Season Two

Episode Twenty-two: Dance With The Devil

By Kittsbud & Tree

Part Four

Here I stand, helpless and left for dead…

Sam didn’t remember much about the pseudo-wolves past their leader’s glowing red eyes and dripping fangs. The thing had pounced at him with unnatural speed, stopping only as it reached the base of the tree he was tied to.

It had remained there for hours, demonic orbs never moving from him as if it were on sentry duty. Whether it was guarding the gate to Hell was yet to be seen.

I think it’s a given I’m headed that way before the night is over. Maybe this is payback for getting out of the deal with Haris on my birthday…

Sam’s head drooped further onto his chest and he jerked back, knowing he had to try and stay conscious. He couldn’t feel his damaged hand anymore, only the blood that had dampened his shirt from Eli’s most recent round of torture under the watchful gaze of his hellhound.

It seemed the higher-demon enjoyed an audience from the way he had carved sigils and symbols into Sam’s chest with the mere tip of his finger, stopping every now and again to smile at the long-haired creature.

“You don’t get my soul just yet, you freaky fur ball…” Sam watched the hound’s reaction as he cursed at it, but it was like a gargoyle cast from stone.

It knows I’m weak. It knows I can’t last much longer, just like the others.

And then what? Would it and its brethren feed on his flesh and bones?

Sam shuddered at the thought of teeth tearing into his body until there was nothing left. Maybe that would be better than the cold sensation of death that was slowly creeping over him now.

Was it really death, or just mental defeat?

What about Dad? What about Dean? Will they ever know what happened to me?

Sam felt moisture well in his eyes, and he tried to stifle it back, convincing himself he couldn’t show weakness in front of Eli. And besides, the salt would sure as hell sting in the wealth of cuts and sores covering his face and upper body.

“Help… me…” The sound was pitiful. The sound of someone who knew they were dying.

Sam flinched, trying to turn his head without making his tortured frame scream anew with pain. It didn’t work, and instead he was forced to grunt back a piteous cry of his own as his broken hand exploded like a star going supernova.

Once the sensation abated enough for Sam to stop panting, he sought out the voice he had heard, knowing all he could probably do was offer comfort.

“David?” Sam softly yelled the name, realizing the latest victim was David Mitchum, a young man who had suffered enough in his short life. His father had sent a whole platoon of men to the deaths, and had paid the ultimate price later when their spirits had returned.

David had had to live with that stigma, and that of his gifts. It would seem he wouldn’t have to live with anything for much longer.

Blood was seeping from his mouth, covering his chest and upper body as it dripped from his quivering lips.

Dad! Dad, don’t you let it kill me...

Sam’s mind flash cut to another time, another place, but the effect was just the same. He was back in Wisconsin, in the cabin, watching as his brother bled to death before him, tortured by yet another demon. It shouldn’t be this way.

Not ever.

Where was God when you needed him? Where were all the angels?

Sam tried to tell himself that the thoughts had been forced upon him by Eli, but he knew they hadn’t. His crisis of faith was born of years without seeing the forces of good in the world, let alone seeing them triumph.

All he’d ever known in this fight were other hunters - and they barely maintained the equilibrium between dark and light.

“David, David look at me… try to stay awake. You have to stay awake…”

David’s eyes slowly blinked and Sam saw his lower lip tick slightly, but only more crimson liquid ebbed from his mouth. If he had tried to talk, it would surely have come out a gurgle.

“David…” Sam’s own frail voice trailed as he realized there were no more words of comfort to give. Perhaps it was better to let the kid die in peace than to try and force him to remain conscious and in utter agony.

“You really shouldn’t keep the children up past their bedtime, Samuel.” Eli appeared at the side of the hellhound, patting the top of its head affectionately. “But then, David should know better than to talk to the likes of you, now shouldn’t he? I’m afraid he’ll have to be punished-”

Eli side-stepped the hound and strolled to the tree David Mitchum was shackled to. Rubbing a hand across the light stubble that was forming on his chin, he shot Sam a glance. “You humans are full of too much hot air. In fact, you’re full of too much air, period. Let’s see if we can change that, shall we?”

The warrior-demon dipped his head and David suddenly began to scream even though he had little or no strength left.

“NO!! Stop it you bastard!” Sam screamed too, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

As he watched, Mitchum’s chest seemed to collapse in on itself as his sternum, ribs and lungs were crushed into a bloody pulp of liquefied organs and ground bone.

An almost black ooze gushed from his mouth and nose, stifling the very last cry for help into a gurgling, wet burble in his throat. As the bubbling sound faded, Eli looked up, satisfied with his work.

Is that what would have happened to Dean in the cabin if Dad hadn’t stopped Haris?

Sam shuddered anew, trying to forget the past, but after the manner of David’s death, it wasn’t easy.

“Just like old times, eh, Sam?” Eli clicked his fingers and the wolf-dog sprang across the dell, tucking into the latest meal with relish. Even at this distance, Sam could hear it slurping down Mitchum’s blood as it dug its teeth into his obliterated chest and then lapped at the human-mulch that oozed forth. “I bet you always wondered what would have happened to Dean if Haris had finished the job, huh?”

“Screw you…”

“Oh, language, Sammy.” Eli ambled back towards the hunter, arms clasped behind him. “I do believe you’re starting to sound like that brother of yours. Still, not to worry, you’ll both soon be dead-”

“You’ll never get Dean.” Sam watched the demon for a reaction. Had it already harmed his brother, was he the bait?

Eli reached back and slowly clapped. “Bravo, Sammy! You’re quite right. I won’t.” He leaned closer. “Because I don’t have to.” He cocked a brow and cheekily pursed his lips, unexpectedly whistling the chorus from Suicide Is Painless. “Of course, in your brother’s case it won’t be painless, but oh well…”

“What are you talking about? Dean would never…” Demons lie. Ignore him. Sam clamped his mouth closed and refused further conversation with his tormentor. Forcing his head to the side he refused to even look at the thing masquerading as a man.

Eli nodded. “Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll make sure you go first…” He bowed his head one last time, brows knitting in concentration. “See you in Hell!”

Sam squeezed his eyes closed, feeling his chest constrict as muscles popped with the strain forced upon them. The air was pushed from his lungs with the pressure and he suddenly wanted to gasp for breath, to choke down the sweet night air like nectar.

But there was no air.

Only the sickening laughter of Eli enjoying the spoils of a demonic war.

