Chapter Eight:

The Yellow-Eyed Demon was silent. The sinister eyes stared openly, non-blinking, musing over something. His plan, perhaps? The wait for the Winchester kid? Or dinner? No one standing ready at his side could know for sure. There was an air of mystery. The idea of understanding what he contemplated was unfathomable. No one dared ask. They stood, also silent, waiting on said command. More and more as time went on, and the hunger to open fully to the impossible grew larger, the deeper the psychics fell into the pit of evil. It was an inescapable thrall they refused to fight. They were the proverbial dogs waiting for their next treat.

Just a minute, the demon said telepathically. You've been so good. Before we go on a little field trip, I promise you can have some fun.

The group of psychics hadn't a clue what that meant. He had promised them the use of their profound abilities, unsupervised, no restraints; test the limits of their power. Alex had suggested letting them loose on a small town, but the demon brushed it off. I have someone who's in need of our guidance, if you will. He just needs the right push.

Several groaned, slightly disappointed, while others were marred with confusion. That was until Flash zoomed into the clearing dragging an unconscious Winchester boy by the foot. The puzzlement cleared, heavily replaced with an insatiable desire to maim. Celia felt weird in feeling this way. Alex squeezed her hand, as though reading her thoughts and the feeling vaporized.

Sam coughed, his mind venturing back to consciousness at the slowing pace of his journey. At the slight movement, he hissed, his back alight with fire. It wasn't on fire, thank God, he thought, but there were many new cuts and abrasions due to sliding amongst rocks, twigs, and whatever else on the forest floor. His vision swam, rippled, as his head throbbed unmercifully like it would at a Ted Nugent rock concert. The many faces appeared distorted, floating in and out, unable to take shape. He closed his eyes, ready to drift back into a much needed slumber when he was pulled to his knees by a pair of strong hands.

Ah, you see my pets… he heard Yellow-Eyes hideous voice in his head. I told you I'd bring you a treat. It seems to me that Sam, here, has chosen a different path. Before we take our leave, Terrance, I believe you would like the privilege of educating our comrade the importance of our mission. No one can leave. No one can oppose to what the end-goal here is. Use whatever means necessary. Sam is going to join us. He does not have a choice.

The voice cleared out of his head and Sam felt he could breathe again. He opened a bleary eye and saw the demon perched on top of the well with his fellow kids surrounding him, watching, like a buttress. Flash released him and settled back with the others, appearing triumphant. The demon cast him a dangerous look: one that read he meant every word he just said. He took relief in that the knife was hidden in the back of his jeans.

Whatever means necessary, there was the whisper again.

And suddenly the big guy, Terrance, approached. It looked like he had healed quite well after their last fight. Sam bet this guy was itching to take a nasty bite at him, especially after their last encounter. He figured this was going to hurt… a lot!

The bully held his arm out, using telekinesis – his favorite trick – to pull Sam to his feet. Sam swayed unsteadily, desperately pulling at the fringes of consciousness. He was so dizzy.

A twinkle of sadism glinted in Terrance's dark eyes and he had a smile of mirth. He punched him. Sam flew up ten feet in the air, cracking his head open on the bottom step of the saloon. The dizziness came back with a vengeance, his body dry-heaving as there was no food, nor water residing in his gut. He wiped the blood from his eye.

Sam didn't have long to wait for the next assault. A force pulled at his torso and he was transported to Terrance's feet. The guy lifted him up by the jacket and laid several more bone-crunching punches to his gut, his face, and his back. Half his body went numb from the onslaught. Gagging on the blood in his throat, he stumbled, falling to his knees. Terrance then kicked him hard in the gut and he spun up in the air landing several yards away. Every inch of his body was hurting. His arms quivered rapidly as he attempted to rise. He spat out a mouthful of blood.

A heavy crack blasted in his left ear. His eyes traveled upward and saw to his horror the saloon listing over, aiming to crush him. His instincts pled with him to release that power he used not too long ago when the water tower plummeted to the ground, pushing it off him and Andy. But he refused. By giving in to the power, he gave in to the demon. No matter at what cost, he will not give in tonight. He scrambled through the dirt, moving as fast as he could. The building collapsed, scattering rotten 2x4s and debris to the wind, and sending up large plumes of smothering dust.

Sam moved his foot in time for the side wall to topple over. Rolling in the dirt away from the rubble, he struggled to gain his bearings. He had to fight. But how? His legs had the complacency of marshmallows; his hands weighed a ton; and let's add a nasty migraine to the list that paralyzed his voluntary movements and 'thinking process' to come up with a better strategy than this.

Terrance sauntered over. Before Sam could get to his feet, the psychic put him into a choke hold. "I want you to see them," he whispered tauntingly, twisting him so that he was facing the psychics, "Watch them. You see, don't you? You can't help them anymore. I know your thoughts Sam. I've been reading you since your lumberjack ass was dragged back. Aside from thinking about nothing other than the pain, you were hoping that perhaps this little beating might entice them to see reason, make them see that what they are a part of is wrong. It's evil, wah! It's not going to work. They like where they're at."

Sam gazed at them sadly, slowly accepting that Terrance was right. Not a single one of them, not Lana, Flash, Celia, or the jackass Alex had a look of concern. He crunched his eyes in pain, gritting his bloody teeth, fighting against the suffocating hold.

"The boss says to keep you," his voice became real low, barely audible, "but…you know, sometimes there are accidents. Hope you're ready, cuz it's your turn to end up like your little friend."

The hold tightened, completely cutting off his air.


The hellhound's weight was heart-stopping. The farther he reached for his gun, the more weight the animal put on his back. An involuntary whine escaped from his mouth and he bit down hard on his lip: the hound's teeth were like razors cutting into his shoulderblade. The trees around became hazy, blurring together, and his hands and legs were beginning to go numb, supplemented by a pulsing iciness. He knew it. He was at Death's door again.

But was this really it? His final moment… again? Oh hell no! He was not dying at the paws of a hell-mutt listening to the terrible cries of his brother. Sinking his teeth further into his lip, he tried for the gun again, wiggling to get the concealed hound off his back –the hound instantly placed its jaws around the back of his neck. Dean froze stock-still, petrified, the dread amplifying as the seeping blood trickled down the frigid skin. The iciness enshrouded his entire being: this was his final moment…ah, shit!

He closed his eyes waiting for the teeth to clamp down completely, to finish the job. Its' growls were persistent, starting faint and growing to a deafeningly pitch…but wait, these growls and occasional bark weren't coming from on top of him…they were coming from the side!

Seconds later, the weight off his back vanished and his neck was, to his deep surprise and utter relief, still intact, albeit bleeding. Snarls, along with bone-crunching bites, yelps, and the sounds of dogs fighting viciously occurred to the left of him, the floor's debris stirring up haphazardly. It had to be Stella's hellhound. Wow! I could kiss that bitch again!

Not bothering to stick around long enough to see the victor, Dean leapt to his feet, hobbling awkwardly, soon breaking into a long sprint. He no longer heard his brother, but he did hear large booms and the continual annoying laughter. A strong breeze flew, swarming his achy, sweaty body. It felt rather good. But then again, if there was a draft, that meant there was an opening. He was close. He ripped off the chain on his neck, holding the angel's charm firmly in hand. He only had one shot at this. "SAM!"


Through the fog roaming inside his head due to the lack of air, Sam swore he heard Dean's voice echoing through the woods. He opened his eyes to slits, expecting to see Dean or possibly the other psychics looking around for the source of the voice. They weren't. They only stared like they were spectators in a Roman coliseum, watching the lions attacking their Christian victims. The doubt settled back in.

He had to be hallucinating. He felt his life barely clinging on. The blood pumped vigorously in his ears…but then he heard it again.

"Sammy!"

Only Dean ever called him that regularly. His hope began to rekindle. He didn't care if it really was his brother calling or if it was just some trick his mind pulled to ease him into Death's clutches.

Reaching for the knife in the back of his jeans, he jammed it quickly into Terrance's leg. The guy howled releasing him. He bent over gasping for air. Half his body throbbed, pulling back in the much needed oxygen to get his vitals back online as it was barely cooperative in its current state. Screw it, instincts were taking over. Spinning on his knees, holding his breath, he yanked the knife out of the kneecap and walloped the guy three times with his elbow. Thick blood exuded freely out of the bulbous nose. Sam then forced his knee into Terrance's gut and once more up the broken nose.

Terrance fell backward, moaning, covering his face. The psychic horde all gazed stunned at this sudden twist. Terrance looked slightly frightened. He made a swift glance at the bloody knife held securely in Sam's right grip. "Do it," he gasped. "You coward, do it!" He closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

Angry, his nostrils flaring, Sam roared, plunging the knife down at his head.

Terrance opened his eyes and saw the knife buried up to the hilt into the dirt. Sam lowered his head. "No. I will not give into you or him. You are not worth it. He is not worth it. Even if I die, I'll die still being me, and not some sadistic freak's pet." He collected the knife and stood back, ready for the next recruit.

Terrance shakily lifted himself off the ground. He faced Sam already calculating the next move in round two. Sam sucked in a large breath when the psychic rushed in to strike.

"That's enough Terrance." The demon called, raising a hand. Terrance halted, giving his full attention to his leader. "You've had your fun, but your methods are clearly counterproductive. Therefore you can step down now. Let someone else have a try."

Terrance shook his head. "I can still do this sir. I won't let you down." He faced Sam again with a big sneer.

"Terrance, come back and stand with the others."

"No!" He disobeyed and ran ahead, emitting a war-cry.

The demon slowly shook his head. "Terrance, you silly boy." He tilted his palm and suddenly Terrance's neck made a complete 180 and he slid along the dirt, dead.

Several of the psychics gasped, exchanging terrified glances, including Terrance's partner, Sloan. The demon stood up from the well, wiping his hands together. "Don't fret," he said to them reassuringly, "Terrance was too ambitious. His vendetta against Sam was clouding his judgment, redefining less of his place." He glared at them. "I made you, and I can easily break you. Learn the value of who you are to me, at least until this is over, and then you can fiddle with your lives however you wish. But until that time, you learn your place, your rank, and learn it well. You may do as you wish with the Winchester. I don't care if you break him in half. He, as well, needs to learn the value of his place."

Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach.

The kids all moved out. In the blink of an eye, Flash zipped out of sight and before he could bat an eyelash, a sledgehammer in the form of a fist barreled into his gut, slingshotting him backwards. Lana yelled for everyone to jump up on her mark. They did and she released a current of electricity in the ground. An ear-splitting scream escaped through Sam's barely parted lips as several thousand volts lit him up from head to toe. It felt like a carpenter was hammering in foot-long nails into his back and legs. She relented, but he still continued to spasm. The pain was unbearable, tears pooling at his eyes. Another girl waved her hands in the air, releasing a gust of wind comparable to a Category One hurricane. Sam rolled haphazardly away from the crowd, his body limp and useless. He spat out more blood, his insides on fire. Looks like they had a found a new dummy to play with.

Please Dean! If that was you calling, now would be the time to show up. I'm not going to last another minute!


Dean's heartbeat upped its speed. He was right upon them: they were just over this hill. He mastered it in less than four strides. The air expunged from his lungs in one long, fiery draft as he took in what lie at the bottom of the small valley. It was an abandoned town, much like something he'd find in an old John Wayne flick. Sprinting along the edge, his heart nearly stopped from overexertion at what he saw occurring: Sam stood (barely) in the dirt lane dividing the iconic prairie houses, facing an ensemble of kids with the Yellow-Eyed Demon standing behind them.

Sam fell to all fours, desperately trying to stand up. "Sammy!" His call drowned in the scores of laughter. He ran faster. He had to get to him. A girl stepped out in front of the crowd, opened both palms and surprisingly created two fireballs. She emitted a loud grunt tossing the balls of flames. They were flying too fast and Sam wasn't on his feet yet.

Oh my God, I'm not going to make it!


The two fireballs sped with a fury. Jumping and rolling to the side, Sam missed them by a breath's width. The heat seared his sides and legs, but there wasn't time to assess damages. Already Sloan was conjuring up another. This time she meant to maim, critically with no option of recovering— possibly a tribute of revenge for her formal playmate. She went to throw but stopped at the sound of Yellow Eye's voice.

"Come now Sam," he said, "it really isn't all that bad. I know you've been itching for an opportunity to be far superior than your father, than that of your brother. This is your chance. Everything you've wanted, you can have. Just say you'll help me out."

Blood seeped freely from his sides, the desire to lie down and go to sleep ever powerful as though he just swallowed a whole bottle of Sleepaid. Despite the torture his body endured, he breathed through the sickness, through the pain, and stared his enemy hard in the face. "Suck it. You won't have me. Not now. Not ever."

The demon shrugged. "See, that's where you're wrong. Eventually you will come to me, it's part of your nature. Always has been. What you're doing now is just prolonging the inevitable."

"Mail me a sympathy card. The answer's still no."

"Okay," he shrugged, stepping back.

Sam knew he couldn't take one more hit. His fists clenched and his breath staggered. He waited for only a second when Celia stepped out into the clearing. The innocent religious girl he knew before was gone, replaced with an insensitive, power-craving subjugate. The pit of his stomach dropped some more. This time it would be over. How the hell was he going to get out of this one?

She spread out her hands and then slapped them together. Suddenly a shockwave of power was released heading towards him at a dangerous speed. The wave of power rippled through the houses, shattering them all in its wake. Sam had nowhere to go, no place to hide from the probable bone-shattering wave. He braced himself, having accepted that his number was definitely up.

He refused to close his eyes. The last house shattered before him, the blast sending splinters of wood into his skin, drawing blood. The pulse of the wave was just upon him…

Dean suddenly sprang out from the side of the woods, barreling into him, grabbing his arm. "Gotcha!" He pressed something in his hands and they were gone, lost in a sea of blinding green light, in time to escape the fatal shockwave.