A/N: Well, this was a close one. My computer got some nasty virus and I didn't think I'd get this finished on time, but luckily my dad is awesome and everything is fine now. So here we go: Chapter 10! I hope I haven't disappointed with this one, it was tough to write - let me know! :)

It had been a week now since Sam had last seen his family. A week since he had been taken away from a filthy motel room and placed in an equally filthy warehouse. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this for.

"How's it going, Sammy?" Yellow-Eyes was back. He had been gone for about an hour or so, muttering that he had 'things to attend to' and saying something about 'short-sighted humans'. Honestly, Sam hadn't been able to concentrate on much past the throbbing in his head and the clawing in his stomach and the constant bombardment of emotions.

Sam glanced up at the demon. He wasn't an idiot. He knew Yellow-Eyes had been giving him less blood for the past couple of days – it would be hard not to notice. What he couldn't work out was why. All he knew was that it made him edgy and that there was a constant gnawing in his gut now, almost like hunger. It wasn't hunger, though, it couldn't be. Yellow-Eyes might have been a demon but he didn't want Sam dead. He had been feeding Sam – the bare minimum to survive, but feeding him nonetheless.

Aside from that, Sam had been working on his psychic powers. Moving objects had been surprisingly easy. It was having control that was harder but with nothing else to focus on, Sam had been improving pretty quickly. Not quickly enough, though. His family still wasn't here. That must mean he was doing something wrong.

Yellow-Eyes was watching him with a funny expression on his face. Sam couldn't say what the demon was thinking at that moment, although that was true most of the time. It scared him, but not enough to stop him asking, "Where's my family?"

"Hell if I know," Yellow-Eyes answered with a shrug, and Sam could have sworn his heart stopped. They had a deal! Oh crap, he was such an idiot to have gone along with this and Yellow-Eyes wasn't going to get his family and he was using psychic powers for nothing and he was so going to Hell for this and- "Calm down, Sammy-boy," Yellow-Eyes said, taking a step towards him. "I don't know, okay? They'll be here, though, don't you worry." There it was again, that brutal flash of teeth, that unnerving grin that Sam hated so much.

"Yeah?" Sam swallowed and ignored the way the sensation in his stomach flared up again. "When?"

"I wish I knew," Yellow-Eyes said. "I've been sending out signs for a couple of days now. Hell, Sammy, I might as well hang a huge, big, neon sign over this place. Y'know, for hunters, your family ain't so great."

"Don't talk about them," Sam ground out. This thing, this demon didn't know anything about his family.

"My apologies, Sammy-boy. What should we talk about instead?"

Sam ignored the question. "What kind of signs?" He wanted to make a note of them. Once he got out of here, he had no doubt that they would be going after Yellow-Eyes. Sam wanted to be able to help.

Yellow-Eyes looked unsurprised by the question. Sighing in a suitably bored sort of way, he replied with, "Oh, you know. Cattle deaths, electrical storms. That kind of thing. Your family shoulda been able to pick it up by now."

Sam frowned. His family, as far as he knew, had not encountered this thing since that night that they never talked about. How would they know what signs to pick up on? Sam didn't voice this question. He just hoped that his family would find him soon. That was, assuming they were actually looking for him.

As much as Sam hated it, a part of him wondered if they weren't just going to leave him here. Surely they would be better off? This demon wanted him, after all. It had been him that it was after that night. It had been him it had taken. His family would be safer if he wasn't there. Better off. He had always felt like a bit of a burden, anyway, and he had hated the way his dad made him feel selfish because he wanted something more. Something better than hunting.

No. No, they were looking for him. They were.

But what would happen when they found him?

He was a mess. He had been drinking demon blood. He had psychic powers. He was weak and pathetic and a freak. Dean would have been able to resist this. He would have fought. Oh God, what if his family thought he was weak? What if they hated him?

Once it had entered his mind, Sam couldn't force the thought away. He tried anyway, instead choosing to focus on how much he felt like crap. And he did. Absolute crap. He felt hungry, even though Yellow-Eyes had actually given him food – something he hadn't expected – and he had a horrible feeling he knew why. It was the demon blood.

He needed more.

And then there were the headaches. Sam was in constant pain, blinded by it sometimes, and he had lost count of the amount of nosebleeds he had had. He was worried about it, sure, but there was nothing he could do. He had to do this. His family weren't here. He had to be strong on his own.

He had to hold out until they got here. He could do that.

This was it.

They had found the place that Sam had been taken to.

It was an old warehouse, on the outskirts of town, and it had been abandoned for some time now. Looking up at it, John could see why. This place was a dump.

It had taken them two more days of frantic searching to finally narrow down their options. This was the final place. Sam was here. Armed with exorcisms and iron and salt (it didn't work on the yellow eyed demon, but John had brought it in case of any lower calibre demons), John, Dean and Caleb had headed up to the warehouse. Slamming the door of the Impala, Dean stood next to John.

John hadn't wanted Dean to come along. He wanted to keep his sons as far away from everything to do with their mother's death as he could, but he had already failed at that because Sam was in there with the demon. He had tried to convince Dean to stay behind, though, thinking that maybe he could protect at least one of his sons, but that hadn't worked. Dean was here to stay.

"Alright," he spoke lowly, glancing to either side of him where Dean and Caleb stood. "Caleb, you head 'round the back and make sure it can't get out that way."

Caleb did not like being told what to do, John knew. He liked to be treated as an equal. In this situation, though, he didn't argue, just nodded and headed around the other side of the large building with a gun and everything he needed to prevent the demon escaping.

John gave Caleb a few minutes to get into position. The only noise was the soft in-and-out of Dean's breathing, and his own. It reassured John that even here, in the black of night outside an old warehouse waiting to rescue his youngest son, that Dean would have his back.

He nodded at Dean and his oldest set about painting a devil's trap on the concrete slabs just in front of the door. He moved silently and John hoped, perhaps futilely, that the demon had not yet noted their presence. He clutched the exorcism in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

This was definitely not ideal. He would have rather had the demon trapped in one small space, not an entire building, and if he had the Colt this whole thing would be a lot easier, but they couldn't afford to wait any longer. They were doing this now.

Dean straightened up, fingers stained red and expression determined, and John slammed his shoulder into the door. It was locked but weak and gave way easily. John burst into the room with Dean right on his heels and took a few short moments to assess the situation.

The demon was there, yellow eyes bright against the dull grey of the warehouse. It grinned when John and Dean came in, almost like it was pleased to see them. And then there was Sam. God, Sam. Tied to a chair and looking pale and worried and with dried blood on his face and somehow he looked so much younger and skinnier and smaller than his fourteen years and John swallowed, forcing himself to look back at the demon.

"Glad you could make it, Johnny," the demon said and John gritted his teeth, tried to think beyond the rage clouding his vision as he stared down at the exorcism in his hand.

"Yeah," he managed at last, very aware of his sons' gazes on him. "Go get Sam," he muttered to Dean. His son didn't need telling twice; Dean shot across the warehouse towards his brother and John began to recite the exorcism, feeling like this was much too easy.

He was right.

"'Fraid I'm gonna have to stop you guys there," the demon announced before John could get more than a few words into the exorcism. Dean didn't even look up from where he was untying his brother, but John could see his hands shaking slightly and Sam wasn't meeting anyone's eye.

Then the demon flung an arm out and John and Dean were thrown through the air, slamming into the wall.

Dean's breath escaped in a huge rush as he hit the wall, grimacing and briefly thinking that he was gonna have some pretty impressive bruises tomorrow – if he could stay alive for that long. He was suddenly very aware that they hadn't just been thrown into the wall. They were pinned to it with that son-of-a-bitch's psychic powers. Escape would be impossible until the demon allowed it. Grunting, Dean struggled anyway.

"This is nice," the demon said after a moment, grinning. Dean spared it a single glare before he turned back to look at Sam. His brother looked like crap and his face was hidden behind his floppy brown hair. They might be about to die and everything but God, it was good to see him again. If only Sam would actually meet his eye. He hadn't said a word as Dean had untied him (and he had only gotten halfway through that, another thing he'd messed up) and Dean was worried.

Y'know, not that he wasn't worried anyway. "Nice?" he ground out, ignoring the warning look that John shot in his direction.

"Yeah," the demon replied with a nod of his head. There was a flicker in his eyes – freaky-ass yellow eyes – that Dean did not like. At all. "You guys must be pleased to see each other again, huh?"

Pleased. Yeah, something like that. Of course, he'd be much more pleased if they could actually kick this demon back to Hell first. Speaking of which, was that Dad? Dean tried to look to his side but found he couldn't move. That was definitely his dad, though, still trying to blurt out the entire exorcism even though he'd dropped the paper, but the demon cut him off with a flick of his hand.

John tried to speak, looking mutinous, but no sound came out. Damn, this thing was powerful. Dean felt the beginnings of panic coil in his stomach.

"Y'know, Sammy here has been pretty busy while you guys have been looking for him," the demon said, taking a step closer to where John and Dean were held up against the wall. Dean tried to look past the demon to his brother – to see his reaction, to reassure him, hell, he didn't even know. He just needed his brother.

"I bet you guys wanna know what's been happening, huh?" Yeah, Dean wanted to know alright. He just didn't want to hear it from this demon. His mind was whirring, trying to think of a plan but he was kind of a little bit distracted by the fact that his brother was right freaking there and he couldn't do a thing about it and wasn't that just great?

A less observant man might have missed the stern look that John shot his eldest son, but not Dean. It was a look designed to quell Dean's panic, a look that told him, firmly, to stay calm. It wasn't happening, not while Sam was in trouble. Still, a tiny spike of interest jabbed at him. He had to know what had been done to his brother.

The demon was pacing now, in full evil genius monologue mode, but Dean wasn't fooled. This thing knew what it was doing. It wasn't going to slip up. He hoped Caleb would work out something was wrong and figure out a plan. Until then, they had to try and stay alive. "I've been helping him out with some abilities that he possesses," the demon drawled with a bright-toothed grin. "Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Dean didn't miss the minute flinch from his brother and felt his chest tighten with anger as he forced himself to hold back – helped, of course, by the fact that he couldn't actually move. A sideways glance at his dad (and how come he could suddenly move his head? That sort of implied that the demon wanted them to see each others faces) didn't tell him a lot. John looked a little pale and there was a set to his jaw, but that was probably just the lighting in this crap-shack.

"Spit it out," Dean managed at last, grunting the words out with a difficulty that came from both his position and the anger that was near choking him by this point.

"Demon blood, Dean," the demon said with a smirk, and this time Sam's flinch was much more prominent. Dean tried to catch his brother's eye, but it was a lost cause. "Sammy-boy has developed quite a taste for it and, well, it's really helped with his psychic powers."

Dean gaped at the demon, mouth working soundlessly because whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that and holy crap, demon blood? What the hell did that mean? Had Sam drank demon blood? What had the demon done to him and what psychic abilities and why the hell wouldn't Sam meet his eye because surely it wasn't his fault, was it, so he should be able to look at Dean and not freak out and oh crap, he had to calm down.

John had been silent for the entire exchange but there was a kind of rage burning in his eyes that Dean had never seen before. Oh yeah. This thing was going down. You did not tangle with the Winchesters and live.

He opened his mouth to make some kind of threat but the only word that didn't die on his lips was, "Sam?"

The mop of brown hair (greasy, probably, seeing as Sam hadn't washed in a week which was gross but the least of their problems) shifted a little and then Sam's pale face was visible along with the blood and dirt and fear. Sam's eyes looked bright and his brother did not cry easily so it was almost definitely the lighting in here, that had to be it.

Sam swallowed, throat working as if he was about to speak, but no words came out. His gaze pleaded for his brother to understand but if there was one thing Dean couldn't do, it was understand. Demon blood. The two words seemed to be seared into his brain.

"As touching as this is," the demon said, and Dean swung his head around to glare at him, "I'm afraid I have to interrupt. Sammy" – and as soon as Dean could move he was so kicking this demon's ass because no one could call his brother Sammy except him, no one – "it's time to make a choice." He stepped close – too close – to Sam, and whispered into his ear, murmuring words that Dean strained to hear.

It didn't work and Dean remained clueless as Sam ducked his head miserably. His expression was hidden again but Dean didn't get the chance to say anything to his brother because the demon was speaking again, to Sam, but louder this time. He wanted them to hear.

"You can stay with me, Sammy" – oh hell no, there was no freaking way that was happening – "and be my willing soldier, etcetera, etcetera..."

Yeah, that idea didn't sound too great.

"...Or I can kill your family."