Easy to find what’s wrong, harder to find what’s right…

The terrain was so bleak, so desolate that it overwhelmed him, filling him with even more feelings of hopelessness than he ever felt possible in his entire life. He’d driven the last hundred and fifty miles in silent contemplation, having turned off the music when Dean succumbed to his exhausted body’s need for sleep.

John spent the first fifty miles glancing over at Dean. Taking in the haggard and worn look to his son’s body, the pallor of his skin, and the ragged breaths he sucked in even in restless slumber. Despite the threat of the Reaper’s touch, John could still see the traces of the stalwart warrior and the hint of the playful child Dean had once been.

Ironically, it had always been when Dean slept that John could still see the innocent four-year-old, and then when he rued that innocence being lost. Maybe that’s why he had pushed his son away, had forced Dean to toughen up, knowing all along that the innocence had to go, perhaps for a time just such as this. Then again, maybe it was simply because John himself had been too much of a coward to continue looking into those green eyes every day and realize that a day like this lay ahead.

And so, with those thoughts in his mind, John spent the next fifty miles thinking about Sam. If Dean had been his four-year-old innocent soldier, forced to be tempered into hardened steel, then Sam had been John’s hope for the future.

Contrary to what his youngest had ever thought, John had wanted nothing more than to see Sam be successful. The boy had always shown such aptitude and potential in everything he’d ever undertaken, always driving himself to excel whether it was in scholastics or sports.

Maybe their vagabond lifestyle hadn’t exactly made things easy for Sam, but he’d never let it or any other hardship stand in his way of achieving anything he set his mind to. After all, hadn’t Stanford been a prime example of that?

Potential; that was Sam. And if it seemed that he had ignored that potential or had tried to downplay it, it was only because John Winchester had unconsciously wanted to drive Sam away as well. Send him as far away from himself and his mission to bring Mary’s killer to justice as possible. If he and Sam argued, it was simply because the son was surpassing the father, needing more out of life than simple revenge, needing more to survive on than someone else’s memories of a woman that he didn’t even remember as his mother.

That Sam couldn’t remember Mary, couldn’t pine over her loss; this was the bond that had always been lacking betweenjohn and his youngest son. Maybe it was just that simple?

But what did any of that matter now? The tempered steel lay silently next to him, battered, chipped, and nearly broken. The potential was being held somewhere up ahead of him, possibly lost forever as well. And so John Winchester spent the last of the hundred and fifty miles silently considering that if he lost both his sons at the close of this day, would he’d even have a reason to carry on himself?

Somewhere in the silence of the road, he planned his final action, strangely walking himself through the motions of burying both his boys, side by side just as they’d spent most of their lives. After that he would summon the yellow-eyed destroyer of souls and end that bastard once and for all. Then, and only then, would he join the rest of his family in some semblance of eternal peace; hoping that the four of them could find in the hereafter that of which they had been robbed in this pitiful life.

“We there?” Dean’s scratchy voice seemed barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to snap John from his trance.

“We’re pretty close I think. The Tower is just ahead. How you feelin’?”

“I’m fine! Why’d you let me sleep so long, we should have been planning our attack,” Dean grumbled, struggling to sit up in the seat.

“You needed to sleep dude. Besides, I have a feeling that once we get there, planning isn’t going to mean much,” John suggested.

Dean managed to pull himself upright, but John didn’t miss the way he kept one arm wrapped tightly across his midsection.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

John nodded, motioning his head through the windshield and out beyond them into the uninviting terrain. Just above the desolate landscape, large black carrion birds dotted the sky.

“Guess Haris was right about the buzzards, good as any flashing neon sign I s'pose.”

“Dad, do you think Sam’s okay? I mean, after everything…” Dean began.

“Yeah, Sammy’s gonna be alright. I can feel it. I believe it. You should too,” John insisted.

He turned the old Chevy off the main road and onto a dirt track, grimacing slightly as the painful impact of the jarring was reflected in the tense set of Dean’s jaw.

Just hang in there kiddo, just a little longer, for me, for Sammy!

As they continued on, the huge monolith looming ever closer, the vultures becoming clearer as they circled, the tension in the car was palpable.

Dean fumbled in his pocket, retrieving his .45, ejecting the clip and checking it even though he knew it was fully loaded. He left it in his lap while he next retrieved the silver flask filled with Holy Water. The flask was small, not nearly large enough to hold any significant amount of the precious fluid should they encounter a horde of demons. But then really, if what Haris had told them was true, they were going to have their hands full with just this rogue, much less any more of the demon spawn.

The dirt road ended abruptly and John slowed the car, eventually bringing it to a complete stop and pulling it off to the side. He killed the engine, but didn’t immediately step out of the car. For the briefest moment, he simply sat in the driver’s seat staring ahead.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, I know,” John softly replied. “You ready to do this?”

Dean smirked. “No, not really,” he answered, slowly pulling himself from the car. Once outside, he turned back around to face his dad, leaning heavily against the roof of the Impala. “Dad, promise me you’ll do whatever you have to to get Sammy back. If I can’t keep up or I go down, you leave my ass behind.”

“Let’s don’t have this conversation, Dean, okay?” John pleaded, turning away and moving to the trunk.

Dean followed him to the rear of the car, sagging against the back fender, one hand reaching up to hold onto the raised trunk lid for support.

“I’m serious. Let’s don’t forget what we set out to do originally. We gotta focus on the mission…”

John stopped and slammed a shotgun back down into the Impala’s hidden compartment, a flash of irritation crossing his face when he looked back up.

“Do you mind? I don’t know when I gave you the impression that I didn’t give a damn about what happened to you or that it isn’t absolutely killing me inch by inch to even look at you right now and see you like this, but dammit Dean, don’t you dare ask me to pretend like it doesn’t matter. You better believe that I’ll go to my grave despising ever finding out about that goddamn amulet and hating myself for the choices that I’ve made in my life. But nothing, EVER, is gonna hurt me as bad as losing Sam or you. So don’t you dare ask me to stop fighting for either of you. And don’t you dare expect me to just toss you off to the side like you’re expendable for your brother. That’s never been what this has been about. I love you, Dean, not any more or any less than Sam. Do you get that?”

For the longest moment only the gentle breeze scouring the high plains and the occasional screech of the carrion feeders broke the stressed silence as John locked his gaze on his eldest son. He watched Dean’s response, seeing the ragged increase in breathing but not knowing if it was from emotion or due to the rapid failure of his son’s body due to the loss of the amulet. He waited for Dean to say something, wondering if his firstborn had ever really known how much he truly had loved him since this had been perhaps the first time he had ever verbalized the actual word.

