Chapter Eleven:

It was the look of a mad man, cold, unreasonable. All intent and purpose was to kill. Sam didn't need to be a mind-reader. The look on Alex's face told him everything. The psychic stared at the girl five feet in front of him like a child ready to stomp on an ant.

Maddie held her weapon firm, unyielding to fear. Her face was filled with discontent, as though she knew Alex. No matter if she did, Sam knew this was going to end badly. He used the nightstand as a support as he struggled to stand up.

"Maddie, get out of the way!"

Maddie ignored him, remaining focused with her rifle trained. "Just typical," she spat angrily, "making a grand entrance. You always were such a brat Alex."

The guy nodded in agreement. "My mom certainly thought so."

"Yea, I bet you were just worried. You have any idea what you put that woman through? Where the hell have you been anyway?"

"Maddie!" Sam called. "GO! It's not him anymore!"

The girl suddenly seemed confused, but she never took her eyes off the psychic. Alex looked over her shoulder. "Oh, hi Sam. Glad you could join our family reunion. You've met my cousin. She's a spitfire, isn't she?"

Sam gasped, now understanding why he was here. In the vision he had just seen, Alex went to his mother's house and killed her and his aunt. If Maddie is his cousin, then he is here to kill her, not him. It wouldn't surprise him if the first order of business Yellow Eyes had bestowed was to destroy every last family member, Roman execution style; erase any and all emotional attachments that might deter them from the mission.

"Maddie, back away now! He's here to kill you."

There was a sharp intake of air. Maddie stole a quick glance in his direction, backing a step, but keeping the rifle trained. "You're bullshitting Sam. I know he's an asshole, but come on!"

"Maddie, listen to me—"

"You should listen to him Maddie, he's a sharp tack," interrupted Alex. "Or actually you can hold still, make it easier for me."

"Go to Hell Alex."

The psychic then produced a loud cackle and suddenly the entire cabin began to shake. The shutters rattled, the furniture bounced and swayed. Alex spread out his arms, grinning wildly. "Accept it Maddie. Your number's up. Don't worry Sam. I'll get to you in a minute. Boss wants to see you."

Sam was now to his feet, trying to maintain his balance through all the raucous. "Over my dead body."

"Well, that can be arranged."

"That's enough!" yelled Maddie. "Get the hell out of here Alex or I will shoot." To prove her point, she shot the mirror located just over his shoulder. The quake in the cabin ceased and Alex gave her a peculiar glare.

"I so hope you've got good aim."

"Come any closer and I'll show you."

"If you insist," he said, and before anyone could react, he sent her careening into the back wall telekinetically. She emitted a soft grunt landing on the carpet. Sam went for the demon-killing knife left on the nightstand. He looked up and Alex was at eye-level. The guy punched him in the gut, sending a blinding flash of pain over his eyes, and then pushed his head through the window, tossing him to the other side of the room.

With Sam down, Alex sauntered over to the crumpled heap of his cousin. She had sat up, switched off the safety, and pumped the barrel. She pointed the gun up and he deflected the projectile by grabbing the barrel chute and forcing it away from his face. The bullet penetrated the ceiling, sprinkling bits of splintered wood. She attempted to pull the gun out of his grasp, but he yanked it away, tossing it into the mirror over top of the dresser. In less than a microsecond, he pulled her up by the hair and pinned her to the wall.

Alex laughed. "This is soooo easy," he beamed like a child. She kicked him in the gut. It did nothing. He took an elbow across her jaw, eliciting a pained cry. "See. Don't fight. It just pisses me off. And don't cry either, that pisses me off even more."

Maddie spat in his face.

He wiped it away and scoffed, "So ladylike. But then, you always were half a man. Hmm, I wonder what your brains will look like. Your mom's brains weren't all that pretty."

She froze in his grasp, eyes widening.

He smiled devilishly. "Oh man, totally slipped my mind. Your mom's brains are splattered all over my mom's foyer. Adds a little color, actually."

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie? The look on your face makes this moment totally worth it. This is better than a Die Hard movie."

She struggled.

"No, no, don't do that. I'll be nice to you since you're family and make it quick," he placed a hand on top of her head. "Now just hold still…"

WHAM!

A baseball bat smashed overtop of his head, splitting on impact. His head bucked forward, releasing the girl and Alex turned to face Sam swinging the broken bat. It collided with the left side of his face, suddenly inert. Alex then grabbed Sam by the throat and lifted him up, which wasn't hard for the guy as they both were of the same height. He peered deeply into Sam's eyes and said, "You know it's too bad the boss says you're hands off. Because that stunt you pulled, it ain't cool bro." He tossed him into the corner. Sam hit with such intensity, he swore his whole body was on vibrate. It left him momentarily paralyzed.

Alex stepped towards him when a knife pierced his side. He let off a howl and the knife was extracted. Whirling around, Alex came upon the defensive stance of his cousin. Her eyes were bloodshot, bold, and daring. She held a long Swiss army knife perpendicular to her wrist, ready to strike like a viper. "Come on," she egged.

Skulking like a fox, the beleaguered man moved swiftly to the right, switching to the left, attempting to faze her. She moved stealthily with each movement, always keeping her eye with him. He shunted forward, she slashed at his face. Several times, he tried this maneuver, each time evading the quick slices of the knife. He laughed, playfully, sidestepping around her, mocking her movements.

"Ay carumba," mocked Alex, "thou love to tango?" He made to grab her wrist. She twirled behind him and cut through his back. He stumbled, in shock at such a move. Miffed, Alex rushed at her and she buried the hilt into his shoulder, yanking it out, and sliding the tip of the blade across his cheek. He backed off, laughing.

"You've got a set of brass balls honey."

Suddenly he disappeared. She looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen…until he appeared directly behind her. He brought down his arm in a chopping motion, causing her to drop the knife, and then sent her careening into the dresser. "But…I'm still gonna win."

She fell onto the pad of glass, cringing at the fiery wrath now enveloping her hands and arms. Through the reflection of the pieces, she saw Sam partly in and out of consciousness. A giant streak of red saturated his chest. She gritted her teeth, not seeing a way out of this…until she saw the long barrel of her beloved rifle.

Taking up the weapon, she pumped the barrel and released a round into Alex's chest. He stumbled back, startled. Rising up off the ground, she pumped round...after round…after round…after round into his chest. Pumping one last time, she unloaded it into his head. He fell back, seemingly motionless.

Dropping the gun to the ground, the end of the barrel hot in her hand, she took a breather. "Jesus Christ Alex, what the hell happened to you?" She turned around, resting her hands on the dresser, panting, her eyes closed.

Regaining her composure, she looked up into the fragmented pieces of the mirror and saw the bloody form of her cousin staring back at her.

The drive to the nearest town took longer than Dean expected. He moved fast, searching for the nearest pharmacy store. He knew Sam's regimen like the back of his hand and so it wouldn't take long to hopefully find the necessary supplies. God forbid, he had to make the appropriate pills himself as sometimes pharmacists had to do just that. If need be, he'd kidnap a pharmacist or two. Hopefully it wouldn't have to come down to that.

He found a small pharmacy located on the outskirts of town. The place appeared barren, dark, seemingly abandoned, except for a few places like the grocery mart and a convenience store that were still open for business. Like he surmised, the pharmacy was closed and under lock down. A steel apparatus hung over the doors, bolted to the ground.

A small hitch, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Breaking and entering was a skill set he had mastered since the age of seven (don't try that at home kids.)

Entering the store, he located the back shelves full of hundreds of little bottles. Instantly he searched out the juicy cocktail of steroid therapy. Sam needed several things –not just an immunosuppressant— but a wide variety of drugs that targeted metabolism, his body's defensive system, and others to protect him from other pernicious bugs waiting to fester and destroy every living cell he has left.

Flashlight in hand, he scanned the shelves. He found a number of glucocorticoids and piled them in the plastic bag he grabbed from behind the counter.

"A…A…A…" he looked overhead for the letter, "Ah ha, Azathioprine, gotcha baby!" He placed the bottle into the bag, and then went in search for the aisle M. "There you are my MMF." Though he could never pronounce "Mycophenolate mofetil", the abbreviation MMF he liked.

The plastic bag was beginning to feel heavy. He was most glad he was able to find what he needed. For sure, he felt he had to kidnap someone and have them play with their chemistry sets. He worked relentlessly in searching for the appropriate medication…and then he was struck with an awful, paling pang in his gut. Like a stomachache, only worse. He paused, having felt this feeling before.

The last time his gut sang like this, his father died.

He nearly dropped the plastic bag on his way out the back. He had to get back to the cabin and fast.

Maddie released a small scream, but it was too late. Alex pushed her head into the fragmented mirror, instantly breaking her nose, and then threw her backwards into the wall. She landed on the bed, bouncing off it. Blood exuded freely, leaking in a puddle over her mouth and shirt, over the floor. Alex laughed, relishing the sight. Her arms quivered with a fury in trying to push herself off the floor. It became futile, however, as Alex came over and stepped on her head. He applied pressure, not enough to crush her brains in, but enough to slowly crack her skull. She screamed, struggling, crying, her face developing a shade of crimson.

"ALEX! STOP! STOP!"

He applied more pressure, her screams intensifying. He then picked her up by her hair again, brought her face to eye-level.

"Wah, poor baby. Sorry sweetcakes, it's the end of the road." He reeled back a fist, killer blow written all over it. Maddie closed her eyes, her sobbing silencing.

There was the sound of a gunshot and Alex's head rammed forward. He dropped the girl into a puddle on the ground, and turned around to face Sam, now steady on his feet, holding Maddie's smoking gun in one hand, his demon-knife in the other. Maddie instantly lost consciousness.

Sam panted. "Get away from her."

"Or what? You finally going to use those powers on me? I've been waiting." Alex tempted. "I know you have em', just like me, just like everyone else he kept alive. Now come on, let's see what cha got?"

"No way, I'm not falling for that. That's a one way ticket straight to Hell I'm not taking."

Alex rolled his eyes. "It ain't all that bad man. In fact, it's a dream. There's not a single thing you can't do."

"Yeah, I bet it's just Candyland. But you forget the price that comes with it."

"A small price," he shrugged. "It's like the military. Four years of expected service with added benefits, and then you're on your merry way. Granted ya got to kill a few lives here and there, but hey, if you look at it optimistically, that's a few less mouths to feed."

"Wow, you are such an asshole."

Alex pinched his lips, not at all pleased with the retort. "Well that was my little sales pitch."

"Word of advice: come up with new material."

"Fine. We done here? Cuz I need to hit the road soon. There are a few necks I'd like to break."

"Oh we're done," and Sam buried another round into his chest. But the guy bounced back as though he were bulletproof.

Sam readied himself for a fight. He dropped the gun and held onto the knife. He knew he wasn't in much condition to start flinging fists. Alex was a pure sociopath, addicted to his newfound abilities –like he had predicted. Perhaps he wouldn't kill him? He doesn't want to end up like Terrance, but the moment he finished with him, the moment he would be back to finish Maddie off. And that was something he was NOT having on his conscience.

Sam swung the dagger, and Alex caught it in quick precision. He yanked it out of Sam's grip and laid a heavy punch into Sam's face. Sam retaliated by returning a punch to Alex's gut. He shot it back, his hand on fire, partially numb. It was like punching a titanium tank. But he didn't lose hope. He swung fist after fist, twisting his body out of the way of Alex's death-intending fists. Sam brought up a knee into his gut, finally receiving a pained gasp. He suddenly felt renewed vigor. This guy had to be stopped. All the psychics had to be stopped.

Alex raised both his palms and an invisible force knocked Sam to the ground. He rose to his feet quickly as Alex swung an arm like a tennis player, the same invisible force lifting him up, his back smashing into the ceiling, where he landed with a crack on the floor. Alex strutted over, grasped a handful of hair, and pulled him up to his knees. Instantly Sam punched his gut, the guy stumbling backwards. It was weird: since when was he able to have such an impact? Not a minute ago, the guy was virtually indestructible.

Suddenly a searing pain lanced through his head. He dreaded it. It couldn't be another vision…not now of all times!

It wasn't.

Alex stood menacingly in front of him. Sam gritted his teeth through the pain, stood up, and felt an incredible wave leave his body. The wave shot outwards, connecting with Alex. It sent him flying through the length of the entire house, forcing him to crash through the wall and to the outside.

The strange energy that swarmed his body had left and his legs had the supporting strength equivalent to Jello. He was left in astonishment. Something like that came from him, unwillingly, when in need. That had to be the power Alex spoke of. Andy was right. It was captivating.

His victory was short-lived.

Alex ran back in a flash, knocking Sam to the ground. He leapt up and landed strategically on top of his left leg, instantly shattering the bone.

The night hung like a black veil, dark and thick, hard to see through. Dean's only guideline was the fluorescent yellow lines marking the middle of the windy road. The Sedan's pedal was molded to the floorboard. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered anxiously in a litany, eying the speedometer. The vehicle's top speed was eighty. It just wasn't enough.

Since the pharmacy, that dreadful feeling amplified. Perhaps it was a build-up of stress over the past couple of days and the lack of sleep? Perhaps he just had a hair up his ass and was worrying himself silly? Perhaps it was nothing at all? But Dean instinctually knew it wasn't. The feeling was like a rat had found its mark in his gut and began to claw its way out. Painful. Unable to ebb away. His foot ached as it pinned down the pedal, and he kept looking at the speedometer. Had time slowed down? Why can't this box on wheels move any faster? Fred Flintstone in his square-wheeled cart could move faster than this!

"Dammit," he smacked the steering wheel. "Come on!"

A long, ear-splitting cry of pain erupted from Sam's throat. Alex stepped away from his handiwork, laughing, while Sam grasped his lower left leg. He had never felt this much agony before.

"Oops, sorry there Sam. I guess I got a little carried away. Nothing but a good bandaid will take care of it," taunted Alex.

Sam silenced his anguish, desperately trying to move. He fell into a prone position. Using his leg was futile. The bone was completely separated from his kneecap, and so he began to crawl. He still felt weak from that earlier energy push, and now with this type of pain, he felt incapacitated. He clawed steadily at the wooden floor towards the fallen demon knife located not two feet from him. Alex came over and stepped casually on his broken leg. That vocal cord-ripping agony was back. The cabin's walls rang with his cries.

"Ha, pinned ya!"

Not willing to give up, Sam extended out his arm, opening his palm. To settle his conscience he refused to use his demon-given talent, but this was now a life or death situation. Who the hell knew where Dean went? And by the look of things, his brother wasn't going to arrive in time. His only option was to give in temporarily, use whatever power to procure the dagger. Only the more he concentrated, the bigger his disappointment became. Nothing happened. Like a blockage.

"Not used to them yet, are we Sam?" said Alex. "You have to let everything go, accept them all, not one. Only then you will be amazed at all the awesome mind tricks your digits can do."

Sam concentrated further, his face developing a shade of puce.

Alex laughed some more. "See? Told ya!" He lifted the back of his white tee and brought Sam to his knees. "It goes a little something like this…" He placed a sweaty large hand on the side of his head. Sam felt a wave of energy envelope his brain, enshrouding it in a tight hold, squeezing it. His face burned with the pressure.

"Don't fight it Sam."

His hands scraped and clawed at Alex's arms as he tried to fight. But the pain was incomprehensible, he knew not of what he was doing. His eyes began to roll into the back of his head. The pressure was so tense. His head was ready to explode.

He heard a pop. But there was no anticipated leakage, no gross splatter of brain matter. The pressure dissipated. And he could breathe again, his hearing returning to him. He fell to his side and there he watched everything.

That popping he thought was the outward expulsion of brain matter turned out to be a shotgun blast. The gun sounded off again, this time nearly bursting his eardrum. The blast went straight through the psychic's right side, blood spurting off in a fountain stream. Alex's stiff moans of disbelief reverberated wall to wall, cut off as he was hit again and again with round after round.

Alex was struck once more in the chest and his body flew backwards, landing on the bed. Sam could see a hand fall off the side, bloody, dead. The psychic was finally killed.

Thank God for Dean. Sam thought. Only his brother would arrive last second to save the day.

He was nearing the boundaries of unconsciousness. He looked up and saw a person strolling forward, their identity obscured by a heavy shadow. When they emerged in the light, Sam gasped. It wasn't Dean. It certainly wasn't Maddie, as the poor girl was still out for the count beneath the bedroom window. He stared, transfixed. It couldn't be. This had to be a dream of some type, because this person he knew to be dead.

And then without meaning to, his body giving into exhaustion and pain, his sight faded to black and he knew no more.

The cabin was less than thirty yards away. Dean's heart hammered painfully behind his ribcage. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The Sedan skidded up the dirt driveway and instantly he saw a large black truck.

"Shit!" he breathed, and then exited the car, failing to put it in gear. Stuffing the bag of Sam's medication into his jacket pocket, he pulled the 9mm from his waistband and sprinted inside. Already he saw there was a raucous as several pieces of furniture were overturned, the kitchen a mess with shattered plates and flatware scattered amongst the floor. There were even cracks inside the log walls.

"SAM! MADDIE!"

He didn't care if the enemy was still about. He didn't care if he heralded all of Satan's children to his location. He had to get to the bedroom. Weapon ready to fire, he sprinted through the hallway, skidding through the open bedroom door, releasing an intended intimidating war-cry….

He halted. His heart seized from overload. And his eyes grew to the size of saucer plates, in shock, in disbelief, in ecstatic relief at the person who stood resolute in front of him.

His jaw dropped, the 9mm nearly slipping from his grasp. He choked. "Dad?"

The man turned and it was revealed to be true. He was just the same as he last saw him: bulky, grey, and grizzly. He held a twelve-gauge in his hand, another hanging from a holster across his back. He smiled and said most fatherly, "Hey Dean."

Dean was stunned, speechless. He saw Sam lying broken and bloody on the floor to the left, a dead guy on the bed, and Maddie, also broken and bloody near the edge of the bed to the right. He couldn't decide which to attend to first. His mind was completely and utterly useless as he stared bewildered at his father, long since dead for over a year. Caroline had mentioned he was alive. But deep down, he couldn't believe it was true. Every emotion he held pent up from the years from the man's tough commander attitude to the long absences came out harshly.

He huffed. "Just typical. There you are! We've literally gone through HELL and now you show up! Where the hell have you been you son of a bitch?"

"HEY!" Someone shouted from behind him. A voice he only vaguely recognized.

He whirled around in response and was instantly punched off his feet. His eyes crossed, his mind dizzy. It felt like a ram just butted his head. He landed squarely on his rear, shaking his head. The assaulter stepped up towering over him.

"Don't you talk to your father like that!"

He looked up and his heart jumped up his throat…for he was staring into the beautifully mean face of his mother.