Jenjoremy did a fantastic job with this chapter. She not only fixed all my booboos and found the words I couldn't she spotted a flaw in explanation I'd completely missed. Thank you, hon. Thanks also to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help. They give up hours of their evenings to help me outline and hammer out the little details. This story would never happen without them.


Chapter Seven

Sam jerked awake in the middle of the night, hand reaching for the gun under the pillow. At first he thought it was the nightmare that had woken him, his brain's attempt to pull him from the horror of what he was seeing, but the then phone buzzed again and he snatched it up.

"Hello?"

"Winchester? It's Kubrick."

"What's up?"

"I've got something you need," he said.

Sam knew at once what he meant. "You've got a demon."

"Yep. Me and Creedy were following signs, and we got the sucker. You still interested?"

"Definitely," Sam said, already standing and shoving his feet into his boots. "Where are you?"

"Wreford, a few minutes out of Junction City, Kansas."

"I know it."

"There's a small place we're using as a base just south of the river. Look out for the RV."

"Will do. Can you keep it on ice till I get there?"

"It's tied down and trapped nice and tight," Kubrick said. "It's not going anywhere."

"Thanks, Kubrick," Sam said. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Sam ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket. He was almost of the door when Dean rolled over, reminding him that he was there.

Sam sometimes forgot he wasn't working alone anymore. He'd spent so long without a partner that it was natural for him to think in singular instead of plural when making plans, despite the fact Dean had been with him a while now. For a moment he considered letting Dean sleep, taking this one alone. It would be easier to get the information from the demon without Dean watching. Then Dean shifted again, approaching waking, and Sam thought he deserved the make the choice for himself.

"Dean!" he said, slapping his chest.

Dean jolted upright, his eyes still half closed. "What's going on?"

This was just one of the many differences between them now. When Sam woke up, he was alert immediately and reaching for a weapon, while Dean took time to wake and didn't even bother to go for the gun Sam had persuaded him to keep close by. Dean had scoffed at first, they were at the Roadhouse after all, but Sam had grimly reminded him that a demon got in once and there was no guarantee it wouldn't again, despite the traps laid down and the charms Bobby had given them after Sam'd taken down Yellow-Eyes.

"Demon," Sam said.

"Here?" Now Dean was awake. His wide eyes roved the room and he snatched the gun up from under his pillow.

"No," Sam said, placing a hand over the barrel of the gun and pushing it down so it was pointed at the floor. "In Kansas. A couple other hunters have trapped it and they're holding it for me. I thought you'd want to come."

"You thought right," Dean said. "You think it's that Ellsworth?"

"I doubt we'd be that damn lucky. I think it's more likely that it's a foot soldier, but hopefully I can get Ellsworth's information out of it."

Dean nodded and pulled on a pair of jeans. He still hadn't picked up the habit of sleeping dressed so he could make a quick getaway when needed. Sam thought it was okay, though; he liked it even. Dean dressing down for bed was one of those things from his old life that he clung to. The more he clung to the easier it would be for him to slip back into that life when the deal was taken care of.

It didn't occur to Sam once that this might be the life Dean wanted for good now, hunting. Why would anyone give up what he'd had for the life of a hunter?

While Dean dressed, Sam went into the kitchen and jotted a note on the chalkboard above the stove, telling Ellen where they'd gone and that they'd be back in a few days in the shorthand they'd developed. That was new—letting Ellen know where he was. After what had happened in Wyoming, she was a little trigger happy with anxiety, so he reassured her when he could.

Dean came into the kitchen, glanced at the chalkboard and nodded, then shouldered his duffel and asked, "We ready?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Let's get gone."


Sam hadn't told Dean much about the demon and people they were going to until they were just outside Junction City around dawn. Dean didn't think it was distrust or a need to hoard information; it was just Sam being Sam. He was used to being alone and still didn't think of Dean as his partner. It didn't bother Dean much. He knew Sam would tell him what he needed to know when he needed to know it.

"The people we're meeting with are a little different," Sam said, breaking the silence of the past thirty minutes.

