The Devil's Lions - Part 5

[ladyarcherfan3]

Part 5 - All Hell Breaks Loose
"You do realize that this is the stupidest idea we have ever had?" Sam asked.

They were almost an hour's hike away from camp, rifles loaded with consecrated iron, packs filled with rock salt, holy water and grease paint. A well-worn, lion-marked path cut through the dirt and led into the foothills, in the opposite direction that the Maasai hunt had taken them.

“I don’t know, you remember that time with the bees and Bobby’s shed…” Dean started, but at a look from Sam, he stopped, grinned sheepishly and said, “Yeah, okay, this is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done. But if it works, it will be awesome.”

“I’m more concerned if it doesn’t work,” Sam bit out.

“Ah, come on, stay positive! They aren’t going to expect us to come at them like this!”

“Or they are, and they’ve set their own trap.”

“Either way, we’ll be in pistol range.”

“And how many shots does this gun have again? I recall from the stories that it wasn’t that many.”

“We’ve got three shots left, that’s all we need. There are only two lions.”

Sam took a deep breath. “We are fucked.”

“Only if you keep that negative attitude.”

They ended up hiking for another hour, the terrain growing rougher as the mountains crept closer. Caves started to open up in the sides of cliffs and hills. A tributary to the Tsavo River traveled down out of the mountains, and they had to cross it several times. But each time, the massive tracks of the lions reappeared.

“They aren’t even trying to hide their trail,” Dean muttered.

“Demons are arrogant.”

“Yeah.” But there was a hint of doubt to his voice.

The stream cut in front of them again, narrow and easily spanned by a single stride as it cut through a narrow neck of rock, and for a few minutes, they lost the trail. Then, the wind shifted, and brought the stench of death, decay and big cat.

Dean grimaced and said, “I think we’re still on the right track.”

It wasn’t hard to follow the smell to a cave, half hidden by a stand of thorn bushes. But where stone didn’t show spoor, the thorns had nabbed clumps of tawny fur.

“I think we’re here,” Sam whispered.

“Right. Let’s prep.”

The packs opened. Sam took a canister of salt and drew a half circle about ten yards from one side of the cave mouth to the other, to block the demons’ escape. Dean had pulled out two small lanterns that could be clipped to a belt and lit them. He handed one to Sam, and then pulled out the grease paint. Then, with a quick nod, they stepped carefully over the salt line and went into the cave.

Despite being the middle of the day, little light made it more than a few feet past the cave entrance. The thick thorn bushes and the overhang of rock made sure of that. Without a breeze inside, the fetid odor became stifling, thickening in the humid air; sulfur permeated through the rot. Sam choked back a cough, and took the greasepaint from Dean, who slipped a few steps further into the cave, the Colt up and cocked.

Sam slipped his arm through the rifle sling and let it dangle from his shoulder and took the lantern from his belt and pointed it towards the roof of the cave. It only took him a few sweeps of the light to find a relatively smooth and flat section that he could reach, just inside the entrance. The greasepaint squelched on the damp rock but didn’t run, and in short order, he had a devil’s trap painted. Then he tossed aside the paint and joined Dean, his rifle at the ready.

Dean caught his eye and signaled to go further into the cave. Warning bells started to go off in Sam’s head. They had no way of knowing how big the cave was, if there were side passages where the demons could ambush them from and if the lions were even in the cave at the moment. But a few more steps in showed at least the size and shape of the cave.

It was relatively shallow, with only a few yards of narrow passageway before it opened up into a massive room. As their lights swept through it, Sam felt his mouth go dry and his stomach lurch in sickness. Bones covered the floor like a macabre carpet, glinting in shades of ivory to dull rust brown. Human bones.

Dean made a disgusted sound. “They kept trophies?”

A bubbling growl reverberated around the room. The beams of lantern light twisted and jumped until they cut across the massive body of the lion, sprawled across a stone shelf at the far end of the cave, a demonic king of the beasts. The growl continued as it rose and stepped down, crossing the room towards them. Bones rattled and snapped under its feet.

“Back,” Dean snapped.

Sam spun and felt Dean’s shoulders hit his as they hurried back through the narrow passage again, each watching the other’s back. “Where’s the other one?” he panted.

“Dunno. But if he was outside, he’s not getting past the salt line to get in. Stop.”

Sam pivoted again and stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean, a step from the narrowest point of the passageway. The demon stood just yards away, bottlenecked. Its eyes suddenly flashed sulfur yellow and seemed to glow of the own accord from the darkness.

The lights from their lanterns had barely settled enough to see properly, when Dean fired the Colt, aiming for the two yellow eyes. At the exact same instant, Sam swore his head exploded. The sound of the gun, fired in the cave, hit him as a spike of white hot pain tore through his head. He felt his body jerk sideways and hit Dean, heard the bullet hit stone, and a strange voice echo through his mind.

Sam. Always so difficult.

Still reeling, Sam tried to stand upright again, but Dean was pushing him back towards the mouth of the cave, and the pain kept spiking through his head, and the lion suddenly roared, the sound even louder than the gunshot.

The pitch of the lion’s roar changed suddenly and Dean staggered. Sam collapsed back against the wall. Dean was frozen, head thrown back, and a stream of black smoke twisted from the lion’s mouth to his.

“NO!” Sam screamed, but it was too late.

The lion’s body collapsed to the ground, dead. Dean stood frozen for a long moment, before turning slowly to face Sam. His eyes turned yellow, and Sam’s blood turned to ice.

“Well, this makes things a bit easier. Hey ya, Sammy Boy.”

“You get out of my brother, right now,” he snarled.

“But why? It makes it so much easier to talk.” He turned and took a few steps around the cave, staying away from Sam and the devil’s trap. “Hm, you’re brother has potential. Not as much as you, but he’s stayed sharp, hunting for as long as he has.”

Sam felt sick. It was his brother’s voice, his brother’s body, but something was off. The inflection was off, the words not quite right. And while Dean had always moved like some sort of alpha predator, especially when they were hunting, he moved differently now, slow, but deliberate, and graceful. It was almost as if the demon couldn’t quite shake the powerful, almost sensual movement of a big cat and was trying to translate that into Dean’s muscles. It was so wrong.

“Exorcizamus te,” Sam started, but the demon spun around.

“Oh, we can’t have that, we haven’t talked yet!” He flicked Dean’s hand, and Sam staggered, coughing as the air was driven out of his lungs by an invisible hand.

Rage and fear boiled through his blood, and he shoved back. The grip of demon power slipped, and with an inarticulate roar, he charged forward. He aimed to drive his shoulder into Dean's midriff, but the demon staggered back several steps before he even touched him. The Colt fell from his grip, and Sam scrambled for it. The demon regained his balance, sighed, and took a step back towards Sam. And then stopped.

“Oh, really? The devil’s trap? I guess that worked out for you.”

Sam fought to calm his breathing and his mind. The demon was caught, and it would be the easiest thing to exorcise it and free Dean. But if he did that, the demon would be sent to Hell, and could crawl back out - in a year, or ten, or one hundred, it didn’t matter, the thing would be back. And Sam couldn’t let that monster have the chance to wreak more havoc. He had the Colt, which would kill the demon, but he wouldn’t shoot his brother. So he straightened his shoulder, lifted the Colt, and looked at the demon.

“Why are you after me?”

The demon rolled his eyes. “What makes you think this is about you?”

Sam just stared back.

“Okay, so it is about you, Sam. You’re my favorite, but you threw a wrench in the system when you moved to London and got married. I have to say, at least you stayed a little sharp by hanging out with the army and hunting man-eaters. Otherwise, I would have had to gotten rid of your pretty little Jess.”

“You even think about touching Jess, and I’ll-” Sam snarled, feeling a roar of rage fill his chest.

But the demon interrupted. “What? You’ll kill me? I thought that was the plan for you all along. Relax. Your pretty little wifey is safe. You’re here. I have your brother. She isn’t in the way right now.” He rolled his shoulders and flexed. “Damn, but I should have got Dean. He’s sharp, a hell of a hunter, and has a lot of anger. But, he’s not you, Sammy. You were always my favorite. You always had the most potential.”

“What. The. Hell. Are. You. Talking. About.” Sam ground out the words, his jaw aching as he clenched it.

Whether it was that the demon liked having a human voice after such a long stint as a lion, or because he did actually want to talk with Sam, it continued to speak. “I have plans. They are quite big plans, and tie into some other very big plans, and they’ve been a long time in the making. Thing is, I kinda need you back in the good old US of A. It has to do with locations and tools… speaking of which, I really do need to thank your daddy and bro for finding this thing.” He pointed to the Colt. “It was a big piece of the puzzle.”

“Stop talking in circles.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I have an army. It needs to get out. This gun opens a gate in Wyoming. Thing is, I need someone to lead that army. I’m not a leader, really, just an organizer. I like logistics. I need a general. That’s where you come in. But you are a little out of shape, so I thought I would help things along. Get you back in hunting mode, figure out a way to get you back stateside. Again, your brother managed to fall into my plans very well. So I started getting you back into the hunt, and tried to help flip the switch on your powers.”

"I don't have powers," Sam started, but the demon lifted an eyebrow, and he stopped. "The nightmares? The headaches and vision thing?"

"And you just pushed me into the devil’s trap, which surprised me, but I take it as a good sign," the demon replied. "Got you started young, Sammy. Gave you something better than all vitamins that you could ever have."

"What?" But even as he spoke, the memory of his nursery, and the sick, thick taste of blood and sulfur flooded his mouth.

"That's right," the demon almost purred.

"I have demon blood in me?"

"Only way to do it. You and a handful of others. I can only have the best leading my army."

"You bastard," Sam snarled.

The demon shrugged. "Doesn't matter what you think of me now, Sam. You'll come ‘round."

"Not before I am done with you," he snarled. "Exorcizamus te…"

"I thought you wanted to kill me," the demon asked.

"I do. But sending you to Hell will screw your plans up long enough to make sure I can make my own plans to stop you for good."

The demon flinched and sighed. "Sorry, Sammy, can't have you messing up my plan. I need you ready, though. So how about this." He pulled out Dean’s spare pistol and pressed it against Dean’s temple. “You stop now and we continue our discussion like intelligent adults, or I kill your brother.”

Sam said a few more words in Latin, and the demon's finger tightened on the trigger.

"I really wouldn't. Exorcisms always hurt, and if I twitch the wrong way..." He made a wet, splattering sound.

"Fuck you," Sam snarled. "What do you want to discuss?"

“Here’s a plan. I let your brother go. You don’t kill me. I’ll even let you keep the Colt, cuz you’ll need it, and I can’t very well carry it while I am a lion. But, when I call, you come to me, and you play your part in these plans, just like you were supposed to. That way, no one you love has to die.” The demon lifted and spread Dean’s hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “That way we all win.” His eyes glowed sulfuric yellow through the gloom.

Several long moments passed; Sam felt his muscles locked tight with indecision. He would not let Dean get hurt, could not risk Jess getting hurt, but agreeing to the demon’s plans was not something that he could do either. “How do I know you’re good for your word?” he finally ground out.

“I told you, Sammy boy. You’re my favorite. I’m willing to play nice to make sure everything works out for you.”

He snarled, but lowered the Colt and tucked it into his belt, and reached up to break the devil’s trap. “Get out of my brother.”

The demon lifted the small pistol again in a blur of motion and fired it at Dean’s head. The small bullet tore across his temple and side of his head. Blood instantly sprang from the wound and spilled down his face and matted in his hair. Sam screamed inarticulately, but the demon just rolled its eyes.

“Relax. I am giving you an alibi. Dean shot at the lion, the bullet ricocheted, hit him, and you two have to get out. If you try to shoot me when I’m in my fur coat again, I will have to kill Dean. Capisce?”

Sam couldn’t answer. Bile boiled in his gut and up his throat. One part of him still couldn’t believe he was making deals with a demon, the demon that had killed his mother, but another, stronger part couldn’t let Dean be killed. He would find another way to kill the demon and stop whatever plan it had, but he had to save Dean now. Finally he just nodded.

“Good boy.”

The force of the demon leaving threw Dean’s head back, spattering blood and ripping a scream from this throat. Black smoke coiled and twisted back into the darkness, and Dean crumpled to the floor. Sam dove forward and caught him just before his head hit the ground. Behind them, the lion stirred, a growl echoing through the cave.

“Dean!” Sam shook him and tapped his face, praying for a reaction. He got it.

Dean blinked up at him, face scrunched in pain and confusion. “S’mmy?”

Sam got Dean's arm over his shoulder and managed to get him to the feet. "Come on, Dean, we gotta go."

Dean shook his head, as if shaking water out of his eyes. "Sammy?"

"Demon, lion, we gotta go."

“Shoot it.”

“It’s pissed, and you’re hurt, I need to get you out now.”

“No, gotta kill the demon,” Dean muttered, even as his knees buckled. The cave was eerily silent.

Sam managed to keep Dean upright. “Not today. We’re not even sure if the cave does go back further than that chamber. I need you to help me Dean, and we can’t kill the thing if I’m worried about you falling over.”

It took a few moments, but Dean finally nodded. “‘kay.”

“Let’s go.” He hefted Dean higher, tightening his grip on his arm and belt as Dean fought to keep his feet in order. They stumbled out of the cave and instinctively stepped across the salt line to keep it intact. A thought flicked across Sam’s mind and made his stomach twist tighter with guilt; he was suddenly grateful that the demon had shot and thus confused Dean. There would have been no way he would have left the demon alive otherwise.

Less than a hundred yards from the cave mouth, the rocks rose on one side of the path like a wall, while the other side was covered in broken and tumbled boulders. Dean walked like he was in the middle of a three day bender, at complete odds with the true rotation of the earth. Sam fought to keep him upright and move quickly. He’d agreed to the deal, but he didn’t trust the demon.

Just as Dean managed to get his feet back under him, a roar filled the air. The second lion, eyes black as ink, galloped across the boulders, leaping effortlessly from one rock to the other. Before Sam could react, the beast slammed into them. Dean disappeared from his grip, something tugged at his belt, and the world roiled in a kaleidoscope of grey and green and tan until his face slammed into a boulder. Everything went white for a heartbeat, and pain exploded from his right cheekbone and above his eye. A paw flipped him over effortlessly and pinned him to the dirt. The stink of rotten meat filled his nose and mouth as the lion lowered its head, fangs aiming to envelop and crush his skull.

The Colt barked. With a cut off roar and a wild crackle of energy, the lion twitched and staggered. Sam saw lightning spark through the massive, tawny body, just before the lion’s legs gave way. He managed to twist away and then wiggle the rest of the way out from the body, gasping for breath.

“S’mmy? You okay?”

He staggered to his feet and saw Dean propped up against the rock wall, blood streaming from his forehead yet, the Colt held loosely in his hand.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Good. Good. A little sleepy.” His head tilted forward and his shoulders slumped.

“Hey, hey!” Sam rushed over to his brother and shook him. “Don’t go to sleep Dean. I need to get you back to camp and patched up.”

Dean blinked and turned his still muzzy gaze up towards Sam. “Fine. Bossy. Help me up.”

Sam grabbed him under the arm and hauled. It took a few seconds, but Dean managed to find his feet again, at least standing still. He started to move, but saw the lion.

“We gonna skin it? Your boss might be happy with proof.”

“What? No. I don’t give a rusty damn what Beaumont says. And you need to get patched up; can’t do that out here.”

“But…”

“Tell you what - we get back to camp, I’ll send Samuel and whoever is left back here to skin the damn thing if you want.”

“Cool. Should make a rug. And get the other one. One for each of us.”

“Okay, sure, just start walking.”

It took them about twice as long to get out of the foothills than it had taken to get into them, but by the time they reached the plains again, Dean was at least walking on his own. He continued to squint through the pain and bright sunlight, but he rarely stumbled. And he had started complaining, which as Sam recalled, meant that Dean was more pissed than hurt. If he didn’t talk, it meant it was bad.

“Freaking sun, since when did it have to be so bright, huh? And what the hell did that bullet ricochet off of, the only thing in there was the lion . . . is it made of metal or something now as well as being a demon? I can’t believe . . . ow, damn it, where did that rock come from? Can’t believe we didn’t pack canteens, man, what were we thinking? How did I lose my backup pistol?”

Sam didn’t bother to react to most of Dean’s ramblings.

“Why didn’t you shoot it, Sammy? Even if I was down, you could have done it.”

He took his time answering, pretending to focus on the rough terrain. “I told you. You shot, went down, I ran over to you, made sure you were still alive, grabbed the Colt. By the time I could have gotten a bead on the lion, it had ran back into the cave. And I wasn’t going to risk it ambushing me without backup. I had to get us out of there if we wanted to fight another day.”

“Shoulda risked it. I would have been fine. There was no place for it to ambush you…”

“What, not from either side of the chamber where it came out of the passage? Or from a ledge?” Sam spun to face Dean. “And would you have left me, if I’d been the one shot and bleeding?”

Dean grimaced and glanced away. “No. But I’m the older brother.”

“And that doesn’t make you right, it just makes you older,” Sam snapped back. “Let’s get back to camp. We have more planning to do.”

“Right,” Dean snorted and kept walking, struggling to keep up with Sam’s pace. He grumbled and spat. “Seriously, canteens. Water. We need to remember that next time. Blegh, I can still taste sulfur. What did I do, swallow some while I was out? At least it wasn’t lion shit…”

The cold pit in Sam’s stomach grew. But he didn’t want Dean to know what he had done, what he had agreed to with the demon. He didn’t want Dean to know that he’d been possessed. A shudder ran down his spine.

“You alright?”

“What? Yeah. Just… sympathetic shudder for you eating lion shit.”

“I didn’t! Unless I did, and because it was a demon it tastes like sulfur… son of a bitch.”

*
When they got back to camp, they found that Samuel had consolidated all their belongings and a decent amount of supplies around their tent.

“It is only us, now,” he said in explanation. Then he took in their dour expressions and Dean’s blood stained face. “It did not go well, then?”

“Wrong,” Dean crowed, as he pulled a med kit out of his duffle, along with a fifth of whiskey. He took a pull of the liquor and then handed everything to Sam. “We got one of the bastards.”

Samuel’s eyes went wide. “You did? How?”

“It jumped at us. And I shot it.” Dean tapped the Colt. “Hurry up and stitch me, Sam, we need to celebrate!”

“Fine.” Sam looked up at Samuel. “Are we really the only three left?”

“Not exactly. There are about six men, but they are planning to leave tomorrow. Their villages are less than a day’s walk from here.”

“Can you persuade them to follow our trail back up, and skin that dead lion? They’ll be paid, reassure them of that.”

“I will try. But what about the other lion?”

Sam pressed his lips into a firm line, and calculated his words. “He’s sly. I doubt he’s going to try anything today. And if he does, he’ll come after me.”

“You are so certain?” Samuel’s voice was filled with concern.

Dean piped up. “You do seem pretty confident, there, Sammy. What’s up?”

“He just lost his partner in crime. It takes awhile to adjust to that.”

“You can say that again,” Dean said, a dark edge to his tone. Then he shifted and pointed at his head. “You gonna do this or what?” He turned to Samuel. “You gonna be okay with going to get that lion?”

“It is dead, isn’t it? And if something happens, I will climb a tree. And take all of your guns.”

Dean barked a laugh that turned into a yelp as Sam pressed a whiskey soaked rag against the wound. “Jesus, Sammy, who taught you your bedside manner?”

“My big brother.”

“Ha, ha, ha.”

Once the blood was wiped away, Sam was able to see the wound better. “You won’t need stitches. Well, maybe a couple.”

“Keep ‘em small and even. I don’t want my looks ruined.”

“I can only improve what I see here.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Samuel shook his head. “I do not understand. I had brothers, but we did not act so.”

“Your brothers weren’t Sam,” Dean said, at the same time Sam said, “Dean wasn’t your brother.”

“My point. I will go and see if the others will help with the lion.”

“Take my rifle - ouch! - or at least a shotgun,” Dean managed around stitches going in.

With an iron-loaded gun in hand, Samuel left. Dean carefully reached and grabbed the whiskey bottle, taking a swig between the last few stitches. “I’m gonna have to go to the river for a swim later or something,” he said. “I still feel dirty.”

Guilt twisted Sam’s gut but he said nothing. If Dean noticed anything, he didn’t react. Instead, he took another drink, waited until Sam was done with the last stitch and then stood to wander around the tiny little corner of camp. Sam repacked the med kit; plans, ideas, and wild thoughts ran through his head almost faster than he could truly comprehend them. The revelations of the yellow-eyed demon terrified him. He wanted Jess here, so he could protect her. But he also wanted to just ignore what he had been told, what he had seen happen to his brother.

*
The half dozen men that Samuel rounded up made short work of the lion, and delivered the skin without incident. But despite having just seen how exactly flesh and blood the beast was - there had been no talk of sulfur - they could not be enticed to stay. They kept to their edge of camp, and began the trek back to their home villages that evening, instead of waiting for dawn.

Dean and Samuel were both in celebratory moods. When Dean went to the depot to send out a telegram to Beaumont’s agency with the good news of the lion kill, it took some time for him to return. Not, as Sam suspected because he had to send the telegram himself, but because he had snooped and found a cache of champagne in the depot. Either it had been on its way somewhere, or the station manager had taken it as payment for something. But it was theirs now. And the ‘demon lion is dead and his skin is drying next to our tents’ party began.

They were all full grown men, none of them strangers to drinking, but apparently none of them were used to the sweet bubbly stuff. And they drank a lot of it. Samuel became incredibly giggly. Dean went incredibly relaxed, and was also hit by occasional giggle fits. Sam let the alcohol soak into his bloodstream, but even then he couldn’t relax.

“Wha’s wrong, S’mmy?” Dean asked at one point close to dawn.

“Nothing, Dean. Just celebrating.” He took another swig of the champagne to prove his point.

Dean frowned. “No, cuz you’re not really happy. I know! You’re upset because you missed your baby bein’ born.”

“No, because that…” he trailed off and swore. “Damn. He should be born any day now.”

Dean stood, wobbled for a second, and patted Sam on the shoulder. “It’s okay. You were busy killing lions and demons. And just remember, I want to be able to hold my nephew, too, when we see him.”

“Fine. But sober up first.”

Dean snorted. “I’m fine. I’m not drunk.” He staggered a little as he tried to walk into the tent. “Okay, maybe a little drunk.”

“Yeah. Just a little.” He stood as well, deciding that sleep was more appealing than continued celebration. The world rocked around him, and he grabbed onto the first thing he could - Dean.

They both staggered and nearly fell. Across the bonfire, Samuel let out a deep belly laugh. “You two. I would help, but…” he lifted his nearly empty bottle of champagne, “I am no better.”

“Thanks anyway, S’mm’el,” Dean slurred. “Com’n little bro, time to sleep it off.”

Dean’s telegram clearly made it to the right people, because within a few weeks, the workers who had fled were either rounded up again or replaced. The bridge site came alive again. Construction got underway and they crept closer to getting back on schedule again. And Sam got a note from Jess.

We are on our way. Yes. We.

A few days later, he was out on the bridge, discussing details about how to start joining up the ties from either side of the bridge to the center, when a runner from the depot appeared.

“The station master said that Colonel Winchester’s family is here.”

Sam’s heart tried to jump and twist itself into knots at the same time, and all it did was make him choke on his thanks to the kid. Then he was running towards the depot, dodging through the crowds, shouting for Dean and Samuel to join him.

Through the crowd of dark hair and skin, he saw a flash of gold, all wrapped in white silk. His mouth went dry with fear and excitement. It felt like years since he had seen her, and she was no less beautiful. She turned, and he saw the baby in her arms, swaddled against the hot sun and dust in the air.

“Jess!” he called, waving.

She saw him and waved back, her smile rivaling the sun. “Sam!” She looked down at their son and shifted him a little so he was looking up and out. “Look, there’s your father!” With another wave, she started down from the platform.

Sam started forward as well, but the crowd didn’t want to let him through. And then a lion roared.

He spun in terror to see the animal spring from the long grass. It raced straight towards Jess.

“JESS! Get back! Go back!” The crowd raced away from the depot, shouting and screaming in terror. Sam couldn’t move forward - bodies kept buffeting him back.

“Jess!” He rammed his shoulder against another man, and heard his brother’s voice, shouting over the din. “Dean! Get to Jess!”

Dean was on the fringes of the crowd and rushed towards the platform, the Colt glinting in his hand. He threw himself in front of Jess and drew bead on the lion.

But it was too late. Even as Dean thumbed back the hammer, the lion made a final leap forward, massive paw slamming into Dean. His face was torn by the claws, his neck snapped with a sick crack from the force. Sam screamed.

But the lion didn’t stop, and its momentum took it straight into Jess and the baby. Claws slashed and fangs tore into flesh. Jess’s screams of agony were cut off, and Sam’s throat tore raw with his bellow of denial. Blood bloomed across the white silk and soaked into the wood of the platform.

The lion lifted its bloodstained head and looked back at Sam. Its eyes were yellow.

I need you sharp, Sammy.

Sam woke screaming and flailing. He slipped off of his cot and hit the floor before clarity returned. “Fucking nightmares,” he panted. An empty bottle of champagne nudged against his hand. “Freaking champagne.” He threw the bottle towards Dean’s bed and froze.

The entire side of the tent had been slashed open and fluttered in ribbons. Blood streaked the canvas. And Dean was gone.

“Dean! DEAN!” He managed to stand and grab his rifle and staggered out through the gaping hole, eyes instantly finding the lion spoor and the obvious marks of a struggle. The Colt lay abandoned near the tent, and Sam picked it up before running out of camp, following the blood stained trail. He heard Samuel shouting for him, but he ignored the other man and ran faster, the Colt up and ready.

The trail wove through the edges of camp, down towards the river and back into the grassland. Sam ran through the thorn trees, never feeling the stinging cuts, seeing only the trail. The sky started to turn blue and red from the grey of predawn, and he still ran on. The grass was soaked red, and the trail became narrower, with less signs of struggle. He looked up and saw a darker patch in front of him, where the grass has been trampled down.

A tawny shape moved in the center, and Sam lifted the Colt with a wordless, sobbing battle cry. His finger tightened on the trigger, the shape turned and straightened.

Samuel stood, face ashen. Sam dropped the gun, and stared at the other man, unable to form words through the harsh ache in his chest. Something dangled from Samuel’s hand, blood dripping down to the ground. It took less than a heartbeat for Sam to recognize it. The pendant that Dean had worn since their childhood, blood-soaked.

Denials piled up in Sam’s throat, but he couldn’t speak. He started forward, still not wanting to believe that Dean was gone. Samuel grabbed him by the shoulders and held him.

“No, Sam. No. There is nothing you can do. He is gone.”

“Dean,” he choked out. “No, nonononono, Dean-” Tears blurred his vision. “It said it’d leave us alone. I didn’t do anything. Dean! DEAN!”

“Dammit, Sammy, wake up!”

Sam jumped and blinked up to see Dean’s face looming over his, pale from drink and worry, but very much alive. “Dean?”

“Yeah, obviously. Must have been a hell of nightmare.”

Before he could stop himself, Sam lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, clutching at his shirt to reassure himself that his brother was still alive. “They were just dreams,” he whispered, forehead pressed against Dean’s collarbone, as if they were children again. “They weren’t real.”

For several long heartbeats, Dean didn’t move, allowing Sam the comfort. Then, he straightened and tugged at Sam’s arms. “Lemme go. You’re like one of those spider monkeys or something. Relax, man.”

He clung for a second longer, and then let go to sit up in his cot, scrubbing a hand through his hair and over his face. “God, they were like the other nightmares. Like I was there.”

“What did you see?” Dean asked as he picked up a canteen and handed it to Sam.

“First, it was Jess and the baby. They came here to visit, and the lion attacked them. We tried to stop it, but it killed you, and then them. I thought I woke up, and saw your bed empty and blood everywhere, and thought you’d been killed…” He shuddered and took a drink of water.

“No more champagne for you before bed.” The levity in his voice fell flat.

“Probably for the best.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

Dean chuckled suddenly.

“Thank you for finding my pain amusing,” Sam groused.

“No, it’s not that,” he replied, laughter still playing at the edge of his words. “Spider monkey. Monkey in a tree. I have an idea.”

“For what?”

“Killing the demon, what else? You said that the demon was after you, and I think you’re onto something there. So, here’s what we do.” Dean took the canteen from Sam and drank before continuing. “We set another trap. You go out, get the demon to come after you. I’ll be up in a tree with the Colt, and I shoot them when it gets into range. While you make a break for a tree as well before it can get you.”

“No.” The word automatically fell out of his mouth.

Dean threw his hands into the air. “I don’t want to do it like that, either! Like hell do I want to bait a trap with my brother. But trying to get them to come at us while we’re in a building didn’t work, going after them in their cave clearly didn’t go well. So we get Yellow Eyes out in the open and kill the bastard there.”

The demon’s warnings rang through Sam’s mind on an endless loop. But if he started there, he’d have to tell his brother he’d been possessed... But if something like that had happened to him, he would want to know. As terrible as it was, that wasn’t something he could in good conscious keep from Dean. And if they killed the lions, Jess wouldn’t be in danger, the nightmares wouldn’t come true...

“Sammy!”

“What?”

“I’m the one that got shot in the head, I should have the glazed-over look on my face, not you. Even if you are hungover.” Dean frowned. “What’s going on in your brain, huh?”

He took a deep breath, wanting to word everything carefully, but the words just tumbled out, without his control. Dean stood frozen, flinching when he heard about the possession, cursing at the demon’s threats to Jess and going towards that dangerous stillness that Sam knew preluded a storm of emotion and stupidity.

“Son of a bitch, Sam, you thought you could do this on you own?”

“YES! Because I didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of me!”

“You aren’t going to stop the hurt by trying to do this yourself, especially if you get killed doing it! I have no plans of dying, and I’m not gonna let you die either. You and Dad, so ready to throw yourself at this damn thing - and I’m gonna be the one to bury you when it goes south from stubbornness.” Dean turned, checked to make sure the Colt was still at his hip, started out of camp. “That lion is going down, once and for all.”

Sam lunged and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. “No, dammit, stop! If I’m allowed to this alone, then you’re not either.”

“Do you have a plan, then, genius? Better than mine?”

“Actually, yes. We need to head over to Hawthorne’s tent.”

*
A light fog had moved in from the river as night fell, and by the time it had gone completely dark, the scraps of mist hung in the hollows and near the river banks like ghosts. But the moon was out, and it cast a pale light across the clearing as Sam straightened and looked over the sigil he’d drawn into the red dirt. With a muttered incantation, he cut his hand and let the blood dribble down to a small copper bowl filled with the ingredients for a demon summoning.

The wind sighed through the trees as he finished the incantation and threw a match into the bowl. Flames sprang up, high and bright and hot. Sulfur filled the air, almost but not quite masked by the stink of big cat. Sam stood and glared at the demon.

The lion stared back, amber eyes going yellow and pupilless. After a moment, it settled down on its haunches and cocked its head to one side.

“I’m done,” Sam said firmly. “Whatever plans you have for me, find someone else. I’m giving you the Colt. Do whatever you want with it. But I go, and my friends and family don’t get touched. Not now, not ever.”

A tree branch behind him creaked. The lion didn’t move. He pulled the long barreled revolver, wrapped in a scrap of cloth, out from his belt and tossed it in front of the lion. “I’d say go to hell, but that’s probably a compliment to you sons of bitches.”

The demon carefully cocked its head in the other direction, never taking its yellow eyes off of him. Then, slowly, deliberately, it snagged an edge of the rag with a claw and lifted. The gun fell out with a quiet metallic thump. Moonlight glinted on the barrel and put highlights on the dark wood grip. The demon gave a long sigh and shook its head.

Sam. I know what The Colt looks like. How big of an idiot do you think I am?

Sam staggered back, clutching at his head as the words and the pain exploded behind his eyes. The lion roared, and Sam stumbled backwards instinctively. His feet tangled together, and he fell. He only managed to get one hand under him to slow his fall, and he felt something give in his wrist. At the same time, he heard Dean shouting. Boots thumped in the dust near his head, and then Dean was past him, charging towards the lion.

“Come on, you bastard! I’m the one with the gun!”

“Dean, don’t!” Sam started, but Dean kept going.

The lion sprang up and charged. At the last second, Dean dodged away, and fired. The bullet sang out and smacked into the lion’s haunch as it also twisted away. Light flickered through its body, and it roared in pain. But it was far from dead.

“Shit!” Dean changed course again, scrambling back towards Sam, the lion only steps behind.

Sam was up and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from his coat. He fired the salt and iron shell at the lion. It caught the beast right in the face; blood and the stench of sulfur flew out, and the lion roared in agony and stumbled.

“Get in a tree!” he bellowed at Dean even as he turned to run.

Dean went back to the tree he had originally been in, scrambling and hauling himself up into the branches. Sam ran for the tree next to it, and jumped up to catch at the lowest hanging branch, about nine feet from the ground. Even as his fingers wrapped around the branch, he felt his wrist give again, and pain flared hot and bright through his entire arm. A wordless shout ripped out of his throat as his grip disappeared and he fell back to the ground. He hit with a thump, and the air whooshed out of his lungs. Darkness crept in on the edges of his vision.

The lion roared and snarled and Dean bellowed another war cry. Sam forced air back into his lungs with a pained gasp, and blinked the world back into focus. The lion staggered towards him, blood streaming from the buckshot wounds in its face; the salt and iron kept the wounds from closing properly. Screaming curses, Dean was still in the tree, stuck. His leg was caught in the joint of two branches.

“SAM!”

He pulled in another lungful of air. The lion limped towards him, its left side useless after the shot from The Colt, its face wrecked. But it wasn’t going to stop until Sam was dead. Sam scrambled to his feet and darted towards Dean’s tree. Then he tripped. A dead branch caught his foot and he fell hard. The lion sprang forward with a triumphant roar, but it stumbled and went down onto its belly just short of Sam. He scrambled backwards, right wrist screaming with pain. But the lion crawled forward, claws reaching.

“SAM!”

He twisted and looked up. Dean was still stuck, and turned at such an angle that he would never be able to fire the Colt and kill the demon. They only had one shot left. He caught Dean’s eyes and held his gaze.

Sam felt the lion’s claws brush against the edge of his boot. Then he simply lifted his hand towards Dean.

And the Colt came spinning down as Dean flung it with as much accuracy as he could. Claws sank into his calf as Sam snatched the gun out of the air. He thumbed back the hammer, leveled the barrel, and fired.

The bullet hit the lion right between the eyes. Light flashed and flared up through its body, and the demon screamed.

Everything went silent.

Sam lost a few seconds, because the next thing he knew, Dean was next to him, shaking him and tapping his face.

“I’m okay. Stop,” he managed.

“Thank god,” Dean breathed and rocked back onto his heels to look at the lion. “We did it. It’s dead.”

“Yeah, yeah we did.”

“That’s for our Mom, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled at the carcass.

“Go us,” Sam agreed, letting his head flop back onto the ground.

“Sammy?”

“‘m okay. Jus’, broke my wrist… got clawed up a little. Very relieved. I wanna go home. I want to see Jess. I want you to meet Jess.”

Dean grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up. “Come on, little brother. Let’s get you cleaned up before you start declaring your love for me and demanding hugs or something.”

“We did it, Dean.” He looked back at the lion, blood covered and stinking of sulfur, but very dead and demon-less. “We did it.”

Back to Part 4 // Onward to Part 6