Chapter 3

Dean rounded the corner out of the side corridor at a dead run, sprinting across the main room so fast that the now-fading flare barely registered in his peripheral vision. He raced back into the hallway he'd been searching earlier, before Sam's shouts and gunshots had drawn him away.

Sarah's scream had faded, but the source was now obvious. Where all the doors had been closed earlier, one at the far end of the dark hallway was now open. Dean headed for it, gun drawn and a flare handy.

Once there, he registered two things simultaneously. The first was Sarah Blake, alive and well if battered, sitting tied to a wooden beam near the center of the room with her arms out in front of the post. The second was a pair of shattered windows along the far wall.

Eyeing the surroundings, Dean circled along the perimeter of the room, toward the bound woman. "Sarah?"

"Dean! Thank God…it was— It was terrible…"

He stopped by the broken windows, throwing a cursory glance out into the darkness beyond. There was no fire escape or ledge, and the roof of neighboring building was far below. Dean continued his circuit toward Sarah, hesitating before getting within arm's reach. "You okay? Where's Meg? The demon, I mean."

Sarah nodded, and Dean saw tears streaking her face. "I don't know what happened. One minute he was talking to me, telling me that you and Sam were here and were going to die, and the next, he left and I heard gunshots. I didn't see him again. Then something burst through the door, I didn't see what. I guess… I don't think it was visible, I just saw shadows against the wall."

The daevas. The bloodthirsty creatures were notorious for turning on their masters when freed. They might have turned on Meg and fled when Dean had broken the altar. History repeating itself….

"Where'd the demon go, Sarah? Did you see the man again or a cloud of black smoke?" Dean asked, staying back and keeping his gun ready. Meg wouldn't have left without a fight. Though, the alternative didn't appeal to him.

"No."

"You're sure?" Dean asked, focusing on her. She looked normal enough, but if Meg—

"Yeah, I had this in my hand," Sarah continued, opening her palm briefly to reveal a small anti-possession charm on a chain, then pocketed it. "It couldn't have possessed me. Sam gave it to me."

Dean frowned. Sometimes demons fled when they lost the upper hand, but it seemed odd Meg had withdrawn without more of a fight. Hesitant, he looked at Sarah closely.

Sarah just blinked at him. "What? You think the charm didn't work?"

She pulled out the trinket for him to see. It was one of the older and more elaborate charms Bobby had dug up somewhere. It was also one of the most powerful. Sam had picked it out of the junk dealer's collection especially for Sarah.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Dean stepped forward and started undoing the ropes holding her. "Sorry. I just had to be sure."

Before Sarah could respond, Sam hobbled through the door, clutching his right side. Blood was soaking through his shirt and jeans.

Dean smiled ruefully. "You look like you've been through a paper shredder, Sammy."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said through clenched teeth. There was no venom behind the words, but clearly a lot of effort. "Sarah? Are you okay?"

She nodded, rubbing her wrists where the ropes had been tight. "Yeah. I'm okay. He…it didn't do anything, just pushed me around a little."

"You're lucky," Dean replied, already turning his attention to Sam, who looked to be a few seconds from collapsing. The daevas had cut him up pretty badly. "Sammy, sit down. Let me take a look."

"I'm fine," came Sam's automatic response.

Dean frowned; Sam was in that damned super-hunter mode again. Don't mind all the blood; it's only a major injury. I'll be fine. Hell, I can even stitch myself up.

Dean had witnessed that once and vowed never to allow it again. He was still the older brother. Sam could bitch about it all he wanted—and he actually had—but self-surgery was banned.

Fortunately, it didn't look like they were going to have to rehash that argument this time. Sam's legs were slowly folding on him, and he slid down the wall.

Dean rushed forward, guiding Sam down the rest of the way. He might be worse off than Dean feared. "Easy. Hey, I left the bag in the hall, let me get it."

He motioned for Sarah to help Sam, then stepped from the room to find the weapons bag. Their first aid kit was inside. He tried to ignore the whispered conversation behind him, but the building was too quiet for him to miss any of it.

"Are you okay, Sarah?"

A nervous chuckle. "I'm not the one bleeding, Sam."

"Thank God. Thought I was gonna lose— I mean— I was afraid you might get hurt. "

"I'm really okay, Sam. Rest for a minute. Save your strength."

A soft, amused huff. "You sound like Dean."

Dean came back with the bag, noticing that Sarah had curled up against Sam's left, helping him stay upright. She'd produced a white rag from somewhere, and was pressing it against the bleeding wound on Sam's right side. Dean had seen that look in her eyes before. Yeah, definitely still a spark there.

"Break it up, love birds," he muttered, earning a weak glare from Sam. Dean glanced at Sarah as she pulled back to let him look at the lacerations. "Where'd you get the rag?"

She held up an arm, revealing a ripped sleeve.

Dean grinned. "See, Sammy? I told you to marry this girl."

Dean took a moment to look his sibling over. The daevas had done a professional job, considering they were little more than demonic pit bulls. Sam's right side was a bloody mess, as was the shoulder above. Those appeared to be the worst injuries, but there were other just as ugly lacerations running down Sam's chest, back, left thigh, and forearms.

Biting his lip, Dean decided to address the bloodiest of them first and leave the rest for when they got out of the building and closer to the car. A trip to the ER wasn't out of the question, but he'd know more when he could look Sam over in better light. He drew a few sterile bandages and a wad of gauze from the kit and got to work.

Sam gasped in pain, clenching his fists as Dean pressed a bandage against his wounds and started wrapping them. "Yeah…you'd like that…wouldn't you? You…just want her…for her mini-quiches."

"Yeah, you got me, kiddo. Those were awesome," Dean agreed as he tightened the gauze. Sam was clearly in pain, but if they didn't stop the bleeding here, they'd never make it to the car. He just needed to keep him talking until they got the worst wounds covered. "All the food at her dad's was great. The champagne was high-class, too. Not the usual crap we eat. Oh, man, Sam…you got me thinking about that quiche. You need to use that charm of yours to get her to make us some."

He cast another glance at Sarah, needing something to carry on the "conversation."

Sarah seemed to realize what he was doing. "Uh, I think I have to admit something."

"W-What?" Sam coughed.

She smiled sheepishly. "Remember when I told you guys that I made those? I didn't really. Dad hired a caterer for the auction."

Dean scowled, winking at her over Sam's head. "Seriously? Dude, forget it. Dump her, man."

Sam huffed a laugh between clenched teeth. "I think…you just broke his heart, Sarah."

Tying off the last bandage, Dean tilted Sam's head back. Sam was panting and sweating, but he didn't show any signs of concussion or head injury. A nasty bruise was forming over his left eye, though, and shock was going to be a big problem soon if they didn't properly tend to his injuries soon. "All right, all done. Can you stand up, Sam?"

"Think so," Sam muttered, sounding tired. He favored his left leg, not able to put much weight on it. They'd have to check that; the daeva might have done worse than just claw it. Blood loss was going to be a problem, too, if they didn't get him patched up quickly. Dean helped him to his feet, Sarah steadying him on the other side. "Good. The sooner we can get out of here, the better. Let's get to the stairs." Dean scooped up the weapons bag and pulled it over his shoulder, keeping his shotgun in one hand and Sam in the other.

Reaching the stairs wasn't all that difficult. There weren't too many obstructions, and Sam was able to brace against the wall to keep his balance. His leg was really bothering him by the time they reached the door, though, which didn't bode well for the trip down.

"You gonna be able to do this?" Dean asked, warily eyeing the seven flights of stairs below them.

"I, um…I might need some help," Sam replied sheepishly.

Since his experience living and hunting alone, he hadn't asked for much help, usually toughing it out silently. Like their dad. His leg must be worse than I thought.

"Let me take this," Sarah interjected, pointing to the duffel. "You need both hands."

Dean turned, letting Sam cling to the wall for a moment, and handed off the heavy weapons bag to Sarah. "Hey, there's a carton of salt in there, can you get it out?"

Sarah blinked at him a moment, then cautiously searched the bag and produced the paper carton. "What do you need this for?"

"I don't, you do," Dean replied, pulling Sam's left arm over his shoulder. It was going to be a long trip down, and he didn't want to have to watch their backs the whole time. "I need you to scatter salt behind us as we go down. There's not enough to make lines at all the floors, but you can sprinkle it on the steps and keep anything from jumping us from behind."

Sarah glanced down the stairs. "What about in front of us?"

Dean motioned at his shotgun with his head. "I got that covered."

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The trip down had to be exhausting for Dean, but was even more so for Sam. The slashes down his leg had crossed the knee, and every move pulled at the torn skin and the ligaments. They stopped on the fourth floor landing to bandage the wound, but that wouldn't help much while they were still moving.

"Feeling okay?"

Sam sighed, leaning back against the wall while Dean worked. "All right, I guess. My head hurts." At Dean's sharp look, Sam smiled gamely. "Getting rammed face-first into a brick wall will do that to you."

"We should really get you to a hospital," Dean said, winding the gauze around Sam's leg.

Sam frowned. "We're in between insurance cards, Dean, and sitting in an ER all night is practically inviting Meg to take a shot at us. She's still out there."

"Sam—"

"Dean. We'll be safer in a motel room we can lock down. Patch me up, then we can get Sarah out of here. You can sew me up just as well as an ER doctor. I've had worse than this."

Dean grimaced at that. "It really scares me when you say stuff like that."

"I know." Sam smirked. "Putting a needle in your hand scares the shit out of me, too, but we have bigger things to worry about right now."

"Bitch," Dean groused, punctuating the remark by pulling the gauze extra-tight around Sam's knee, drawing a gasp out of him.

"Jerk," he grated out, glowering. He let his gaze wander a little as Dean rechecked the other cuts. Sarah was a few feet above, sprinkling salt nervously on the steps behind them. She was holding the carton gingerly, like she expected it to bite her. Sam smiled a little, before remembering what he'd promised himself on the ride there.

Once they were safe, he was going to say goodbye to her, permanently, whether she liked it or not. He didn't have a choice if he wanted to keep her out of harm's way.

Sam shook the thought away. They were still in danger so long as they were there, and Meg's apparent absence disturbed him. Why go to all the trouble of getting them here and then run off when her plan—whatever it was—started to unravel?

Sam glanced down at the bloody mess of his clothes. On the other hand…

"You ready to keep going?" Dean asked, rising from his spot on the floor.

Sighing silently, Sam nodded, allowing Dean to help him up. They resumed the slow trek down the stairs, Sarah occasionally pausing to scatter salt. Every halting step sent a jolt of pain up Sam's leg and side. The constant pounding in his head was distracting, and he had to focus even on simply walking. The rate at which their surroundings were spinning didn't help, either.

It took no more than ten minutes to reach the ground floor and the end of one segment of their painful trip, but it felt like an eternity. Sam's mauled body was throbbing.

Dean deposited him against a wall when they reached the bottom and nudged the exit door open, shotgun ready. Nothing was waiting for them. Double-checking the foyer for threats, Dean did a quick scout, then returned to the stairwell. He nodded to Sarah, telling her to pack up the salt. They were going straight to the car from there.

Quietly, he leaned over and whispered into Sam's ear, too softly for Sarah to overhear. "I don't like this. Meg wouldn't let us out of here this easy."

Sam glanced at Sarah, who was zipping up the heavy duffel. "You think she's waiting for us outside? Or maybe…the daevas?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. But I say we get to the car ASAP and beat a path back to the motel before we have to find out. We can come back and scour the place once Sarah's safe."

Nodding, Sam draped himself over his brother's shoulder again to cover the last half-dozen steps. He looked over his shoulder as they headed out the door. "Sarah, stay as close as you can. We're going to book it when we reach the street. Okay?"

She grinned ruefully, casting a skittish glance back up the stairs. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Nothing challenged them in the foyer, nor on the sidewalk in front of the warehouse. Everything was going fine, which only ramped up the feeling of unease Sam shared with his brother. He almost preferred to fight his way out of something like this rather than have a plan work.

His dad used to say that if a plan seemed to be working perfectly, it was probably a trap. As they neared the car, Sam couldn't help but hear those words louder in his head. Something was definitely wrong.

They moved as quickly as they could, hugging the buildings as they made their way back to the Impala. With Sam hobbling, they couldn't move as fast as they had come in earlier, but they reached the car without incident. Dean checked his baby over, making sure nothing was out of place. Getting jumped in the vehicle wouldn't be any better than on the street.

When he was satisfied they were in the clear, he moved to help Sam into the back, Sarah joining him so she could keep pressure on his shoulder and side wounds. They were moving and heading back to the motel moments later.

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"Wait here, I'll get you cleaned up," Dean said, easing Sam down against the headboard. The ride in the Impala had allowed him to rest, but had also let his wounded muscles and limbs stiffen up. Sam was in more pain now than he had been leaving the warehouse.

Sarah climbed up beside him, carefully unwrapping the hasty field dressings and checking for more bleeding. She had most of the worst wounds uncovered by the time Dean returned with his supplies.

He settled down on the edge of the bed, inspecting the lacerations. "Bleeding's almost stopped. Looks nasty, though. Sammy…I still think—"

"No hospitals," Sam breathed out. "Dean, come on. You know I'm right."

Dean glowered at Sam. He was still sporting that super-hunter persona. The nearly expressionless mask was unnerving. Shaking his head, Dean went to work cleaning the slashes with soap and holy water. Sarah sat back and watched him work, worry and a certain macabre fascination coloring her face.

The damage was extensive, but most of the injured flesh was sliced in almost straight lines. Stitching them was a relatively easy, if incredibly messy task. Damn it. Dean had thought he'd snagged some lidocaine during Bobby's recent hospital stay, but he couldn't find any in the kit. Sam was going to have to make due without any painkillers for the time being.

Dean forced himself to ignore the hisses of pain and Sam's shaking hands that fisted the comforter beneath him during the worst of the ordeal. He especially avoided his brother's eyes, which had dulled and stayed fixed on some point across the room the entire time. It was as if Sam had checked out.

Forty-five minutes later, meatball surgery was over. Seeing that Sam was still not acknowledging anything, Dean shook him a little. "Still with me?"

Sam blinked, the stern mask cracking a little when he focused on Dean again. "Glad you're not my tailor."

"Smart ass." Dean swatted him and pulled the sheets up over Sam, not even bothering to take off his brother's shoes or empty his pockets.

With the adrenaline out of Sam's system, enduring all the stitching had left him visibly exhausted. His eyes started to drift shut, but he shook his head and strained to sit up straighter against the headboard.

Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, what are you doing?"

"We need to get out of town, Dean. We don't know if Meg followed us."

"It can wait until morning. I'll lock down the room. You get some sleep."

"Too dangerous. Dean, listen—"

"I am listening, Sam. You're sidelined. Move around too much and you'll start bleeding again. If that happens, then the only place we're going is to the ER. We'll hole up here for the night, then bug out in the morning."

Sam glared at him, but Dean could see his resolve weakening. He was right and Sam knew it. Finally, his brother relented and sank back into the pillow. Dean decided he'd give Sam a few minutes to relax, then push him down and get him to go to sleep. From the way the kid's eyelids were rebelling against him, it wouldn't take much.

Dean piled the blood-soaked towels in the bathroom and packed up the first aid kit. Sarah was alternating between watching them and staring at the walls, fatigue apparent on her face.

"You all right?" Dean inquired. In his concern for Sam, he'd almost forgotten to check Sarah over for injuries.

She blinked, then smiled weakly at him and shrugged. "Oh, just great. I've been kidnapped by a possessed construction worker, dragged across the country, tied up, used as bait, and then I almost watched Sam bleed to death."

Dean sat beside her on the bed, smirking faintly. "Yeah, he's always playing the sympathy card."

"Jackass," Sam mumbled, eyes fluttering open.

"Charmer, too." Dean nodded toward the grumbling younger man. "I can see the attraction."

Sarah chuckled at that, breaking into a grin. "I don't understand how you two haven't killed each other yet."

"Are you kidding?" Dean crowed. "He worships me. He even admitted that once."

"Don't you have anything to do?" Sam asked, mild annoyance showing.

"Actually, yeah, I do," Dean replied smoothly, rising and heading into the bathroom. He filled a cup with water and grabbed some painkillers from the kit.

Sam was eyeing him suspiciously when he returned. "I need to stay awake, if anything—"

Dean held up a hand. "Non-drowsy, Control Freak. Take 'em, you'll feel better."

Sam begrudgingly took the proffered pills, downing them with the water.

Dean pushed him down onto the pillow and ordered him to relax. His stubborn kid brother would be sorely pissed when he woke up the next morning, but slipping him the sedative-based painkillers was the only way to get him to rest.

A few minutes passed, and Sam was out for the count. Just like the doctor ordered. After making sure Sam was soundly asleep, Dean stepped over to the weapons bag on the other bed. He withdrew a salt-loaded shotgun and Sam's handgun. He propped the pump-action beside the bed, within Sam's reach, and offered the smaller weapon to Sarah. She was unusually quiet, but she had been through a lot, and he needed her help. "You know how to use one of these?"

Sarah looked surprised but nodded. "Yeah."

It was Dean's turn to be surprised. She didn't seem the type at all. "Really?"

"After I met you guys and saw what kind of freaky stuff was out there, I figured it might be a useful skill."