"Different how?" Dean asked.

"Creedy is a bit simple. He's a good enough hunter, but research and sometimes rational thought are beyond him. And Kubrick…" He considered for a moment. "Kubrick's is big on Jesus. Don't mention him or you'll be in for a long lecture that'll eclipse all else that's going on."

"I'll try to steer clear of the subject," Dean said with a smile. "It's not likely to come up anyway, is it?"

"With him, you never know. Dad had no time for them at all. I've had to learn to be a little more open minded when it comes to getting what I need."

Dean nodded. "Okay, no discussing Jesus and no Mensa type discussions."

Sam laughed softly. "One more thing," he slowed the car and glanced at Dean. "Do not mention Gordon."

"Psycho Gordon who kidnapped me and tried to blow you up?"

"One and the same. He was buddies with them. Last I heard Kubrick thought he was deep undercover on something 'big', but it's been months, so he might be questioning it. I can't risk them finding out what happened. Remember, you never even met him, okay?""

"But if they understood what happened…"

"It wouldn't make a difference. I'm one of the rare ones, working alone the way I do—well, did—the rest have strong bonds, and they look out for each other. What I did to Jeff was different, he was a monster; Gordon wasn't."

Dean disagreed, Gordon was a would-be murderer going after Sam the way he had, but he didn't say anything. Sam knew this stuff better than him.

When they got to town, Sam made for the river and followed its streets until they came to what looked like an abandoned house—the windows were boarded up and the grass out front was long. Sam drove round back and parked next to a neat looking RV.

"Uh, you sure this is the right place?" Dean asked, eyeing the RV.

"What? Oh that. Yeah, it's right. That's Kubrick's rolling home."

"Huh, that's kinda smart."

"As long as you don't mind emptying the crapper and eating canned food, it's a treat," Sam said, grinning.

They climbed out and made for the house. Dean watched Sam's smile fade and become serious as they did. It was like he switched off his good mood and became a hunter. Dean wondered if he'd ever master that or if he even wanted to.

Dean heard the pained cries before he even got inside. Sam didn't even react to them, but Dean felt bile rise in his throat. This was not going to be as easy as he'd imagined. Sam pushed the door open and went in, Dean following a slower, trying to prepare himself.

"Winchester," a voice greeted. "Good to see you."

"Winchesters," Sam corrected, gesturing to Dean, "This is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Kubrick and Creedy." He gestured between the two men.

Kubrick had sandy red hair and a craggy face. Dean tagged him about late fifties. He smiled at Dean and held out a hand that Dean shook.

Creedy was a little younger, with dark hair and a groomed beard. Dean would have known even without Sam's heads up that he was lacking in the IQ department. He looked a little simple but good-natured as they shook hands.

"How've you been?" Creedy asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Same old same old. You get anything good lately?"

Kubrick shook his head. "Not much. We've been distracted with Gordon."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I heard his was still MIA. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Gotta hope he's in deep with a case still and not buried in a ditch somewhere by a monster."

"I wouldn't worry," Sam said. "Gordon's more than a match for any fugly out there."

Kubrick nodded. "You're not wrong."

Dean was impressed by Sam's lies. They were so smooth, easy for him. A stark difference to the kid Dean had known.

"So, where's this demon?" Sam asked, businesslike now.

"In here," Kubrick said. "We've been asking questions, but it's not exactly chatty so far."

"Not a problem," Sam said. "It'll talk."

They went into the second room, a kitchen, and Dean saw the demon for the first time. It was in the form of a middle-aged man dressed in a tailored suit and tie with damp short black hair—Dean guessed they'd been using holy water on him. A devil's trap was painted beneath the chair he was bound to and his hands and feet were tied to the arms and legs of the chair.

The demon sneered at Sam as he entered. "Winchester, I'd say this is an unexpected pleasure, but that'd be a lie. I've been waiting for you."

"And I've been waiting for a chance to speak to someone like you," Sam replied. "You've got something I want."

