Welcome to the end. This world has been long-neglected and I'm sorry for it. I planned for it to be a verse that I would dip in and out of, and that was great, but I did a lot more dipping out than in. It's wholly down to Jenjoremy that this is coming to a close now. She had always favored this story and I have let her down by ignoring it for so long after all she does for me and my stories. It's now completely written and I will make regular updates with the final 5 installments.

Thank you Jenjoremy for beta'ing and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. Thank you all for waiting so patiently for me to finish it.

Finale I

Sam was sitting on Bobby's porch, watching the sun rise and sipping a coffee.

He'd woken in the early hours from a nightmare, and he hadn't wanted to return to it, so he'd gotten up to make himself a coffee and come outside.

In the dream, he'd been with Gordon again, suspended from the roof beam, and the knife had been moving closer and closer to his eye. He woke at the moment the tip touched it and the blood had begun to flow. It was a common dream in the three weeks since he'd been rescued by Dean, John, and Bobby, and he was starting to think it would never go away.

The frustrating part was that he couldn't explain his fears to anyone, to get reassurance. He knew Gordon was dead, but he didn't know how many others Gordon had told about his visions before he had died. He had no idea how many other hunters were out there now, waiting for their chance to come for him. He was scared, and he wasn't a man that scared easily.

His fear had kept him from going with John and Dean when they had gone to The Roadhouse the night before to check in with Ash and his tracking program. He didn't want to dangle himself in front of a bar full of hunters that might also want him dead. He made himself understood when they'd told him what they were going to do, refusing their requests for him to go, and now, with Bobby joined with up with another hunter for a werewolf hunt, he was alone.

He didn't mind being alone; it was peaceful. There was no need for him to talk, so it didn't matter that he couldn't. He felt almost normal.

It was easier when he was just with Dean, John, and Bobby as there was no expectation for him to talk, but when he'd met Ava, fresh from Gordon's clutches and bleeding copiously, she'd quizzed him on what had happened and he'd seen her shock and pity as they explained why he wasn't answering her. He had to sit in silence as Bobby patched up his wounds and John and Dean quizzed her in return about her dreams and life. She'd had no nursery fire when she was a baby, her mother was still alive, which meant she broke the pattern they'd assumed they were working with. If not all of them had the fire, there could be far more people like Sam out there. By mutual agreement, Sam's unspoken, they'd decided not to tell her what they knew about the demon and its influence on her life.

He'd been relieved when she'd left and gone home.

As the sun flooded the sky with light and color, he drained the rest of his coffee and stood. He thought he would get some breakfast and then send Dean a text. They had an arrangement now that Sam could send anything, no matter how nonsensical, and Dean would reply with an update on what they were doing and an estimate of how long they would be gone.

He turned to head back into the house and then stopped as he heard an engine behind him. He turned back and saw a red van approaching the house and pulling to a stop. A tall man climbed out and came toward Sam, a wide smile in place.

"Hey," the man said, his voice friendly. "I'm sorry to come so early, but I'm looking for John Winchester and I heard he was staying here. Say, are you his son, Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Great. I was looking for you, too."

The man came closer and Sam automatically stepped back. He felt a sense of unease about this man. He couldn't put his finger on why, but he didn't trust him.

The man raised his hands in front of him, palms out. "I'm not going to hurt you kid. I just want to talk."

Sam shook his head and turned away and grabbed the door handle. He wanted to get inside and lock the door behind him. It wasn't like him to be such a coward, but he was sure there was something about this man that was wrong, dangerous even.

He had the door open but before he could step through it, he felt something slam into his back, driving him forward onto the floor as the air rushed out of him and he dropped his mug. He scrambled to his knees and crawled away but hands grabbed his ankles and dragged him back onto the porch.

He flipped onto his back and kicked out, fighting to free himself, but the man was no longer alone. There was a tall woman with him and she was holding a tire iron that she slammed into his midriff, making him curl over and groan with pain.

"Get in there and grab his stuff and pick up that cup," the man said. "Make sure it's his clothes and not the other's. It got to look like a runaway again. These aren't the kind of people we want chasing us down, especially as they have the Colt. Watch out for the traps."

Through his pain, Sam felt a thrill of fear separate to what he already felt for himself. The Colt was in the house, locked in the safe with the combination known only to Sam, Dean, John, and Bobby, but they might be able to crack it.

The woman stepped on Sam's hand as she passed him and entered the house, and Sam cried out as he felt something break.

Sam was hauled up by his injured hand, and though he tried to fight through it, to free himself, the man was too strong and Sam suspected he was a demon. His hands were yanked behind him and he felt something snick around his wrists that cut into the skin. He was dragged over to the van, and the man yanked open the side door and shoved Sam inside. He landed hard on his injured hand and it screamed in pain.

Scared and helpless, Sam rolled over as his legs were bent roughly and the door slammed behind him. He looked around the small space in the dim light that came through the dirty rear windows. He was shocked at what he saw. There were three others in there: two men and a woman. They were wide-eyed and scared looking, their own hands restrained behind them. The men looked like they were fighting tears, but the woman was looking at Sam with relief and Sam recognized her. Ava.

"Sam," she breathed. "Oh, thank God. Are the rest of your family here?"

Sam shook his head.

She bit her lip. "But they'll come? They saved you from that madman. They'll do it again, right? They'll save us?"

Sam stared at her, deciding whether to answer honestly or not. They would try, he knew, but how would they find him? His phone was in the house so they couldn't track his GPS. They were taking his stuff so it would look like he'd taken off on his own. Would they believe he would do that or would they start looking straight away?

"Sam," Ava pressed.

Sam nodded, his eyes hard, and she sighed with relief. She was reassured. Sam wasn't.

Dean and John had just passed Vermillion on their way back to Bobby's, and Dean was relaxed behind the wheel.

They'd stayed later at The Roadhouse than they'd intended, talking late into the night with Ellen and Ash after closing, checking on Ash's progress with the program and subtly scouting any information on Gordon Walker. They'd not heard anything about him when they asked vaguely, so they assumed no one had realized what had happened to him yet. They knew the body had been found as it had made the local paper, but he'd carried no genuine ID so they'd not been able to track anyone down to inform.

Dean was glad of it. He liked the idea of that bastard in a morgue freezer for weeks until he was given an anonymous cremation and his ashes dumped in a storage facility somewhere.

They'd not told Ellen what had happened. Though they trusted her, none of them wanted anyone new in on the secret. They'd told Ava that Gordon had been stopped but not how he had been killed by John. They didn't know enough about her to know if she'd keep quiet about it. Only Dean, Sam, John and Bobby knew what had really happened in that barn, and they wanted to keep it that way.

Dean was looking forward to getting back to Sam. If he was up already, they could have breakfast together before Dean crashed for a few hours' sleep. If he wasn't, Dean could maybe wake him up to something good instead of the panting and wide-eyed fear of another nightmare.

Sam was having them a lot, and though he couldn't tell them what they were about, Dean suspected it was Gordon. If he'd been through what Sam had, he would have nightmares, too.

John was leaning back in his seat, staring out of the window with a thoughtful look on his face. The stereo was playing an AC/DC album of his choosing. The air around them was comfortable and peaceful. For a while, the tension of what they were living with wasn't reaching them. Dean was hoping they could transfer some of that feeling to Sam when they got home.

John's phone rang and he took it from his pocket without urgency and answered with a relaxed, "Hey, Bobby, are you back already?"

Dean glanced at him and saw the moment his face stiffened into tension and he sat bolt upright and said, "What? Hold on. I'm putting you on speaker." He lowered the phone and pressed a button and then held it up between them. "Say that again."

"Sam's taken off," Bobby said.

Dean's question was a shout as he asked, "He's what?"

"I got home a little while ago and went to check on him since he wasn't downstairs; I figured he might be struggling again. He wasn't in his room and his stuff is mostly gone. The drawers were open and emptied."

"No," Dean said. "Sam wouldn't do that."

"I didn't think so either, but he has."

Dean shook his head jerkily and put his foot down hard on the accelerator, speeding them back to the house.

"Did he leave anything behind that might tell us where he's gone?" John asked.

"Like a note?" Bobby said, a touch of anger in his voice. "He can't, John. There's nothing. Well… there's his cell. Wherever he's gone, he doesn't want us following."

Dean's heart was racing. Sam wouldn't take off on them. Where would he go and how would he cope without his voice? He couldn't do anything alone. And there was no way he would do this to them. Maybe he would've before, when he'd been struggling with John and his confession, but after they'd rescued him from Gordon, something had changed between them. A deeper connection than they'd ever shared before had been forged between them and Sam wouldn't abandon him now.

"He didn't take off," Dean said. "Something took him."

"I'm just telling you what I'm seeing," Bobby said. "He's not here. His stuff is gone. His cell is here."

"What if he had a vision?" Dean said, clinging to the idea as it was the only explanation he could think of. "He wouldn't have been able to call and tell us. He'd have to go alone."

"He took his stuff, Dean," John said quietly.

"No!"

John sighed. "Okay, Bobby, I've got to make a couple calls. Stay there in case he comes back and call us if you hear anything."