"Fair enough. Listen, he needs to sleep, but make sure he gets fluids if he wakes up before I come back."

"Where are you going?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Back to that warehouse. Something's up. No way Meg lured us there just to let us go. She's got to be up to something. I need to find out what before she comes back for Round Two," Dean replied, laying salt lines at the door and the windows, locking down the room.

"What about Sam?"

Dean paused, glancing back at his drugged brother. "I need you to keep an eye on him for a while. He'll be pissed when he finds out, but he's beat to hell right now. He can't help on this one."

Finished with the salt, Dean laid the carton on his bed, gathered the weapons he needed, and cast a final look at Sam and Sarah.

"Look, trust me, I'll be okay. He needs to rest. Don't answer the door or go out. You've got Sam's cell and my number. Call if anything happens. Anything at all. Okay?"

"Okay. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

Dean nodded to her, then headed for the car. He silently hoped he was right, and he wouldn't need Sam on this one. He also hoped Sam didn't wake up any time soon, or he would never hear the end of it.

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The warehouse still looked deserted as Dean approached. He'd parked on the opposite end of the street this time, not willing to enter from the same direction in case they'd been spotted leaving. As before, nothing challenged him on the way in.

Something was definitely wrong here.

Slipping inside, Dean silently searched the small foyer. Nothing had changed since they'd left over an hour before. Pausing at the exit onto the street, Dean took a paint can out and quickly sprayed a devil's trap on the floor just inside the door.

We shoulda done this before, he chided himself. They'd been too concerned with rushing in and catching the demon by surprise, and hadn't been as careful as they should have been. Meg could have slipped out while they were on the stairs or later. She might know another way down. She'd used the building before and stayed longer than the Winchesters had. Hell, she could have even jumped out a window. She would have survived it.

Once the trap was complete, Dean headed for the stairwell. With salt liberally scattered on all the levels, it would be a fairly safe route up. He dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time most of the way. By the seventh floor, he was winded, but adrenaline made up for the lost energy.

The seventh floor was quiet, not that he was expecting much by way of activity. The large open area where Sam said he'd found Meg was Dean's first stop. The place didn't hold the most pleasant of memories, what with being beat up by daevas there once upon a time. This time, however, it was empty. No sign of Meg, the daevas…the only clue that something had changed at all in the last two years were the spent flares littering the room. And a fair amount of Sam's blood on the wooden floor.

Dean pushed the image of his mauled brother out of his mind, forcing down the urge to dial the phone and checking on him. Growing frustration gnawed at his gut. Meg wouldn't just leave because the daevas turned on her. Where'd she go?

The hallway where he'd found Sam earlier was clear, the altar still lying in pieces. Dean backtracked and headed for the corridor where they'd rescued Sarah. All four of the rooms were empty, leaving only the one where Sarah had been tied up.

There wasn't much there, just more leftover junk, trash, old freight pallets in the corners, and the two shattered windows. Pursing his lips in thought, Dean stepped over to inspect them. That side of the building overlooked the shorter building next door and was lit eerily by the flickering red neon sign they'd ran under earlier.

Walking—or flying, hovering, whatever the daevas did—out these windows was a two-story drop to the neighboring roof. Dean shined his flashlight down, though he knew the invisible creatures left little behind.

The flashlight stopped on something, Dean's brain too worried about what was going on to catch it immediately. He stared at where the light stopped for a few long seconds before it registered. A body.

The body of a construction worker.

It was mauled, clothes soaked through with blood. The bloody mess looked like… It looks a lot like what the daevas tried to do to Sam. The construction worker was practically torn apart.

History had repeated itself. The daevas had attacked their keeper when Dean busted the altar. Mauled and tossed him out the window.

The window right in front of where Sarah Blake had been. The same Sarah who'd said the possessed man hadn't come back.

What had started as a mere bad vibe was growing exponentially into a fire alarm going off in his head. Dean turned away from the window, sweeping the light over the room. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, exactly.

Something glinted against the dull, dust-covered floor. Dean stepped over and took a closer look. It was a tiny silver pentagram resting near the beam where Sarah had been tied up. Dean realized he had seen it before, somewhere.

He stared at it for a moment before the pieces fell into place. He had seen it before. It was the centerpiece of one of the anti-possession charms Bobby had given them before he and Sam got their permanent tattoos. The same kind of charm that Sam had given to Sarah not long after his possession.

Holy shit.

TBC