He raised an eyebrow. "What can the mighty Winchester Junior want from me?"

"Information," Sam said, turning back to Kubrick. "Have you checked it out?"

Kubrick nodded stiffly. "No obvious wounds. He might make it."

"Aw, you worried about my meat suit?" the demon asked. "I'll put you out of your misery. Hank here doesn't stand a chance. I ride em hard and put em away wet. He's dead as soon as I smoke out."

Sam shrugged. "Makes things easier. There's nothing to stop me from really hurting you now." He dumped his duffel down onto the dirty counter, pulled it open, and produced a can of salt. "Open wide."

The demon clamped his mouth shut.

"A little help here," Sam said.

Creedy chuckled stupidly and stepped into the devil's trap. The demon snapped at his hand, teeth clicking together with a sound that made Dean's skin crawl, and Kubrick moved to help. He held the demon's head and tilted it back forcefully as Creedy gripped his jaw and forced it open.

Sam smiled grimly and tilted the can over the demon's mouth. It flowed in and the demon struggled and tried to pull out of their grip, but they were too strong. When the salt was overflowing from his mouth, Sam, Creedy and Kubrick stepped back looking satisfied. The demon whipped his head from side to side, spitting and snarling. The salt flowed down his chin, sticking to the holy water they'd apparently used before Sam and Dean's arrival.

"Want a drink?" Sam asked, holding up a flask of holy water from his bag.

The demon's black eyes widened and he shook his head jerkily.

"Sure? Might clear the taste from your mouth."

It was like watching a stranger at work for Dean. Sam, his little brother, was menacing and brutal. He hadn't expected him to be gentle with the demon, but this was something else. His thoughts drifted back to the Nixie and how he'd wondered what Sam would resort to in order save him, but he'd not expected this extreme. This wasn't the Sam Dean knew. He wondered if this was new, driven by desperation to get information to break the deal, or if this was just how Sam was now.

Dean couldn't help but remember there was a man inside there, trapped just like Dean had been when Meg possessed him. And the worst part was Sam hadn't even asked him anything yet. It was as if this priming the demon for information was just foreplay to what was to come when he got down to it.

As if Sam had heard Dean's thought, he crossed his arms over his chest and said, "We need to have a little chat."

"About what?" the demon asked, still trying to spit the remains of the salt from his mouth.

"One of your buddies. A demon called Ellsworth."

The demon ceased his spitting to laugh harshly. "So, the stories are true."

Dean wondered how the demon had heard about their quest to find Ellsworth. It wasn't like they'd advertised the name.

"What stories?" Sam asked.

"That you were looking for Azazel's crew." Seeing their blank faces, he went on. "This is too good. You don't even know his name. Yellow-Eyes, The Demon, whatever you called him, his name was Azazel."

"What's that about a crew?" Dean asked, speaking up for the first time. Azazel had been bad, Sam had killed himself to rid the world of him, if there was more of his 'team' out there, how safe was Sam?"

The demon spat once more and then said, "You don't even know? Azazel didn't work alone. He had a whole group of dedicated demons backing him up." It laughed again. "The word was you were hunting them down, but you don't even know about them, so what is it, hmmm? What reason has Sam Winchester got to go after Ellsworth?"

"I heard his birthday's coming. Want to bake him a cake."

The demon clucked his tongue. "Really, Sam, you're resorting to sarcasm. This is so unlike you."

"You know nothing about me," Sam said.

"I know plenty. I know what big brother did for you, making that—" His words were cut off as Sam tipped the flask of holy water over his head. His skin hissed and smoked, and Dean grimaced.

"Tell me about Ellsworth or it'll be a bucket next time," Sam growled.

"He was Azazel's facilitator. He organized them all. Kept track of who was doing what and to who. He was Azazel's right hand man after Meg and Tom were taken out."

Sam tilted his head to the side and picked up the salt again. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," the demon said, lying Dean was sure. His eyes faded from black to blue and widened innocently. "I never knew."

"Pity," Sam said. "That information was the only thing stopping me sending you downstairs again. Dean, you want to do it?"

Dean nodded stiffly. He would start the exorcism at least. Sam said it was wicked painful for them to be dragged out by the Latin. Maybe the pain would motivate the demon to tell some truth. He was aware of the direction his thoughts were taking, and he felt the coldness descend over him like a cloak. It was a feeling he hadn't had for a long time, not since that last werewolf when he was a kid, even though he'd been terrified then. He was angry now though, thinking of Yellow-Eyes and what he had done, what his demons could still do to Sam. He wanted to vent.

He locked eyes with the demon and started the chant. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

"Wait!" the demon shouted. "I can tell you things. Things that'll help you."

Sam shook his head and Dean continued.

"Please," the demon begged. "Don't send me back there."

"Then tell me where Ellsworth is," Sam said.

Dean went on with the Latin, encouraging the demon to speak.

"He's in Wyoming," the demon panted, writhing in pain.

"The Devil's Gate?"

The demon shook his head. "No. He's hiding where you won't go. He's scared."

"Where?"

The demon sucked in a breath. "Miner's Delight."

Sam nodded.

Dean drew a deep breath, and finished the exorcism with a grim smile. "Audi nos."

The demon's head flew back and the smoke poured from his mouth.

Kubrick moved to the man and pressed two fingers to his throat. He shook his head, and said, "No dice," but Dean barely heard the words. His focus was on Sam whose face was white.

"Miner's Delight," Dean said quietly. "Isn't that…"

"Yeah," Sam said grimly, a hand coming up to his neck. "That's the place."

Miner's Delight was where Sam'd had his throat slit. Now he had to go back.


Sam was quiet, thoughtful, and it was easy to guess where his mind was—that abandoned mining town where he'd almost died.

They had to go to Bobby's before they could set out for Wyoming because they'd agreed it was best to go in with the colt, and Sam asked Dean if he'd drive. Dean was more than willing to take a turn, especially as he knew Sam needed the time to think. It was good to be behind the wheel again, too. Dean had never made a good passenger. Ordinarily, they drove without music, the radio silent, but after they said their farewells to Kubrick and Creedy and got in the car, Sam reached under the seat and pulled out a battered box of cassette tapes.

"What do you want?" he asked Dean. "If you remember Dad playing it, it's in here."

Dean remembered Sam's angry reaction to Stairway To Heaven, so he asked if there was any Def Leppard in there. Sam nodded and pushed the tape into the deck. A moment later, Hysteria spilled from the speakers and Dean grinned. This wasbetter. Like old times. It was what Sam needed.

When they stopped for gas, Dean called ahead to Bobby and let him know they were coming to collect, and Bobby promised to have it ready for them. They were passing the outskirts of Lincoln when Sam suddenly grinned inexplicably.

"I've got an idea," he said. "Actually, I have two. Take us through town. There's something I want to do."

Dean took a right and they made their way to Main Street. They passed a bakery, a diner, and a clothing boutique before Sam slapped the dash and said, "Pull over here."

Dean frowned and looked at the store they were passing. It was a small place, with black painted walls that stood out starkly among the pastel storefronts. Dean saw the sign over the door and laughed. "You can't be serious."

"Dead serious. Are you afraid of a little pain?"

"No," Dean scoffed.

"Then let's go for it."

Dean grimaced and glanced at the store again. It was a tattoo parlor.


"You realize this is kinda weird, right?" Dean asked as they drove into Sioux Falls.

Sam grinned. "Going for the colt or the Palo Santo? I think they're both good ideas seeing as we're going after a demon."

"Ha-ha. I was referring to our super new matching tattoos."

"Dean," Sam said patiently, "they'll stop us being possessed by demons."

"Yeah, but you can't deny it's a little odd."

"It's not like I got your name tattooed on my butt. Suck it up."

Dean shuddered. "Never mention my name and your butt in the same sentence again and we'll be good. And I'm just saying it'll look a little weird."

Sam laughed. "Because we spend so much time shirtless together. Around other people. People that won't recognize the symbol."

"Okay, you've maybe got a point there," Dean conceded.

Sam nodded, pleased. He was feeling better about their whole situation now that they had protected and armed themselves. They just needed the colt now and they'd be good to go after Ellsworth. Another day and Dean's deal would be broken and they could get back to their lives, Dean back to his kids and Sam back to the hunt, without this huge thing hanging over them.

He wasn't overjoyed to be going back to Miner's Delight, but he would handle it to get the job done, just the way his father had taught him.

Dean pulled them onto Bobby's road and Sam took a deep breath. He was uncomfortable around Bobby. The man was steeped in memories of his childhood. He had known Sam, and Sam got the feeling he still expected to see the young version of himself when he looked at him. It would never happen. Sam was a completely different person from the child Bobby had said goodbye to all those years ago.

In contrast to Sam's tension, Dean seemed happy to get back to his friend's place. For him it was a home the way that guy Sonny's place had been.

"We got time for food?" Dean asked. "Bobby's probably got something for us. For an ornery old guy, he's a good cook. Remember?"

Sam nodded silently, in answer to both questions. Yes, he remembered and yes, he was hungry. He had developed a propensity to forget things like regular meals these days. His head was so busy with everything else all the time. Dean's deal was a constant in his mind. When he wasn't directly researching to break it, he was thinking about it.

They came to a halt and got out. Dean led the way to the door and pushed it open without knocking, calling a greeting.

Bobby met them in the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth. Dean was right, there was a pot bubbling on the stove and the air was full of the scent of cooking. Sam's stomach growled.

"Hungry, boys?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Dean said eagerly while Sam nodded. He wasn't a boy. He wasn't Bobby's boy. And the moniker irritated him. He tried not to show it though. Bobby didn't mean any offence, and Dean seemed pleased to be referred to as that. Perhaps it was Bobby's way of claiming them. Perhaps it was just a name. Either way, Sam could do without it.

"Sit yourselves down and I'll dish up," Bobby said.

Sam sat opposite Dean and forced a smile for his brother. He would fake it until they could get the colt and get out of there. That wasn't too much to ask of him. Not for Dean.


Sam drove the rutted and ridged road slowly into the abandoned town. Dean was silent at his side, realizing the gravity of the moment for them both. There had been no laughing or joking on the way to Wyoming. They'd only spoken to go over their plan.

Sam had the colt tucked into his jacket, and Dean had the Palo Santo in his. Sam had reassured him that the sharp wooden stake would immobilize Ellsworth as effectively as a demon trap. They were going to trap the demon, they were going to question it, and then they were going to shoot it. They were going to break the deal. It was the only outcome Sam was going to accept.

He stopped the car and they climbed out, both looking up and down the old Main Street for a sign of the demon. Sam was assaulted by memories of the last time he was here, his father at his side. He pushed them away, focusing on what was important.

"Dean," he said quietly, gesturing to a ramshackle livery store on their right. Dean nodded mutely and went to it. He looked back at Sam just before he closed the door behind him and Sam tried to look confident and reassuring.

Sam took a deep breath, willed his racing heart to slow, and then shouted. "Ellsworth! Come out, you bastard!" There was silence for a moment, and then Sam heard footsteps on the dirt and rock ground.

"Sammy Winchester."

The man appeared around the side of the very store Dean was concealed in. Sam's first thought was that the man looked like a demonic Bobby Singer. His trucker cap was pulled low over his black eyes and he wore jeans and a faded back t-shirt under flannel. He even had a similar beard. He walked forward, fortuitously keeping his back to the door.

It was going to work.

Sam pulled the colt and pointed it at him.

"Oh my," Ellsworth said, raising his arms. "I didn't see this coming."

"I've been looking for you," Sam said.

"I know. I've been waiting for you. Do you like the setting for our little meeting?"

"Meeting?" Sam asked. "Nice. I heard you were hiding out. Makes sense you'd choose this place. Unlucky for you, I am not coward enough to refuse to come back."

"Hiding? Who told you that?"

