A/N: This thing is killing me... this chapter was so hard to write! I'm really hoping it'll start to flow soon, cause right now I'm having a lot of trouble with this. Still, I hope you enjoy this chapter - let me know what you think!
First stop, Michigan.
He picked up young Ava outside her school. It would be a few hours before anyone noticed she was missing. Then he was off to see Andy and Ansem. Those kids were weird. Especially Ansem. That guy even creeped his parents out, anyone could see. Still, it wouldn't do to leave them behind. After that he headed over to Lily's, then off he went to pick up young Jake and Scott and that other kid... what was his name? Oh. Yeah. Max. Cheerful kid, that one.
Eight of them in total, Sam included. Eight psychic kids. Eight humans with demon blood. Eight potential soldiers.
Of course, there had been more, but a lot can happen in fourteen years. Car accidents. Teenage suicides. Drowning. All sorts of crap meant that Azazel only had eight psychic kids left now. He'd have to be careful about how he did this.
He was rooting for Sam, that went without saying, but that didn't mean he couldn't give the other kids a fighting chance – just enough to make the fight interesting, just enough to spark Sam's blood-lust so that he wanted to be Azazel's general. Forcing him into it wasn't enough. Sam had to want it.
All of the kids were unconscious right now, shut off in different rooms. This would take a certain amount of finesse, finding the right combination of force and coercion to make the kids fight each other. Azazel gave a predatory grin as he set off towards Sam's room. Might as well start with a bang.
He unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist and strode into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. "Hey there, Sammy." The boy glared up at him from the floor, where he was sitting with his back against the wall. Azazel wondered how long Sam had looked before he realised there was no way out of this fix. He wouldn't be making the same mistakes he'd made last time.
"Aw, don't be like that, Sammy-boy. I brought you a little treat." His mouth curved into a smirk and Azazel watched the fear flicker briefly in Sam's eyes before they hardened again, fierce and determined.
"Go to hell."
"Y'know, Sammy, you're very violent these days," said Azazel with mock-concern. "And I've already been to Hell, remember? I'll be heading back soon enough, if ya wanna join me."
Sam's eyes widened minutely. He was getting better at that poker face, Azazel noted, but he was still fairly easy to read. He wore his heart on his sleeve. That might be a problem later on when Sam was his general, but for now it was just another advantage that Azazel held.
"What are you talking about?" asked Sam, a minute quiver in his voice.
Azazel chuckled. "I think it's time you learned the whole story, Sammy-boy." He leaned in close to the boy, crouched down at his eye level. "About what happened that night."
Sam swallowed visibly. Fear. Good. Fear was good. If Sammy was scared, he could manipulate him much more easily. Azazel grinned to himself. Taking the kids at this age had definitely been the right choice. They were so much more impressionable this way.
"What night?" asked Sam. Azazel shrugged – Sam probably already knew what he was talking about – and pressed a hand to Sam's forehead, focusing on projecting himself into Sam's mind. There was a brief whirl of black smoke and then both he and Sam were standing on a dark street somewhere in Lawrence, Kansas.
Sam landed roughly beside Azazel, a hand leaping to his head. It would twinge a bit, no doubt, but they were already inside Sam's mind so it couldn't be too bad. "Recognise this place, Sammy?" He looked down at Sam, who was glancing around in confusion. "Home sweet home," Azazel announced.
The boy's eyes widened in realisation. "This is the night you..." he cut himself off, jaw clenched and then spoke again through gritted teeth. "You son of a bitch."
"Manners, Sammy," chided Azazel lightly. "Shall we go on in?" And then they were inside, standing in front of Sammy-boy's crib as Azazel's past self leaned over the baby.
"What the hell?" breathed Sam. "What's going on?"
Mary slid up the wall, was pinned to the ceiling as past-Azazel cut his arm and let the blood drip into baby Sam's mouth.
"Demon blood," said Sam, and there was resignation in his tone as well as the surprise and anger he had expected. Azazel grinned at him. "All this time, I've had demon blood in me?"
"You sure have," replied Azazel brightly. "What, you think you could have that kinda power without a little help?"
"I thought..." Sam trailed off, obviously remembering who he was talking to, but Azazel knew how he had been going to end that sentence.
"What, you thought the blood I gave you last time would do it?" He shook his head. "Uh uh, Sammy. This kind of thing takes a long time to build. That blood, right there?" He nodded his head at the blood that was dripping into the baby's mouth. "It's flowing through your veins, right now. There's no stopping it, no way to get rid of it. It's my little way of leaving a mark."
Sam had gone white and still, eyes wide. Knowing you had drank demon blood and discovering it had been in you since you were a baby were two very different situations, Azazel imagined. Not that it bothered him – the more freaked Sam was, the better.
"Not that you're the only one, of course," Azazel continued, as though he was oblivious to Sam's distress. "There are others who I paid a little visit to. Great kids, really." Past-Azazel finished what he was doing just as John came bursting into the room, shouting. He disappeared.
"Well, we know how this story ends," said Azazel. "Time to go, Sammy-boy." Everything went dark and then they were back in Sam's room, surrounded by white.
Sam still hadn't said a word, but he was glaring at Azazel – and boy, if looks could kill...
Good thing they couldn't. "So Sammy," Azazel said, enjoying himself now. "I've got big plans for you. But it's gonna take a lot of power, so we're gonna have to top you up."
He watched as Sam's eyes widened in realisation and then whipped a knife out, holding it over his arm and slicing the flesh in one quick motion.
Sam scooted up against the wall, trying to get away but they both knew there was no where to run. Azazel pinned him to the wall with his powers and dripped a tiny amount of blood into the boy's mouth. Still held fast, Sam watched with confusion. He had been expecting more blood, Azazel knew, but this was just enough to send him into a relapse.
"See ya later, Sammy," Azazel said, releasing Sam and striding towards the door. He stepped out, locked the door behind him and then allowed himself to laugh. By the end of today, Sammy would be begging for blood.
It had been hours, and there had been no sign of anyone.
"God dammit," snarled Dean, tugging at the chains again. His wrist was sore from all the tugging he'd been doing but Sam was in danger and they were just freaking sitting here.
"Dean," said John, a warning in his voice, but he sounded just as tense as Dean.
"There's gotta be something we can do, Dad!" Dean burst out, unable to stop himself even though he knew they were stuck here. "Sam could be hurt!" He could be dead. Dean didn't voice that thought. If he didn't voice it, it wouldn't come true. The demon wouldn't kill Sam, would he? It needed him.
"He'll be fine, Dean," John said, his voice steady. "You need to stay calm. We need you focused for when one of those sons of bitches comes in here."
And that made sense. It did. Except... "If one of those sons of bitches comes in here," muttered Dean. John shot him a look but said nothing.
It was another half hour or so (with no way of telling, Dean was forced to guess) before anyone entered. By that point, Dean was stiff from staying in the same position, muscles aching and wrist throbbing from the constant attempts to escape.
Then, finally, the door swung open and a young woman with red hair and wearing a skirt suit stepped into the room. "Howdy, Winchesters," she greeted.
Dean glanced at John. The older man shook his head ever so slightly and Dean nodded, barely jerking his head. Not yet.
"Who are you?" John demanded.
The woman frowned, let her eyes shutter to black to confirm what they already knew – she was a demon. "What, you don't remember me? I'm hurt."
Dean frowned, trying to work out what the hell she was on about as the demon continued, "I mean, I got myself a new meatsuit, but still... how many demons d'you guys meet?"
And then it clicked.
"Meg," said Dean, trying and failing to keep the venom from his tone. She was the daughter of 'Azazel', who had saved Sam but not to help them. Because the demon needed him.
"There we go," said Meg, and the face of the woman she wore split into a smile. She had white, pearly teeth and probably would have been hot if there wasn't a demon inside her.
"Why are you here?" asked Dean before John had even opened his mouth.
Meg's smile widened and she stepped towards them, ducking down to their eye level so that the only thing separating them was a few bars. Dean tensed, ready should an opportunity present itself. "I'm here to talk," she said. "We need some information."
"What kind of information?" said John warily. Dean glanced at him, not surprised by the anger he saw in his father's eyes.
"About the Colt," Meg said briskly. "We know you were looking for it. You know where it is, and we want it."
Dean stared at her, confused. The Colt? It hadn't even occurred to him that they'd want that.
John sighed. "We don't have it."
"But you know where it is," Meg countered easily. "You were on your way to pick it up, and we'd like to go get it."
"We?" interrupted Dean. "How many of you are there?"
"Ah, well, that would be telling," said Meg. "Now, you wanna let me know where the Colt is? This leverage thing works both ways, y'know, and we do have little Sammy."
"Don't you touch him, you bitch!" snarled Dean, pulling against the handcuffs. John shot him a look and Dean knew he should keep calm but man, he needed to see Sam. He needed proof that he was still... no. Not going down that road.
John glared at Meg, obviously furious and Dean knew that only one thing got him that mad – threatening his sons. Someone was going to die. On second thoughts, a lot of someones were going to die. As soon as they busted out of here.
"How do we know Sam's still alive?" John asked, finally. It was taking him obvious effort to control his voice.
"Well, you'll just have to take our word for it," Meg returned breezily. "Now, the Colt?"
"We don't know," said John, face stony. Dean nodded his agreement, glaring at Meg and trying hard not to think what they could be doing to Sam right now.
"Don't lie to me, John," Meg said, with a false lightness to her tone. "Sammy isn't the only one of your sons we have." She reached out and caressed Dean's cheek lightly. Dean glared at her and, throwing caution to the wind, lunged with his free hand, grabbing at anything he could to try and fight her. In the end, his restricted movement only allowed him to grab a fistful of red hair and Meg just laughed, patting his cheek.
But Dean had hit the jackpot. His fingers brushed against something cool and metal and, slowly, he pulled a hairpin free of Meg's hair. Then he pulled his hand away and slumped against the wall, glaring and pretending he'd been defeated.
"I'll give you some time to think about it, Johnny." Meg straightened and headed for the door. "I think I'll pay little Sammy a visit in the meantime."
Dean's stomach lurched as Meg left the room, shutting the door behind her. They had to move fast, if she was going after Sam. That bitch. Dean was gonna tear her apart with his bare hands if she went anywhere near Sam.
"What the hell was that, Dean?" John demanded. Dean didn't need to ask to know what John was referring to. The whole hair grabbing thing.
"I know, I know, it was stupid," Dean admitted. "But look." He held up the hairpin, let it glint in the dim light. A slow smile spread across John's face and Dean got to work on the handcuffs.
They'd be out of here in no time.
