This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race - Part Five

[paper_rose16]

Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Bobby, YED, various Special Children
Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.
Warnings: kidnapping, emotional and physical trauma, profanity, twisting of canonical events, very little happy parts, minor character death

FIVE

They could travel more quickly now that it was just the two of them. They had no destination in mind except to find their way out of the woods, and on the second day after the twins left, they discovered a small dirt path half hidden from years of disuse that wound through the trees and far out of sight to the north. Sam and Ava took to this road with the enthusiasm that comes only from having nowhere else to go, and although Sam's headache had come back full force, and they'd had nothing to eat for days on end but some questionable wild berries they had found growing along the roadside, they kept going, only resting a few hours at night to sleep huddled together by their small fire for warmth.

Ava's health was faring no better than Sam's, and she was too skinny and often prone to dizziness. Twice as they walked Sam had to catch her and hold her up because her legs were too weak to hold her tiny body upright anymore. And all the while she kept peppering Sam with question about his time with the Winchesters.

"What was it like?" she asked him on the fourth or fifth day, over the sound of the leaves crunching underneath their tired feet. There was no need to elaborate; Sam knew what she meant.

He helped her over a fallen log that blocked the path, thinking about John and Dean: John's brute strength; Dean's understanding calm; how John had tackled him to the ground when they'd first found him, chasing Sam down like a predator closing in on its prey; and Dean, in the motel, trying to act out the good guy to his father's bad guy, so silent and watchful.

"They were hunters," he tried to sound indifferent. "They acted like hunters, they asked me all sorts of questions, and when they fell asleep, I escaped. Seemed to know nothing about the apocalypse though; they probably thought I was crazy for even mentioning it."

She was quiet for a long while before she looked up at him in bewilderment. "But why would they pretend like that? I mean, if they know that we know ... why not just fess up instead of trying to hide what they started?"

Sam shrugged, looking down at his shoes. "Dunno."

"I wonder what mine are like," she sighed quietly. Her breath was starting to come in short, shallow gasps. "You're so brave, Sam. I don't know if I could handle seeing them, to actually talk with them. They never wanted me, after all. You have to remember that," she commanded, gripping his forearm tightly. "They didn't want us; none of them ever wanted us! And we're better off without them," she finished softly.

But Sam remembered John's rage-fueled frustration as he stood over Sam, and Dean's awful expression following him out through the window, and he just didn't know.
-

After about a week of being on their own, whatever had been happening to them since after they had escaped was only getting progressively worse. They were still traveling the same road they'd been on for almost six days now, but now Sam was supporting all of Ava's weight, his arm around her waist and one of hers' draped loosely over his shoulders, as he guided them along the dirt path. She tried to keep from vomiting on their shoes and he attempted to keep them moving while his head spun and small tremors overtook his hands and knees. They were both running fevers.

"Just a little further," he grunted, adjusting Ava's weight. It had been his constant mantra for days. "We're almost there, just hang on a little while longer." He didn't actually know if they were approaching anything except for more forest, but he hoped with everything he had that it was the truth.

Maybe another five miles later, a piece of sunlight broke through an opening in the treetops and Ava looked up, squinting blearily at some indeterminate point far ahead in the distance.

"Sam, what is that?"

She started walking away on wobbly legs, managing only a few short paces before she was forced to slump against a nearby tree, her chest heaving from the exertion.

"Ava, you have to save your strength!" Sam called, chasing after her.

But she refused to be swayed. "No, I'm serious, look! There's something there ... through the trees. I saw it!"

"Okay. It's okay. Let's just go." He made her lean against him again and continued forward, moving faster now. A minute later, the trees broke apart and Sam saw it: the light at the end of the tunnel, growing out of the darkness like a bud, and his heart made a frantic leap beneath his ribcage.

They stepped out of the trees and into what looked like it could have once passed as a prosperous village, although there was clearly nobody using it now. Abandoned, dilapidated buildings were arranged in two neath rows down its single street, most of their windows boarded up, although more than a few had just been left cracked, exposed to the harsh wilderness. Strips of wood like waves peeled from the house fronts and through the wide half-hung doors, Sam could see dust settled inches thick upon the surfaces. At the edge of town, they passed by a plaque reading simply, 'Cold Oak,' and above that a huge bronze bell, the picture of a branching tree embossed on its face. It was this, the sun glinting off from the dull metal, which Ava had seen.

They found one of the larger buildings that on the inside looked like one of the lesson rooms of their old house, where when they were younger, they'd been taught all of the Latin letters and useful sigils, and entered it. The far wall was completely devoted to a green chalkboard that spanned that entire side. Desks that'd once been stationed in precise rows were overturned and flipped on their heads, legs broken and contents spilled onto the floor. Sam dragged Ava into the center of the room, where they slumped exhausted in the wreckage, the only light shining through the gaping hole in the roof and the open front door.

Sam left her on the floor as he stood back up. He walked slowly around the old schoolhouse, picking up anything he could find made of wood that looked dry enough to burn. In an old trunk near the back of the room, he came upon a dirty, moth-eaten blanket which he threw over top of Ava's shaking frame. The fire took a long time to light but once it was blazing happily he retook his position beside her. Just as the foggy haze that was now filling the room was slowly pushing him towards sleep, he looked across Ava's head resting on his shoulder through the doorway and saw two familiar yellow points of light and a man-sized shadow peering through at him. He wasn't surprised.

"I'll be right back," he whispered, but she was already asleep. Shifting her head gently so that it was laying upon the worn floor, he slipped outside.
-

There was nobody there.

Maybe there had never been anybody there.

It was just like at the house, only worse. Because maybe he had seen the Boss at the house, hiding in the shadows as they made their escape. At least that had made sense; at least it had been a possibility.

Thinking that he saw him here though, now, in this tiny and insignificant forgotten town ... that wasn't. That was impossible, a trick of his sickening, sleep-deprived state. Because if Yellow Eyes was here, if he was really, actually here - then that meant he knew they were here, and he wasn't doing anything about it.

He got back to the schoolhouse and found Ava rolling around restlessly on the ground, mumbling something beneath her breath Sam couldn't even hope to decipher. She was thrashing and crying. Bright red blood trickled down her chin from where she'd bitten clean through her lip.

"Ava?" he gasped, rushing to her side. Fear seeped through him and he hovered over her, feeling helpless and lost. He shook her, but she refused to wake up. Tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes, and when she screamed - shrilly, like she could wake the dead - Sam wanted to scream too.

"Ava, wake up!" He shook her harder, but she kept on screaming.

"Ava? Ava! Oh god, oh god ... Fuck. Fuck. Wake up!"

He wrapped his arms all the way around her, but he didn't know which of them it was he was trying to hold together. He pulled her to him as close as he dared while she continued to tremble and shake in his arms, and he kept talking - pleading - hoping that on some level, his voice would get through to her and she would know ... she would know that he was with her.

"Ava, wake up, please, Ava come one, don't leave me here, wake up, Ava, come on, please, please don't leave me like this, come on, wake up ... Ava please wake up - Ava wake up."

Sam couldn't tell when it was exactly that exhaustion finally won out over fear; it may have been hours or days later, for all he knew or cared. But it was not the escape he'd thought it would be. The darkness closed in around him, and His eyes, those yellow pinpricks of light, awaited him in every dream -
-

The yellow-eyed demon circled him hungrily, and when Sam looked down at his feet, for the first time ever it was to find himself on the wrong side of a Devil's trap."Did you really believe that you could run from me, Sammy?" Yellow Eyes sneered. "Did you really think there was a place in this world you could hide where I wouldn't find you?"

Sam tried to walk away, to cross the painted lines that enclosed him,but an invisible force kept pushing him back. He was trapped, like all of those test subject demons he had lorded over in this same game himself, behind lines and symbols that had never held him before.

"And you were always such a good little soldier. A bit resistant at times, but I could work with that. Headstrong and so pure ... I knew that if I had you I would have all of you. Do you know what I do to good soldiers who go AWOL, Sammy?"

Again and again, Sam threw himself at the barrier between them, and again and again, it rejected him. He watched Yellow Eyes watching him, and then with a snap of the Boss' fingers, Sam was chained to a post that hadn't existed a second ago: his arms secured above his head, ripping at the muscles in his shoulders, and his toes skimming against the ground far - way too far - below.

"We could've been great together, you and I: like Hitler Himmler. Now those two, what a pair! But then you threw it away, after everything I did for you," Yellow Eyes chastised, "And for what? Freedom? Because let me tell you something, kid: freedom is a fairy tale. You can never - truly - escape."

When he unveiled the knife and began cutting, the demon's lips never moved, but through his agony Sam could still hear his voice; and although the words sounded muffled and far away, the danger they carried with them came through loud and clear.

You can't fight destiny.

-

Sam's eyes snapped open. A dream, it was just a dream, he thought. The post was gone, as were the chains and Devil's trap; he was back (or was it still?) in the schoolhouse in Cold Oak. Beside him, Ava moaned restlessly deep in a dream of her own. He should get up and make sure she hadn't gotten any sicker. But whatever was working on him was already digging its claws in to drag him back again, and reluctantly, he followed.

Soon. I'll do that soon.
-

This time, he was seated in a straight-backed wooden chair.

He didn't know where he was - maybe he was finally dead. This place, room ... wherever, was dark, the only light a dying wall lamp illuminating one side of his face. None of Sam's limbs were tied by rope or anything else he could see, but he couldn't move any of them as he struggled helplessly against invisible bonds.

Against the facing wall leaned Lily, her legs crossed at her ankles and her head tilted curiously, watching him.

"The answer is yes," she said, pushing off from the wall and sauntering towards him. "Not real, not a ghost. I'm just a hallucination inside your own screwed up mind."

Sam opened his mouth, closed it. Lily smiled, but Sam didn't kid himself into thinking it was in any way kind.

"I hate to say I told you so," continued Lily sweetly, "but, well ... I did tell you. I told you were were better off right where we were, didn't I, Sam?" And look at you now. You're rotting away." Her thin nose pinched in thinly veiled disgust.

Lily's gaze hardened and she brought her face up close to his, hissing into the shell of his ear, "And look at me. Look at me, Sam, at what your genius plan did to me. I thought you were our family; I thought you were our - my brother. But I know the truth now: you would rather have them. You regret ever leaving them; you regret never giving them a chance. Those hunters! You're selfish, Sam, a traitor to your own kind. You'll never be one of them, and you're a fool if you ever thought that you could. And now look at us, Sam: I'm dead and it's all because of you! Because you said it would be better, that you could make it better and I trusted you. I trusted you and now I'm DEAD!"

The boom of her voice echoed around the small room. Sam cringed, turning his head away, trying to search for an escape without alerting her to what he was doing; but there were no windows in this room, no door. Just four walls, a furious Lily, and that stupid lamp that was still shining in his eye.

"I never wanted to leave," she whispered, backing up, "and now I have for good."

She placed one hand delicately over his heart, and just like with the Boss' devil's trap, it worked when it never had on him before. A sharp pain exploded in Sam's chest; his body felt too tight, his heart too large, beating too fast, like it kept pressing against the bars of his ribs trying to break free. His head felt like it'd been blown up with helium, so light, and Sam swallowed the bile that wanted to come up his throat. His entire chest expanded repeatedly in increasingly desperate breaths, because he couldn't breathe, the air going into his lungs far too thin, and there was nowhere near enough of it. But Lily didn't let Sam die. Over and over again he felt his heart stop only for it to start up again a second later. Stop and start. Stop and start.

-

"Sam!"

There was a hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him awake.

"Sam!"

His eyes fluttered open blearily before focusing on Ava's terrified face leaning over him, silhouetted against the light of the midday sun coming in through the hole in the schoolhouse roof. She sighed in relief when she saw him looking up at her, awake and alert.

"Oh thank goodness, I thought you were dead!" she cried, and then in the next minute she was sobbing hysterically against his chest.

Sam blinked slowly down at the top of her head. "W-what? Ava I'm -"

"Don't you dare say you're fine, Sam Winchester! You are not fine! It was like you were having some sort of seizure, or a - a fit! You wouldn't wake up! Sam," she gasped, "what is going on?!"

Sam sat up. His heart beat strong and sure beneath his hand like the whisper of a hundred tiny birds' wings. He took deep breaths, waiting for it to slow down, thoughts of Lily running rampant through his head. The dream ... it had felt so real, just like the dream of the Boss had seemed. Ava was still watching him with a terrified expression on her face, as if at any minute, he was going to keel over dead. She probably wouldn't even be too far off.

Sam stood shakily to his feet and stumbled over to the corner of the room, picking up the blanket from where it'd been discarded earlier and bringing it back, pulling Ava close and draping it over the both of them. Ava closed her eyes against his shoulder and sighed.

"Do you remember Meg?" she asked in a quiet whisper, after the better part of an hour had passed. Sam stiffened beneath her; but she was looking up at him through her long lashes and she looked so sad, so ruined, that Sam couldn't even begin to be angry at her for the mention of their old tutor.

"How can you even ask me that?" Old, long buried pain burned through him, familiar and aching.

"I'm sorry ..." she breathed. "I know you don't like to talk about it. I don't either. I guess ... I've just been thinking about her a lot lately, these past few days. About what she'd say to us, y'know, if she could see us now."

"Probably some stupid little joke about how we're all babies and to man up if we want to preserve any amount of our dignity at the end of this," Sam choked out through a laugh. His eyes were suddenly wet and he wiped at them with one sleeve until they stung.

Ava giggled, but it sounded more like a sob. "Yeah, that sounds like her." She let out a tiny sniffle. Meg would've been right: babies, the two of them. "I think she was the first time that any of us realized what we were doing was wrong, seeing what he did to her - and she was his daughter!" She was starting to shiver again; Sam pulled the blanket around them tighter. "It scares me sometimes ..."

"I know." Ava trembled harder and Sam squeezed his eyes shut as he held her.

"I feel so weak. Sam, what the hell is happening to us?"

This time, sleep eluded them. Night fell slowly, and the world outside their tiny sanctuary - such as it was - remained still. Sam caught a brief glimpse of the stars in the black night sky through the roof, and the orange and yellow tongues of the fire before him: they were beautiful.

And then a loud clap of thunder outside broke the silence and they both jumped. It was quiet once more for another five minutes, maybe ten, before the sky crackled again, but their was no rain. Their fire flickered once, then twice, before going out completely, drenching them both in darkness, and Ava cried out in fright. A shadow was standing in the doorway, blocking out the meager little light the space had afforded, and now they both screamed, crawling backwards crab-like from the hulking figure. It came to them swiftly until a man's features became discernible from the gloom. It was him, the Boss, the yellow-eyed demon; of course it was. It was always him.

He approached Ava first, a fatherly smile gracing his otherwise expressionless face. He placed a single finger upon her forehead and she dropped to the ground like a stone. And then he looked at Sam, at the horrified look in his eyes. "Don't worry, she's only asleep."

"What do you want from us?"

"Walk with me, Sam."

As much as he would have hated to admit it, there was still some part of Sam that recognized an order when he heard one and wouldn't - couldn't - disobey. Ignoring the proffered hand, he got stiffly to his feet and followed his old mentor outside into the crisp night air. The yellow-eyed demon took them down a short gravel path behind the schoolhouse where a dried up stone well stood in the middle of a small square of grass, and this was where they stopped.

"I expect you're hungry." And reaching a hand down into the inside pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a single fist-sized roll of bread, holding it out to Sam with a smug flourish. Sam's stomach growled at the mere sight of the fresh baked treat and before he could think twice on it he grabbed at it, lifting it to his mouth to tear off a large chunk of it with his teeth. Almost immediately, he began to feel a little better: the nausea he'd been fighting for days seemed to soften, his neglected stomach eased in appreciation and anticipation of more, and even his headache cleared. "There, now isn't that better?"

"What about Ava?" Sam asked anxiously as he continued to bite and swallow. "She's sick - I ..."

"She'll survive," Yellow Eyes replied, rolling his eyes, as he gazed at Sam almost fondly. "Probably. Now quit worrying, you know I always hated worriers. Besides, it's not her who you should be worrying about."

Sam's stomach started clenching again but this time, it had nothing to do with food. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He couldn't help but to shiver at the nonchalant way with which Yellow Eyes dismissed his fear. "It's T minus zero hours," he said, bringing the palms of his hands together in a light smack. "Put on your game face, kid, let's get this crazy show on the road. You've had your fun, now it's time to go."

"No ..." Sam gasped, everything in him screaming for him to run, flee, to get as far away from the demon and his role in this stupid war as he possibly could. He spit out between clenched teeth, "No ... I won't ... I escaped. I don't want to do that anymore so just go away!"

Yellow Eyes seemed entirely unperturbed. "We all have our part to play."

"But I escaped! You let us escape! I saw you in the shadows, you just watched us!"

Yellow Eyes laughed wildly, flinging his head back as he howled into the night. "You really think you could have escaped so easily had I not already ordered my demons to allow it?" he exclaimed. "Well, sorry, Champ, but when you first started plotting your great escape I saw my chance and took it. Of course I would've preferred if you hadn't ... but we can't all get what we want now can we? So welcome to the Miss America pageant: this is your final test."

"So, what? This whole thing is nothing but another lesson for you, just some sick twisted game?"

"Betrayed isn't a good look on you, Sam. Don't look so hurt: you know I love you the best. It's a tough gig," he shrugged brazenly. "And I didn't just need any old leader. What I needed was a survivor." He started pacing a wide circle around where Sam was standing rooted to the ground. "So I took you, and I raised you, and I made sure that you were all very strong ... that whichever of my perfect, special children it came down to could follow through with the hard task that lay ahead. But only one of you youngsters can take home the crown and you've arisen to the occasion remarkably, Sam."

"Strong!" cried Sam, pointing to where he could still see Ava, lying unconscious on the floor of the schoolhouse. "That doesn't look strong to me, it looks like death!"

The demon laughed again. "It's just withdrawal, Sammy. Don't worry that pretty head of yours. She'll be back up and doing the Congo in no time at all."

"Withdrawal?" The wind rushing by his hears made his voice sound very small. "What is she withdrawing from?" It was becoming harder and harder to resist lashing out at the calm, triumphant face looking back at him; he realized he had never felt true hatred before now, this moment, when he could feel it boiling beneath his skin - and at a purely unexpected target. His palms were sweaty, with fear or anticipation he couldn't tell which, and the perspiration was soaking through the half-eaten bread roll that was still clamped between his numb fingers until it was nothing except for a soggy, cloying paste.

Yellow Eyes tapped a finger against one pale wrist, where a network of thin blue veins crisscrossed beneath translucent skin, pumping warm living blood up and through his arm, to the wrist, palm, spreading out at the fingers before re-joining and traveling north again back home to the heart. "Better than mother's milk," he purred. When Sam still looked confused, he continued, "But you don't have to take my word for it. I'll let you see for yourself."

Then he snapped his fingers and Sam was thrust into a different time and place. Gone were the ancient buildings of Cold Oak, replaced all around with a single room, Yellow Eyes and him in the center, blue painted walls, and a white crib with a looming shadow standing over it.

At first Sam thought that he was hallucinating again, but this was nothing like those times: where the picture was always clear and sharp, and if Sam forgot for a even a moment, he could believe he actually was chained to a post in a devil's trap or letting Lily stop his heart over and over again as she released all of his failings back on to him. No, this was not reality, but it was no hallucination either. The air in this room held a wispy, dreamy quality about it. And then suddenly a woman entered the room and just as quickly stepped back out of it, rubbing tiredly against half-shuttered eyes. When she returned again she was running, frantic, and shouting Sam's name; and that's when Sam realized that this was his memory, his past, his dream. So that woman was ... his mother? Huh.

The looming figure turned around as Mary Winchester re-entered her youngest son's nursery, his irises a fierce, burning yellow. She stepped forward at the same time that Sam, invisible to her, stepped back; but the yellow-eyes demon - the one in the memory - just as casually waved an arm at her and she was pinned to the ceiling, looking down into her son - Sam's - crib in petrified horror. The Sam watching this all play out forced his attention back upon what was happening over the crib just in time to see the Yellow Eyes that wasn't beside him slit his wrist with a fingernail and drop one, two, three beads of bright red blood onto the baby's tiny fluttering lips. Sam watched as the Yellow Eyes of the past picked his own small body up out of the crib, disappearing into the night, just seconds before the room burst into flames, dissolving around him.

Sam let out a shuddering gasp as he opened his eyes back to the present. He collapsed to his knees by Yellow Eyes' feet, shuddering as he tried to keep the bile from rushing right up his throat. "Was that ... Did I -" And then it all became too much, and he wretched violently upon the grass. "I have demon blood in me?!"

"Just a couple of drops in your morning bread every day and you all had power the likes of which you never could have imagined, developed years faster than had i left you without!"

"Oh god," Sam moaned. The bread that the demon had given him, the one that had taken away his headache and his shakes - his withdrawal - because it was infused with Yellow Eyes' own goddamn blood dropped out of his lax fingers and hit the ground.

The demon had always told them that their real parents had never wanted them once their powers had become known. Sam had assumed that meant he'd always had them: that he had been born a freak. But know, he knew that wasn't true - or at least, Yellow Eyes claimed so. Why would he change his story now, after so long? Sam didn't know what to believe, but hadn't that been part of the reason why he'd run from the Winchesters in their motel room in South Dakota, too? Because even then he'd gotten the feeling that something was massively not right. Because his father and brother, they claimed one thing, and Yellow Eyes - and the demons he'd known for his entire life - claimed another.

And Sam had watched his mother as she looked down from Sam's nursery ceiling, watched her face intently for any sign of hatred or blame on Sam. And what he'd seen was a look he'd known so rarely that he couldn't even hope to mistake it for anything but what it was: Mary Winchester had looked down at Sam like she loved him, like she'd do anything for him, even die for him.

And suddenly every little gesture of his living family's since the escape took on a whole new possible meaning. John's anger could be interpreted as intent and hurt, a parent wanting to know exactly what had been done to his long lost child; Dean, standing back-lit at the window as Ava hoisted him through, could be looking at him like he couldn't bear to remain Sam's enemy, or to take any more of Sam's freedom away. He was letting his mind run away with his heart, Sam knew, but he couldn't seem to help himself anymore.

"Why would you tell me this? I'll never follow you now. Never. You can't make me. You hear that? I said I'm through!"

"But you see, Sam, that's the thing. I don't need your loyalty anymore. I know you'll do what you're told, just like the good soldier that we both know you are."
"Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth right now? How do I know that this entire ... thing isn't a lie too? My parents ... your blood inside of me? Give me one good reason why I should give a flying crap what you say?!" But he knew it was no lie. It was like, now that he knew it was there, he was actually aware of the foreignness of it inside of him, the blood of two different beings fighting between each other, and he couldn't un-feel it. His family loved him, and there was something inside of him that would turn them against him if they knew.

"Because if you don't," Yellow Eyes leered, "If you don't do as you're told, General ... If you're a bad little soldier ... I'll make sure that dear sweet Ava in there, and your daddy and brother wherever they are, are going to know intimately the slimy lining of their own insides."

Then Yellow Eyes grabbed him by the forearm and in the space it took for Sam to blink, they were standing outside of an all too familiar graveyard, just beyond the iron railway barrier, looking in under the light of the moon where the old mausoleum waited ... waited for him. Yellow Eyes shoved Colt's ancient revolver into his hands and Sam nearly dropped it, catching it at the last second, only for his eyes to land upon the slumped body of Ava on the grass to the other side of the demon.

"This is it," Yellow Eyes had told them the last time they had been here, nearly two years before. He'd taken them on a field trip of sorts, for good behaviour. "Right here. See that building up there, Sam? This is where it all begins."

Now all he said was, "You know what to do," and gave Sam a hard push. Ava didn't even stir.

With a last lingering look at the evil man between them, Sam crossed over the rails and stepped towards what his entire life had been training him for.
-

Sam walked through the old cemetery slowly. The night was cloudless and dark; there was just the moon, with a sprinkling of distant stars, and up ahead lay the door, the door that Sam walked towards now. Dried leaves and tall grass crunched beneath his feet. The crumbling headstones of dead cowboys led his way in a long meandering row, but he hardly took any notice of them. The gun dangled loosely from his fingers.

He didn't want to do this, didn't want to look on the other side of that door. Maybe he had once, years and years ago when all he could remember were Yellow Eyes' whisperings and promises; those days were long gone. But just because he had a mind now didn't mean he had free will. The world would be changed when he turned that lock, and what was so worth saving about it anyways? Yellow Eyes had been right about at least one thing: humanity was a corrupt race, they were selfish and they lied and destroyed without cause in the name of revenge. Maybe his family loved him and maybe they didn't, maybe Yellow Eyes had just used Sam for his own means and maybe he hadn't, but Sam knew he had a job to do and what if Yellow Eyes was right about this part too? What if this was the one little thing that could fix everything and he was in the position to make it happen? To put everything - the end of the world - and all of it to rights. Let her out and in exchange have paradise, and peace. He could not turn his back on that chance.

Halfway to his destination, he stopped, his heart pounding, and looked back at Yellow Eyes over his shoulder - no more than a blurred outline on the horizon at this point - who when he Sam looking, raised one booted heel and set it very deliberately over top Ava's delicate neck on the ground.

Sam continued walking and stopped only when he was close enough that he could reach out and touch weather-beaten stone and metal. The crypt looked no different on the outside than any other crypt in the country, but inside, Sam knew, was something far greater and more vital than a pile of rotting corpses and forgotten names.

He stared for another minute at the door in front of him, at the small opening in the exact middle of the scrambled pentagram. Yellow Eyes and Ava were too far behind him now for him to see, but that didn't stop him from imagining all of the things the demon could be doing to her out of his sight. Hands trembling, Sam let out the breath he only then realized he'd been holding, and with only the thought of her in his mind, he shoved the barrel of the pistol straight into the lock.

"SAM, NO!"

With a startled yelp, he whirled around. But the sudden shout hadn't come from the demon, or even from Ava. It was John and Dean, and their other hunter friend - Robbie? Toby? No, Bobby. His name is Bobby - and they were running right towards Sam. They stopped, guns drawn in a sign of caution and warning, not half a dozen feet from him.

"Sam, what have you done?" Dean's hand holding his gun was shaking. It was him who had screamed, and who was now staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the crypt.

But they were too late. The Colt was still hanging from the lock, and the five shuffled points of the pentagram were spinning in a tight circle. They slowed gradually before locking into place in their correct sequence. Sam retrieved the gun just as the door burst open, letting through hundreds of clouds of black demon smoke as they scampered up and away from the burning pit deep within. They rushed at the lines of iron, tearing Samuel Colt's life's work out of the ground and Sam knew, knew without having to see it, that Yellow Eyes had crossed over and even now was on his way. The Winchesters and Bobby had dropped to the ground, cowering behind headstones with their hands over their heads, but Sam remained standing, staring out across the graveyard to where he knew Yellow Eyes would be coming from, and waited.

He wondered which of those black clouds was hers' and whether she would start her work right away once she was free, or if she would wait a little while, scope out the sights while she planned...

Behind Sam's back the hunters were yelling to each other as they attempted to push the huge doors shut, but he didn't bother to listen to them. He could already see Yellow Eyes on the horizon. He approached, clapping his hands whilst smiling at Sam in that slow exaggerated way that he had of just about everything.

"Thank you, Sam, well done." He cast an appraising eye behind Sam. "Well done indeed."

A heavy slam signalled the closing of the devil's gate's doors. "You stay away from my son," John Winchester snarled, starting forwards. But the demon just flicked his wrist and the three hunters were suddenly airborne, flying through the air before each being slammed hard against a tree. They stood with backs pressed, and it was only the demon's immense power which stopped them from advancing upon Sam and Yellow Eyes again.

"Hang tight there, boys. I'll get to you in a minute."

"Where's Ava?" Sam demanded.

In answer, he flicked those eerie, unnatural pupils briefly in the direction of the broken railway. "Safe."

"And Lilith, did she get out?"

"A plus work on that one, Sammy, if I do say so myself."

"Good," breathed Sam. He grasped Colt's revolver tightly, lifting it up to eye level with shaky, inexperienced hands. "Now let them go," he said with a jerk of his head towards John and Dean. Yellow Eyes even seemed mildly surprised.

"You going to shoot me, Sam?"

"It's a thought." He thumbed the safety off.

"Now, now, Sam ... I really don't think you'll be needing that anymore." And the gun flew out of his hands to land on the wet grass. The amused smirk was gone, all that was left was a cold, calculating calm.

"You have what you wanted," pleaded Sam. "So please ..."

"Sam ... d-don't ..." Dean choked, but his voice was far away, and he just didn't understand.

"Touching," Yellow Eyes replied. "But have you begun to care for them after all? You know they don't care about you."

"That's not true!" said Dean. "Sam, don't you listen to him!"

"And that's enough from you," Yellow Eyes said. He stalked towards Dean, who was still pressed immovably against his tree, and there was murder in his eyes. And right then, Sam knew, he didn't know if he could trust either of his family members as far as he could throw them, but that he owed it to himself to at least find out.

"Stop," he called loudly. There was a new determination to his voice and Sam thought it finally made him sound like the soldier he'd always been told he was. It made the demon pause at least and Sam took the opportunity to raise his hand out towards him and prepared his mind, trying to recover some of what he'd been feeling the first and only time he'd done this, to see that disgusting black which was Yellow Eyes' true form rise and sink again back to where he belonged. It was so painful to try to bring all of that power back out, and he shut his eyes as his left hand clutched his forehead, his right flexing and reaching for that essence that was purely evil and which had buried itself deep inside this host's meat suit/

Nothing came.

Yellow Eyes saw what he was doing and let out another of those wild, maniacal laughs. "You don't have the juice to exorcise me," he crowed, "No anymore. You're detoxed, remember? You're weak."

"Maybe," spoke a new voice, "but are you really willing to take that chance?"

As one, four pairs of eyes snapped to where another four people were emerging from the mist. The speaker - Sam let out a shocked and delighted gasp at the sight - was Ansem, and walking beside him were Andy and Jake. Behind them came Ava, moving slowly and looking extremely worn but still alive and unharmed. They came to stand beside and slightly behind Sam, and in relief he let his hand fall.

"Hey, Sam," grinned Andy, bright and easy. Ansem gave a silent nod and Jake winked.

"What are you guys going here?" he gasped. Sweat was slicking his brow, but still Yellow Eyes gave no indication that what Sam had been doing was affecting him at all.

"Saving you, of course. You didn't really think we'd leave you to deal with him all by yourself, did you?" Andy jutted his chin at the demon, looking at Sam like he was maybe just a little bit slow.

"But ... Ava? And Jake? I thought you were long gone by now."

"I was," Jake shrugged. "But it seems we're not all as immune to each other as we thought. The twins sent out the message that this is where it was going to go down ... and there were no clear words or nothing, not like if I'd been normal ... Just like, I knew that this was where I had to be, and I kinda remembered the way from last time so I just started walking. Who knows, maybe the signal's stronger when it's compounded? Anyways, I came across the twins doing the same thing a couple of miles back, and we picked up Ava by the rails."

"I'm okay," she smiled at him, and Sam believed her.

"So are we doing this, or what?" Ansem looked practically feral as he cracked his knuckles first in one hand and then the other. And Sam remembered the other boy's quiet admission more than a week earlier, sitting round the warm campfire while Andy and Ava were asleep, that sometimes he thought about killing Yellow Eyes if he only had half the chance.

Speaking of which ... Sam forced his awed gaze away from the unexpected reunion and turned back to the one who had started it all. Yellow Eyes had remained quiet throughout the entire thing, but that only made Sam worry more. The demon was smiling again and Sam took an instinctive step back so that he was in line with the others.

"You think I'm bad?" He talked solely and directly to Sam. "Kid, you've got much bigger fish than me out there that are just salivating for a slice of you. If you think I'm just gonna give you free reign for a year until the big guy needs ya, then I didn't teach you nearly as well as I believed."

Out of nowhere, out of nothing, with just the snap of the demon's wrist, Sam's stomach exploded in pain. White hot tendrils of burning agony were all of a sudden ripping a path across his navel as stars burst before his eyes. He doubled over as he cried out in agony, and when he gathered enough wits about himself to be able to pull his hands away from the large slash that had torn apart his stomach, they were covered in blood.

Sam's head snapped up and his eyes caught on the demon's once more; there was laughter in there, so much laughter ... and Sam saw red. He staggered to his feet again and nodded to the others around him, everything else forgotten, as he lifted his hand and focused. He couldn't see them anymore but he knew that his brothers and sisters were following his lead, his orders, his command. Yellow Eyes continued to laugh for a very long time.

And then, he didn't anymore. He choked and screamed instead as he was forcefully dragged out of his body and thrown through the opening in the ground that lead straight back into Hell, his curses echoing around the graveyard long after he had left.

The Winchester and Bobby fell to the ground. Sam looked down at the damage to his chest again; there was blood everywhere. His limbs felt soft, his vision swimming, and then he couldn't hold himself up anymore. Strong arms lowered him onto his back in the grass and ran soothing fingers through his tangled, matted hair. Another pair of hands started to put hard pressure upon his gaping cut.

"It's okay, Sam. You're going to be okay." The voice was masculine and warm, and Sam let himself be soothed by it as the fingers kept stroking his hair and the coarse scratch of a beard burned at his cheek, even as something salty and wet cooled it. That was kind of odd, he thought - none of his brothers had ever had a lot of facial hair before. But everything was out of focus now; his head felt too heavy to lift; he knew those hands would never hurt him.

"W-why ... why do you care?" It hurt more than anything else imaginable to force the words out.

There was a sad wet chuckle and then the arms pulled him in impossible tighter. "Are you kidding? I'm your dad, I'll always care."

And Sam looked up at the stars in the black night sky, even while his shuttering eyes made them want to disappear, and felt at peace.

Epilogue