What would he hear though? Sam couldn't call them to tell them what was happening. He couldn't even send a text to explain. He was completely helpless to contact them at all. The only thing he could do was come back, and if Dean was right, if someone or thing had taken him, he didn't stand a chance.

John ended the call and then checked something on his phone and typed out a text.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked. "He's not got his phone."

John didn't answer. He just dialed a number and brought the phone to his ear. Obviously someone answered because he spoke in a rush of words. "Ash, I just sent you some bank details. Yeah, I know what time it is and I don't care. I want you to track those accounts and find out where and when they were last used. Now!"

Dean veered around a truck that was going too slowly and they sped ahead of it. John jostled but didn't comment. Dean knew he was just as eager to get to Bobby's to see for themselves what Bobby had found there.

"Where?" John barked. "How much?" He closed his eyes and his face morphed into pain before it became anger again. "I want you to keep checking. If it's used, I want to know straight away, you understand? Good. No, I don't want to tell you what's happening. I don't want this making the rounds in the bar either. Keep your mouth shut. I'll be in touch."

He snapped the phone closed and stared out of the windshield for a moment in silence.

"Well?" Dean snapped.

"He hit two ATMs and pretty much emptied his accounts. It wasn't much, but he's got enough for a bus to basically anywhere."

"He's not on a bus," Dean growled. "I'm telling you, he didn't take off on his own."

John gave him a pitying look. "Then why did he take his stuff?" He shook his head. "I don't want to hear it either, Dean, but I think it's the only explanation. Whatever happened, he's gone for a while, and he wouldn't need his stuff if it was just a vision thing. No. I think…" He sighed. "I think he's gone."

Shortly after Sam had been taken, they'd stopped again and the door had been yanked open by the black-eyed man. He'd grabbed Sam by the collar and dragged him upright.

"Pin code," he'd growled, holding up Sam's wallet making him realize they'd grabbed his jacket as well as his clothes. He wondered if they'd taken his cell phone. Maybe if they weren't too smart, they would have left the GPS turned on so Dean and John could track him down.

Sam just glared at him and the demon punched him across the cheek. It wasn't landed hard enough to cause the full pain a demon's strength could. It was more of an insult, a gesture to show Sam's helplessness.

"Pin!"

"He can't tell you," Ava said when Sam shook his head. "He can't talk."

The demon's brows contracted. "What the hell?"

"Something happened to him," she said. "He can't talk anymore."

"Well," the demon said with an amused widening on the eyes, "This is going to be really interesting for you Winchester. How about this? I hold up my fingers and you tell me when I'm right."

Sam shook his head again.

The demon reached into the van and grabbed Ava by the hair and dragged her towards him. She cried out in pain and Sam made an inarticulate sound of protest, making the demon laugh.

"Refuse me again and I'll start really hurting her," he said, holding up his fisted hands. "Nod when I get to the right number."

He held up one finger then two and Sam nodded. With a satisfied grin, the demon started again and Sam nodded then he reached four. When he had the whole sequence, the demon let go of Ava, shoved Sam backward and slammed the door closed.

"Is this why they want us?" one of the men asked. "For our money? He didn't want my number."

Sam wanted to ask if anyone else's stuff had been taken, too, but he had no way to ask. All he could do was try to roll himself into a less painful position and wait as the front door of the van closed and they started moving again.

He puzzled over the demon's behavior. Sam hardly had any money in his account at all, and he'd never heard of demons that wanted cash before. They were usually after chaos and destruction.

"Never mind the money," the second man said with a faint Brooklyn accent. "Why does he have black eyes? Is this some kind of goth cult thing?"

Sam shook his head but he didn't think anyone saw in the dim light of the van's interior.

Since the fire, since he lost his voice, he had struggled many times in ways he couldn't have imagined, but this was among the most frustrating of all—only eclipsed by the woman he'd seen die without being able to give her a word of comfort. He knew more than all the people in this van combined, but he had no way to share any of it with them. He couldn't explain anything. If he was right, and the age of the people around him and Ava's presence made him think he was, they were going to need each other to make it through.

If Sam was right, this was the demon's endgame at last. He was gathering the special children and preparing to put his plan—whatever that was—into action.

The first thing Sam became aware of was the pain in his throbbing hand and the voices around him. He groaned and opened his eyes, seeing a cloudy sky above him that dark birds circled in.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his feet, surprised but pleased to see his hands had been unbound. He was on muddy ground in front of a rickety building with glassless windows and clapboards peeling away from the walls. Ava and one of the men were standing close to him, and the other was still lying unconscious on the ground.

