He Who Fights Monsters - Chapter Seven
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CHAPTER SEVEN
After the attempted sabotage, the officials delay the start of the Level Six rounds by three days, giving Sam a week and some change to recuperate. Even so, Sam's mind still isn't in fighting shape. It takes over six days for Sam to find his footing, and even then he's only partially back in the real world. His body is under control again, but he keeps seeing things he knows aren't there. The walls of the tunnel leading into the ring ripple in gentle waves as he walks between them.
Ruby did her best to bring him back, getting him to channel his new power into simple things like boiling the water for their coffee, but he knows it was a patch job at best. He can feel that high-octane blood in his cells, restlessly pulsing inside of him. It's a constant itch that only goes away when he's using his power. Even then, it's only muted for a few minutes before it comes back.
He can deal with all that. Being uncomfortable in his skin, endlessly thirsty for something he knows is making him less human with every drop - it's nothing new. Those are all just facts of life since he took Ruby up on her offer of power and revenge. The real problem is that he still can’t always tell what’s real, the world feels blurred and off-kilter.
As Sam enters the arena to loud cheers from the audience, he hears Dean calling his name. He looks around, trying to find him as he heads towards the cage, but can't pick him out from the sea of black eyes in the packed seats. Someone was smart enough to remove the first few rows of seating completely, leaving a big ring of standing room for those brave or stupid enough to stand close to the cage while Sam's inside.
He cracks his knuckles as he walks up the ramp, trying to ignore the skittering inside his veins. It'll be better soon, as soon as he finds a target and lets loose. If the floor would stop overheating under his feet that would really help too. He pulls his melting sneaker free from the red-hot metal grate of the ramp and staggers towards the cage as the Ref gives him a vaguely concerned look.
"You okay?" the Ref asks.
"Does it matter?" Sam asks, scoffing.
"Want to make sure my money's in the right place," the Ref says. "You're one hell of a cash cow, you know."
"Having some trouble focusing," Sam admits. "Might be best if you get into your box early."
The Ref’s eyes flick black and he swallows nervously, then turns to head into the warded box, switching his microphone back on as Sam enters the cage. "Ladies and gentlemen, The Hunter!"
The packed arena erupts in applause and a good number of them start chanting his stage name.
The cage door opposite Sam opens and his brain stutters to a halt as he sees three familiar faces file in.
"And tonight's opponents, three Level Sixes from Azazel's brood: Ava Wilson, Max Miller and Jake Talley!"
The three of them spread out, forming a triangle, three sets of black eyes rimmed with gold, all leering at him. Sam's pulse races as his anger rises, but he can't focus. The arena's bright lights are melting, dripping down onto the mat like white-silver mercury, and the audience is nothing but an ocean of black.
::: ::: :::
He could have used another day, Ruby thinks to herself as she watches Sam from her front row seat. Technically, it’s the sixth row but the first five have been ripped up.
Sam's opponents are enormously strong, even by demonic standards. Ava, especially, is a force to be reckoned with. Ruby can feel Ava's power spreading like vines, growing up and over the fence of the cage, like it's searching for something to dig into. If it reaches further, there could be trouble, but soon enough, she'll have her hands full with Sam. All three of them will.
Ruby can feel that something's off, but she can't put a finger on it until she sees Sam's face. He knows them; he recognizes their faces. These three are wearing their own human bodies, meaning somebody pulled a whole lot of strings to get them here. Under the reanimated skin and bone, Ruby sees the smoke inside of them - the streaks of yellow, tainted by the blood of the Fallen, by Azazel's blood. They have an advantage like this; occupying their own skin will make it that much harder for Sam to grab a hold of their souls.
Ruby crosses her arms over her chest as she studies Sam, who keeps shifting unevenly on his feet, his eyes flicking to the right, seeking out somebody in the audience, somebody that isn't her.
Sam's three opponents can smell his uneasiness, and start snickering - a pack of hyenas ready to tear apart a weakened lion. Ruby extends her senses further; uses her powers to hear every word, see every taunt.
"Been a long time," Ava says, her smile widening. "I was hoping we'd get to play some more. It gets boring down in Hell. Not a lot of real competition." She rubs her hand against her neck, like she slept on it funny.
