Chapter 12
Sam Winchester set a cup of coffee from the Gas-N-Sip next to his laptop in the main room of the bunker and listened. He heard nothing; Dean must still be asleep this morning, but he wanted to be sure. Quietly he walked through the hall to Dean's room and peeked around the half-opened door.
He was sleeping, wrapped in his blanket, mouth half open. Was that a bit of drool on his pillow? Sam smiled, leaning his head against the doorframe for a moment. It was so good to have his brother back. It had only been a week since the demon cure had done its work, and he was still worried, but just seeing Dean sleeping like a human was enough to flood his body with relief.
Let him sleep. He needed rest. Sam went back to his coffee and his laptop. He'd gotten pretty good at managing with one hand, while his gimp arm still hung in a sling. From force of habit, he logged on to his usual news sites, looking for strange stories. Not that he had any intention of hunting right now—his whole focus was on taking care of Dean.
"Sam."
He barely jumped, just glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, Cas."
Castiel had been in and out that week, anxious about Dean, but also preoccupied with whatever angel business was going on. Sam didn't give a crap about what was going on with the angels, so he didn't ask.
"How is Dean?" Castiel glanced toward the hallway.
"Sleeping." Sam took a long swallow of coffee and allowed himself a smile. It felt unfamiliar, almost wrong, to be smiling. There hadn't been much to be happy about for a long time.
"There's something going on in Lebanon." Castiel came over to the table.
"What do you mean, going on?"
"A very old couple died three days ago at a farm two miles from here."
Sam glanced up, automatically clicking over to the Lebanon news site. "Died how? You know, Cas, humans get old. They die."
"They had been married for seventy years," Castiel replied. "They were stabbed to death with kitchen knives. I hear the carnage was…immense."
Sam squinted up at him, then turned back to his laptop. "Here it is." He read quickly, his eyebrows lifted. "They're searching for the son. Apparently he lived with them, but he's nowhere to be found. What do you think, Cas? Demons, or some kind of ghost possession?"
"It is probably a demon," Castiel said. "I think it is most likely one of Abaddon's. A killing this close to Dean can only be a message. They still want him dead, Sam."
"I'll go take care of it." Sam closed his laptop and stood up.
"I should go with you."
"No, Castiel. I don't want you to waste that angel juice you're running on." Sam didn't say, "We need it in case Dean goes full demon again," but they both knew what he was thinking. "Stay here and keep an eye on him, will you? I'll go out, scout around, see what's up."
"That is a good plan." Castiel sat down at the table, looking a little forlorn for an angel. But that was Castiel all over. "Where should I tell Dean that you've gone?"
"Food run," Sam said promptly. "Tell him I'm bringing burgers. And pie. Don't say a word about demons." He was out the door, grabbing a duffel bag of gear as he went.
Damn it, he thought to himself as he drove along a dirt road towards the farm. When I find this son of a bitch, I'm going to rip his head off. The last thing I need is demons following us to the bunker.
He was angry, but cautious as he parked his car and approached the yellow crime-scene tape that rippled in the breeze around the old farmhouse. It appeared completely deserted; the investigators were long since finished with their work, and the house sat there, most likely to be torn down in the near future.
Sam had a blade in his hand as he approached the house, ducking under the crime scene tape and walking softly through the front door.
He moved through the hallway and stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. Sulfur and blood. The place absolutely reeked. Blood was splashed halfway up the walls, on the windows, even on the ceiling fan—blood, dried black and crusty.
So, a demon for sure. Sam bent and brushed up the yellow dust from the corner of the doorway as he stood there thinking. The son had been possessed, but there was no guarantee that he still was. The demon could have moved on to someone else.
Or maybe not. Sam's reflexes kicked into action before his brain, and he jumped to the side as something rustled in the dark living room and someone charged at him. He slashed with the blade, and was rewarded with a growl of pain.
Even without demonic possession, the muscular man would have been a formidable opponent for most people. Sam grappled with him and was flung back across the room. "Exorcizamus te," he began, more as a distraction to the demon than anything else, "Omnis immundus…"
The demon wavered for a second, and Sam seized the chance and knocked him to the floor, shiny blade pressing against his throat, staring into the coal-black eyes. "Are you one of Abaddon's men?" he snapped.
"Of course I am," the demon snarled back. "All hail the Queen! You're going to die, you scum—you and your precious brother. Have you cured him yet? It will be a whole lot easier to shred his guts if he's human."
The demon must have sensed a moment of weakness, because suddenly Sam felt himself flung across the room again, the blade twisted from his hand and sent flying towards the kitchen door. His head cracked against a counter, and through a haze he saw the black eyes leering at him, close to his face.
"I'm going to rip your heart out and leave it on the doorstep of your bunker, Sam, right where Dean can find it. I've got you, and it's only a matter of time until I get him, too. It's the end of the road for you Winchesters— ."
That glowing light of a disappearing spirit, that shocked look as a demon died: Sam had seen it many times before. Someone had stabbed the demon in the back, and its crumpled meatsuit fell to the floor.
He must have hit his head harder than he thought, because he thought he recognized the woman standing in front of him, the bloody blade in her hand, dark hair falling around her shoulders and her eyes wide and shocked as she looked first at the body and then at him. It wasn't possible.
"Lisa?" he said, unbelieving.
There was another woman in the room, holding a bottle of holy water and staring at them both. "Lisa, sweetie, are you all right?" she asked. "Who is this?"
"It's Sam Winchester." Lisa's hands were shaking, and she looked down at the body again. "I killed him," she said helplessly.
"You saved my life." Sam kept staring at her. It had been so long since he'd felt shock and remorse for killing a possessed human, but he remembered it in a flash of pain as he watched her. "What are you doing here, Lisa?"
She blinked; she seemed as surprised and confused as he did. Her eyes searched his face, and her voice shook slightly, like her fingers on the handle of the blade. "Sam, where's Dean?"
