The heavy boot adjusted, moving its aim up the numerous inches to target Sam's spine at the nape of the neck. The tenfold savage power of hell itself thumped within that blow, engorged with the intention of death. The boot crashed towards Sam. Above him the rider contented with the satisfaction of victory. At the last possible moment, Sam rolled. Dean's boot smashed into the pavement and the worn concrete cracked like shattering glass from the force of impact. The boot and foot sunk in the ground as far as the ankle.
While the demon freed his sunken foot, Sam shifted his weight, pushing himself upright. He touched his aching back, finding a small trace of wet blood upon his fingertips. In one smooth motion he scooped up his Palo Santo stake. He gripped the holy wood, using it as a buffer between he and the demon possessed Dean.
With a quiet rage, the demon charged in crisp, otherworldly movements, sharp like his bones were snapping into place. His body moved as graceful and deadly as a cobra. When the demon passed Sam, he punched a balled fist into Sam's jaw. Sam's neck snapped back, but his hands whished the Palo Santo, the jagged point contacting, ripping through Dean's cotton t-shirt and a thin layer of skin on his abdomen. Dean hissed.
"Hurts doesn't it! Whatever you are, you can't have either of us!" Sam demanded. He wielded the stake with skill and precision as if the piece of wood was a personal Excalibur. The fury inside Sam darkened. He actually enjoyed the discovery he could harm the demon. His earlier punches may not have been effective, but this blessed wood opened the flesh easily. Within a single eye blink, he felt a death wind realization that shocked him to his core. The satisfaction he felt tempered, realizing he hurt Dean too.
This brief internal conflict was enough to distract Sam from his defenses. He took two solid punches to the head from Dean, and his nose was bleeding. He was stunned, yet furious. No careful evasions, no too-rapid changes of subject, just a sharp, pure expression of feelings. He jabbed the point forward, nicking just above Dean's shoulder blade.
Again, the demon-filled Dean moved back when the wood made contact. This time, however, Sam noticed an oddity. Before his eyes, the cut sealed, repairing itself. A quick glance to Dean's midsection found only bloodstains; the injury gone as if it never occurred. Sam knew demons could use the host husk in the most deplorable and decaying conditions, but never had he known one to be capable of healing the damage inflicted upon the host. "WHAT ARE YOU?" He screamed.
"I am the Scarlet- the madness of all mankind. All will tremble before me for my release signals the ends of days. Submit now and it will be far less painless."
"Sorry. Don't think so. If you were all so powerful you wouldn't need my brother!" Sam open his mouth with another retort perched on his lips, but whatever he was going to say was lost as demon socked him back with a single arm movement. He staggered and reeled backwards, managing to keep his footing. He steadied himself and came back at the demon.
"Fine, if that's how you want it!" Sam yelled, letting the dark edges he kept a bay fill him and fuel him. To an outsider, it would appear he lacked self-control. The old adage of not letting appearances fool you was never more appropriate. Sam's moves were more precise and more forceful. "Sorry Dean." He apologized now for whatever healing time it would take Dean to get back to par. So, if this was to be the end for the Winchesters, then they were going to have it out properly for once. Sam looked deadly. He twirled the wooden stake inside his fingers. They stood five feet apart, eyeing each other.
The first signs of trepidation painted on the newly demonic face. "None have dominion over me."
The rider threw a right hook; Sam dodged it and slashed the wood javelin twice. Two neat slices dripped across the demon's chest. More violence delivered to Dean's midsection, then a straight left swipe nearly connected to Dean's throat.
Then, the demon came in low and for a split second he left his head exposed. Sam struck like a rattler. His right hand shot forward with a stab almost too quick to be seen, landing flush on his brother's cheek. A gouge appeared which began to seal in seconds. Dean, who had recovered, now quite enraged, charged him, but Sam's tackled into him, driving them both downward. Sam jutted the stake back with a hook to the right, driving the weapon stake into the inner stomach tissue.
The possessed man growled, but Sam pushed harder. He drew all of his energy to bring this battle to finality. Suddenly, the demon felt a presence deep within the body he possessed. For a brief second, Dean managed to grab control. The moment lasted no longer than two heart beats. Yet, the brevity of the control gave Sam a span of opportunity. The stake crept in further, finally breaking through the back.
Sam advanced, still looking very angry. He pushed the demon to the pavement, using his body's momentum to trap Dean to the ground. He shoved his knees in his brother's abs, utilizing the leverage to free the weapon and take another blow. "You're going to pay for what you did today." He jerked the stake out cleanly and quickly, following with another stab, which aimed lower than the previous thrust. The Palo Santo pushed into the soft flesh of Dean's right side. The possessed flesh made a hollow, suctioning sound as it bore into the tender tissue.
The rider's head banged. He squirmed about, trying to get loose. For the first time in this battle, there was a looming sense of danger churning inside the rider. Sam met his attack, blow for blow. There was only so much damage he could heal at one time. He lashed out with his demonic strength and connected with something soft. The weight holding him down shifted, enabling him to wriggle free. He lurched to his feet. The demon grew tired of uncertainty of this battle. Both Winchesters had shown powers of great resistance and the delay would be a risk to his plans. He thought a bit remorsefully. It was a pity that it had to end so soon, but that was fine by him. He'd had his fun. Bigger acts of carnage awaited him. Swiftly, he pulled the Palo Santo from his torso.
When Sam moved to reclaim his weapon, Dean plunged the point towards him. Time began to slow down. He could see the wood steak, inching its way towards him, getting closer and closer. He watched, horrified. The point made contact with his delicate skin. Without hesitation it plowed inside his stomach and tore into his insides. He could see it happening and knew it was pushing its way past the layers of skin and tissue, until it slowed down and stopped for good, no doubt piercing all the way through him. With a start, he realized his face felt dotted with something warm.
Sam stood frozen for a moment in time, he couldn't measure how long. He stood there facing his brother, who still held the tip of the weapon impaling him. Rudely, the stake was withdrawn as his flesh struggled to grasp on it, wanting something to fill the damaged void.
The demon withdrew from the battle. The taste of victory rumbled in his storm tossed eyes. "Goodnight, little toy soldier." The demon flayed the wood, spinning it round and round. The effect of the weapon was almost euphoric.
Sam grabbed his stomach; his index finger plunged inside the hole where it had gone in his belly and out his lower left side. It was a clean puncture all the way through. He saw the blood on his fingers and the blood spreading on his shirt. He looked at the demon for a moment, and then in slow motion he moved towards him. His head jerked sharply and Sam's eyes rolled back in his head. His shoulders slumped and his head fell back, like a rag doll. One leg went woozy and bent at the knee, then the other leg collapsed.
He gazed up at Dean, like his brother was from another planet. The darkest images of Sam's mind never imagined this moment. He didn't even realize he had crashed onto the concrete. Almost immediately blood began to seep out, pooling on the surrounding gray of the concrete. His eyes stared blankly up at the sky, unseeing. There was the smell of gun powder on his skin, a copper tang on his lips, and so much blood covering his torso. The red liquid flowed into his mouth, and he had to force himself to swallow, lest he choke on his own blood.
His lips and eyes felt burned. The rest of him morphed to a limp bundle of nerves and flesh. He could feel a sluggishness working its way through his system. He shivered involuntarily as tears of pain coursed down his face. Unable to move and already paralyzed by the first pangs of shock, he could do nothing but watch the demon take his brother away. He expected the world to turn black, but it didn't. A veil of grey shielded his eyes like film covering a frog pond. It muted the colors to a blur. By now Sam was unconscious, and the only sign that he was even alive was his gurgling attempt to breathe. He slumped, and then it all went black.