Author's Note: I literally spent all day writing this chapter. Thank goodness for weekends! I'm extremely proud of it, and I hope it satisfies all your expectations. Enjoy!

SPN

(Atlanta, Georgia … Monday, November 2, 2005)

Drawn back to the ballroom, Sam languished under a crushing weight. He could hear Victor moaning; he could feel Victor's tongue tasting his tear-stained face; and he couldn't do anything about it. His wrists were still restrained—one cuffed behind him to a chair post, the other clasped in an iron grip—and no matter how desperately he squirmed, his assailant was not deterred.

Beneath the stage, guests were indulging themselves with carnal decadence, many of the women against their will. Only one witch managed to retain her dignity—Olivette, the high priestess of the Grand Coven. She sat apart from the mob, watching in contempt while sampling the cake. Her powers were extraordinary, on par with Caroline's, and no one dared to proposition her. But unlike Caroline, she was not acquainted with Sam; she was not privy to his psychic potential; and she was not prepared for his inadvertent invasion.

Without realizing it—too devastated to notice—Sam's instincts clawed their way to the surface. Detecting a wealth of magic, his powers washed over Olivette and melded with her own—he might not be able to cast spells like a witch, but as a psychic, he could tap into the abilities of others as naturally as he could their thoughts and emotions, and once channeled, he could redirect them as he pleased.

If only he could make it all stop. The pain, fear, misery, and harassment… He just wanted it to stop!

In that moment, some distant corner of his mind supplied a single word, often chanted by Caroline to subdue her victims. "Dormite." He aimed it at everyone, feeling no relief or satisfaction as they crumpled unconsciously to the floor. Even Olivette. Even Victor. Sam felt nothing but cold as the bastard slid off his lap.

Jessica…

It was too late to save her, and he had no one to blame but himself. What made him think the Stynes would protect her from Elizabeth? But it wasn't Elizabeth; it was Caroline. Of course! She had been using telekinesis in his premonitions, even though Elizabeth's powers were blocked. And Caroline could change her appearance—she had spent the last week disguised as Mary Winchester. Sam should have guessed; he should have known; he should have sensed it.

Covering his eyes, stifling his sobs, he wondered who the Stynes would kill next. More hostages? His father? Dean? He couldn't protect them; he couldn't protect anyone.

But he couldn't bear to lose them. Not after this.

Climbing shakily to his feet—which made his head throb—Sam tugged halfheartedly on his manacles. Victor said he couldn't bust out of them, and thanks to a charm—or curse—his chair was anchored to the stage. The key was undoubtedly with Jacob, so unless he gave out spares, Sam was stuck. But wouldn't the family want spares, in case they needed to move him while Jacob was absent? Probably. It didn't hurt to look.

Sam crouched over Victor and used his free hand to search his pockets. It didn't take long to pilfer the desired object—plus a concealed Smith & Wesson. He stared at the gun in bewilderment before recognizing how much he resembled a cage-bound bird—one too timid to leave its prison despite an open door. No, he had to escape. These manipulative butchers were not his family. They were evil, violent monsters, and he wanted nothing to do with them. He was a hunter. A Winchester.

Priming the weapon, Sam shot Victor twice in the head. It wouldn't bring back Jessica, but it would guarantee the son of a bitch never hurt anyone again.

SPN

"What did you do?" Jacob demanded when he reached the courtyard and found Elizabeth kneeling beside Jessica's corpse—just like Sam predicted. Damn. Not that he cared about the girl's demise—she was only a distraction, and they were planning to kill her anyway—but this would seriously compromise Sam's faith in him—and Jacob had worked so hard to earn that faith. How could Lilibet do this to him?

"Mind your place, boy," his cousin said caustically, looking up with a sneer. She stood and abruptly transformed into Mary Winchester, magically exchanging the wedding gown for a sparkling red mother-of-the-bride dress. Aunt Caroline! Jacob took a step back in astonishment, much to her amusement. "Oh, that's right! I forgot to tell you. Your uncle and I decided to recast some roles for the wedding. Couldn't risk my daughter spoiling the whole affair, after all. There's simply too much at stake."

Jacob found himself at a loss for words. Was this the reason they put Cyrus in time out? Why didn't they tell him? He could be trusted! They knew that, didn't they?

As if reading his thoughts, Caroline sighed. "Relax. We weren't trying to keep secrets from you. We were trying to keep them from Sam. I admit, I was interested to see if his premonition would come to pass, but I didn't want him to make a fuss about it. And don't take this the wrong way, Jacob, but you might not have been able to hide our plans from the boy. Your bond grows stronger by the minute, and with his budding abilities, he might have caught a glimpse through your defenses. So we erred on the side of caution. That's all."

Jacob bristled. True, he was proud of his relationship with Sam, but that didn't make him the family's weak link. "Forgive me for saying so, but you underestimate my discipline."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "In which case, I'll make it up to you. But first, you'll have to explain why you and your brother are wearing those charm bracelets. I don't remember authorizing that. William and I wanted to overstimulate Sam during the ceremony, and you gave him relief. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Before Jacob could even process the question, much less formulate an answer, a loud gunshot pealed through the dark. He stiffened, fully expecting the bullet to slug him in a vital area, but surprisingly, the weapon had not been aimed at him. Rather, it was aimed at Caroline.

Alas for the assassin, no one had faster reflexes than the Styne matriarch. With the mere toss of her head, she diverted the bullet into the hedge on her left. Then, she glowered in the direction of its source. "Who would dare…?" She extended her arm, waved it, and reeled John Winchester in from the shadows. He landed roughly on his hands and knees, losing his grip on a pistol that clattered to Caroline's feet. She picked it up while regarding the man in irritation. From what Jacob could tell, she didn't recognize him with his elaborate disguise. For all her arrogance, she was not infallible. "Now who might you be?"