"You look good," Jake says, cracking his knuckles. "Been working out?"
Max scoffs. There's a neat circle at his temple; a bullet-hole. "Guess you couldn't get away from it all either, huh?"
"I tried," Sam says softly. "Thought I could for a long time."
"Your brother knew you wouldn't." Max says. When he raises his hands up to his temples, his eyes flash yellow.
Ruby sees Sam steeling himself against the attack, but Max is strong and he's had practice. A blast of force hits Sam in the chest and he flies back, colliding with the cage. He lands heavily on the padded floor and the air's knocked out of him.
Get up, Ruby thinks at Sam. Get up and get angry.
But Sam doesn't hear her. He can't.
Max gives Sam all the time he needs, waits until Sam's back up on his feet and then sends him flying back into the fence even harder. The metal rattles from the impact and, just a few feet to Sam's left, the ref glares down at them from his box. Jake catches the ref's eyes, walks up to the box and pounds on it with the heel of his palm. The box shakes again, wobbling precariously, and the ref's annoyance shifts to healthy fear.
When Sam claws his fingers into the mesh and drags himself up once more, it's the closest thing to secondhand embarrassment Ruby's felt in decades. "Do something," she hisses under her breath.
Sam reaches his arm out, hand shaking, breathing heavily as he tries to steady himself. Max flicks his fingers, sending Sam flying before he gets the chance. This time, Sam stays pinned against the fence, two feet off the ground.
::: ::: :::
Sam strains against Max's hold, gives up seconds later as his heart goes into overdrive. He’s sweating and his lungs won't expand enough and the little air he does get sears. The different strengths of blood inside him war for dominance, giving Sam the option of unfocused power with no precision or a surgical strike that could just as easily backfire with his aim as shitty as it is. The new blood is too damn strong and all Ruby's drills had done was make him functional again. Barely.
"Come on, Sammy!" a voice calls out from the audience.
Sam turns his head towards the sound and he finds Dean beaming back at him from the makeshift mosh pit surrounding the cage. There are about a dozen demons around him - the handful too stupid to care if they get caught in the shockwave. But all of them fade gray into the background, like the cement floor of the arena. Dean's the only thing in color, down to his blue jeans and green button-down, the gold of the amulet on his chest and the liquid black of his eyes. "Show me what you can do," he says. It's not a request; it's an order and a challenge.
Sam's body responds, even before the still sluggish, rational part of Sam's mind can argue that Dean's not really there. He's still six feet under the earth in Pontiac and, if Sam doesn't win this fight tonight, that's where Dean will stay until time and insects pick the flesh off his bones.
With an ease that should scare him but doesn't, Sam breaks Max's hold. The fence ricochets back, and Sam takes advantage of its momentum and aims as close to the center of the mat as he can. He lands in a crouch, lunges forward immediately. He goes for Max first, wrapping the kid’s head in a chokehold while he reaches his mental fingers around the demonic soul inside.
Ava's eyes widen, impressed, as she watches Sam tighten and flex his arm, crushing Max's windpipe. Sam can hear her mocking claps as Max's soul begins to smolder. "So it is true, what they say about you," she says. "Thought for a minute there maybe they were exaggerating."
Sam is still holding Max when Jake grabs his shoulders. It's a vice, Jake's amplified strength now easily twice what it was when he was alive, and he knocks Sam off-balance - enough that he loses his hold on Max.
Max scrambles away, coughing up little bits of black smoke and ash, as Jake crashes his fist into Sam's middle. The force is immense, and with the next punch Sam feels a rib snap. "What do they say?" Sam asks Ava, through gritted teeth, as he ducks Jake's next blow.
"Mixed reviews," Ava says, shrugging her shoulders, walking warily along the perimeter of the match, her eyes never leaving Sam’s. "Some of the folks downstairs think you're the second coming."
"And some of us think that's bull," Jake says, smirking at him, as Sam blocks another hook. "I know what you are."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" Sam says, as he jabs and then follows with a right cross that's way too slow. Jake counters as Sam hoped, grabbing hold of Sam's right arm. He pulls down hard, giving Sam the opening he needs. He wraps his arm around of Jake's neck, clamps his hand under the jaw and pictures fire in the back of his mind.
"A coward." Jakes says, voice straining against Sam's fingers. "You couldn't do what you had to do to stay alive back at Cold Oak. Only reason-" the rest of Jake's words dissolve into a scream as fire spills from Sam's fingertips, blistering Jake's skin. He wrenches violently out of Sam's grip, dislocating Sam's shoulder in the process.
There's a smoldering burn on Jake's neck.
Sam clutches at his shoulder and looks up just in time to see Max thrust his hand out towards him. But Sam's ready this time, and holds his ground. Max's brow furrows as he pours more energy into his attack. Sam keeps blocking as he gingerly tests his right arm for mobility. It aches, tendon-deep and useless. He knows if he’d let it, the new blood would probably heal him, but not here. Not while fighting off three at once.
"The only reason you're still topside is because Big Brother sacrificed himself for you," Jake says through clenched teeth, the skin under his jaw still smoking. "How can you even live with yourself, knowing that? That you're living on somebody else's clock, that you’re only here because someone else had the balls to do what needed to be done."
A snarl escapes Sam's lips as he hurtles towards Jake, good arm drawn back, ready to deliver a hard blow to his jaw. Jake's fast but Sam is faster. The hook lands with a satisfying thud, but Jake barely flinches.
"Yeah? You wanna go at it?" Jake asks, as he counters with a punch to Sam's middle that sends him flying across the cage. He crashes into the fence, and lands heavily on his side. His already injured shoulder explodes in pain and Sam cries out, clenching his eyes shut.
The audience bursts into applause, cheering loudly, and from the sound of their cheers, a whole lot of them have abandoned their seats for the pit, just to get a better view.
"See? You're nothing special," Jake says. "Never were." Sam feels something push against his chest, and hisses through his teeth as he's rolled onto his back. Jake's leering down at him, Max to his left. A claw grabs hold of Sam's insides, constricting his heart, his lungs, anything and everything Max can hold with his mind. Max squeezes until Sam's seeing stars.
"I won the game first," Jake says. "I killed you. This time I'll make sure it sticks." Sam's vision starts to go and Jake's face drifts into fractal patterns while his foot pushes deeper into Sam's chest. Max has got his claws in Sam's guts, and a thousand hands are pinning Sam down and somewhere far away Ava is laughing.
"Come on!" Dean yells into Sam's ear, clear as a bell. Sam's eyes fly open and he forces his head to the right, towards the sound of Dean's voice.
The whole standing-room-only area is packed with demons now, jostling against each other to get a better view. Dean is at the very front, pressed against the fence and he's got a thirteen-year-old Sam on his shoulders. "I promised him a good show!" Dean shouts. "You gonna get off your ass or just lay there and die?"
Sam blinks, but Dean doesn't disappear. He's still there, and so is the Sam on his shoulders. They're giving Sam identical, annoyed looks.
"I mean, hey, it's no skin off my back," Dean says. "I'm already dead." Dean's unmarred face starts to rot, withering away in time-lapse. "Guess I had too much faith in you. But you already gave up, didn't you?" Young-Sam narrows his eyes.
Sam's heart beats impotently in his chest, squeezed too-small by Max's hold and Jake's weight and Dean's bones are starting to peek through his skin.
No, Sam thinks. No.
His heart thumps again and then pounds shrugging Max's power off like it's water. Sam's limbs are his own again, and he grabs hold of Jake's ankle, twisting sharply. The fibula breaks with an audible crack, bone jutting sharply through the broken skin of his ankle. Blood gushes out of the wound and Jake collapses, screaming. Sam brings his red-slicked fingers to his mouth as he turns to Max and Ava. The audience is an ocean of sound and Sam can't tell their rage from revelry and thinks maybe it's all the same.
Max is inches away from the fence, pressing back against it when Sam rounds on him. Ava's still watching, crouched in the corner of the cage, arms folded across her chest like she's just another spectator with the best seat in the house.
He reaches one hand out to Max, the other down towards Jake and digs with his mind until he finds their deep-rooted souls. The effort is extraordinary, even with the taste of Jake's blood fresh on his tongue, but Sam grabs hold of them, pulls them both loose from their flesh and wills them to burn.
