Burdens, Doublefold - Chapter 9
"Listen up," Ash announced as he walked back into the main room of the Roadhouse. "I found somethin'."
Dean blinked, looking up at Ash, still far too worn out for even a flicker of hope. "Yeah? What'd you find?" He had nodded off at a booth after Dad went to bed, and dreamt of cold muddy ground beneath his knees and blood on his hands.
They’d set up a cot in Dean’s room so John could keep using the narrow twin, but Dean’s brain wouldn’t shut down enough to allow for honest sleep. He couldn’t ignore the stress or what-ifs or what-nows. Having to rehash everything he’d figured out about Sam-to Dad of all people-had put him in that nasty spot where he was too exhausted to move but too agitated to call it a night.
Ash grabbed a chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the table. “A spell. An old one; it was in Sumerian. Tricky to translate, but I got it. We need a few things though."
"What do we need?" Jo had wandered in behind Ash and was inviting herself into the discussion. No surprise there.
"We need his blood, and we need something he owned."
"His blood," Dean repeated and ran his fingers through his hair, clenching his eyes shut. "How the hell are we gonna get that?"
Ash smirked and pulled out a pocket knife. He snicked it open and pointed it at Dean.
"Think that'll work?" Jo asked.
"Blood's a powerful thing. You're his brother, Dean. You're his blood." Ash flipped his knife shut again and slapped it down on the table. "Now what do you have of his?"
Dean sat up a little straighter and considered the question. He probably had a few of Sam's things stashed in the trunk of the Impala. There was a knife or two, and those throwing stars Sam had bought and never used after that one unfortunate incident.
"Preferably something we can tie to a string, the smaller the better."
Dean clutched at his shirt, almost by reflex, and felt the amulet's metal against his skin. He hesitated, then pulled it free of the collar, up and over his head, offering it to Ash. "How about this?"
Ash stared at the horned head and narrowed his eyes. "Sam gave that to you?"
"Yeah. When we were kids." Dean gingerly dropped it into Ash's hand. "I want that back."
"Sure, man. We just need to borrow its mojo for a little bit."
"Awesome,” Jo said, standing up. "Now we need a map, right?"
Ash nodded. "That'd be good to start with, yeah. You got one of the whole country?"
"I've got, like, eight in my car," Dean said, walking towards the door. He stepped out into the cold night, instantly shivering as a gust of wind whipped through the thin fabric of his henley. When he touched the handle of the Impala's passenger-side door-Sam always kept the maps obsessively neat-he had the briefest flash of Sam folding a map down. Dean closed his eyes like that would somehow jog more of the memory. It worked.
"Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon," Sam was saying, over the wails of 'Hot Blooded' playing on the stereo.
"Sam, we dug around there for a week," Dean heard himself say. "We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica-"
"We gotta find Dad first."
Dean opened his eyes again and winced at the pain lashing through his skull. Focusing on remembering fucking hurt. And the cold didn’t help.
"We gotta find Dad first," Dean repeated, clinging onto the last memory of Sam's voice, as if saying it over and over again would prevent it from slipping away as quickly as all the others had. "Well Sammy, I found Dad, but where the hell are you?" Dean rifled through the maps in the glove compartment and found what he was looking for.
He pulled out Sam's favorite map and hesitated. Sam's gonna be pissed if we ruin this, he considered, followed immediately by, Fuck him.
Dean walked back inside, clutching the map. He slapped it on the table where Ash had started assembling the spell's other ingredients: herbs, a mortar and pestle, four black candles and a piece of chalk.
"Okay..." Ash said, more to himself than anyone in particular. "Almost ready."
Jo pointed at the herbs in the mortar bowl. "Want me to crush?"
"Crush away, mamacita." Ash picked up the piece of chalk, the map and the amulet, and walked over to the left side of the main room, stopping by the kitchen door. "Y'all coming or what?"
Dean grabbed the four candles and followed Jo, who was working the pestle over the herbs while she walked through the kitchen door and into the storage room.
Ash was already crouched over the floor, sketching a large circle. "Candles. Here, here," he pointed at spots on the circle, "here and here."
Dean put the thick candles down as instructed and turned to look at Jo.
She smiled back at him, a mix of sorrow and fondness playing across her features. "Where do you want the seasonings, Ash?"
"Right above the map." Ash unfolded the large map, lining its corners up with the four candles. He took the chalk again and started writing around the paper's borders.
