Grand Arena

Sam was blinded at 13. This installment parallels All Hell Breaks Loose. Two parts.

"Sammy, boy. So nice to see you again."

Sam looked around, startled to find he could see, and tried to call out to Jake and the others, but they didn't respond.

"Just us, Sam, you're still asleep. Let's talk, shall we?"

"What do you want?" Sam snarled, even as he reveled in being able to see in the dream. Apparently Ava had dark hair and Jake was African American.

The demon's eyes sparked yellow. "Big things going down, here. This here's a showdown. Pitting all the psychics against each other."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked suspiciously, looking around and memorizing his surroundings. The others had never described where they were, and Sam didn't have Dean with him to let him know where obstacles were, so he had to take this chance if he wanted to survive.

"Oh yes. You, Sammy . . . You're an interesting case."

"Why's that?" Sam noted the direction out of the ghost town before sliding his gaze over to the demon.

"At first, you were my favorite. Then there was that unfortunate hunting accident. I mean, blind psychic. It's rather cliche, but it wasn't supposed to be true." The demon paused, looking Sam up and down in a way that had him cringing. "But somehow you've survived, even flourished with the disability."

"What's your point?" Sam snapped.

"The point is, without giving in to your powers, you won't last an hour," the demon said calmly. "So. You have an option here, Sam Winchester. Give in to those powers that are hidden below the surface, or die."

"I don't know what power you're talking about, but the visions don't exactly listen to what I want," Sam said flatly.

The demon cocked its head. "Shall I show you something?"

Sam blinked, and they were in a new location. "Wha—"

"Meet yourself as a baby."

Sam looked in horror as the demon slit its wrist above a baby's—his—mouth.

"I have demon blood in me?" he asked, voice filled with revulsion.

"Indeed. Powerful stuff. If you wanted, you could have telekinesis. You could see things before they happened, the entire event and change it to your will. So much potential." The demon crept close, greedily looking at Sam. "So choose wisely."

Sam watched as a woman entered the room—blonde hair that reminded him of Jess.

"Is that . . ."

"Your mother? Yes."

"You," she whispered, looking at the demon over Sam's crib.

"She knew you?" Sam asked, choked.

"Details." The demon smiled at Sam, like he was his parent. "Well, Sam m'boy. Good luck."

Sam woke up.

Andy wasn't panicked. He wasn't.

Okay, he was. He had been having a great day, just, well, using illegal drugs, but it wasn't like he would ever be busted with his ability to convince people.

But this little game some demon was playing with them . . . not cool.

"Andy, you here?"

Andy turned around and relaxed at the sight of Sam tapping his way over with the iron poker. "Hey, Sam," he greeted.

"Just had the craziest dream," Sam murmured, his cane finally hitting the chair. He sank down into it with a sigh of relief.

"Yeah. Um, I kinda did too."

"The demon?" Sam checked.

"Yeah."

"Stupid, right? Like we would kill each other." Sam's smile was easy, and Andy felt himself relaxing even more.

"Honestly I only want to go back home."

"You and me both." Sam reached out a hand, and Andy took it. Sam's grip was strong and sure. "We're gonna get out of here, okay? You'll go back to terrorizing innocent civilians with weird images, and I'll go back to Dean."

Andy blinked, then. "Wait. Do you have something of Dean's?"

Sam rummaged through his pockets. "This?" He held up an old receipt.

"I can contact people, if I know where we are and have something of theirs to focus on," Andy explained excitedly. "I'll just be able to show him an image, but it might work."

"Then do it," Sam said urgently. "Have you seen anything indicative of where we are? Any landmarks?"

"There's the bell, outside. Can't be many of those anywhere," Andy suggested.

Sam nodded. "Send him the image of the bell."

Andy glanced down at the receipt and decided to not mention that the signature wasn't exactly Dean's. He concentrated, sending a dual image of Sam and the bell to what he hoped was Dean's mind.

"It's done," he announced, absently wiping away the blood trickling from his nose. "I think."

Sam's smile was relieved. "That's great, Andy."

"Guys, Ava's gone."

At Jake's voice, Andy noted how Sam jumped and then settled again.