They fight back, squirming through his mental grip and start to spill out of their bodies - eyes and mouths dribbling twin dark clouds into the air. Sam's fury grows and he tries to slow their escape, but the effort of trying to hold onto both of them at once is just too much, and they slip out of his control, spiraling up out of their flesh and towards the domed arena ceiling.
"Well that's just no fun at all," Ava says as she tilts her head up, watching them. She lifts two fingers and the two funnel-clouds freeze where they are. With a flick of her wrist, Ava sends them hurtling back down into their bodies. "Funny thing about Max," she says. "He doesn't need his legs to kick your ass."
Jake's body sits up, but the power that slams into Sam's chest is Max's. He staggers back, holding his footing, but just barely.
"You really think any of this is going to save your brother?" Ava asks. "You have any idea what Dean is now? What he's been doing?" She laughs viciously.
Max's small frame saunters over to Sam, and the smirk on his lips belongs to somebody else entirely. So does the strength in his fists. Sam blocks the first two jabs and the first cross, but Max's pointy knee crashes into his ribs, and then his elbow comes down on the back of his head and Sam goes down, his head bouncing against the mat and the world around him slows to a strobe-lit crawl.
"Need some Gatorade?" Dean is looking up from the standing area below him with Sam's younger self to his left, radiating fury.
"Or do you need big brother to save your ass again?" Young-Sam adds, voice dripping humiliation and bitterness.
Dean winks up at Sam and pulls a small hidden blade out from inside his jacket sleeve. "I got you covered." He grabs the handle of the knife and flicks it expertly through the air. It slides just under the bottom gap between the fence and the mat and skitters across the latex-covered foam, stopping inches away from Sam's hand.
Max slams his fist down, but misses Sam's head by a hair, and Sam takes that split second to grab for the knife. He brings it up and around in a tight arc as he rolls up onto his knees, and slashes the blade cleanly across Max's throat.
Red wells up quickly and Sam grabs Max’s slight form, wrestling it beneath him as he clamps his mouth over the wound, sucking down as much as he can. The potency of Max's blood - or is it Jake's - is just as surprising the second time around, and Sam feels breathless from in a matter of seconds. He can feel Max's power trying to knock him off balance, and distantly Ava's cackling, but at that moment, Sam just doesn't care.
Sam's heart pounds faster, the new flood of power threatening to push him into overdrive again. He's not scared of it anymore though, he welcomes it, and when he lifts his eyes up, still drinking more down, he can see Dean through the fence, alone in the pit, eyes black as pitch. Sam's younger self is drinking from Dean's arm.
He’s suddenly pulled off Max’s body and pinned to the wall.
“I’m still kicking,” Jake says. And Sam’s smashed into the mat. He barely catches himself with his hands and his vision goes wonky. “You underestimate and underestimate me. Why?” The last word is cried out, high and hysterical.
The fury inside of Sam makes it impossible for him to answer, but it speaks for him, he lashes out with his power, breaking Jake’s - Max’s - hold. He feels the pressure build, and scrambles to where Jake’s still lying, gripping his ankle. He reaches out, grips the collar of Jake’s shirt and drags him close. Jake shouts as his ankle is jostled and then there’s liquid flame spilling out of Sam's fist and over Jake’s clothes and skin. Jake’s whimpers turn to screams as the fire slides into his open mouth and down his throat, seeking out that hidden black cloud. Once his power is deep inside, it doesn't take Sam long to find what he's looking for.
It only takes three more seconds to burn Max's soul to ash and incinerate Jake’s body.
Sam turns back to face Ava and tries to call on that potent blood from the syringe, the heat from the swallow he’s taken moments ago, but it's still dormant, an igniter with too little fuel.
"You've got an open bar of 30% proof right next to you, man," Dean says from next to Sam.
Sam staggers back in surprise and falls on Jake's limp form. He sees Dean through the fence and Dean nods at Jake, draws his finger across his own throat.
"I'll buy you some time," Dean says. Sam wraps his fingers around the small blade, once again in his fingers. He could've sworn it wasn't there a second ago. The tip of the knife slides cleanly into Jake's neck, and leaves a hair-thin but deep line in its wake. Sam leans down and draws his tongue over the wound, forcing it open wider, and drinks. He only allows himself one swallow
Sam pushes himself to his feet, wavering as he tries to straighten his knees, and looks groggily for Ava.