"One of your demon buddies. Didn't catch his name before I sent him home."

"Demons lie," Ellsworth said.

Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter why you're here. The point is that you are. That's enough for me. I am going to end you." Sam prayed silently that Dean had heard him. It was the code they'd come up with, both sure the demon would want to taunt for a while before it attacked.

He did. Dean practically flew out of the store, an inarticulate cry of rage coming from him. Ellsworth half turned and Dean corrected his aim from the demon's back to the center of his chest. Ellsworth was too slow to react. He was too stunned by what was happening. By the time he threw his head back and opened his mouth to smoke out, Dean had the Palo Santo buried in him.

Dean started back towards him, wide smile in place that Sam returned. It lasted a moment, the feeling of success and rightness, before Ellsworth was in motion. It reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a snub nosed revolver. Sam didn't even think. He had one thought in his mind — Dean! — and he acted, running forward and knocking Dean out of the way.

The first shot went wild. The second didn't. It hit Sam like a hammer blow to his right gut. The force of it knocked him on his ass, and a hand came to his side, quickly to be covered with blood.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, and his face swum in Sam's vision for a moment. Sam blinked and it cleared. "Jesus, Sam."

"I'm okay," Sam said a little weakly. "Help me up."

"Help you up?" Dean asked incredulously. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"Not yet." Sam put a hand to his back, searching for an exit wound. There was none. "It's a through and through," he lied. "It just needs stitching."

"Sam you were just shot!"

"Not the first time." Sam struggled to his feet. He didn't think it was too bad. It didn't hurt so much. The bullet was probably just under the surface. He'd call someone in to help and he'd be fine. No hospital needed. Dean hovered at his side, hands reaching for him and then falling back. "Calm, Dean. Focus on what matters.

"You—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off with a hand on his chest.

Ellsworth was leering at them both. "Oh dear. Sammy Winchester is bleeding out in Miner's Delight once again."

Sam leveled the colt at him. "You shot me. How about I return the favor."

"You wouldn't. Not till you get your deal."

He was right, and Sam knew that the injury might be minor compared to what it could have been, but it was still enough for him to lose a lot of blood. He cut to the chase, knowing he could ask no questions unconscious. "I want you to tear up Dean's contract. I want him off the hook."

Ellsworth laughed. "Are you kidding me? You think I hold that? Boy, you're dumber than you look."

He wasn't lying, Sam was convinced. He knew liars. He was one professionally. "Then who does?"

Ellsworth grinned. "The boss."

"Sammy," Dean said tugging on his sleeve. "You need help."

Sam pulled his arm free; the swift movement made his head swim. "Give me a name," he said, his voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"Not a chance," Ellsworth said with satisfaction. "I do that and I'll be facing a fate worse than anything you can cook up. Exorcise me, kill me, do what you like. You better hurry though. I think you're dying."

Sam thought he just might be right. His vision was blurring and the pain was searing as the adrenaline wore off. He turned to Dean. "Call Bobby. Have him interrogate. No exorcism without the name." He drew a deep breath. "If they come, use the colt."

"But…" Dean started. "Sam!"

Sam's legs gave way and he fell hard on the ground. Dean's blurred face hovered over him, and his mouth was moving and Sam tried to focus on his voice rather than the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

"You're okay. Going to get help."

Sam's eyes slid closed against his will, and as darkness came to him, he could only hope that Dean had understood what he was saying—if they come, if Sam died and wasn't there to protect him, use the colt on the hounds.

Darkness swept over him, leaving him unconscious, bleeding out, in Miner's Delight. Again.


So… Sam's all kinds of screwed. Again. But are any of you really surprised? This is one of my stories, of course there's whump.

I'm going to ask you guys for something I haven't asked for in a long time—good ole concrit. I am working on a story right now and I'm a little lost about the direction. What'd I'd like to know is what you like in a story. What you expect from one of my stories. What you don't like, and what you're disappointed to read. I'm not asking for reviews. I'd be just as happy with a PM. I just need some help.

Hoping to hear from you…

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx