OMG SO SORRY it took so long for me to post this chapter. I'm going to try to wrap this up in the next few days. I hope. It was probably silly of me to make my first fanfic such a lengthy one. I should have aimed smaller.


Sam hugged his knees to his chest and wiped his tear-stained cheek on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He tried not to panic at the amount of blood that covered his sleeve. He could feel the sticky wetness on the side of his face. He looked around at his new prison. It was a lot different than his last one. He appeared to be in a cellar. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. There was a door that Sam knew led to a stairway.

He couldn't go through this again. It was all coming back to him. The beatings. The endless hours waiting and wondering when the demon would come back and what he would do next. Sam knew he had to do something. He recited the exorcism ritual in his head. He had it memorized. He could do it, but he needed a way to trap the demon so that he could get through the ritual without the demon killing him first.

Sam looked at a hole in the drywall where the demon had missed his head and kicked the wall instead. The drywall was made of a white material that lay in pieces all over the floor. Sam scooted himself over to the broken drywall and moved one of the pieces across the concrete floor. It left a white chalk line. Hope flared in his chest.

He quickly moved over to the area of the floor in front of the only door that led to the cellar and started to draw the devil's trap. He knew what it looked like. He'd stared at it for hours before while Jim worked on his sermon at his desk. As he drew the trap, he recited the ritual over and over in his head. He had to get it right. He prayed he would be able to recite it clearly enough. He remembered Jim's tips on how to form the words correctly. It had been difficult to learn without being able to hear how it sounded, but Jim had assured him he was doing it well. He hoped the Pastor was being truthful and not just trying to instill confidence in him by telling him he was doing better than he actually was doing.

Sam looked at the finished trap and felt satisfied that it looked the same as the trap he'd seen in the book he'd looked at in Jim's study. He sat back and stared at the door. All he could do now was wait.


Jim Murphy glared at the cast that encased his elevated leg. His stomach was wound so tight he felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd let the Winchesters down. He was supposed to be protecting Sam. He had insisted that Sam come with him into town. If he'd just let Sam stay home, none of this would have happened. Sam would still be safe.

Jim knew in the back of his mind that it wasn't his fault. Reason, however, did nothing to ease the ache of his heart.

The sound of the door flying open made Jim jump. John flew into the room, his face a mask of practiced stoicism that didn't fool Jim. He knew his friend was frantic with worry for his youngest son. Dean and Bobby followed closely behind John, failing miserably at hiding their worry.

"Jim," Bobby was the first to speak. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright, Bobby, thank you," Jim said solemnly. He turned his attention to John. He tried, without success, to keep the quiver of emotion from his voice. "I'm so sorry, John. I couldn't save him."

"It isn't your fault, Jim," John said quietly. "There was nothing you could have done."

Jim felt himself relax at his friend's absolution. He felt a marginal lessening of the incredible weight he was feeling on his shoulders, but the weight didn't lift completely. Jim didn't think it ever would.

"Did Argus give you any indication about where he might be going?" John asked in a pleading, helpless tone. "Did he say anything?"

"I'm sorry, John," Jim whispered. "All he said was 'Give John my regards.'"

Jim watched John set his jaw. A smoldering look passed over his face before being quickly replaced by his ever-present stoicism.

"What are we supposed to do," Dean's voice rose in panic. He looked like he was about to lose it, and Jim felt the need to wrap his arms around the boy and shield him from his pain. "We don't know where to look. We don't even know what we're looking for. He could be possessing anyone."

"Stop, Dean," John said suddenly. "We'll find him."

John moved over to his oldest and placed his hand on the back of his neck.

"We can't lose our heads, Dean," John said quietly. "Sammy needs us."

"I know, Dad," Dean said as he lost the battle against his emotions. Tears leaked from his eyes and sprinkled down his cheeks. "I'm just so scared. He could be anywhere. He could be hurt. He's alone."

John pulled Dean into a tight embrace, and Jim fought his own tears as he watched. The Winchesters were the tightest family he'd ever met. Their love for each other was something for all to envy. Watching them always made Jim feel a sadness over the loss of his own family.

The door opened, and Bobby walked in. Jim hadn't even realized he'd left.

"I spoke to your doctor, Jim," Bobby said as he cleared his throat. "He said you've got the all-clear to be sprung."

"Thank you, Bobby," Jim said with a small smile. "Let's go get Sammy back."


Sam felt himself come slowly to awareness. He felt the overwhelming sensation that he was not alone, and his eyes flew open. He gasped and backed himself up further into the wall.

In front of him, Argus paced back and forth inside the devil's trap like a caged tiger. His face was a mask of fury. He quickly realized that Argus must have walked in while he slept.

"What did you do, you little shit?"

Sam couldn't believe it had worked. He had him trapped. He wasted no time, beginning to recite the ritual immediately.

Argus threw his head back. At first, Sam thought the ritual was working. After a moment, he realized the demon was laughing. He faltered momentarily, embarrassed at the demon's laughter, but didn't stop.

"...eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis..."

Sam watched as the demon's laughter died and he began to look worried. It was working. Sam was encouraged by the demon's faltering ego, and he continued, trying to make his voice even louder.

"Non ultra audeas, serpens callidissime, decipere humanum genus, Dei Ecclesiam persequi, ac Dei electos excutere et cribrare sicut triticum..."

Sam felt a knot form in his stomach as the demon again threw his head back. This time, instead of laughter, a black cloud flew from his mouth.

Sam felt himself panting. In his panic, he found it hard to breath. He watched as the man, who had moments earlier been possessed, tumbled bonelessly to the floor. Sam sat and stared at the man. The man's eyes stared lifelessly back at Sam.

With shaking hands, Sam reached forward and poked a finger at the man's shoulder. The man was definitely dead. He had never seen a dead body before, and it took all his strength to keep from retching all over the floor.

Sam stood slowly, still watching the man closely. He edged around the man, putting as much space between himself and the body as he could. He rushed out the doorway into a small hallway. He made his way up a narrow staircase that led to another door. He said a silent prayer in his head that the door would be unlocked and turned the knob. The door opened, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He cautiously peered out the door and took in the surroundings. The door seemed to lead to a kitchen of what he assumed was a house. He eased himself out from behind the door and crept quietly through the tiny kitchen toward a small window above the sink. He cautiously peered outside. It must have been early evening, because there was still a lightness to the sky, but he could see that the stars were starting to emerge. There were several other houses around and some old buildings that looked like warehouses. From the state of the houses, he guessed he wasn't in the best of neighborhoods.

Sam hadn't felt the presence of anyone else in the house, but he didn't trust his new-found gift enough to proceed without caution. He tiptoed gently through the house toward what he assumed was the front door. He turned the knob gently and eased himself outside. The cold night air bit at him immediately. The wind picked up and he breathed in the taste of freedom. It felt good to be outside, even if he had no idea where he was.

He made his way down the front steps of the small house to the sidewalk and looked down each direction of the desolate street. One direction seemed to lead to an everlasting horizon of increasingly derelict-looking houses. The other direction looked like it led to a mixture of warehouses and small stores. Hoping to find a gas station or grocery store with a phone, he decided to head in the direction of the warehouses and stores.

It didn't take long for Sam to find what he was looking for. Just a few blocks down, he found a small cafe. Cautiously, he stepped inside. Except for a couple of old men drinking coffee at the counter and a waitress keeping their cups full, the place was empty. As he entered, the waitress looked up. A look of shock passed over her face, and Sam was momentarily confused before he realized he was probably sporting a few bruises from his earlier encounter with Argus. Sam paused for a moment and considered making a break for it. What if the woman called the police?

"Are you okay, baby?" Sam watched the waitress's mouth as she formed the words. At her comment, the men at the counter looked up from their coffee. They furrowed their brows but, uninterested in getting involved, went back to drinking their coffee.

Sam didn't think he had the energy to concoct a story, so he made one simple request.

"Phone?"

The woman seemed to be able to tell immediately that something wasn't right about Sam. Rather than have her draw her own conclusions, he spelled it out for her.

"I'm deaf," He said plainly. "Will you help me call my dad?"

His words had the effect he'd hoped for. The woman melted immediately.

"OF COURSE!" She said as she grabbed a phone from behind the counter and set it within his reach. Sam could see that she was shouting, and he tried to keep from rolling his eyes. "WHY DON'T YOU DIAL THE NUMBER AND I'LL TALK TO HIM FOR YOU."

Sam didn't like having to depend on a stranger to contact his father, but he would have no way of knowing if his father answered the phone. He nodded quietly and dialed the number. He watched the woman carefully as she put the phone to her ear.

"IT'S RINGING," she yelled.

"THANK YOU," Sam yelled back.


John ran a callused hand over his weary face as he drove the Impala slowly down another street. It was getting late and harder to see. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, but he couldn't sit around waiting any longer. They had no leads. They had a rough description of the man Argus may or may not still be possessing and a rough description of a truck he may or may not still be driving. He sighed heavily and cast a glance at Dean. His eldest was watching carefully out the window for any sign of his brother, the man, or the truck. He hated the idea of heading back to Jim's and calling off the search for the night, but he knew looking after dark would be useless. The trick would be convincing Dean that it was time to pack it in.

He was about to make the suggestion that they head back to Jim's when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID, expecting the call to be from Jim or Bobby. A mixture of suspicion and hope flared in his chest when he realized he didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" Not trusting giving his name to a stranger, he opted to give a more general greeting.

"Hello? Yes...um...are you...ah..." John waited impatiently as he listed to the woman sputtering on the other end of the line. Thinking she was a telemarketer, he was about to hang up, but her next words made his stomach jump.

"WHAT'S YOUR DADDY'S NAME, SWEETY?" John heard the woman yelling to someone in the background and knew immediately it was Sam. "John? Are you John?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm John!" John yelled as he slammed on the brakes to his truck. He quickly pulled off the road and looked over to Dean. Dean was watching him intently. John turned his attention back to the woman and began shooting questions at her. "Is Sammy there? Is he okay? Where are you?"

"He looks a little rough around the edges, but he's okay," the woman said. "He's hurt. It looks like he's been in a fight."

John cursed silently under his breath.

"Where are you?" he demanded. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He didn't want to scare the woman.

"At Luann's Cafe on the corner of 2nd and Main," the woman said, her southern drawl sounding slightly exaggerated.

John furrowed his brow as he thought. He knew there was nothing like that in the town they'd been searching.

"What town?"

"Middletown," the woman said in a tone that told him she had thought that was obvious. "Home of the best apple pie in the Midwest."

John looked at his cell phone incredulously before placing it back to his ear.

"Listen," he said quietly. "Please do not let my son out of your sight. I'll be there as quickly as I can."

"Sure sugar," the woman drawled on. "But hurry. Poor thing looks scared to death."

John closed his eyes and fought the tears that were threatening to escape. He disconnected the call and looked at Dean.

"He's two towns over," John said quietly. "He's okay."

John watched Dean's shoulders slump with relief. Tears sprung to his eyes as he looked heavenward and mouthed a silent "Thank You."