Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 for helping and supporting. Thank you all for reading and reviewing.
Chapter Twelve
The bar reminded Sam of Harvelle's Roadhouse. It was in the middle of a sparsely populated road on the edge of town. It was dimly lit and crowded, but Sam could see through the gloom to the two men at the pool table. The jukebox played in a corner, but it was still possible to hear the thunder rolling overhead outside. Occasional flashes of lightning lit the windows but didn't penetrate far inside.
He had followed the storm to Minnesota on a hunch, and it had paid off. He was sure the two men playing pool were who he needed. They seemed to be paying as much attention to him as they were to the game, their gazes open though his was surreptitious. They knew him for who he was, as he knew them for what they were.
He sipped his beer slowly and his hand reached unerringly for the duffel at his side. He felt a tingle on his right forearm and nodded to himself. It was almost time.
A woman sauntered over to the pool table and he considered a moment. Were there three of them? She tried to engage them in conversation, and the taller of the two seemed willing to enjoy her company, but the smaller said something and his shoulders slumped as he shook her off. She made her dispirited way back to the bar where her friends waited, and they handed her a drink and spoke words Sam thought were consoling. She shrugged and smiled, and her friends laughed.
Sam faced the other corner of the room to them, but his eyes were directed to the two men. He wanted to strike now, to attack, but to do so in a room full of witnesses would be insanity. He had to wait for them to make the move.
The woman that had been rejected before seemed to notice him now. She looked hopeful as she spoke to a friend and then began to make her way over to his table. He stared into her eyes and shook his head pointedly. Her face fell and she quickly redirected her steps towards the door that led to the restrooms.
He waited another thirty minutes and drank one more beer before the men set down their cues and walked towards the door. Sam quickly picked up the duffel and followed them out into the stormy night. They were walking along the parking lot to a new model SUV. Sam supposed they'd stolen it at the same time they'd stolen the bodies they were riding. The car seemed to fit the faces they'd taken.
"Hey," he called after them. "Do either of you have the time?"
They both stopped and exchanged a smug look before turning to face him. "The time?" the taller asked. "We've got the time to kill you, Winchester, if that's what you mean."
They both smiled smugly and their eyes became uniform black, confirming what he had been sure of all along.
"That wasn't what I meant," Sam said. "But, hell, if you're in the mood for a fight, I'll deliver."
The smaller one laughed. "I heard you had a high opinion of yourself, but I didn't realize you were quite so deluded."
"You're forgetting, Winchester, your boyfriend isn't around anymore," the other said. "He's not going to be able to swoop in and save you. Your brother isn't even here to back you up."
"That would be a problem if I needed backup," Sam said idly. "But I'm pretty sure I can handle the two of you."
"You think so?" the shorter asked as the other snorted.
"I know so." Sam reached into the bag and pulled out the Blade, letting the duffel drop to the floor. "Know what this is?" he asked.
"Homemade?" the taller asked.
"You could say that, yeah. Cain made it."
They both looked shocked and then a little scared.
"You've heard of him?" Sam asked with a smile. "Good to hear. So, you know what this Blade will do."
"We know what you'll try to do with it," the smaller said. "But since there's two of us and one of you, I like our odds. When you're dead, we'll take that nice weapon and have a little fun with it. Starting with your brother."
"You could try," Sam said. "Unfortunately, you need more than to possess the Blade to make it work properly. You need this." He pulled back his sleeve and exposed the Mark on his arm. "And I'm not giving it up." He shook down his sleeve and said, "So, who's first?"
The taller tried for an amused expression but failed. Sam stepped forward and the demon took a step backwards.
"Wanna hear a secret?" Sam asked, leaning forward as if he was going to whisper to it. The demon seemed frozen in place. Sam thrust out with the blade and impaled the demon on it. As he twisted the blade and withdrew it, the body fell heavily to the ground.