I’m too late. Too many years have gone by to try to make him understand now. He thinks it’s always been about Sammy, why should he think any different just because I finally have the courage to tell him I love him?

Dean cleared his throat, shuffling nervously but still maintaining the eye contact with his father.

“That night, back in the cabin when you were possessed by Haris, you, well he, said some pretty awful things to me. You said that you and Sammy didn’t need me and that even when you both argued, it was really more attention than you had ever really paid to me ever…”

“Dean, you know that wasn’t me… that was the demon,” John insisted.

“I know, I know that now. But then and even a while after, I guess I just thought, well… I figured it was kinda true ya know. I mean, Sammy left, you left, hell, you always leave Dad. You don’t tell us what’s going on, you didn’t tell us the truth about the curse, you keep us in the dark about so much stuff. And then, I thought about how much alike you and Sam really are. Way more than you and me, even though that’s what people assume. So yeah, I guess somewhere along the line I kinda thought that my whole responsibility, my reason for getting up in the morning and taking another breath was to protect Sam, to keep him alive. I figured that’s what would make you proud of me, Dad. I figured that was pretty much all I was good for,” Dean rambled on.

“Dean, why… how could you…”

“No, wait, please let me finish,” Dean begged, raising his hand to stay off his father’s interruption. “But, now when I think back to the cabin and how awful that night was, I think about how you managed to beat that sonofabitch. Dad, you took control. When Haris was ripping me apart, and I was begging you to save me, you did! You fought your way back and you kept that bastard from killing me. It was your love that did that. If I never knew it before, I knew it then and I know it now.”

John smiled. He does know! He took a small step toward Dean when the young man stopped him with an outstretched hand.

“And as I constantly tell that overgrown brother of mine, I’m sooo not going for the chick-flick moment here. So, can we please go kick some demon ass now and save Sam, before I fall on my face?” he snarked.

Laughing, John nodded, reaching back into the trunk. He withdrew two shotguns, tossing one to Dean along with several shells. Rifling through the remaining contents he came across a large tarp. Pulling it out, he held it out towards Dean.

“I’ve got an idea.” John announced.

***

Father and son quietly skirted around an outcropping of rock, drawing closer to the small clearing that lay just below them. Edgy, wary, they had first watched the sky, allowing the vultures to help them head in the right direction, praying that the birds weren’t merely circling over some dead mammal, then almost praying that they were when the smell of rotting flesh assaulted them.

From their vantage point, the hunters could make out the forms of about a dozen bodies. Male and female, mostly young, were scattered about in no certain order. It was apparent that some had been there longer than others by the amount of decay that had already taken place.

Each of the bodies had been tortured, that much was apparent, bones jutting out of torn flesh, others with organs erupting out of their abdomens, still others with no flesh remaining at all. Worse still, the brutality the demon had started had been finalized by the wildlife, swarming in for a free meal on the bloated remains of Haris’ special children.

All in all, the scene was horrific and it took everything both seasoned hunters had to keep from becoming ill from witnessing the remnants of the wanton slaughter. From out of the corner of his eye, John saw the shiver that swept over Dean as he looked away from the carnage.

“We’re too late,” he groaned.

The elder Winchester watched his son sag dejectedly against the rocks, feeling his own hope waning as well. John sat back on his heels, his eyes scanning among the bodies, looking for one in particular. He saw Dean doing likewise, knowing that despite the deadly silence that filled the clearing, the stench of death that cloyed the air, there was still something they had to do and that was bring Sammy home.

Dean saw him first, hanging lifelessly from a large tree, his shaggy brown hair covering his face as it drooped down to his chest. Despite his own weakness, Dean surged to his feet, a primal scream of his brother’s name echoing across the pine woodlands as he tore down into the clearing. Dean dropped his shotgun to the ground as his hands glossed over Sam’s body, cupping his sibling’s chin and lifting it gently, searching his brother’s face for any sign of life.

Sam never responded, never so much as twitched while Dean tried to shake him awake, frantic to garner some reaction. Like those surrounding him, Sam remained still.

Around them, the air began to crackle with ozone, the strong smell of sulfur covering the rankness of the decomposing bodies. John spun, alerted to the presence of a demon in their midst.

“Dean!” he shouted out a warning as he turned to face the threat simultaneously chambering a shell in the shotgun.

“And who would you be?” the demon asked, black eyes wide in sharp contrast to gleaming white teeth that showed in a snarl.

“We’re your travel agents come to send you packing back to Hell,” Dean growled from Sam’s side.

“You must be Dean,” Eli mused. “I was hoping to have the pleasure. And that would make you the infamous John Winchester.”

“And let me guess, you must be the psychotic jackass that’s bent on world domination. I take it this is all your handiwork?” John threw back.

The demon glanced about, slowly taking in all the carnage around him, smiling with pride and nodding thoughtfully.

“Yes, I’ve been quite busy wouldn’t you say? I am Eligos, but my friends call me Eli. Oh, wait, how silly of me, I don’t have any friends,” the demon laughed. “And I suppose you two are here on some stupid half-assed rescue attempt? Well, you’re too late. Sammy belongs to my master now.”

“My brother never belonged to any of you bastards,” Dean shouted back, lifting up the shotgun.

“Oh and what are you going to do with that?” Eli asked mockingly.

“This!” Dean replied, pulling the double trigger and firing off both barrels of the breakdown at the same time. The loud report of the gun reverberated off the massive wall of the tower as the slugs tore into the host’s body opening up huge wounds in the creature’s chest.

The demon staggered back, momentary shock and the violence of the attack surprising it. Across the clearing, the recoil of the double barreled shotgun threw the young hunter backwards as well and Dean cursed loudly as he dropped to a knee.

John checked that Dean was okay, but immediately went after the demon, unloading his own shotgun on the creature as he advanced. He knew the rounds would be ineffective, but he was only hoping to buy time.

Pumping another shell, he was nearly within five feet of Eli when the demon jerked its head sharply and John felt himself lifted off the ground. In an instant, the older hunter was being thrown through the air and landed with a heavy thud at the feet of an emaciated and maggot-infested young woman. Head spinning, he put his hand down to steady himself, immediately regretting it when something warm and jelly-like squished between his fingers. With chagrin, John flicked intestines from his hand and forced himself to swallow down the bile that had risen in his throat.

“Lookin’ a little pale there, John. You don’t seem too impressed with my handiwork.”

“Oh, don’t be disappointed Ellie Mae, we’re actually not impressed with you at all,” Dean answered instead, having closed on the distracted demon. His arm whipped out in a blur, afternoon sunlight glinting off a flash of silver just before the demon screeched in pain.

As Eli backed away, Dean relentlessly pursued him, continuing to douse the demon with the holy water.

“Jeez Eleanor, you scream like a little bitch. Does that hurt much?”

Beneath the hiss of smoldering skin, the demon glared up at the young hunter. “You want to talk about screaming, Dean? You should have heard Sam. You should have heard him scream, and cry, and beg while I crushed every single bone in his body.”

Dean paused, the demon’s taunts having their intended effect as his mind conjured up the image of his baby brother suffering at the hands of this rogue. It was the opening that Eli needed and with a wave of his hand, he launched Dean away from him and into a nearby mound of thick brush.

Eli rose and casually strode to stand over the fallen hunter. Looking down on the barely conscious young man, he laughed.

“And to think Sam thought that you could save him.” he mocked.

Dean struggled to take in a breath, his vision blurring between the lack of oxygen and the impact of his head and spine on the hard-packed ground. He could see the demon looming directly above him, leering at him as it closed in for the kill. Despite his weakened and abuse body, Dean smiled back.

“Ah, the infamous Dean Winchester defiance, laughing in the face of death. Do you know that you’re a bit of a legend down where I’m from? Of course, we all think you’re full of shit, but still, that whole false bravado thing you do, its good for a few laughs over a round of beer,” Eli sneered.

“Eli, Eli, Eli. You poor, simple fool. You demons just won't ever get it. It isn’t bullshit when you can actually back it up. Dad…”

Behind the demon, John Winchester appeared, the large green tarp outstretched between his hands. Eli spun, suddenly sensing the threat behind him, but it was too late as John cast the tarp like a large net, covering the demon like an oversized shroud.

Eli thrashed, dropping to the ground and rolling around under the cover, entrapping himself further in the canvas cocoon.

“What the hell is this?” the demon screamed out from underneath the heavy wrapping.

John moved over and extended a hand down to his eldest, lifting Dean slowly to his feet, stunned by the weakness in his son’s grasp, the unsteadiness in his stance, and the pain that was evident in his every breath and movement.

But despite the betrayal of his body, Dean staggered over to where the demon lay wrapped up like a poorly chosen Christmas present and managed to look down at the struggling form with contempt.

“That, you bastard, is a Devil’s Trap, drawn on the inside of the canvas and you are wrapped up nice and tight inside. Now, let’s see how you like it when you face a little hunter justice,” Dean snarled before rearing back and kicking the tarp with everything he had.

“That was for Sammy…”

I can see right through all your empty lies…

Eli’s frenetic thrashing seemed to go on for several more seconds before the demon finally realized it had no place to go – and that further resistance would only meet with additional attention from the toe of Dean’s CAT boot.

The kicks from the hunter didn’t exactly hurt the way they would have hurt a mere human, but under the Devil’s Trap it was an annoyance the creature preferred not to have to suffer.

Instead, Eli seemed to curl in on himself until he was huddled like a ball – silent, subservient – at least, for now.

“Now look who’s all outta sarcasm when he’s had his ass kicked?” Dean stole a furtive glance at the tarp but nodded to his father.

While John took care of the demon, his priorities belonged with Sam. Hunkering down again, the waning hunter placed a hand at his brother’s neck and was relieved to hear a small groan accompany the throb of blood beneath his fingers.

“Its okay, Sammy, I got you…”

Sam huffed at the word "Sammy" remembering how the demon had taunted him with it, tormented him with the fact that Dean would never come find him. “He called me that,” he winced trying to open his eyes and search for Eli.

“Yeah, well he won’t be calling anyone anything once Dad’s fried his ass.”

Dean plucked the small knife from his boot and began to carefully cut away the ropes that had bound his brother for so long. Seeing Sam’s left hand he paused, abruptly sickened by the amount of swelling and purple-black bruising that swathed the taut skin there.

“I’m screwed, huh?” Sam’s voice grew stronger as he realized his family’s presence wasn’t another of Eli’s mind games. He tried to look down, still not totally free from the ropes, but the effort to look at his own crushed limb was just too much.

I’d hate for you to lose it. Maybe you could have a hook like that Jacob Cairns friend of yours? The demon’s voice was in Sam’s head again, teasing, cutting deep with the truth.

Sam didn’t need any medical degrees to know that. Hell, Dean’s pained gaze was telling him right now, before he even saw the damage himself.

Dean flinched, his pale features contorting into a small smile as he picked up on Sam’s fears. Can’t tell him the truth. Not here, not now. He'll have enough to deal with soon…“Nothing that a few weeks R and R watching the Porn Channel won’t fix. C’mon…”

Dean sliced through the final bonds holding his brother to the tree and gently helped Sam slide to the floor of the glade. Sam was pale, hurting, but alive.

Hell, given the circumstances, Sammy’s got more life in him than I do right about now…

Ignoring the mordant thought, Dean glanced over to his father, giving a quick nod of his head that Sam would be okay – mostly.

John bobbed his head back, quickly flipping open the leather binding of his journal to reveal the full version of the Rituale Romanum.

“Deus et Pater Domini nostril Jesu Christi invoco nomen sanctum tuum…”

The Latin continued as Dean turned back to Sam, carefully probing for any more broken bones or deep cuts. From what he could tell, other than the mangled left hand and forearm, most of the damage was superficial – ugly as hell, but certainly not life threatening.

“Do I pass inspection?” Sam mumbled, staring through bleary, bloodshot eyes. “Because either I’m drunk or you look worse than I feel…”

Dean stopped his ministrations, following his little brother’s gaze to where the amulet should be hanging around his neck. There was always the option to lie and say it was under his tee, but then Sam would only ask him to show it.

“Dude, I’ve been hauling my ass all over the US looking for your scrawny butt. I been fighting demons and generally kicking ass, and you expect me to look like I just came outta a health spa?”

“Dean, where’s your amulet?”

Sam didn’t mince words, he didn’t even give his brother a chance to wrangle out of the question. It was point blank and as clear as the fact that Dean was sick – really sick. In fact, Sam had only ever seen him look like this once before, and that time he’d been dying.

Dean faltered, his waxen, perspiration-covered face telling everything with just one look. “I lost it, back there while we were fighting the demon. It’s no biggie, okay? We can find it later once we’ve turned the freak into Kentucky Fried Demon.”

“Dean…” Sam’s expression contorted, partly from the pain that was slowly ebbing back into his limbs, but partly because he could tell his brother was lying.

What the hell is he thinking? I saw how he was back in Louisiana. He’s been without that amulet for way longer than a few minutes…

“Dean, how did you find me out here?”

Dean stumbled to his feet, spinning away from his brother. He couldn’t look at Sam and respond without breaking. He couldn’t stare into those soft, caring, damn puppy eyes and not break down. “Sam, don’t go there. Just don’t.”

And that was all the answer Sam needed. Dean hadn’t lost the amulet – he’d given it up willingly – knowing what the consequences would be. Sam didn’t know the how, but it didn’t take much of a genius to work out the why.

Dean had given up the amulet to find his brother – given his life if they didn’t get it back – and all for Sam.

Is he so blind he thinks I can go on knowing that? Living my life without him after he sacrificed his own for me?

Sam lay his broken hand over his stomach, trying not to jostle it as he used his good arm to force himself from the ground. He had little strength left, but if he used all of it knocking some sense into his brother it would be worth it.

After precious seconds of struggling, Sam managed to push up until he could wedge his back against a knot in the tree trunk and use it for support.

“Dean…”

But Dean wouldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him. He knows. He KNOWS, was all that the elder hunter could think, over and over until his head felt like it would explode with the weight of the revelation.

“Bastards!”

The abrupt, pain-filled cry made Dean flinch.

The until-now silent demon had begun thrashing beneath the tarp again, drawing all three Winchesters' attention rather than dwelling on their own woes.

As John continued the exorcism, Eli was finally opening up, filling the glade with profanities and hate-fueled remarks.

“You Winchesters think you’ve won? Do you know what my master will do to you when he finds out about your interfering?”

“Maybe your boss picked on the wrong family,” Dean suggested, lunging at the tarp again with his foot as he thought of Sam’s mangled hand.

Eli laughed despite his obvious pain. “This was never about your pathetic little family! You were just pawns in a far greater game.”

The thing paused and as John began the Rituale once again tiny smoke curls began to spiral from the edges of the sheet.

“Fools!” Eli spat through half-choked retching. “You sided with the wrong team! Now you’ll pay by burning in hell and I’ll get to watch...especially you, Dean, you’ll be there before me now that you’ve given up your little trinket…”

“You’re a rogue – a scumbag even to your own kind. I don’t think you’ll be too welcome back down there any more than you are here.” Dean tugged his .45 from his waistband and pressed it against the writhing tarp, his hand shaking with the weight of the weapon. “Always wondered what would happen if I tried blowing a demon’s brains out while they were in a Devil’s Trap…”

The thing beneath the sheet stopped all movement, uncertain exactly what would happen. “You think I’m a rogue? Is that what Haris told you?” Eli chuckled again. “Dean, Dean… I thought you knew demons lie…”

“Exorcizo te, immundissime spiritus omnis incursion adversarii, omne…!"

Eli screamed as John’s words bit into his form, trying to tear its demonic presence from the human body he inhabited. “I work for Lucifer!” He spat. “And when my lord and master finds out what you’ve done, there won’t be a place on this planet you can hide. You’ve ruined everything…”

Dean’s jaw dropped simultaneously with that of his father’s. They had come here on a rescue mission with no clue as to what they were actually walking into.

Lucifer…

Dean swallowed, pressing the barrel of his automatic deeper into the tarp, but it was Sam who regained his composure quickly enough to actually speak.

“Why would Lucifer want to kill the special kids? Aren’t we just Haris’ playthings?” Sam tried to push away from the tree and stand at Dean’s side, but his knees seemed to have locked and any attempt at moving would surely cause him to fall.

“Let’s just say my boss was pissed at Haris for trying to um…attempt a little ‘coup’ in hell. It’s not fun to try and undermine your superior, don’t you know? See, Lucifer was the one supposed to bring about the End of Days, but Haris wanted the glory, the infamy. He tried to assemble you kids as his army.”

“But some of us didn’t like being drafted,” Sam pointed out.

“My master wasn’t interested in you set of freaks anyway, only the fact that you could draw Haris out into the open for him. Once Haris got wind that the master was angry, he hid up, sneaky bastard that he is. We knew if he thought his little prodigies were in danger he’d come running, though…”

Eli tried to pull away from the cold steel of Dean’s gun, but despite his lack of strength the hunter managed to keep it pressed firmly against the thing’s skull.

“So basically you used my brother like some piece of demonic bait?” Dean’s hand began to tremble more, this time with pent up anger as much as the effects of losing the amulet. His finger itched to pull back on the trigger, even though he wasn’t sure it would do any good.

Eli’s head cocked to one side mockingly beneath his canvas prison. “I used Sammy, but Haris used you more, didn’t he? The bastard wasn’t dumb enough to just walk in here, so he used you and Johnny boy there and you let him. Tut tut, the Winchesters lose again…”

Dean closed his eyes and swirled around the gun in his hand, slamming the butt down hard on the demon’s forehead until he was sure he felt bone give beneath his blow. “Don’t call my brother Sammy!”

Opening his eyes back up, he squinted, wavering slightly before grabbing the nearest tree for support. He didn’t have long left and he knew it. The pain, the disorientation had become almost too much to bear.

But it was over now.

All they had to do was finish Eli and use the bullet on Haris, and Sam would be safe.

Or would he?

The implication that Lucifer was involved wasn’t a good sign – even if Eli was telling the truth and Lucifer wasn’t interested in the special kids.

Dean looked up to his father, not wanting Sam to see his moment of weakness last any longer than he needed to. “Finish it…”

John took a breath and stepped closer to the flailing form beneath the sheet. He had come here with hope they could end everything, but after Eli’s confessions he wasn’t sure he’d gained anything except the loss of a son.

“Vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem…” The words were ominous, like the clouds forming overhead expectantly as if a storm was suddenly brewing.

Black acrid smoke began to plume from the tarp, accompanied by a scream that sounded as if it came from the bowels of hell itself. A choking, almost nauseating smell of burned flesh seemed to follow – a smell John Winchester knew all too well.

Cringing, John closed his journal and slid it into his pocket. Taking an edge of the canvas he peeled it back, already knowing what to expect.

The demon, or rather its host, was nothing more than a crisped husk that steamed like something left smoldering on a summer barbeque.

The rank stench of sulfur filled the glade, adding to the strange moment.

John rubbed at his beard. Of all the exorcisms, he’d never seen anything like this happen before. Part of him had hoped they could save Eli’s host as he himself had once been saved.

“What the hell?” Dean grimaced as two glaring orbs looked back at him from an otherwise scorched corpse. “I know I said Kentucky Fried, but dude…”

“Maybe it was the fact that the Devil’s Trap was so close? Actually touching him?” Sam offered softly, ever the knowledgeable one of the family.

“Or maybe he just couldn’t bear the thought of you getting to hell first, Dean.”

John spun around first, facing Haris off as he had known he would have to. Demons always collected on their bargains.

“We need more time with Sam…” John shot a wary glance at his eldest. Time for the bullet, his unspoken words conveyed the message.

“Oh, I’m afraid demons don’t really know the concept of time, John. You see, we aren’t bound by it like you puppets of flesh and blood.” Haris’s almost-white hair seemed to glow in whatever sun was left peeking through the overhanging cloud, his pallid skin contrasting starkly with his surroundings.

The demon’s eyes glowed too, the evil orange-yellow hue that identified him from lesser creatures spinning like a kaleidoscope across his pupils.

Dean tried to ignore the thing that had haunted the Winchesters for so long, concentrating instead on his father. When John gave the signal, he would need a distraction, a decoy to keep Haris busy. It was so easy for the yellow-eyed freak to use its powers to yank the gun away like he had the Colt back at the cabin.

“Oh, I see Sam is looking a little worse for wear.” Haris took a look at his prize, his eyes narrowing as he noted the sigil of Lucifer painted on the young hunter’s head. ”You Winchesters don’t deserve him. He’ll do so much better under my wing…”

“Over my dead body!” Dean’s temper snapped and he aimed his .45 at Haris, repeatedly pulling the trigger until the weapon’s clip was empty. It was hard to even take the kick back from the Desert Eagle anymore, but he fought it with every shred of control he had left.

He wasn’t going down, not until he knew Sam was safe.

Haris’s body jerked and spasmed with the impacts at such close range, but he didn’t stumble backwards or fall as Dean had hoped. Instead, the creature smiled, rolling his head around and hunching his shoulders as if he merely had an annoying cramp in his neck.

“Over your dead body, Dean? Why, that shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish in your condition!” The blond-haired freak outstretched his hand, snatching the .45 from Dean’s feeble grasp like taking a toy from a child.

Once the weapon was safely secured, Haris reached out his free hand, sheer power dragging Sam from the tree trunk’s safety like a demonic magnet until he was in the creature’s grasp.

Wrapping his arm around the hunter’s throat in a chokehold Haris smirked, knowing Sam had little strength left of his own to fight back with – certainly nothing that could rival his own. “Time to say goodbye, Dean…”

“I’m not dead yet, you bastard…”

“Dean no!” John tried to ram the amulet-bullet into the chamber of his gun knowing Dean wouldn’t back down when Sam was involved – no matter what the cost.

As his fingers worked he couldn’t help but be distracted at the sight of his eldest charging Haris full throttle, only to be abruptly thrown across the clearing.

Dean was too weak to fight. Too far gone, and yet somehow he still wouldn’t let go because of his brother. It was the only thought John could think of as he heard the bone-jarring thud of his eldest hitting the ground behind him.

It wasn’t a sound he was new to. Hell, Dean had gotten tossed more times than John could ever count – probably a whole lot more when John hadn’t been around too. But this time it was different, because John didn’t expect Dean to get up again.

The hunter, the warrior had given his all and had made his last sacrifice.

Dean had been dying for three days, and the infamous clock of life had about stopped ticking.

John looked up, ready to meet Haris straight in the eyes one last time before he put a bullet between them for what he had caused; but Haris was ready for him.

The demon bowed his head, eyes still shimmering as the first spatters of rain began to fall from the darkened heavens. “Nice gun you have there, Johnny. Pity it’s not the Colt, huh?”

Like Dean, John suddenly felt his body lose all control as his feet were pulled from the ground. He was tossed through the air, narrowly missing a tree stump as he landed hard within feet of his semi-conscious son.

Despite the bone-numbing impact, his arm jarring on a gnarled root as he went down, John clung to the precious weapon like a life-preserver. There was simply no option in letting go of that gun. Hugging it close to his chest, sacrifice and salvation, he simply would not let go.

Say goodbye, as we dance with the devil tonight…

John rolled over, putting his hands underneath his body and pushing himself up from the ground as he struggled to get back to his feet. He could see Dean just beside him, his son, valiantly trying to rise on arms that simply refused to hold his weight. In the diminishing daylight, John could see the line of blood that freely flowed from the corner of Dean’s mouth.

It’s just a busted lip! He assured himself, but the subsequent hacking, punctuated by patchwork staining of crimson on the dirt beneath Dean’s face told John otherwise. The soldier son was going down, unable to get back up this one last time.

Just beyond them both, Haris stood, holding Sam by the throat, yellow eyes swirling gleefully as a broad grin spread across a ghostly white face.

“Thanks a bunch, guys! I knew I could count on you to take care of my dirty work,” the demon jeered. “Although, I was a tad worried there for a moment that maybe you weren’t gonna beat that little pain in the ass. Nice touch with the trap drawn on the tarp. You ah, don’t have another one hiding anywhere do you?” he asked, faking a nervous glance around the area.

“Don’t be so smug you bastard. You haven’t won yet,” John snapped, taking a defiant step forward toward Haris and Sam.

“It certainly looks like I have from where I’m standing. Besides, we had a deal, John. Remember?”

“You let go of my son!” John demanded, pulling a pistol from by his side. He held the .45 at arm's length, the muzzle pointed at the demon’s head.

It was time to go for broke. Time to make everything right. Time for the devil to get his due.

Haris tightened his grip on Sam, the younger man gasping as his throat was constricted underneath the demon’s grasp. He clawed at the arm that was wrapped around his neck, fingers prying to release the demon’s hand.

“You better be careful with that Johnny. You might miss and hit Sammy by mistake,” Haris threatened.

“Oh, I won’t miss.” This is for you Dean… and you too, Mary!

“Well, I don’t think I’m willing to take that chance, John,” the demon replied, his head nodding toward the older hunter.

He was flung backwards like a rag doll, limbs askew as he was pinned against a nearby pine. The force of the impact drove the air from John’s lungs and he bit down hard on his lip as his spine screamed out in protest from the abuse of slamming into the hard trunk.

“When will you ever learn?” Haris muttered, shaking his head. “You were never destined to win, John.”

With another nod of the demon’s head, the invisible hold was released and John dropped to his knees on the ground. Before he could recover, another unseen force grabbed him and began to drag him over the jagged rocks, each seeking out exposed flesh to chew into, but just as eagerly content to batter covered skin as well. Tossed to and fro, the hunter grunted as the assault continued.

It was like watching some bizarre one-sided wrestling match, where some behemoth took on the ninety pound weakling and beat the smaller opponent within an inch of his life. Except to Sam, the behemoth was invisible, and the underdog was hardly a “weakling,” but rather, his dad. The young man strained against the demon’s hold as he watched his father falter under the repeated attack. He knew the demon was toying with him, batting John around like a cat might paw at a mouse.

“Stop!” he begged, his voice raspy from Haris’ strong grip. “Please, stop!”

“Aw, Sammy. Now why should I do that? This is just too much fun.” Haris replied, as John’s body was launched through the air once again.

“Please, you have me, isn’t that what you wanted? Let my dad go.”

For the briefest moment, the unseen attack on John ceased and the older hunter collapsed to the ground in an unconscious heap. Haris relinquished his hold on the youngest Winchester ever so slightly, his white-blond head tilted slightly to the side as the demon considered the young man held before him.

“Sammy, I’ve had you since you were born, it’s only ever been a matter of time until you came back to me. You’ve got nothing to bargain with and besides, your father has been a pain in my ass for far too long. He’s simply getting what he’s had coming to him and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited you bastard,” Dean barked out in defiance.

He leaned heavily against a taller outcropping of rocks, having nearly crawled to where his dad had dropped his weapon when Haris had initiated his attack. That same weapon was now in his grasp and as he mirrored John's earlier stance, it was once again pointed at the demon.

Haris “tsk’d,” his head shaking from side to side as he considered the young man before him. He considered crushing the young hunter with a single thought, just as he had done in the cabin that long night before. But looking at the hunter, taking in the hollow set of the eyes, the ragged respirations, the hunch of the shoulders, Haris knew that whatever was wrong with Dean Winchester, a stiff wind could likely finish the man off.

“Am I supposed to be any more afraid of you than I was of your dad? What’s to stop me from crushing you into dust right now? That pathetic gun?”

“No, more like the bullet inside it,” Dean answered back. “I’m surprised at you Haris, after all our quality time together back in Tennessee, after everything you went through to get the amulet off me, even sending that bitch Alyssa to mess with my head and make me forget about it and everything else, and yet you haven’t mentioned one word about it since you got here. Slipping up there, Harry!”

Dean took an unsteady step forward, willing himself to stay on his feet just a little longer despite his muscles' refusal to cooperate. He could feel his chest seizing up, like taking a deep breath outside on an icy cold day. Even the edges of his vision were darkened and narrowed, like watching a movie that was being broadcast in letterbox.

None of it mattered. He had to stay on his feet just a little longer, had to stay alert just a few minutes more, needed to maintain his focus just long enough to pull the trigger. Had to save Sam!

“Did you know what the amulet was all along?” Dean asked, seeing the sudden recognition in the demon’s eyes. “Did you know what it was a part of?”

Haris smiled nervously, pulling Sam back in front of him and backing away slowly.

“Not at first, not when I had you at my compound. I knew it was protecting you, but not how, not why. That came later. So, did you know then too, Guardian-boy?” the demon mocked.

“What does it matter now? You’re going down, you sonofabitch!”

Haris laughed, deep and throaty, it held nothing of the nervous laughter that the demon had shown just moments before. Still cautious, he maintained his hold on Sam, keeping the young hostage in front of him as a human shield.

“Your little stint as a Guardian hasn’t paid off there, Dean. That bullet isn’t going to stop me, even if it is part of Solomon’s Sword. Sure, it might sting a little, but what’s a paper cut when you’re writing a chapter in the eradication of humanity?”

Dean moved closer, stumbled slightly, but caught himself without losing his aim on the demon. He squeezed his eyes shut quickly, blinking rapidly to restore his vision and maintain his balance.

“Besides,” Haris continued. “I don’t think you’re gonna be around long enough to pull that trigger, Dean. See, I know what happens when the Guardian is separated from the amulet, pretty stupid binding if you ask me, don’t know what Solomon’s men were thinking when they came up with that one.”

Dean saw Sam’s eyes flash at the mention of him being separated from the amulet. He knew his brother felt angry, hurt, maybe even betrayed by what he had done. But at least he would be alive to feel those things and in Dean’s mind, that was what was most important.

“I’ll be around long enough to see the end of you, to see my brother free of you at last,” Dean insisted.

“No, I don’t think so, Dean. For all that you and John thought you were so smart, you never really got it. You thought I wanted Sam to carry out my plans, and that’s true. But I wanted him because from the beginning, it was Sam that was the greatest threat to me,” the demon explained.

Sam stopped struggling, his attention riveted by the revelation in Haris’ words. Near to him, even Dean halted his forward movement, staring in disbelief.

“You see, Sam has always held the power to be my downfall. He’s special alright, I’ve always known that. Why do you think I’ve tried every way possible to gain control of his powers, gain control of him? Barring that, if I couldn’t have him, I had to kill him. It was just that simple. It’s always been in Sam’s blood to either join me or destroy me.”

No, it can’t have all been for nothing! The words screamed out in Dean’s mind so loudly that he nearly crumbled under the barrage. All their plans, all for nothing? Sam is lost, we’re all lost…

Dean sagged to his knees, the last reserves of energy expended, his ability to draw on determination now gone in that last disclosure from the yellow-eyed demon. Yet, something tickled the back of his oxygen-starved brain.

Sam has always held the power to be my downfall. It’s always been in Sam’s blood to either join me or destroy me.

The Guardian and the Quatre Yeux, you’re stronger together than apart. You have a special synergy together, Dean. Trust Sam, trust your brother!

Had Marie known something? Had she been trying to tell him something that day? Even Samedi had let slip about the brothers being somehow linked together beyond their obvious shared genetics.

Dean’s head buzzed, his brain whirled as he tried to make sense of something that he didn’t necessarily believe in: Destiny.

Yet, maybe that’s what it was all about. Sam’s destiny, his destiny, inexorably intertwined. A family cursed joined with a family bound to a sacred guardianship, and what would be the chances or outcome of that?

It’s always been in Sam’s blood… Sam’s blood, the amulet, two brothers', synergy, stronger together… DESTINY!

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, noise seemed to quiet and everything seemed suddenly clearer to Dean’s previously addled mind. He looked over to his brother, still caught in the grip of the demon, seeking out Sam’s eyes, needing that direct contact just one last time.

Hazel met blue-green, elder meeting younger, “Do you trust me?” being silently answered by “Always!”

Dean shifted his glance back to meet Haris’ face again. This had to work and even if it didn’t, Dean rested in the fact that at least his brother was going out on his terms and not at the whim of some hellspawn.

Determination and hardness set in his face, he lowered the gun slightly, allowing the muzzle to drop so that it pointed at where Haris’ chest would be rather than between the repulsive yellow eyes. Seeing the weapon drop and mistaking it for surrender, the demon laughed, but it was short lived as Dean’s eyes glinted.

“You lose!” he sneered, pulling the trigger.

The amulet bullet careened from the barrel, plunging through Sam on its path toward the demon. Covered in blood from the youngest Winchester it burrowed deep within Haris’ chest, rocking the demon backwards, his grip on Sam loosening even as the expression on his face belied the shock of what was happening.

“NO!” the demon moaned. “You didn’t, you wouldn’t hurt your brother… never… inconceivable…”

Letting go of Sam completely, Haris staggered then dropped to his knees as his body jerked in a violent display of pyrotechnics. The air was filled with the smell of sulfur, burning flesh, and electricity as the demon erupted in flames, illuminating the growing darkness then just as quickly extinguishing and collapsing in a charred husk to the dirt.

Wounded by the bullet, Sam crumpled to the earth, his uninjured hand grasping his side in an effort to staunch the flow of blood. Gasping against the pain, Sam looked for his brother, but the effort was too great and his head dropped as he succumbed to this last insult to his body.

Just beyond him, Dean rose up on one knee. Blinded by the leftover smoke from Haris’ burnt remains, he struggled to see Sam, needing to find his brother just one final time, knowing that he didn’t have more than a few breaths left in his failing body. He rubbed at eyes that simply would not focus, gaining vision that was far dimmer than the growing darkness should have accounted for.

Then he spotted his brother. Sammy! Lying in a heap, surround by a growing pool of blood, Sam didn’t respond. Dean didn’t even bother to try to get to his feet, he simply put his hands down and began to crawl across the Wyoming soil towards his fallen sibling.

“Sammy!” Pleasepleasepleasebealivebealivebealive!

“Sammy… please… wake up bro… look at me…” he pleaded breathlessly.

Nearly within three feet of Sam, Dean stretched out his hand, straining to touch his brother’s arm, needing that contact, needing to know that his brother would live before he took his own final breath.

“Saammmy…” Dean wheezed, his body dropping to the ground, his outstretched arm faltering, then falling too as he yielded to the weakening beat of his heart.

The peaceful stillness that settled over the clearing was in stark contrast to the battle that had taken place there. The repulsive odor of human cadavers, the stench of burnt demonic flesh only reinforced that there was nothing left alive, nothing moving under the imposing monument of the Devil’s Tower.

Except… something did move.

John Winchester groaned and then rolled to his side. He wiped at the rivulet of blood that had found its way into his eye, before looking around him. He took in his surroundings in a quick glance, rapidly spotting the blackened remains of the demon before seeing his sons.

Springing to his feet, ignoring the pain and dizziness that resulted from the abuse his body had suffered, John scrambled over to his all-too-still children. Dropping to his knees in between them, he reached out a hand to touch both simultaneously, eagerly seeking a pulse beneath his fingers.

Neither moved, neither responded, neither seemed to be alive.

John felt his chest constrict. It can’t be! It can’t have come to this!

Even the charred remains of Haris did nothing to diminish the agony that was threatening to steal away his breath. He hadn’t felt so utterly lost in nearly twenty five years, hadn’t experienced such a deep-seated pain since losing Mary. This was the day he had feared, the day he had prayed would never come, the day he had fought to avoid at all costs.

Hands still clinging to his sons, John was barely cognizant of the newcomer that had appeared in the clearing. It wasn’t until the strong smell of sulfur assaulted his nostrils that he was broken from his silent grief, the overwhelming blast of heat instantly baking exposed skin and drawing his attention.

Standing at the top of a small knoll, a tall, heavily-built man stood taking in the scene below him. He shook his head almost sadly, as though the carnage below him had been some sort of military miscalculation, a general taking in the catastrophic loss of his troops.

“Who the hell are you?” John asked, angry at the intrusion. Leave me alone in my grief. Just let me take care of my boys in peace!

Luciano Ferinacci smiled down at the bearded man standing before him. He’d heard about the Winchester patriarch and in light of the havoc the man’s sons had created, he was curious.

“Hmmm, I’m surprised. I had heard you were a pretty top-notch hunter. All the years you spent chasing Haris, destroying demons, and you don’t know who I am? Did you really think that Haris was the worst thing in your life, your biggest problem? Don’t you know that even in Hell, we have our foot soldiers, our subordinates? Haris was nothing compared to me, a pathetic wannabe always scuttling around in my shadow.”

John watched as the man’s blue eyes suddenly flashed over to vibrant, hellfire red.

“Lucifer!” he acknowledged, as Hell’s prince laughed smugly.

“You know, your sons were a royal pain in my ass,” Ferinacci/Lucifer admitted ruefully, looking down at the still forms of the young men at John’s feet. “But, I gotta respect them. Tenacious little bastards, right to the end. That little stunt they pulled in New Jersey, I would have killed them if it wasn’t for the fact that I needed them. I guess it was good I kept them around, huh? But take pride in the fact that you raised them right, John, trained them real well.”

John grunted. Compliments from a demon stung just the same when he was staring down at a perceived colossal failure.

“I failed them. I raised them only to lose them. All I ever wanted to do was protect them, to save them…” he replied, his voice trailing off as he verbalized his grief to the demon.

Lucifer laughed, his voice booming across the open field, bouncing off the rock of the daunting tower that seemed to be carved by his very hand for some evil purpose. Eyes glowing like flares on a pitch black night, he leered down at the hunter, reveling in the anguish, absorbing it like it was ambrosia.

“Oh John, they were never yours to protect or save. They were never yours at all…”

Hold on … hold on!

The End....

(Disclaimer: Bold chapter headers are lyrics from the Breaking Benjamin song 'Dance with the Devil.' No infringement intended)

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The Winchester Chronicles