Summary: A teenchester story, AU, Dean 16, Sam 12. Another town, another school, all normal for the Winchesters, until the night everything changes, the night Sam got taken. Then all hell breaks loose.

Author's note: Here is chapter 4, that one is longer than the others again. I almost decided to cut it into two parts then changed my mind. I hope you won't mind his length. This is entirely Sam's POV. So much Hurt Sam in this one. I hope it wasn't too much angst. Let me know what you thought of it.

Warnings: Here is the chapter with almost all of the torture, it's nothing too graphic but it is there. Also it contains some spoilers all the way to season 8, some important stuff and also just some little details, just so you know. A very important warning; it contains the death of someone, NO ONE from the show but still, it could be upsetting for some, so read with caution.

What makes us human

"There is a freedom in death that only death can give"

Previously on What makes us human (from chapter 2):

Sam stood up as soon as he entered the room, a room that will be his cage for quite some time. Preparing himself for anything, trying to look pissed and not scared. Alert. Ready. A hunter. Then the monster spoke and Sam realized that it felt familiar, like a long forgotten dream. A nightmare. He was suddenly sure that he had already encountered this creature before.

"My name is Azazel. This will be your home from now on. I will be your master, and you are mine."

Now

Sam's POV

Sam had not had time to think about all this ownership crap that Azazel was talking about when two men- no, not men- two somethings, came in the room. Adrenaline shot through his veins, he knew he wasn't going to go down without a fight. No way in hell! The first man that approached was tall- really tall, with solid muscles, intimidating bulk. That was fine, because Dean had taught him how to fight opponents twice his size, and he hadn't the disadvantage of being taken by surprise during the night this time. When monster number one came at him and reached out to him menacingly, Sam was ready. He twisted the thing's arm, twisted it hard, and the crack that was heard right after was very satisfying. It was time to show them that they hadn't messed with just any kid. They had messed with a Winchester. Monster number one was pissed, pissed and in pain. Good. Sam didn't give him time to recover. He punched him in the ribs, one, two, three, four times. He didn't stop.

"If you manage to hit the first time it's great, but it doesn't mean it's over. You don't stop until they're unconscious on the floor, ya hear me? You don't ever give those fuckers time to hurt you."

Dean

Sam had never listened to Dean's advice about girls, because it was Dean, but when it came to fighting, Sam had paid close attention. He tried to shut down his brain and let his body take control, but he couldn't help noticing that the other man or creature wasn't attacking him also. Like he was waiting. The yellow eyed creature stood by the door, watching him intensely, judging him. So Sam knew that this was a test. This Azazel monster was testing him.

Apparently it was time for monster number two to attack. That one seemed less stupid. When Sam tried to knee him in the groin, the monster yanked the chain he was attached to, the traitor, making him loose his balance. Once he was on the ground things got more complicated. Monster number two sure knew how to punch. Sam tried his best to give back as much as he received, but it was hard, especially since they were two against him now. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd taken a beating, but that didn't make it hurt less. One good thing at least? They weren't hitting his head, so they probably weren't trying to kill him. But monster number one got his revenge when he broke a few of Sam's ribs and his arm. Sam couldn't help the little groan of pain that escaped him.

"That's enough for now."

Yellow eyed monster. Azazel, obviously the head of this little operation. He stepped inside the room and his two puppets took a step back. Sam found he had a little trouble breathing, broken ribs having a tendency to make things much more difficult. Still, he knew he had to get up. He had to. Whatever this Azazel wanted, whatever his plans were, Sam was going to take it, and Sam was getting out of here alive. Sam was going to face him.

"I knew you were perfect. Since that first night, I knew it was gonna be you."

"What do you want?"

Azazel was smiling now, his eyes sparkling this awful yellow color. Sam wanted to gouge those eyes out. Yes, getting kidnapped in the middle of the night, chained to a wall, then beaten up had a way of making him a little angry.

"What I want? I already have what I want."