Jo leaned down and set the herb bowl above the top edge.
"Something wrong?" Dean asked, watching Ash sit back on his heels.
"Nah," he said, flicking his hair back over his shoulder. "Just trying to remember the Sumerian word for 'guide.'"
"You don't have the spell text written down somewhere?"
"Well yeah, in Greek, not Sumerian," he pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned forward again, continuing to write. "Sorry, I just taught myself Sumerian, like, three months ago," he chuckled. "Not totally fluent yet."
Dean turned to Jo and made a face, silently begging the question, 'Is he for real?'
"Ash is a genius," Jo said gravely.
"And don't you forget it. Okay, we're ready." Ash held out his hand. "Fire."
Dean pulled out his lighter and dropped it into the other man's palm.
Ash lit the four candles then stood, looking over his shoulder at Dean. “Okay, compadre, your turn.”
“Wait. What?” Dean stammered.
“Final ingredient,” Ash said.
Jo opened her pocket knife and took Dean’s hand. “We just need a few drops.”
Dean jerked his hand back.
“Don’t be a baby.”
“I’m not, I just…I’d prefer to do the stabbing.” Dean took the blade from Jo. “If you don’t mind.”
She smirked and took a step back, holding up her hands in mock-surrender.
Dean knelt down next to the map and pierced the tip of his third finger with the point of the knife.
“Right into the herbs, there,” Ash directed, watching him.
Dean held his bleeding finger out over the bowl and watched three thick, red drops fall into the mix. He sat back and sucked on his fingertip, tasting the iron on his tongue.
“Alrighty. Here goes.” Ash held the amulet above the herb bowl. ”Redu asar anna halqu ahu. Zamani asru redu anna. Halqu ahu.” He flinched as the herbs stared to smolder.
Dean raised an eyebrow. Dried plants didn’t usually combust just from being talked at.
Ash held the amulet over the herb bowl one more time and repeated the last two words: “Halqu ahu.” A thick plume of smoke rose up from the bowl, covering the amulet completely. Ash coughed and put his hands down on the map.
Jo took a few steps closer to the circle and knelt down on Ash’s other side. “Did it work?”
The amulet, which had landed on the outer edge of the map, jerked forward until its black cord was straining against Ash’s hold.
“Whoa…” he said, and lifted his hand up, letting go of the cord.
Dean watched the amulet fly across the map, stop somewhere under the Great Lakes and flip, so that the chin of the horned head was pointing straight down. Like an arrow. He cocked his head to the side and leaned forward. “Huh.”
“Peoria, Indiana,” Jo read. “There’s a Peoria in Indiana? And Sam’s there?”
Dean stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on there, cowboy,” Ash said. “I need a little time to make this more portable.”
“Portable?”
“Yeah, well…” Ash shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, you don’t think he’s gonna just stay put, do you?”
Dean had to give him that. “Nope. Guess you’re right. How much time do you need?”
Ash stuck out the tip of his tongue and thought. “Forty-two minutes.”
“You got it,” Jo said. “We’ll get packed.”
When they got to Ava’s bedroom, she was crying. Sam figured she was upset because of the bloody corpse beside her.
“Huh,” Brady said as he followed Sam into the room. “Can’t say I was expecting that.”
Ava’s head jerked up and she glared at Brady and Sam. Her eyes were glassy and blood-shot.
Sam walked around to her side of the bed, cocked his head and asked, “Did you do this?”
The woman brought her shaking hand up to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut. “You told me to. You said I had to protect my fiancé.” She looked at Sam again. “Now he’s dead!”
“I told you to?” Sam asked, curious.
“I-In my dream.”
“What else did I tell you to do?” Sam sat down next to her, his voice mild.
She sobbed quietly, but didn’t answer.
“Ava,” Sam said, and that mildness ebbed, growing heavy with power. “Show me your dream.”
The woman’s eyes went wide as Sam replayed her memories. She’d seen him, or what looked like him: Azazel wearing Sam’s face.
Sam felt an odd thrill run through him. Bloodlust. Azazel was afraid of him. That had to be why he was getting more creative in warning the psychics. He was getting them prepared, giving them back-up. That was new. Not that it made a difference.
Brady handed Sam the chalice and leaned down over the corpse next to Ava. It was - it used to be - a man. His chest had been slashed to ribbons and several ribs were sticking out at odd angles. "Acheri demon, right?"
Acheri demons were one of the few demon breeds that could manifest without possessing a host. Hellhounds were similar, from a metaphysical standpoint, but Hellhounds had the added ability to grab hold of a soul itself, not just the body that housed it. Brady had given Sam a primer on all of Hell’s species, though there were several that couldn’t exist at all outside of Hell itself. Sam hadn’t ever seen an Acheri or its handiwork until now.
The corpse lying next to Ava was missing a good chunk of its torso, its entrails scooped out. Brady leaned over the open ribcage and inhaled deeply.
"Yeah...definitely Acheri,” he chuckled. "Vicious, but they have the attention span of a gnat." He looked at Ava and narrowed his eyes. "Did you fall asleep or something?"
Ava blinked at him as a tear ran down her cheek.
Brady whistled. "Wow. That's a pretty staggering amount of stupid." He stepped away from her bed and clapped Sam on his shoulder. "She's all yours, champ."
Sam smiled stiffly at Brady, then turned back to Ava and held the old metal cup out towards her.
Ava's body unfolded itself against her will and she started whimpering in fear.
"Shh," Sam whispered, holding a finger up to his lips. He set the chalice down on Ava, who'd fallen silent, balancing it right on top of her sternum. The cup started to glow faintly as it filled with blood.
Ava stopped moving and her eyes drifted shut.
Sam picked up the chalice and downed its contents in one long pull. He nearly smiled at the contented feeling her blood and its power gave him. "Going somewhere, Brady?" he asked without turning around.
"No. Of course not," Brady said quickly.
Sam took a deep breath and pivoted, eyeing Brady. The demon was really starting to test his patience. "You were trying to leave."
"What? No I wasn't-"
"Don't. Lie. To me." Sam growled, letting his words solidify the air, trapping Brady like an insect in amber. He put his hand on Brady's shoulder and stared at him, watching the demon inside look around frantically, struggling to find a way out.
"Let go of me," Brady snapped.
Sam's lips quirked and he lifted his hands. He made a flicking motion with his fingers and sent Brady crashing through Ava's bedroom window. Walking over to the shattered, jagged glass, he grinned down at the demon.
Dean hadn’t come into her life at the top of his game. He’d practically crawled in, lucky to get to the Roadhouse alive. She’d seen him weak as a kitten and angry as a bull, but she had never seen him as forlorn and frantic as he looked that morning, standing at the door to his room. She’d packed her bag in under three minutes, a new record, and was about to grab Dean so they could get a move on before Mom woke up.
He was standing just outside the doorway, like he didn’t want to set foot inside, and when she walked up to him and asked what was wrong, he didn’t even answer. He just turned and headed for the kitchen.
Jo barely had time to process the problem when she heard her mother gasp and something metallic clatter to the floor in the distance. Pushing through her momentary stupor, she bolted to the kitchen and saw Dean with his forearm shoved against Ellen’s throat. He had her pinned to the wall, right next to the stove. Jo saw red. “DEAN!”
“Tell me where he is. Right now!” Dean demanded, his voice full of gravel and desperation.
Ellen’s mouth trembled and her eyes were shining, but not with fear…with sorrow. She looked Dean squarely in the eye and said, “No.”
Jo grabbed the scruff of his shirt and yanked backwards with all her might. She heard fabric rip. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
He spun, rage spilling off him in waves. “Dad’s gone. Again. And your mom knows something.”
“Yeah? And you think shoving her against the wall is the best way to get her to talk to you?” Jo got right back in his face, unafraid.
“He wouldn’t have just left without telling me. Not unless-” Dean’s chin quivered, words caught, and he fell silent.
“What? Unless what?”
Dean slammed his hand on the nearby countertop and shoved past her, back out into the Roadhouse proper.
Jo let him go. The shithead clearly needed to calm his ass down, or she’d do it for him. With a sawed-off. Jo turned to her mom and held out a hand. She wrapped her fingers around Ellen’s shoulder and pulled her close. Her mom was shaking. “You’re gonna tell me what happened, right?” Jo said quietly.
Ellen pulled away, just enough to see her daughter, and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “No, I’m not. But what I will tell you is that nobody should have to watch their child die. Not ever.” She straightened and took a deep breath. “John’s doing what he has to, and don’t you dare try to stop him.”