The remaining demon stared down at its fallen fellow, with the gaping wound in its chest, and turned to run. Sam sliced the blade through the air, but he merely broke the skin of the demon's back as it disappeared into thin air.
"Damn," he said, disappointed. He had been hoping for another kill.
He tucked the bloodied blade under his arm and bent to pick up the dead demon's foot. Dragging it by its ankle, he deposited it into a ditch and threw over some loose weeds that were growing nearby. It would be found soon, either by someone taking a leak in the bushes or because of the smell, but Sam would be long gone. He rubbed at the Mark absentmindedly as the rain that had been threatening with the storm arrived. He held out the Blade to allow the rain to clean off the blood, and then walked through the rapidly forming puddles back to his car. He put the Blade onto the seat beside him and started the engine. As he pulled out of the spot, he thought over his night's work.
It had been two weeks since he had retrieved the Blade, and tonight had been his twelfth kill with it. He had known when he took possession of the Blade that it was more than the Mark needed to make it work, it was practice, a relationship between the two. In a very real way, the Blade was a living thing. It held the power of the very first murder, and it fed on that blood. Sam needed to prove himself to it, and murder was the only way. He felt more connected to it than ever now.
It had been pure chance that he'd discovered it. He had thought it was his the moment he touched it, but when he happened across the first demon on his way back to the motel one night, one who had some grudge to settle for a previous exorcism—Sam wasn't really paying attention as it complained—he had killed in self-defense. The Blade had reacted the way it did when he first touched it, telling him what he had to do. From there he had searched them out and learned to sense them. Most demons had a reaction to seeing Sam, partly because of Lucifer and partly because of Winchester legacy, and that combined with his new sense for them, made it easy. He followed the signs, found a likely looking place for them to be blowing off steam after their Hell tour, and waited for the right moment to strike.
He was gaining the control he needed and Metatron was going to reap the bloody rewards of it.
The only problem of possessing the Blade the way he did was that he wanted it close. He was constantly worried it would be lost or taken. He kept it with him at all times unless he was at Bobby's. He would have taken it there, too, but he didn't want to deal with Castiel's shit, or to have him infecting Dean with his paranoia.
The former angel was enough of a pain in the ass already.
Dean knew that they had all noticed that Sam was spending less time with them at Bobby's, and that when they did see him, he seemed tired. There were improvements though. He still worked out in the basement, but it wasn't interspersed with so much muttered Enochian now. It was as if he was more concentrated on building his strength than working out his frustrations.
Dean sometimes went down to him with bottles of water and protein bars, and Sam would stop and talk a while. It was always obvious when he had reached his limit of conversation, because his eyes would drift back to the punchbag and his responses became vague. Dean would always leave him when that happened, not wanting to push him and ruin what he had regained.
He was sure that Sam was doing better now that he knew they were close to getting Lucifer back. Dean couldn't wait for that moment. He knew everything would be better when he was there. He had a vague idea of how Sam felt at the promise of his return, as Dean remembered how it felt when he heard Michael was dead so Sam and Lucifer could come back from the Cage—that absolute joy and relief that they were going to be together again. No wonder Sam was doing better.
They just needed Metatron now, which was a little complicated by the fact Crowley hadn't yet found him. The angel seemed to be moving around a lot, making it hard for Crowley to get a lock on him. Also, the demon was having to watch his own back from the demons that were against him.
On any other day, Dean would be cheering on whoever thought taking Crowley down was a good idea, but as they needed him for Metatron, he was less than pleased. Bobby had also pointed out that while Crowley might be a treacherous bastard that they couldn't trust further than they could throw, he was at least the devil they knew. Who knew what a new one would be capable of?
Sam was there now, though, and Dean had just spent a happy five minutes talking with him. When it became obvious Sam wanted to be alone again, Dean left him to it and went up the stairs. He heard Castiel and Bobby's voices before he got into the library, and noticed that they sounded stressed.
"What's up?" he asked as he entered.
"Metatron," Bobby said darkly.
"You've found him?" Dean asked hopefully.