He finds her pinned against the fence, choking. Behind her, Sam can see Dean grinning. As Sam draws closer to Ava, his younger self - still perched on Dean’s shoulders - smiles and nods. The bitterness from earlier is gone. He looks proud.
Sam looks down at the blade in his hand, clean again, like it was never coated in Jake's blood, and then back at Dean. Almost as an afterthought, Sam flips the blade in grip and then tosses it, with practiced ease, through the air. He catches it on its way down.
Sam can practically taste her on his tongue before he reaches her. Ava struggles, but gets nowhere, trapped as Sam cages her in, hands on her shoulders. Sam slides one hand from her shoulder, up her neck, and tilts back her chin. She doesn’t fight him off. Can’t. And Sam flicks the knife against her windpipe.
She gasps, but it comes out more of a gurgle, and Sam bears down, clamping his mouth around the wound. Sam kills Ava while he's feeding from her, and feels something like the recoil of a gun snap into him as her soul is snuffed out. He pulls back, breathless and overfull with energy and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as Ava’s lifeless body falls to the mat.
As the crowd goes wild, Sam hears two voices cheering louder than the rest. Dean's got young Sam on his shoulders. They're both whooping at the top of their lungs. His younger self falls silent, and grins at Sam with a bloody smile and bright yellow eyes.
::: ::: :::
The tunnel entrance smells vaguely like mildew. Ruby waits there for Sam, ignoring the noise of the audience. A lot of money changes hands, most of it stolen to begin with. Demons gambling still make her roll her eyes.
Sam gets most of the way down the cage-ramp before his knees buckle. Ruby catches him and maneuvers him through the tunnel, towards the locker rooms. He won’t stop shaking, sweating and babbling about Dean and yellow eyes and how everything looks like the fucking ocean, repeating himself in a disjointed, frenetic mumble. She has no idea what the hell he's trying to tell her.
"How'd he even get a knife in here?" Sam asks, pulling away from Ruby when they get to his locker. His chest is slick with sweat, and his mouth is stained rust-red. His eyes are solid black, and Ruby has no intention of sharing that.
"What knife?"
"Dean. He threw me a knife."
"You never had a knife," Ruby says, her patience fading.
"I did. I used it on Max, I mean Jake, and-" Sam's brow furrows in confusion. "How'd Dean get it past the metal detectors, the no-weapon wards?"
"There was no knife. You sliced him open with your brain." Ruby takes a sharp breath. "Sam, why are you fighting?"
"To get Dean out of Hell." Sam scrunches his eyes shut. "But he was there, and so was I. I mean little-me and-"
"You need a shower, stinky," Ruby interrupts. She grabs his towel from his locker, nudges him forward and he starts walking. His shoulder slams against a support column on the way into the shower area, but he doesn't seem to care about his half-assed equilibrium and stumbles on forward.
Ruby turns the cold water on full-blast and shoves him into the stall, telling him that there’s no way in hell she’s going to get into a car with him drenched in sweat like that because he’ll reek something fierce once it cools. His legs give out and he crumples into a mess of quivering limbs. She takes advantage of the inverted height difference to pop his shoulder back in. His shout echoes off the tiled walls and the pooled water beneath him turns to steam.
Her first two attempts to pull an uncooperative, sulking Sam back to his feet result in nothing more than cracked tiles and a busted showerhead as Sam bats Ruby away with unfocused bursts of energy. She squats down next to him and grabs him by the chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers. They’re hazel again but from the looks of them, he’s got a mild concussion. "Congratulations. You won. You made it through Level Six. Do you remember what we have to do next?"
Sam blinks, the white lights from the ceiling reflect off his blown pupils, making his eyes seem darker than they are. "Get Dean."
"That's right. We have to go dig up your brother’s mutilated, rotted corpse because he’s gonna need his suit. And then you’re gonna win his soul back by beating whoever they pair you against."
Wet tile fizzles, beads of water evaporating as Sam's hand pushes against the stall and he stands. His knees are still shaky, but his expression is stony. "Let's go."
"We can wait until tomorrow-"
Sam slams his hand against the wall, leaving a sizable dent.
"Or not."
::: ::: :::
on to chapter eight