"Right. Andy, stay here. Jake and I'll search her out."

"Wouldn't it be smarter for you to stay?" Jake said drily.

Sam hesitated, and then nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, wasn't thinking."

Andy headed out, glad to be doing something other than sitting.

Ava's laugh was the only warning he got before he was torn apart.

"Jake, what's wrong?" Sam asked urgently. There should have been three sets of footsteps returning. Instead there was only him.

"Ava . . . she was doing something. Controlling a . . . a demon. She killed Andy. I . . . I killed her."

Sam stood, finding his balance quickly. "Show me," he said urgently.

Jake led the way, and Sam relied on his memories of the dream to keep himself from tripping up.

"Did you two separate?" he asked.

"Yeah. Not by much, I went inside one of the houses while he checked around back. I found her there, standing over him."

Sam swallowed. "And there was no hope of saving Andy?"

"Nah, man. Sorry."

Sam dropped to his knees in the mud, letting his hands hover over Andy's body. "I'm sorry," he murmured brokenly. No matter what he did—Max, Ansem, Lily, Andy—he couldn't save anyone.

"Sam, you know what the demon said to me?"

Sam sat back on his heels. "Probably what he said to me," he surmised.

"We're not getting out of here. Only one can."

"Why can't we both?" Sam argued. "Ava was obviously the one who stopped Lily from leaving. Now that she's dead, we can get out of here."

"I don't think so, man."

Sam stood. "You saying you're gonna kill me?" He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, preparing for a fight.

"I don't want to. But I will if I have to."

Sam had little to no warning as a fist slammed into his solar plexus, knocking the breath from him. He felt the air move towards his head, and quickly ducked, diving forward to ram into Jake.

"I don't want to do this, Jake," he hissed as he struggled. Jake got a hand on Sam's arm and twisted violently, ripping a cry from Sam's throat. The distinctive popping noise meant his shoulder joint was out of its socket.

"I don't either, Sam. But I'm winning this. And you won't stop me."

Sam lashed out towards the sound of Jake's voice, catching the man in the jaw. Moving as fast as he could, he scrambled to get as far away as possible. He had mislaid his iron poker, so he was pretty much defenseless. If he could just find Dean—

A flare of pain in the middle of his back flashed through Sam in one, two, three waves. And then he was gone.

The Impala would not go fast enough. Dean caught Bobby's worried glance but ignored it. The image of Sam and the bell—Bobby had identified it as being in Cold Oak—had been a gift Dean wasn't willing to look into yet.

They arrived, and Dean practically flew out of the car before it had completely stopped, Bobby following with some words of caution that Dean completely ignored.

Sam would be there, he would hear Dean and grin in his direction like he always did, and everything would be fine.

The town was forebodingly quiet. Dean scanned the empty dirt streets before shouting. "Sam! Sammy!"

His voice echoed but elicited no response.

"Dean, maybe the bell meant something else," Bobby suggested.

Dean muttered some curses and jogged forward through the streets. He was just about to turn and check a house when he caught a flash of tan. The jacket Sam had been wearing.

Something inside Dean went numb, dead, even as he vibrated with fear. There were three bodies, but he ignored the other two.

"Sammy!" he roared. He dropped down beside his little brother and swallowed, taking in the sight of dark blood on Sam's back.

He turned Sam over.

"No, no, no, no, no," he chanted, patting Sam's mud-coated cheek, pressing his fingers against Sam's throat in search of a pulse. It couldn't end like this. Sam couldn't be dead. He couldn't.

"Dean?"

"C'mon, Sam, you can't do this to me. Wake up," Dean pleaded, not even caring that he was making a scene in front of Bobby. Sam's head lolled as Dean shook him, and Dean felt something snap.

Dean howled. He vaguely heard Bobby's worried assurances and attempts to draw him away from Sam, but he just clutched Sam's . . . Sam's body. Sam was dead.

Dean had cried after his father's death. Silently, in the shower, tears blending with the shower water so that he could pretend he wasn't.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't. Not Sammy. Dean sobbed out his grief like the tears could bring Sam back.

A/N: TBC