It was freezing cold outside, but Dean welcomed it. He was so God-damned mad, his blood felt like lava. His breath steamed into the air as he barreled over to the Impala. Ash still needed another twenty minutes before they’d be ready to roll; Dean didn’t think he could wait that long. Peoria was nearly ten hours away and they had no idea where Sam was headed after that. Dean threw open the trunk with way more force than necessary and then felt bad, muttering, “Sorry, baby. I’m not mad at you.”
He combed through the contents, trying to figure out what he needed on him. The only weapon he knew Azazel was afraid of was the Colt…and a quick check in the Roadhouse’s safe confirmed John had taken it with him. Dean’s jaw clenched again when he thought of his father.
“You want me to come back later?” Ash’s voice said from the other side of the car.
Dean glared across the roof and saw Ash sitting on the hood. “Get your scrawny ass off of my car.”
Ash coughed and pushed himself forward slowly with one hand, carefully balancing what looked like a half-exploded laptop in the other.
"What the hell happened to that thing?" Dean asked, staring at the computer.
"I upgraded it." Ash preened. "Now I've got it running the spell algorithm on top of the tracking protocols I already had set up."
"Algorithm? I thought magic was, like, magic, you know? Not math."
"Well, yeah, man...” Ash turned the laptop carefully so Dean could see the display. The amulet's cord was hanging from the tiny latch hook at the top of the computer, and the bottom of the amulet itself was pointed near the center of the screen, which was displaying a map of the US. "It's a little of both, really. All magic does is, like, let you temporarily redefine the laws of physics, make it operate under a new set of parameters. Kind of like...nature's hack."
Dean blinked at Ash, mystified, then glanced over the screen. "So right now, Sam's in Indiana?”
Ash nodded. “Moved halfway across the state since we first tracked him. He’s heading west.”
“Works for me.” Dean folded his arms across his chest, finally feeling the cold. “Let’s meet him halfway.”
The door to the Roadhouse swung wide open and Jo came out carrying a duffel bag and wearing a frown. She walked straight to the passenger door of the Impala, opened it and sat down in Sam’s seat without saying a single word.
Dean tried to catch her eye but she had her bag on her lap, unzipped, and was sorting through her extensive collection of knives, guns and protective charms. Dean pondered asking her if he could toss her bag into the trunk where all the other weapons were, but decided against it since she struck him as being in a rather stabby mood. He also knew he deserved a small stabbing or two after losing his temper on Ellen, but hoped he could delay that until after they found Sam and Dad.
Ash raised his eyebrows and commandeered the backseat without saying a word. He sat propped against the driver-side door with his legs across the seat, laptop balanced on his knees.
Dean slid behind the steering wheel, looked sidelong at Jo who was still staring into her duffel bag, started the engine and pulled out onto the road.
"Tell me again why you think you get a say in this?" Sam asked, glaring at Brady. He'd tried to be patient, but the demon made it difficult sometimes.
"Sam-"
"I don't care how far away he is. I want you to go get him for me." Sam took a few steps towards Brady, the worn floorboards of the abandoned house creaking under his feet in protest.
"If I travel that far, that fast, without my meatsuit, Azazel is going to notice. We're going to draw attention to you. I'm trying to keep you-"
"You have ten seconds left to cooperate. Otherwise, I'll play puppet-master again."
Brady snorted, shook his head and opened his mouth wide. The demon inside collected itself then poured out of the body-a thick, black cloud sparking with power and hate.
Sam rolled his shoulders and rocked his head left to right, working out the crick in his neck. This was it. Brady was about to bring him the last of Azazel's chosen: Jake Talley, currently stationed in Afghanistan. After this, Sam had to be ready to take on Azazel. He'd been getting stronger every hour of every day, the near constant influx of the blood from the last of the psychics keeping his power changing and growing.
He could sense demons now, feel them flitting across the Earth. There were only a few dozen, but Sam still couldn't sense Azazel among them. If Azazel could still hide from him, then Sam wasn't strong enough yet. He cracked the knuckles in his right hand, letting a small shower of sparks fly when he spread his fingers wide. If this last psychic didn't do the trick, then he'd have to consider other options.
Sam stared at Brady's empty body wondering how long it could stay unoccupied before rigor mortis would set in, or if that would even happen in a body that had been possessed by a demon for so long.
As if on cue, there was a faint smell of sulfur and Sam felt Brady reappear behind him.
"See?" Brady said in another man’s voice. "I know how to play nice."
Sam smirked and spun around, touching the chalice to Jake Talley’s chest in one swift motion.
Jake's eyes went wide, and the demon inside struggled to break free, as the cup filled rapidly, right to the brim.
Sam gulped the blood hungrily and his body bloomed with strength: superhuman, otherworldly might. Jake's gift pumped through his veins, through his muscles, and Sam felt like his body was finally, finally catching up to his mind. There was so much more blood though, and the taste changed from the usual, metallic sting of the chosen, to something entirely different. And wonderful.
Jake sank to the floor as the demon inside jerked and thrashed, and red streamed out of his skin, raining up the stem of the chalice, filling it just as quickly as Sam could drink.
Sam fell to his knees as a wholly new kind of energy inundated his mind. Everything he'd learned, everything he could do was nothing compared to this. His power fed on the energy from the blood until Sam felt like a star about to go supernova. As the last few drops from the chalice ran down his throat he distantly heard Brady gasp, with Brady's voice.
Making itself at home again in its familiar body, the demon sat up and looked at Sam. "Well? How do you feel?"
The blood pounded through Sam's veins, amplifying everything. "Like a god," he said, his voice making the walls quiver.
Brady's smile was forced and his eyes were locked on Sam. He was waiting for something.
Sam stood up, supporting himself on the wall. His fingers tingled oddly, and when he looked at them he could see them pulsing with energy…not just pale yellow anymore, but streaked with black and white. He pulled his hand away from the wall and closed his fingers, making a fist. The force retracted and flowed back into his arm, up through his veins and into his heart. "I don't think you can lie to me anymore." Sam said quietly as he walked to Brady. He pushed into the demon's mind and started looking around. Almost immediately, he felt resistance. Most of Brady's thoughts were as easy to sift through-and just as insignificant-as fine sand, but right in the middle was a lockbox made of titanium and covered in a sickly shade of yellow. "He's protecting you," Sam realized, and his voice sounded just as confused as he felt.
The demon's body didn't move a muscle. His face was frozen, but underneath the skin, the demon was screaming.
Sam heard every word.
'Help me. Azazel, get me out of here. NOW!' Brady screamed. 'Don't let him see.'
The air behind Brady wobbled for a split second and then tore open, a hairline fracture running from the ceiling to the floor. Then a hand reached through and grabbed the demon's shoulder.
"No," Sam said and took a hold of Brady's arm.
Brady screamed within and without, the demon inside thrashing wildly.
Sam pulled back hard until the hand trying to tug Brady through time and space withdrew.
There was a muted thump as Brady collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut. The demon was asleep.
Sam was pretty sure demons never slept. He'd never seen Brady so much as take a catnap.
The tear in reality widened, to the sound of a low, amused laugh. The hand reappeared, followed by the rest of the body it belonged to. "Howdy, son," said John, grinning at Sam, amber eyes shining.
"Dad…" Sam said in shock. The demon inside of his father looked like nothing he'd seen before. It wasn't pure, oily black like the others; it was blinding yellow, shot through with white and black tendrils. It radiated malice and power, and it was smiling at him.
"Sammy. It's good to see you."
"What did you do to my father? Where's Dean?" Sam's heart pounded in panic, "What did you do to Dean?" How long had it been since he'd checked on his brother? Three days ago...maybe four...
"Your brother's fine," said the demon. "I haven't hurt a single hair on his head. Well. Not today, anyway. And your daddy-he agreed to this. In fact, this was all his idea."
Sam could barely see his father's soul. It looked like it was suffocating under the weight of the demon's presence. John was alive, but unconscious. "Let him go."
Azazel laughed, and cocked an eyebrow. "Make me."
The power inside of Sam was eager to answer the challenge and rushed down Sam's arms. He raised his hands out towards Azazel and let the energy loose, intent on pushing the demon out of his father's body. Wave after wave poured out through him, charging the entire room. Sam smiled as he felt his power crash into Azazel's. The demon was strong, but so was he. So was he. He pushed harder and harder, imagining what he was going to do once he could get his hands around the demon's real throat. The air crackled with energy and smelled like a storm. Sam could hardly see. It took all of his concentration to keep the barrage going, but he thought he'd felt Azazel move back...just an inch. He pushed one more time, with every bit of himself, but had to let his arms drop back down, exhausted.
His father's voice chuckled. "Is that all you got?"
Sam, dizzy with the exertion, glared at Azazel.
The demon shook his head and smirked. "Good try. You're just not ready for the major leagues yet, Sam."
"Get out of my father. Now."
Azazel held up his hands and laughed. "Or what? What are you gonna do, exactly? Wow me with another light-show?"
Sam's mouth twisted in anger; he couldn't think of a thing to say. He'd tried. He'd used all the power at his disposal and he hadn't left a mark. He'd failed.
"Anyway, since when do you care? You and your Pops weren't exactly on the best of terms, from what he tells me."
"He's my father."
Azazel nodded. "Family loyalty. I can respect that." The demon walked past Sam and moved to the boarded up window in the back of the house. He grabbed hold of one of the planks of wood, pulled it off and tossed it onto the floor, then repeated the process with the other two planks. He took a deep breath and looked outside at the pink-tinged dusk sky. "Nice night, ain't it?"
"What do you want?" Sam exhaled sourly. "Just take Brady and go. That's why you're here, isn't it?"
The demon spun on Sam, grinning. "Oh, no; he's all yours."
"But...you were protecting him. There are things in his head I can't see because you won't let me."
"I bet that pisses you off," Azazel said. "He blew his cover, which makes him useless to me. Go ahead and take a good, long look, but before you do, let me make you an offer."
Sam stared at him in disbelief. "An offer? You killed Jessica. You killed my mother. You're possessing my father. What the hell makes you think-?"
"Sam," said the demon, yellow eyes lighting up with glee. "I don't want you to be discouraged." He leaned forward and squeezed Sam's biceps. "You're strong. Real strong, and honestly, you've always been my favorite." He let go of Sam's arms and gestured at the open window. "All those other kids, they would've burned out eventually. You deserve every drop you took from them. All three dozen of them."
Had there really been that many?
"All I want is for you to take your place by my side."
Sam watched Azazel leer and felt the rage inside of him start to burn. Flames licked at his fingertips. "I hate you. I'm going to rip you apart."
"Sure you are, champ," the demon said. He looked down at the fire surrounding Sam's fingertips. "Put your little sparklers away; that's just embarrassing."
The flames disappeared but Sam was far too furious to know if he'd willed them away, or Azazel had.
"You're not strong enough to take me down. You know that. Now, you've got two choices." He pointed at Brady's slumped form. "You can keep drinking the blood of bottom-feeders. Packs a hell of a punch for you. Drink enough of them and you'll pound me into dust." He nodded his chin towards the dimming sky outside. "I'm their king, but if you keep beating your chest like the mountain gorilla you are, I'm sure some of them will switch sides."
There were dozens of demons on Earth, and Sam knew where each and every one of them was. He could find them all and drink them all down. He could control them too, for a short while-one at a time, maybe more. It had gotten easier and easier with Brady.
Azazel shrugged. "But the effects are temporary and coming down is gonna hurt like a bitch. It might even kill you."
"I don't care."
The demon scoffed, "It doesn't have to be that way, Sam. My blood is forever." He grinned wide. "Think of how strong you got from the few measly drops you took from those kids."
Sam swallowed as he watched Azazel push his father's thumbnail deep into his wrist.
"Now, just imagine what you'd be like if you had a few pints, right from the source." The demon pulled his thumb away and held his bleeding wrist out in front of Sam. "You'll be stronger than my whole army put together. You and I, we can bend the whole world to our will."
"No. I don't-"
"Not just Earth. Everything. With you by my side, we can bring down Heaven, and when we do, Sam…you can have your pretty little Jessica back."
Sam had his hand around his father's throat so fast he didn't even remember moving. "You killed her. You're the one who took her from me. You don't get to use her as a bargaining chip. You don't even get to say her name."
Azazel laughed, pried Sam's fingers loose and pulled Sam's hand away from his throat easily. He pushed Sam's arm back down and shook his head. "I can't take all the credit for that one."
Sam's face fell as he tried to understand what the demon was saying, and realized it could only mean one thing.
"I did kill your mommy though. That was all me." He smiled. "And you want to know why?"
He did.
"I killed her so that you and I would end up right here, right now."
"Why?" Sam felt something wet trickling down his cheeks. He'd thought he'd forgotten how to cry. "Why didn't you just take me from my crib then? Dean could have had a normal life. He would have had Mom and Dad; he would have been fine."
"Dean. It always comes back to Dean for you, doesn't it?" Azazel snorted. "He's lucky to have a brother like you. Always so worried about his safety. Always looking out for him. Bet you were as happy as I was when you found out he got himself his own pretty little blonde thing. Weren't you?" He waggled his eyebrows at Sam.