They seemed to be in some kind of old-world town that had clearly been abandoned at least a hundred years before. The road they were on had probably been Main Street but there were small alleys leading off of it. There was a water tower at the end of the road held on a high wooden frame.

Sam bent beside the man lying on the ground and tapped his cheek. He wished he could use words to rouse him, but he had none that would make sense. The man's eyes rolled under their lids and then opened. He looked up at Sam and then scrambled away from him, shuffling on his hands and butt.

Sam straightened up and raised his hands as a gesture of reassurance.

"What happened?" the man asked.

"I don't remember," Ava said. "One minute I was in the van and the door was open, the next I was here. They must have knocked us out."

"They gave us a shot," the first man said. "They did you first… Sam is it? Was that your name?"

Sam nodded.

"And you can't talk?"

"He can't," Ava answered for him. "He was in some kind of accident. But his family are kinda special, and I'm sure they're looking for us as well as the cops."

"You think," the man said.

"I'm sure."

The man shrugged. "That's great, I guess. I'm Nate."

"Ava."

"I'm Chris," the man on the ground said, getting to his feet and looking around. "Where the hell are we? And why are we here? Those people grabbed me out of my dorm in the middle of the night and stuffed me in that van without telling me a word."

"I was at home," Ava said. "I'd just gone to bed with my fiancé. God, I hope he's okay."

"I was on my way to work," Nate said. "They came out of nowhere and they seemed to know who I was." He looked around. "Who were those guys and why are we here?"

"No idea," Chris said. "But I'm not hanging around." He looked up and down the streets. "It looks like we're in a forest or something. I say we start walking until we find a real road."

Sam shook his head briskly.

"Why not?" Ava asked.

Sam closed his eyes and wished for what felt like the millionth time that he could talk.

He didn't know why the demon had brought them here, but he knew it wasn't for anything good, and he was sure they would not be able to leave as easily as that. Somehow, they were trapped here, and he didn't want to lead them to their deaths by letting them try to leave. They at least had to find a way to arm themselves before trying.

Sam pointed at them each in turn and then over his shoulder to one of the buildings. Though he knew he couldn't really defend them without a weapon of some sort, he didn't want to leave them alone out here.

"You want us to come?" Nate asked.

Sam nodded.

"Why?"

Sam threw up his hands in frustration. He'd not realized properly how much his family did for him by accommodating his lack of voice in the way they interacted with him. They'd had longer to get used to it, and Dean had always known him better than anyone else, but it must have been hard for them. He'd been with these people in this place, with them able to question him, for less than five minutes, but they were not listening to what Ava told them. He couldn't talk and he couldn't make them understand what he wanted.

"Look, buddy, you've got this kickass family and all that," Chris said. "And that's great for you, but we've been kidnapped, drugged, and dumped here, and I for one am pretty eager to get away. We don't know when they'll come back for us, so we need to get out of here while we've got the chance."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut in frustration and shook his head.

"Maybe Sam's right," Ava said. "We might find something to help us here. We don't know how far we are from a road or even house here. It could take days. We at least need water. Let's just look around to see what we can find first."

"How are we going to carry water?" Nate asked.

Ava bit her lip. "We might find something…"

"Or we might waste time looking when we could be getting out of here."

Sam held up his uninjured hand, his fingers splayed.

"Five?" Ava asked. "You want five minutes."

Sam nodded. If they would just give him time to find something to arm himself with, he would go with them.

"Okay," Nate said. "Five minutes."

Chris huffed in frustration, but when Sam walked toward the closest building and entered it, he followed Ava and Nate after him.

It was bare of everything but dirt and ragged blankets piled in one corner, and Sam moved them onto the next building and saw something that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle with unease. There was a large plastic crate in the corner with a partially open lid.

He approached it slowly and opened it. Inside he saw enough to make his heart race with understanding. There was a knife with a blade at least ten inches long. Bottles of water and boxes with US Army insignia on them and MRE stamped on the side were beneath the knife.

"Water!" Nate said triumphantly, grabbing a bottle and unscrewing the cap.

"Don't!" Ava said. "What if it's poisoned?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "They wouldn't dump us in the middle of nowhere just to poison us. If they wanted us dead, they would have killed us instead of kidnapping us."

Chris grabbed the knife and said, "Okay, we're armed. Let's go."

"Wait," Nate said, grabbing two bottles of water and stowing them in the pockets of his jacket so they bulged the cloth and the caps poked out of the top.

"We shouldn't do this," Sam said, driven to attempt to speak with his worry.

They all looked at him blankly and Sam sighed. Of course, he had made no sense.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say, but I'm getting out of here," Chris said. "Who's coming?"

Nate raised his hand and Ava looked at Sam for a moment, frowning as he shook his head vigorously, and then she said, "I'm sorry, Sam, but we've got to get out of here."

Sam groaned and then nodded and pushed past them and out the door. If they were going to be stupid enough to do this, he was going in front to do what he could to defend them. He would let Chris hold the knife as trying to take it from him might end in bloodshed anyway, and he would hope that there was something innocuous keeping them in the town, not the violent threats he was imagining.

They got out into the fresh air and Sam started toward the water tower that stood in front of the trees. On the way there, he saw something buried in the dirt that he stopped and unearthed. It was a long strip of metal like a tire iron. He couldn't be sure it was made of iron, so he didn't know if it would be any defense against a demon or ghost, but it was something of a weapon. Its presence couldn't be a coincidence. The knife had been left for them, and he was sure this had, too. He wondered what other weapons were hidden around the place.

They passed the tower and entered the trees. Sam felt no menace within them, and for the space of a few minutes he let himself believe they really might have a chance of getting out alive, and then a howl rent the air.

He came to a dead stop and held up a hand. Nate, Chris, and Ava stopped with him and looked around.

"What the hell was that?" Chris asked, lifting the knife.

"It had to be some kind of wolf or dog," Nate said.

Ava shuddered. "That didn't sound like any dog I've ever heard."

Sam hadn't heard a howl like that before either, but he had a suspicion he knew what it was. He'd read enough in Bobby's library since losing his voice to know that hellhounds' howls were unlike any other kind of canine.

He grabbed Ava's arm and turned her and then pushed her away back towards the town. She stumbled forward and then stopped and said in a weak voice. "What's coming, Sam?"

Sam grabbed Chris and Nate and began to drag them back, too, but they resisted and then there was another howl, this time closer.

"Run!" Sam shouted, not knowing what random word had come out.

Ava seemed to understand the message as she started away and broke into a stumbling run, but Chris ran in the other direction while Nate stood frozen.

"Chris, stop!" Sam bellowed, starting after him.

He was fast but Chris was faster and Sam hadn't reached him when the creature attacked. Sam couldn't see it, but he saw the disturbance of earth as its paws sprang up. Chris fell back as the hellhound collided with him and he hit the ground hard, air rushing out of him as a heavy weight pinned him down. He started to scream and Sam swung the tire iron he had through the air above Chris' chest. He felt it impact something, but there was no give. He could just as easily have swung at a brick wall.

There was a menacing growl and then a howl of pain as long wounds appeared on Chris' chest, exposing ribs for a moment before the gush of blood occluded them.

"Ava, Nate, run!"

Sam snatched the knife out of Chris's hand and stabbed at the air above his chest. The tip of the blade was knocked away by something solid and then there was another growl. Sam was thrown onto his back by a weight that pressed down on his chest and made it hard to breathe. He felt warm air on his cheek and something wet dripped onto his neck. He waited for the killing blow to come from the hellhound, but there was no rake of claws or jaws clamped into his neck. He felt that he was being assessed and considered by the creature. He lifted the knife again and tried to stab it into the creature's side, but once again, it was knocked away.

The weight held him for a moment and then left him panting and terrified on the ground. He heard pounding paws on the dirt, growing quieter as it moved away, and Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows and then crawled over to Chris.

He was too late to even try to help, not that he could have done more than hold his hand as he died, as life had already left him; his eyes stared blankly up at the trees and his lips were still parted by his last last breath.

Sam closed his eyes and then got to his feet, picked up the tire iron and tucked it in his pants, still holding the knife, and walked back to where Nate stood immobile.

"Is he dead?" he asked weakly.

Sam nodded.

"What was that? What killed him?"

"Hellhound," Sam said, knowing he wouldn't be understood but tired of the pantomime.

Nate gaped at him. "A hellhound?"

Sam's heart leaped. "You understood me?"

Nate frowned. "I didn't get a word of that, but you said hellhound. What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam shook his head and grabbed his arm. They needed to get out of the forest and find Ava, away from the hellhound's territory.

Nate walked with him and Sam's mind reeled with what had happened. Chris had been killed but Sam was left to live, as was Nate. What had stopped the hellhound from killing them? Was Chris special or trapped here as cannon fodder for the demon's plan? Were they safe from the hounds as they were the Demon's children? He didn't know the answer and he had another pressing, and infinitely more selfish question that he wanted answered more.

Nate had understood one word he'd spoken. Was it pure chance that it had come out understandably, or was Sam getting his words back?

So… Here we go with the finale of The Sound of Silence. It will be posted in five interlinking chapters telling one overall story.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx