Brady never did seek help. Sam tried to mother hen him into a rehab program or a psychiatrist and Brady alternately acted like he was going to give in and then resisted just when Sam thought he had gained ground. They still got along well for the most part. Brady was still fun and caring most days. Sam had to turn a blind eye to his debauchery that outstripped Dean's at times. And then break was over and Sam moved back into his dorm on campus and Brady kept the apartment.
The Demon inside Brady made himself more at home every day. Demons were particular about their meat suits and when you found one that fit...the way Tyson Brady fit, it was like an exquisite pair of custom loafers. And the more you broke them in, the more comfortable it got. Every nook and cranny, every corner of the kid's psyche, all the memories and moments, all accessible to the Demon.
He could flip through Brady's life like a highlight reel or stop and examine this Truth or that moment. He knew everything from Brady's first kiss to how he liked to jerk off. All his loves, his resentments, his complexities- a beautiful tome the demon could flip through at will. Sure, with Brady still inside it was a violation. A mind rape. But that added to the allure.
Each time the demon immersed himself in Brady's story and became more familiar with it, the more it became his own. He liked the way this boy fit him. The boyish, all American charm. The intellect. The wealth. The square jaw, blonde hair and blue eyes. The lady killer body. Tyson Brady had won the genetic lottery. The more times the demon saw himself in the mirror, those good looks and black eyes shining back at him, the more he enjoyed his vessel. The demon began to think of Brady's body as less of a body and as more of HIM.
His place, the dwelling for his soul. The demon knew in another life he'd called himself Belial. That was his true name. His demon name. He would always know that if he wanted to go back to it, but for now, for this long term assignment of however many years, Belial began to think of himself as Tyson Brady. Like so many demons did once they got sentimental about their meat suit. He was Tyson Brady. There was no evicting him out of here now.
Azazel trusted Belial as much as he trusted any demon...which is to say not completely. He remained reasonably certain that the lesser demon would carry out his plan correctly.
And it had to be done correctly.
The Winchester had to be herded in the right direction, groomed the right way. Azazel did not want to lose him. The other special children he wouldn't have batted an eye at if he somehow botched the attempt. But that wasn't true of Sam.
Sam he would mourn.
But Sam wasn't strong enough yet. Not by a fucking long shot, Azazel knew this. He wondered how how much polishing Sammy would require. They'd lost ground with him at Stanford. Sure he was away from his overprotective paternal figure but he was also losing his edge.
He had already lost it in some ways. He'd adapted far better to civilian life than Azazel would have thought, being that Sam was not particularly mercurial. He wasn't like his brother. He wasn't eager to embrace new people and experiences. No. Sam Winchester was the nerd who kept his head down and didn't make trouble. Kept to himself.
But here... well he still wasn't popular by a long shot, but he hadn't turned into an isolated freak either. He had a small group of friends that seemed to think the world of him and that he in turn did anything for. That Winchester loyalty. That code he lived by.
So it was that Azazel decided to send one of his children to check up on his favorite little project and measure exactly how lax Sam had gotten.
Sam tilted his head and gave Brady an affable smile. "Look, she is cute. She really is."
Brady raised an eyebrow. "Why do I feel like this is going to be followed by a... but..."
"But I don't think she's interested, Brady."
"Sam." Brady shook his head. "Have you looked in a fucking mirror...like ever?"
Sam exhaled though his nose and gave a little head shake, completely unaware that he looked like a poster of a teenage girl's wet dream when he did it. "Not every woman wants to sleep with me, Brady."
"Yeah," Brady responded. "Bullshit. You're just oblivious. That chick likes you."
Sam rolled his eyes heavenward and finished his beer. He kept a hold of the empty bottle and adjusted his stride to match his friend's. It was a decent night walking home from food and drinks and companionship. The loud raucous thumping of a sub woofer disturbed the peace and seemed to vibrate the ground as they drew nearer.
Brady looked toward the source of the disturbance, a frat house blasting music across the street. It was an old, elaborate Victorian type of thing. Actually a bit out of place with the rest of the Palo Alto architecture- giant Greek revival pillars, a big heavy wooden door thrown open to the street, people visibly milling in and out of the party.
"They could at least chose something better to play. I have half a mind to go in and try my hand as DJ." He turned an appraising look to Sam. "What do you say?"
He didn't know why he bothered to ask. Obviously Sam was going to turn the dare down. Like clockwork he did. "You know that's not my scene."
"Dammit Sam. What IS your scene?"
Sam shrugged. "The library?"
"Come on. Come with me and crash it. It's a frat party."
"Yeah I think you just hit the nail on the head why it has no appeal to me." He snorted. "Dean should have been the one to go to college. This would be his scene."
"Well I say free beer is free beer." Brady declared, squaring his shoulders and crossing the street.
Sam watched him for a moment and then jogged off after Brady's retreating figure. "Brady, come on!"
He was so friggin' predictable. How was Sam so see through? Now he'd launch into a talk designed to try and keep Brady on the straight and narrow. Which of course he wasn't, but Sam knew nothing of the blow and hook ups.
Brady mounted the steps to the old house with elaborate pillars.
"Brady! Stop."
Brady halted and turned around to look at the honest face. A group of people from the party pushed by him, loud and semi- intoxicated.
"Please," Sam said, his brow furrowing like a golden retriever. "I want to go home."
Brady crossed his arms, knowing that Sam in his Sam fashion was trying to look out for his friend and keep him out of trouble.
"Sam you can walk yourself home. There's no law that says you have to stay with me." Brady arched a brow as if a thought just occurred to him. "Oh, you don't trust me. Too much temptation, huh?" The edge of his mouth tugged into a half smile.
"It makes sense to look out for each other." Sam said in such a logical way that it almost seemed plausible even to the demon.
"Sam..." Brady said, flicking his eyes up and down his friend in an appraising manner. "You are not your brother's keeper."
Sam mounted the steps after him and took Brady's arm. "Yeah I kind of am," he responded, completely missing the double entendre. He tugged Brady down. "Come on."
The demon paused, considering his options. "Okay fine." He said, following Sam back down the steps. "But then I'm at least cutting through the yard because it's way shorter. Or..." Brady gave him a teasing push with an elbow that Sam took with a good-natured smirk. "Are you going to rescue my failing morals by keeping me from jaywalking?"
Sam followed behind him as they rounded the side of the house. "Trespassing actually. Jay walking is what we just did to get across the street to get here."
"Probably the wildest thing you've ever done," Brady baited, waiting to see if Sam corrected him. He knew that despite the kid's white knight exterior, he and his brother and father had broken more laws than the average Alcatraz inmate.
Sam wasn't in a giving mood. He didn't reveal much of anything. "I have my fake ID." He said, twisting to avoid colliding with a few students making out.
They'd cut through the back yard and the din of the party was fading like a song ending on the radio.
Brady pulled a few steps ahead of Sam when he heard the commotion. He picked it up quicker than the human did, of course. A trapped cry. Desperate, bit off in fear. It attracted him like a moth to flame.
Sam seemed oblivious for a moment and then those hunter senses kicked in and the kid went alert, like a horse catching scent of a predator on the wind. "Did you hear that?" He asked.
Brady played stupid. "The atrocious choice in music? Yes I hear that."
"No," Sam said, his eyes straining in the dim light. "Someone crying."
Sam's instinct had him reacting before the words were fully out of his mouth. He headed off in the general direction of the sound, remarkably quiet for such a tall guy. Brady watched the blue sneakers negotiate the grassy terrain as Sam moved, his weight shifted onto the balls of his feet, ready to react.
Brady jogged after him. They rounded into the back yard of the ranch next door. The house had an immaculate patio replete with wind chimes and outdoor furnishings and a fenced-in pool. The crying was clearly audible now ,that they were further from the noise of the party.
Sam rounded the fence line like a panther on the hunt, following the low protests.
Two forms were visible against the corner of the patio. A terrified girl surrounded by a few tall males. Her mascara was running, her brown hair mussed.
Brady hung back as an observer for a moment. He knew immediately one of those frat boys wasn't actually who he appeared to be. The twisted horrid features flickered to Brady in the moonlight. One of his own. One of Azazel's pets.
Sam would not perceive this of course. He'd only see a few big, slightly inebriated seniors.
The taller of the two, the one who appeared to be human, had the girl pinned to his chest, his hand down her t-shirt. She'd given up most of her struggling and seemed to be on the verge of buckling, her weight being held up by him entirely. She seemed like a frozen rabbit, at the pint where they've found struggling is useless and they've gone catatonic with fear.
Azazel's Demon was standing in front of her with his mouth close to her ear.
Brady's supernatural hearing picked up the words. "That's it, baby. Struggle, cry."
"Hey!" Sam barked, his voice lower and more commanding than Brady would have imagined possible.
The Fratboy Demon snapped its head around to appraise the intruder. He rounded on the Winchester, confident, calm. "Cody. Hold her. Looks like I have to take care of some pussified momma's boy here."
"Let her go." Sam said, jaw tight.
"Or what?"
The muscle in Sam's jaw jumped and he adjusted his stance, wider, more secure, arms slightly out. "Or I'll make you let her go."
The frat boy's lips turned up into a predatory smile.
The girl cried out as Cody squished himself against her, clearly intending to proceed whether his friend was fighting or not.
Sam made a beeline for them. The Demon reached to tackle him and Sam nimbly deflected the attack and sidestepped without breaking momentum. He hit Cody in the nose with one swift blow from the heel of his hand.
Cody grabbed his face with a shocked cry and the girl slid into a trembling heap on the patio's textured concrete floor.
Sam didn't stay there long, he spun in time to dodge the power of the Demon's full blow from behind, but even so it glanced off the back of his head and knocked Sam's trajectory sideways a bit.
He slammed into the white vinyl fencing and it swayed dangerously.
The Demon grabbed Sam by the shirt collar and swung him around and pushed backward, Sam went with the momentum and tumbled to the ground but rolled to his feet in one smooth motion.
Cody saw an opportunity and dove at him from the side, his face a mask of blood from his broken nose.
Sam slipped out of the way in an evasive twisting move to get behind him, twisting the other man's arm into a lock.
Cody stiffened at the pain and Sam threw him into his demonic companion. The Demon, managed to keep his feet, but Cody was tossed into the vinyl fence. It gave under his weight with a rattling creak of snapping plastic and the big man fell onto the wooden deck below.
"Tom!" He yelled.
"Jackass." Tom reached over and grabbed the long-handled pool net off of it's spot resting against the destroyed fence.
Brady saw Sam's eyes widen at the weapon. He leaped back as Tom swung it toward his midsection.
Tom jabbed the handled part at him and it caught Sam in the stomach. He doubled over with a cry at the blow, but managed to drop to one knee to avoid the vicious swing aimed at the side of his head. The aluminum whistled through the air and Sam kicked out with one long leg. His sneaker connected with Tom's knee.
Tom lost his balance for a moment and Sam used the opportunity to grab the netted end of the weapon.
They pulled against each other and the extension handle snapped off. Both the men staggered back from the surprising release of tension. The net clattered impotently to the grass.
Tom held the shortened aluminum tube in his hand like a samurai sword.
He swung it at Sam's head and Sam deflected it with his forearm and stepped in close enough to catch his opponent with an elbow to the jaw.
Tom swore. He tried to jab the Winchester's momentarily exposed stomach, but Sam turned his body sideways and hooked his Tom's arm with his own in a spiraling motion to disarm him. Then punched again. The aluminum tube clattered to the grass and Sam kicked it out of reach.
Sam drew his hand back to land a solid blow and suddenly Cody grabbed him from behind and brought a knee up into Sam's kidney. Sam buckled and went down. Tom kicked him again.
Brady moved the weight onto the balls of his feet, ready to react if they actually did best his friend. Letting Sam get killed on his watch? Even if it was by the hand of one of Azazel's minions? No. No that wouldn't do at all.
TBC...
Sorry for the long wait. This action scene was problematic for me. Thank you so much for the reviews last chapter. Michele, ShadowHuntingDD, Jenny, Dom Darkwolf, ncsupernatfan, Waiting for Aslan, and my two guest reviewers. Thanks again.