"No," Castiel said dourly.
Bobby turned the laptop he was looking at and Dean peered at the screen. There was a picture of two men with their arms around each other and the headline: Missing Man Found Murdered.
"What happened?" Dean asked.
"Andrew and Daniel Barker, married couple from Boston, went missing a couple weeks ago. They didn't show up for work, didn't call any of their family, just disappeared overnight taking nothing but their car. Only thing strange about the scene was a report in the missing persons mentioning a strange storm that night in their area. There was no previous indication of bad weather. Just one of those freak things."
"Demonic?" Dean asked.
"That what we're thinking," Bobby said. "Here's where it gets worrying. Andrew was found out by a roadhouse joint in Nebraska last night, stabbed to death, and Daniel is still missing. The cops are toying with the idea that it was Daniel that murdered him, but the family say there's no way—they were devoted to each other."
"You think Metatron?" Dean asked.
"Yes," Castiel said. "He must be angry that there is a sudden influx of demons after he killed so many of them. He will be working harder than ever to correct the balance."
"Dammit." Dean went back into the hall and shouted down into the basement. "Sammy, you need to see this."
The sounds of fists against leather cut off and Sam came up the stairs. "What's happened?"
"Metatron's active again," Dean said.
"Where?" he asked intensely, rushing into the library.
"He was in Nebraska," Bobby said. "But that was a couple days ago."
Sam's eyes fell on the laptop and a flicker of surprise crossed his face. It passed so quickly that Dean wasn't sure if he had imagined it. "Metatron killed them?" he asked in a neutral voice.
"We think one of them at least. The other's still missing. And we're pretty sure they were possessed."
Sam nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?" Castiel asked. "There is a man dead, possibly two, and you say it's okay?"
Sam turned his empty stare on him and said, "Yes. He's killing demons again. That means he's not gunning for the humans yet. That's good. I'll be able to stop him before he does."
"And the humans the demons are possessing?" Castiel asked. "Do they not count?"
"They're collateral damage," Sam said.
Castiel looked shocked.
"What do you want from me, Castiel?" he asked. "Until we find Metatron, I can't stop these killings." He glanced at his watch. "I'm going home. See you tomorrow."
"Sam, wait," Dean said.
"For what?" Sam asked. "What do you need from me?"
"Stay," Dean said. "Eat with us. Just be here a while."
Sam fixed his eyes on Castiel as he answered. "I don't think I'm in the mood for company. I'll be back in the morning." He strode out of the house and after a moment Dean heard an engine sputter to life.
Dean rounded on Castiel. "Nice, Cas, just when he was starting to talk again."
Castiel stared defiantly back at him. "Yes, he was starting to talk, but did you hear what he was saying?"
"He had a point," Dean said. "If Metatron is occupied with the demons, he's leaving other people alone. We've killed countless demons with Ruby's knife, and that meant killing a person, too. Hell, when Sam was gone, I went off the rails a little, too. Sam's not killing people."
"But he doesn't even care that Metatron is," Castiel said.
"He cares, he just knows he can't do anything about it. None of us can until we find Metatron. When we have him, when Sam gets the truth out of him and then kills him, we'll stop the killing. You being on his ass all the time isn't helping. What's your problem?"
"My problem is that you seem blind to what is happening here. Sam is changing. Why can't you see it."
"I see my brother hurting. I see him fighting. I see him doing what he can to get his lover back. What's so wrong with that?"
Castiel sighed. "Do you really think he cares, or is that just what you're telling yourself to keep going?"
"Yes, he cares," Dean said doggedly, turning to his friend. "Bobby?"
Bobby looked solemn. "I don't know, Dean. I don't know whether we're seeing what's there or what we want to be there."
Dean shook his head. He knew his brother better than anyone there. Sam cared. He just wasn't showing it. He had other things on his mind. Like Lucifer.
So… Sam is killing demons. Nothing bad in that at all, right? He's just having bonding time with the blade.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx