chest that stole his breath away and he barely managed to pull the Impala over to the side of the road before losing control.

He sat there for a moment as the pain subsided and he risked taking another breath. Satisfied that his chest wouldn’t explode, he sucked in another lungful of air, feeling his heart slamming against his ribcage as the adrenaline continued to pump through his system.

“Now what the hell was that all about?” he demanded of his body. “Dammit, this shit didn’t happen before.”

Before, Mann had told him he had three or four days before things would start to progress. How long had it been so far? Two days? Three, since he’d given his dad the amulet? He counted backwards in his head. Three days! His time was nearly up then according to the crazy old coot.

But no, Shadrack Mann didn’t know Dean Winchester, didn’t know his determination or sheer willpower.

Not gonna let this beat me! Gotta get it under control. For Sam! Gotta find Sam! Just hang in there, a little longer!

Dean let his head sag against the top of the steering wheel. He forced himself to breathe through the pain, through the nausea, through the myriad of swirling thoughts that plagued his mind.

Focusing on the crisis at hand which helped him not focus on how lousy he felt, Dean pulled the car back onto the road, allowing his eyes to watch the highway while his mind chewed away at his brother’s disappearance.

Haris had Sam, there could be no doubt about that fact now. First Alyssa, then David Mitchum, now his brother: whatever the demon was up to, the bastard was definitely rounding up the psychic kids for some final battle plan.

But why now, of all times? Dean wondered. Could Haris have possibly gotten wind of their plans to destroy him with the amulet? Was this some tactic to stop his dad? Maybe this was the yellow-eyed demon’s way of taking out the Winchester clan in one fell swoop: killing Dean without the amulet while capturing Sam with no one to protect him.

Dean could feel the anger boil up inside him. How could they have been so stupid? Surely the demon must have had spies that watched their every move and reported back?. He must have been waiting for a move just such as this on their part, waiting till they slipped up so he could move his piece on the chessboard and declare “checkmate” once and for all.

And they had given him this opportunity the minute he’d handed over the amulet and his dad had melted it down. With his dad and Bobby focused on summoning and killing the bastard, and Dean resigned to his fate, it had been nothing for Haris to swoop in on the distracted group and steal away the one person they were all desperately trying to save.

The minutes turned into miles and the miles turned into agony of mind, body and soul as Dean drove on to meet his dad. Three days ago he had thought that this trip would be made to hook up with his dad one final time, to say his final goodbyes to Sammy, to Bobby, to Dad. But now, it was his last mission, one he hoped he could complete. One he prayed would be successfully completed.

As the afternoon sun began to lower on the western horizon, Dean finally reached the truck stop in Provo. As he pulled the Chevy among the rows of idling semis, his mind flicked back to a similar place in Wisconsin only a mere week and half ago. That night he’d been on a quest to save his father.

What a difference a few days made!

Dean pulled the Impala over to a parking spot underneath the shade of a large oak and next to the idle hulk of his dad’s black truck. John was already out of the vehicle, leaning against the front hood, his hands tucked in his pockets, but Dean knew that was only so that he could quickly retrieve either a gun or Holy Water, depending on the threat. The elder Winchester looked up when the creak of the Impala’s driver’s door groaned loudly.

Dean pulled himself from the car, taking a step toward John but stumbled forward against the fender of the Chevy. John dashed ahead, racing to catch his son as Dean grabbed the metal of the bumper stopping himself before he hit the concrete curb and just as his dad’s hand caught the material of his left sleeve.

“Dean!” John cried out.

But Dean grumpily shrugged off his father's arm, slowly pulling himself back up and sagging against the front of the car.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” he insisted with a weak wave-off of his hand.

John backed away a single step, but remained within quick reach, his eyes never leaving Dean, taking in his son’s frail-looking form. He wanted to help Dean, needed to help him, feeling the overwhelming guilt that it was his fault that his son was in this condition.

Condition? Who the hell am I trying to fool? Dean is dying right before my eyes!

“Have you found out anything?” Dean asked.

John snapped alert, noticing that Dean had managed to basically right himself and was standing semi-erect, although still using the frame of the Impala to hold his shaking body up.

“And where’s Bobby?” the short-haired young man added, anxiously looking over John’s shoulder toward the black truck.

So typically Dean. Pretending to be strong, staying focused on the job at hand despite what he’s feeling, despite how he’s hurting. Is this what I made you to be?

“DAD!” Dean nearly shouted. “You with me here?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t have any leads yet. Hell, son, I don’t even know where to start. Did you pick up anything in Phoenix? Maybe we need to go back there?” John suggested.

“There was nothing, Dad. No sign of him at the motel and I have no idea where he might have gone. Haris could have snagged him at any point once he left the room.”

There was quiet between them for a second before Dean spoke again.

“It’s my fault, Dad,” he began quietly. “That bastard got Sammy because I wasn’t there to watch out for him.”

John moved to stand beside his son, taking up a spot next to Dean and leaning against the shining black quarter panel. Their shoulders were nearly side by side, touching but not quite, and in that distance, John could feel the heat pouring off his son’s fevered body, could detect the tremor of his muscles. “How’s that, Dean? What are you talking about?”

“I was hiding out from Sam, trying to keep him from seeing me… seeing me like this. I didn’t want him to know what we were doing. If I would have only come out sooner, if I would have seen that bogus email, gone with him wherever he went. Dammit, Dad, he’d be with us right now and you’d have that yellow-eyed bastard in the sights of your gun by now.”

John shook his head, turning to look at his son, but Dean’s gaze remained fixed ahead.

“Dean, now listen to me… Hey!” John raised his voice to a commanding tone, waiting till his son responded.

Dean looked up tentatively, meeting his father’s eyes, his body making a feeble attempt to snap to something that resembled attention.

“You listen to me and you listen to me good, son. You had nothing to do with what’s happened to your brother. How can you feel responsible for him disappearing when right now you’re dy...” John stopped abruptly, his voice failing him. He swallowed back the lump that collected in his throat. Forgive me, Dean.“This is all my fault. You were willing to sacrifice everything and I failed you, I failed Sam. And now, what you’ve done, what’s happening to you…”

“Stop, Dad. Please! I can’t do this with you. I don’t have the energy,” Dean pleaded weakly. I don’t have the time!

“Awwww, so touching! Father and son bonding together.” A new voice spoke from behind them.

John and Dean whirled around, startled by the newcomer. Standing on the far side of the Impala, a tall male figure appeared, his face obscured by the hood of a black sweatshirt that was drawn over the figure’s head. Imposing in size, the man was every bit as large as John and despite being hidden by the hoodie, Dean felt that there was something “familiar” about him.

“Who the hell are you?” John demanded.

“Just someone that needs to talk to you buddy,” the stranger replied.

“Come on, son, let’s get out of here, leave this nutcase be,” John ordered, reaching out to guide Dean away.

“Hey now, that’s not very friendly,” the stranger called out. “Could you at least spare some change for a drink? It sure is hot out here today and an ice cold beer sounds awful good, doesn’t it Dean?”

John spun back around when the stranger called his eldest by name, his hand automatically reaching for the weapon in his pocket. Beside him, Dean did likewise.

The stranger laughed mockingly, raising his hands in submission.

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. Calm down now. I just want to talk.”

“Like my Dad said, who the hell are you and why shouldn’t I just add your body to the long list of probable serial killings at rest stops that happen all over the U.S.?” Dean threatened.

“Oh Dean, it’s so good to see that you haven’t lost that defiant façade, even though we all know it's bullshit.”

“How do you know me and my son?” John demanded. “Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

The stranger smiled, slowly pulling back the hood and revealing short hair that was so blond it was nearly white. As he lifted his head, both John and Dean both reacted visibly as ice blue eyes suddenly flashed over to vibrant yellow.

“Oh, you’ll listen to me, John. You’ll listen if you want to save Sam,” Haris answered, the smile broadening on his face as he watched both John and Dean stare in disbelief.

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The Winchester Chronicles