The last time Sam had looked in on Dean's dreams, his brother had been alone. How long ago had it been? Why couldn't he remember?
"Did you forget to check up on your bro? Were you too busy?" Azazel clucked his tongue. "Well, I'm sure he's fine. Next time you see him, tell him Dad says 'hi'." The demon turned his back on Sam, facing the window.
"If you hurt him, I swear I'll-"
"Oh don't worry. I don't need anything else from him." The demon looked back over his shoulder at Sam and winked. "I just need you," he said, and then he was gone.
“Dean,” Jo said. She looked over at him, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel like he’d get there faster if he just held on tight enough.
Dean didn’t even hear her.
“Dean!” she said again, louder.
“What?” he snapped.
Behind them Ash mumbled something in his sleep and yawned, loudly.
“You’re going ninety-five. Cops like to pull people over on this stretch. Take it down a notch.”
The car slowed down to ninety-two and Dean’s mouth tightened grimly. “Hey Ash. Mind checking our heading, or you too busy dreaming about touring with Skynyrd?”
Jo turned around and watched Ash rouse, sit up and pull the franken-laptop onto his lap. He blinked a few times. “Uh…yeah. Right on track. He's about nine hours away." Ash tilted his head to the side. "Near Champaign, IL."
“Illinois? Shit, how'd he move that fast?” Dean muttered, pushing his foot down on the pedal harder.
"Hey, at least he's heading towards us," Ash said and stretched mightily.
Jo was quiet, but she couldn't help wondering if Sam heading for them was a good thing.
Brady woke up a few minutes after Azazel left.
Sam watched, sitting backwards on the one wooden chair the abandoned house held. He folded his left arm over the edge of the chair-back and leaned his chin there. His right arm was hanging straight down, and he toyed with the empty chalice in his hand.
The demon's eyes went from confusion to panic as soon as he saw Sam. He sat up and scrambled to his feet.
"You're not going anywhere," Sam said.
Brady slammed backwards against the wall and started to levitate up it, slowly. "Sam, just let me explain, please. I deserve that much, don't I? "
Sam canted his head and narrowed his eyes.
Screams echoed through the house as Brady lit up on the inside. Blood started to trickle from his nose and his eyes.
Sam snuffed out the flames, watching the drops of blood hit the floor and roll right into the chalice.
"I know what he must have told you, but I'm not on his side anymore. I'm on yours," the demon pleaded.
Sam brought the cup to his lips.
Brady's skin split open in a dozen different places at once. Red ran down the sides of his face, soaked through his shirt and pearled off of the fabric again as it was pulled into the chalice.
"You're going to win. You are so much stronger than Azazel thought you'd be. You don't trust me anymore- fine, but think about it- it would be stupid of me not to back the winner. When everything's said and done, you're gonna be the one left standing. You know it, and I know it."
Sam drank deeply until the blood stopped flowing, and let the chalice fall to the floor. He looked at Brady again and gestured with his finger.
The screaming demon, burning again, slid further up the wall.
"Is this what you did to her?" Sam asked. "Speak."
Gasping as the pain cut off abruptly, Brady begged, "Sam-"
"Answer the question. Tell me what you did to her. Show me."
The demon let out an anguished grunt of pain as Sam tore his mind wide open.
Jess opened the door, smiling, as beautiful as Sam remembered, and invited Brady in. Brady followed Jess into the kitchen, and she handed him one of the cookies she'd just taken out of the oven. He ate it, smiling, and then grabbed her arm and dragged her into the bedroom.
Jess screamed and fought to pull free of Brady's grasp, but he was strong and she was just a human. He kissed her roughly, and pulled back to say, "I get what Sam sees in you. Really, I do." Then his eyes flipped black and he shoved Jess away from him. She was thrown across the room, against the wall, and started to slide slowly up to the ceiling. Jess screamed and started to cry in terror as Brady stood below her, grinning. "Don't worry. Sam will be here soon. I'll give you two a chance to say good-bye."
Sam saw himself come into the bedroom and flop onto the bed. He opened his eyes, saw Jess bleed and burn, and started shouting.
Brady looked at Sam defiantly and choked out, "I still remember how she tasted."
The ceiling caught fire. Sam's rage took hold of the demon he'd known as Brady and tore him apart until there was nothing left.
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