With that they all left the room, and Sam was left alone. He sat against the wall, trying to catch his breath, trying to calm his heart. Calmness and control were everything in a situation like this. He had to stay calm, keep it together. He could do that. He could. He didn't exactly have a choice there. This little welcome party had given Sam a lot of information, such as the fact that they wanted him alive, which was excellent news for him. The fact that Azazel had had this planned, apparently for some time, gave Sam confidence that his first feeling was right: they had met in the past. He just didn't know when or why or what had actually happened.

It was going to be okay, though. Dean and his dad were searching for him. It was all going to be okay. Sam was getting out of here. There was one thing his family excelled at, and it was hunting down monsters. Good thing Sam was surrounded by them.

Dean and his dad were coming. Sam was absolutely sure they were.

No one bothered Sam for some time, probably some days judging the rate his ribs were recovering. They slipped him some food and water through a trap in the door. Sam considered not taking it at first, but he needed the strength. Whatever they had in store for him, it couldn't be good, and an empty stomach wasn't going to be helpful. The first hours Sam tried to stay awake, he didn't want to be taken by surprise. Except he was tired, and hurt, and after struggling as much as he could, sleep finally won.

They decided to show up after what felt like a few days. The door opened and suddenly Sam was surrounded by a punch of people with black eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. So, demons. A lot of demons. Was the yellow-eyed thing a demon, too?

Fighting back wasn't of any use this time. They were just too many. Sam heard the sound of his chain being removed, and found he was being dragged away from the room. Maybe his cage wasn't on his list of favorite places, but still, he had grown familiar with it. Outside? Sam didn't know what was outside. And whatever it was, he knew it wasn't going to be good. So he fought hard, even if it was useless. He fought harder than he ever had in his entire life. They took him somewhere downstairs.

Why, why did the ugly stuff always have to be downstairs?

He was being tied down to a table. Arms and feet trapped. He was so screwed.

"How do you like the place so far?"

Azazel. He was back, and all the demons left the room.

Sam figured that he was going to be here for the fun stuff. But he wasn't going to play his game.

"Stubborn huh? I like that. It's not funny if you give in to me already."

Azazel had a pair of scissors in his hand and was cutting Sam's t-shirt. The fabric was torn up in a few seconds. Sam lied there, shirtless with some demon- or rather something that was probably a demon- smiling down at him.

"What do you want?"

He was scared, screw the silent treatment. He was twelve, and starting to be aware of his body, and he was shy about nudity, Dean had made enough fun about it. And maybe he was being stupid, but really there was something uncomfortable about being half naked, tied to a table, on display in front of a demon.

"I just want some fun boy, don't worry. When I'm finished with you, you will be as good as new".

"What…"

Sam didn't have time to ask him what the hell he meant by that, because Azazel was close to him and put a hand on his forehead.

Hell. This was hell. It had to be. Someone was trying to tear open his brain. It felt like a hundred knives were piercing through his skull. The pain was excruciating, nothing like he had ever experienced before. What the hell was this demon doing?

Sam was yelling, and crying, begging him to please just stop, his pride long gone. Azazel, well, Azazel looked frustrated. He took his hands off Sam.

"It's not working"

Really, it wasn't working? Because it sure as hell seemed to be working to Sam. That is, unless inflecting pain wasn't the primary purpose of that touching forehead crap.

"I can't get inside your mind."

He couldn't what?

"You're immune to that, too."

Too?

What else was he immune to? Sam was thinking really hard now, trying to remember. That night. The night he got taken, he had been surprised when the demon had been able to effortlessly slam Dean into a wall but then had struggled to get Sam. It made sense now. Sam was somehow immune to the demon's powers. He didn't know if he should be glad or cry. Why was he immune to it? What the hell was wrong with him?

Azazel looked unpleased about the immunity thing. Yet at the same time he seemed to be thrilled about it. As if he had found what he was looking for, as if Sam was finally it.

"Okay, let's do this again, this time try to open your mind to me."

Fuck, Sam hadn't even realized that he'd been doing something to prevent the mind penetration thing. And knowing now what the pain was like didn't help him at all when Azazel's hand came back on his forehead. He tried to think about something else, he really did. But pain was all he could think of, pain was all he felt, all he was. The pain didn't leave him for hours.

He was back in his cage.

Being as good as new. My ass.

He was going to be sick. His head was killing him.

It's okay, just breathe, they're coming, they're coming.

Except they didn't come. Not when the demon tried to find a way into his mind, not when other demons came and beat the hell out of him, not when he called for them. They just weren't here. But Sam wasn't losing faith, not yet. His family just needed more time to find him. It was just more difficult than Sam had imagined. His dad always had a plan. Always. He wasn't giving up on them, because he knew that they would never give up on him.

Sam just needed them to hurry.

Later, Sam was back to that table again. With Azazel. He was never going to look at tables the same, not ever.

"Your dad ever tell you the story of the night your momma died?"

No, no he'd never told him, not entirely. He had the big lines, but it had been Dean that had told him, not his dad. Dean had said never to ask their dad, and even if Sam didn't like to be told what he could do or say, he had obeyed that order. Something about his brother's tone had warned him that this subject was forbidden.

"She was a really pretty thing, your mommy. Really pretty. I almost felt bad when I had to burn her on that ceiling. But she was stupid. She never should have interfered."

"You're lying."

Demons lie. This was Demonology 101. Demons always lie.

"'Course I'm lying. That's why when you saw me in your cage you immediately recognized me. Cause I'm lying."

Sam wasn't going to let him screw with his mind. Except this felt like the truth. Usually, Sam was good at detecting when he was being lied to. This just didn't feel like a lie.

"See, your mom made a deal, years before you were born. She pretty much gave you to me, understand. Not that she had a choice. It was destiny. You believe in destiny, don't you kid?"

Yes. No. He didn't know. Not anymore. He was listening carefully to Azazel's words. He couldn't do anything else but listen.

"You were meant to be born. You were meant to be mine. Mary may have given birth to you, but I'm the one who created you, made you what you are."

What he was? He was a who, not a what, right? What the hell was he talking about?

"My blood, Sammy boy, my blood is in you. The night I killed her, I made you mine by feeding you my blood. You've always felt it, haven't you? You've always felt different. Impure. Tainted. You knew, Sammy. You knew. And all those special things you could do? Surely you had to know that you weren't normal?"

I have demon's blood inside me. I have demon's blood inside me.

No, no, no, no.

It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. But it was. Like Azazel had said, he knew. It was all true. He'd always felt different, like something wasn't right with him. And the things he could do, he'd always tried to deny it. There were crazy things that he knew, like once when they were hunting a witch. They had talked to people in town, and every time Sam had passed by one house in particular, he had felt it: felt the uncommon power emanating from the house. He'd felt the power that came from the witch living inside, a power that called to him. They had hunted and killed the witch, but it wasn't the only time that Sam had known where a monster was without doing any research. Every single time it had happened, he'd never said a word. Because deep down, he knew that this was something supernatural inside him. This was something that took away a big chunk of the normalcy he'd always wanted so badly.

He was a freak. He was a freak with demon's blood inside him.

"I brought you here to prepare you. I can make you more powerful than you already are. I have so many things to teach you Sammy. So many things."

"Fuck you! I'm not yours, and I don't give a shit about your blood. I will never be yours. You hear me? I will never be yours!"

"Oh but you are. You can fight it all you want, I'm even counting on it. But you're still mine. And when the time comes, you will say yes. You'll say yes to him."

"Say yes? What the fuck are you talking about? Who do you think I'll say yes to?"

"I'm going to give you something so you'll remember who you belong to, always."

Azazel was whispering something, words that Sam didn't understand. He was speaking in a language that he didn't know. Sam was panicking, because whatever he was doing, it was bad. It was always bad. The demon then cut his own wrist and drew a symbol on Sam's chest with his blood, next to Sam's heart. A complicated symbol that he had never seen before. Azazel was speaking again, and Sam suddenly felt a sharp, burning pain on his chest, right where the symbol was. Sam screamed, and tried to get off the table, but he couldn't. He had already tried many times to get free. Then the pain was gone, and Sam felt weird. Not himself. The symbol was now and forever carved into his flesh.

"Never forget. You are mine" Azazel whispered in his ear before leaving him alone.

He didn't know how long he had been in this place, held captive. He just knew that it had been a really, really long time. Probably years. It was difficult to keep track of the passing of days, weeks, months when you were locked in a room without windows. At first he had tried to estimate, from the moment he had first awakened in this place, he had tried. Gaging how often he was tired or hungry, he'd try to estimate the days that went by. But after a while it was just impossible. When they came and took him downstairs, he'd lose consciousness, sometimes for days. He was tired all the time, hungry all the time. Time didn't matter here. Nothing mattered here. Pain was all he knew. After all this time, pain was even welcomed, sometimes. Because it made him feel alive. It made him feel human again. Pain became his anchor to the world. Even when it was unbearable, the pain meant that he wasn't giving up. Not completely. He may have gotten used to the idea of never seeing his family ever again, but he was never going to say yes. Never. It didn't matter what Azazel had planned for him, he would never be on his side, even if he didn't know what he wanted him to say yes to.

That will, that stubbornness, that choice that no one could take away from him- those were the last things that he had. And he wasn't letting go. Never.

He wanted to go home. To most people, home was a place: some nice house with a nice white fence, a nice bed, a nice everything. That was the kind of home that Sam had dreamed about, even longed for. Captivity had a way of changing people. Now all Sam wanted was to go home, the only home he knew. And home to him meant the people he loved: Dean, Dad. Home meant a special car, the one he grew up in, the one that they'd made theirs when they'd carved their initials in. Home was the Impala.

But Sam knew that he was never returning home. He was forever lost. His family thought he was dead, Azazel had been all too happy to tell him. Like this was the funniest thing ever. He said someone, something, had made them believe that they had buried his body.

Sam was dead to them. Or maybe he was dead, period. They were never going to find him, rescue him. They weren't coming.

Sam missed them. God he missed them so much. He screamed for them sometimes. When the pain got to be too much. When he couldn't hold back the names of the people he craved for. He screamed for Dean mostly, because he knew that no matter what, Dean always came for him. He screamed for his dad sometimes, too. In this place, resentment had long deserted him. Once he even screamed for his mom, that elusive concept of tenderness and love. He could even have sworn in that moment that he heard his name being called back.

He said their names also, before sleeping. Every time. He repeated the names of his loved ones. Over and over and over again: Dean, John, Mary, Bobby, Pastor Jim…

He cherished all the names of the people that had ever mattered in his life, and he wouldn't let himself forget them. He had to hold onto their names.

The torture. The torture was probably going to make him loose his mind. Azazel sure seemed to enjoy it. He was always the perpetrator. Sam couldn't remember what it felt like to have a back that wasn't bloody. The whip. He dreamed about getting it from the fucker's hand to try it on him, to see if Azazel still thought it was funny when it was lashed on his own back. Azazel was still trying to get inside his mind, often, and every time he did, Sam would wish he was dead. Azazel sure had a lot of imagination when it came to torture. Sam tried hard not to think too much about it.

Then there was the training. Because while Azazel wanted to break him, he also wanted to train him, prepare him. For what? He never said. Training was different here, nothing like what he did with Dean under his father's command.

Training here meant having to fight off a bunch of creatures. Azazel had sent them to his cage, and Sam had had to fight them off while chained to a wall. He had gotten good at it. His dad would have been so proud. He was a better hunter now: faster, stronger, ruthless. Sam had no more boundaries when it came to fighting. He fought hard, he fought dirty. He had never wanted to shot himself in the head so strongly before, because he wasn't Sam anymore. He didn't know who or what he was, but Sammy was long gone. He might have been a better hunter, yes, except now he seemed to be resembling more and more like the things they hunted. He'd become one of them.

When he'd finally understood that no one was coming for him, he had tried to let himself die by not drinking and eating. But Azazel wouldn't let him. When he tried to starve himself to death, the yellow eyed demon had brought a man into the table's room downstairs. He'd tortured the man in front of Sam for hours then had killed him. Sam had never tried to starve himself after that, not ever again.

He had done similar things when Sam lost the fights during the training, so Sam had learned to never lose again... almost.

Finally there was the blood. The demon's blood. Sam was asked to drink from Azazel's wrist very shortly after he had learned that he was tainted. Sam said no. He said no the first time, and all of the times after that. Problem was? No was not an option. He was forced to drink it anyway. Sam hated the taste, hated it more than anything else. He didn't know why the demon always asked him first if he wanted it before shoving it down his throat. Sam thought that maybe the effects were different if it was taken willingly. Not that there wasn't any effects anyway. Azazel hadn't lied about the powers. Sam had nightmares- nightmares that were so real all the time. He always had them after the blood drinking, so he knew that they weren't just nightmares. There were visions- visions about people that Sam couldn't save.

This was his life now. All of it. The sad thing was that he was used to it by now. And it wasn't like things could get worse.

But he was wrong.

When Sam opened his eyes one day, a little girl was in his cage. That one was new. She was the first human to ever enter his cage, besides him. He knew instantly that she was human. He was powerful enough to just sense it from across the room. She was human, and couldn't have been more than ten, and crying. He had to do something, knew it was his responsibility. He hadn't lost all of his humanity. Not yet, at least not to the point where he'd no longer care for a girl crying.

"Hey, kid, it's alright, I'm not a bad guy, I'm a kid too. My name's Sam, what's yours?"

The little girl turned around and faced him, and he saw only big, brown, teary eyes. He would have had recognized that look among thousands of others, it was the look he had worn since the first day he got here, God knew how long ago. It was the look that was still with him even now. Terrified, sad, questioning, desperate. Haunted. The kind of look that begged to be taken home. But Sam knew that home was not an option. Not for him, and apparently now, not for this little girl either.

"I'm Lily."

At least she was answering him, which was good.

"How old are you Lily?"

His voice was so hoarse. He'd barely ever used it anymore, except for the screaming. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have a conversation.

"Seven, 'm seven."

Maybe in another world he would have been shocked to hear how young she was. Maybe, if the world wasn't full of shit. If demons didn't exist. If... if. But the world was what it was, and Sam couldn't do a damn thing to make it better.

"Is the bad man gonna kill me?"

Yes, either that or hurt you. He'll probably make you bleed first. Crap, he didn't know exactly what to say here.

"I'll try and protect you, okay? He doesn't come in here every day. Maybe today he won't. It's gonna be okay."

Yeah, like that wasn't a lie.

The little girl, Lily, stayed with him. He didn't know how long, as she mysteriously didn't remember the date, or the year they were in. Thank you Azazel. At first she kept calling for her mom, and her dad, and sometimes for her older brother. Maybe the demon had a thing for younger siblings. Sammy tried his best to take care of her, despite the circumstances. He made her tell him all about her family, so she could forget for a moment where she was, and so he could forget too. He learned all about Clara- her sweet mom who could play the piano and who brushed her hair better than anyone, about her dad, Simon- who could push her on a swing like no one else, and about Matthew, her annoying older brother- who stole her dolls and pulled her hair, but who loved her still, and was pretty awesome sometimes, just don't tell him. Sam hung onto the stories of that little girl like some hold onto the air to breathe. She was his connection to the outside world. She was that lost part of childhood that he'd left behind so long ago. But what she really was, was temporary. Because Azazel walked back in the cage, with a clock in his hands. Sam hid the kid behind his back.

"So, here's the thing, Sammy boy, you've got a choice to make. If you don't kill the little sweetheart over there within one hour, I will come back with her entire family, murder them in front of you two, then kill that little one anyway. You kill her, and she's the only one that says "Bye, bye." Her entire family's safe, and all that crap. Clock's ticking."

He left the room, left the clock on the floor, and shut the door.

Sam could barely breathe. What kind of a fucking choice was that? He had to come up with a plan- a genius plan. Something, anything. Goddammit he couldn't just stay here and do… that. Not that. Monsters he could kill, hell he'd had kill so many by now. But never a human. Never a little girl.

While his thoughts were running so fast, he felt a little hand tucking at his sleeve. He looked down and prepared himself for what he was about to hear.

"It's okay Sammy, it's okay, I don't want my family to die. Please, you'll have to do it. Promise me."

Shit. Okay, that wasn't what he was expecting. Not that he knew what he'd been expecting, but hell, not that. She was seven fucking years old. She shouldn't be saying stuff like that. She shouldn't understand what the word sacrifice meant. She shouldn't have to experience it first-hand.

"I want you to do it."

Since when had breathing become so impossible? He couldn't do it. She was a kid, just a kid. To take the life of a human being, of a little girl, it was just unthinkable. Except he didn't have a choice, because she was condemned anyway. She was dead the moment she'd set foot in this cage. He could only make sure that there wasn't any more casualties. He knew by now that Azazel kept his promise. Always. Now came the practical thing: he was in a room with no weapon, that is, no weapon except his hands. His hands. He had to snap her neck. The whole thing was surreal. He pressed himself against the wall and fell on the floor. He couldn't even look her in the eyes.

"Sammy, will brush my hair before..., before… you know?"

Yes, yes to everything. She could ask him anything right now, and he'd do it. Except save her. He couldn't save her. She sat next to him, head on his leg, closed her eyes, and he brushed the little girl hair with his fingers. Blond hair, just like…

"Tell me your best memory."

Best memory? Was there such a thing as best memory, still? Was there anything good that he remembered? Was there anything good this place hadn't swallowed whole and crushed with its darkness? Maybe there was.

"I was five, and me and my brother we were alone in a motel room, waiting for our dad. There was this big, badass storm that raged through the night, and I was afraid. I didn't tell my big brother that I was scared out of my mind, but I was, and he knew it."

Dean always knew. God, he will never see his brother's face again. Remembering hurt like hell.

"So he built a safe haven out of blankets and our bed."

The thing was ridiculous, Sam remembered, barely holding up. But it had felt safe- safe and perfect and magical. It was so Dean to do a thing like that.

"We stayed under it for the night, playing with flashlights, telling each other secrets."

Just being kids. Maybe it wasn't his best memory, he never really thought of it, but it was definitively a night he recalled, a good night.

Time passed, and that one hour was almost expired.

"Thanks Sammy, I think I would have liked your brother."

"Yeah he's great, really great."

"You are too." What was there to say to that?

Sam closed his eyes shut, and did what he had to. It was quick, not painful. God he prayed it wasn't painful. When it was over he was crying. Not silent, small tears. No, he was full on crying, sobs coming out of his chest. Holding onto a little girl's body, lifeless. He was a murderer now. He wondered for a moment if there was a special place in hell for kids who murdered kids without meaning to. Not that he minded going to hell. Hell was what he deserved. Hell was where he belonged now.

Boys don't cry. But what about monsters? No one ever said anything about monsters and tears, monsters and regrets. Monsters and grief.

Azazel was back. Perfect timing.

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Just like that Sam had lost his last shred of innocence.

Something's different. It was the first thing that came to Sam's mind as he awoke. Five seconds later, he was up, breathing rapidly, painfully, freaking out.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

He wasn't in the cage. He. Wasn't. In. The. Fucking. Cage. He was actually sleeping in a bed. In a room that felt familiar.

What the hell?

It couldn't be real, it just couldn't. He was probably dreaming. Just a dream. It wasn't like he never dreamed of being free. He'd dreamed a million times and more about being with his family again. Being Sammy again. Somehow he'd always known that it was just that: a dream. This was different. This felt real. Something else was different: he wasn't in pain. In all his time in that cage there always had been a constant. And it was pain. He always hurt. Always. Whether it was his back, wrist, legs, shoulders, arms, or head, something was always hurting. Azazel had made sure of it. But now it was all gone. He looked at his wrists and nothing. There was not a mark on them. He'd spent years chained, it should have left a mark. He checked the rest of his body. Nothing. He was racing to the bathroom, ripping off his torn-up t-shirt. His back should have been a mess, instead it was flawless, as if he had never spent years being tortured. He looked at his chest. One thing remained. One mark. After all, Azazel had promised him that he was his, forever. That mark was to be a reminder of who he belonged to.

Never forget. You are mine.

Sam needed to think. How had he gotten out of that room? How come he was as good as new? And, more importantly, who or what, had done this?

One thought kept trying to insinuate itself in his mind. One thought he was almost too afraid to believe, the one thing he'd prayed for, begged for:

He was free.

TBC…

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