He stared at her in unbridled hatred, not the least bit fooled by her visage. Jacob had to give him credit—usually, humans balked at the sight of dead loved ones. But then, John wasn't a normal human. He was a hunter and a legacy. Better let Caroline know, or she might kill him for his insolence, and they couldn't afford to waste him. Not yet.

"Aunt Caroline, allow me to introduce John Winchester. He was brought here in disguise by a demon. Azazel's daughter, in fact. They wanted to remind us who Sam really belongs to."

Caroline pursed her lips and flicked her wrist. Immediately, John's make-up, prosthetics, contacts—everything that altered his appearance—dissolved like ash, exposing his real identity. "How nice to finally meet you, sir."

John attempted to rise, but Caroline's telekinesis hampered him. He wasn't going anywhere. Growling, he said, "All right, you got me. But if I can't wear a mask, you shouldn't either."

She laughed. "But I've grown fond of Mary's face. She was so beautiful. And it's not like I'm stealing it from her. Well, maybe I am, but she's probably in hell, so I'm sure she doesn't mind." Slowly, taking her time, Caroline crossed over to the hunter and knelt down in front of him; they glared at each other. "If you wanted to protect Sammy, you should have stayed away. Now we're going to sacrifice you in front of him, and so soon after losing his girlfriend… It'll crush him. But don't worry. We'll help him get over it."

"This is starting to sound familiar," John retorted. "I think it might be what Monroe said before I slaughtered him."

Jacob couldn't stop himself. He kicked John hard in the stomach, knocking him to his side. Just because they needed the self-righteous dick for the ritual didn't mean he had to be in perfect condition. Jacob wanted him to suffer for killing his father, not to mention Eldon, Eli, Rhett, Clyde, Roy, Colton, Roscoe and Mason. Granted, he had help with each of those murders, but he was still responsible, and Jacob had spent over a year waiting for this. He kicked John again, and again, and again.

He would have kept going, too, willing to break some ribs, but then, without warning, the ground began to shake. He nearly lost his balance, and even Caroline had to reach out for the statue's pedestal to steady herself. Her hair and dress began billowing as a windstorm picked up. The hedges rustled, and Jacob shielded his face with his arm. Meanwhile, John crawled over to Jessica's body, pulling her into a protective embrace. Why? Jacob found that puzzling—the girl was dead. Why bother mourning her at a time like this? But he was far too distracted by the strange weather to dwell on the hunter's behavior. What the hell was happening?

A silver beacon splintered the air on the far side of the courtyard. A portal? How? Where did it come from? Who opened it?

Beneath the portal, an obsidian mirror materialized with a crimson aura. Someone had forged a key. Was that even possible?

Seconds later, six figures barreled out with weapons blazing. They took one look at Jacob and opened fire. Fortunately, Caroline diverted their bullets with effortless control—her family would not be shot like vermin! However, this was the second time in under ten minutes she had been ambushed on her own property, and she was losing her patience.

The portal closed, and as Jacob's eyes readjusted to the dark, he recognized half of the intruders. Dean, plus two of the damn feds who sent him to prison. Victor Henriksen and Nathan Findley. The other three—a white guy, a black guy, and a woman—were strangers, but judging from their rustic attire, they were likely hunters. Ah, yes. John did claim the Winchesters had friends who loved Sam more than life itself. These must be them.

Caroline waved her arm, and their weapons were torn from their clutches. She made another grand gesture, and their bodies stiffened, freezing in place. Jacob noticed when Dean finally caught sight of her; his eyes widened and he cursed loudly. Caroline made a face and approached him resentfully. "Someone needs to watch his mouth." She slapped him hard, making the female hunter flinch.

"Leave him alone!" Findley snapped, though he was in no position to object. Jacob glanced at him and his supervisor in disapproval. Of course, he had always known they would pursue him relentlessly, especially after he killed Special Agent Calvin Reidy—not to mention the rest of the team in Omaha. But he had given them an opportunity to retreat, and this was how they paid him? Oh, he would make them regret it. But first…

"Dean," he said with a sadistic smile. "How nice to see you again."

The boy's anxious green eyes darted from Caroline to Jacob. He was trying so hard to maintain an angry, fearless attitude—just like his daddy—but there was no mistaking his tension. He was drained, as if he hadn't slept in days—which wouldn't surprise Jacob in the least—and he sported a large bruise on his cheek that wasn't from Caroline. Interesting.

"Jacob," he growled in a deep, hostile voice. "Where's my brother?"

"Your brother?" Jacob wasn't prepared for how upset those words made him. Technically, Sam was Dean's brother, and the kid would naturally cling to their relationship. After all, Sam was too precious for anyone to abandon, and Dean was literally raised to watch out for him. Jacob knew that, but it didn't matter. Hearing Dean say it out loud made his blood boil. Sam belonged to the Stynes. He was Jacob's brother! Which made Dean nothing but a threat.

Drawing a knife from inside his jacket, Jacob rushed at the young hunter and pressed the blade against his throat. "Care to repeat that?"

Dean wasn't fazed. "You need me alive."

Damn rituals and their damn legacies! Jacob fumed. "I can always cut your tongue out, boy. Sammy's mine now. If you ever suggest otherwise, it'll be the last thing to pass through your pretty lips. Understand?"

"JACOB, DON'T!"

Sam's cry came out of nowhere. Together, Jacob and Caroline whirled around to see him standing at the courtyard entrance with Victor's Smith & Wesson. The hell…?

He was obviously in poor shape. His free hand was rubbing his temple, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were wet with tears. At some point, he had removed his jacket, so he only wore a vest over his shirt and tie. The implications were undeniable. Victor had tried to molest him—again!—and he not only fought back, he somehow stole a gun and broke out of his handcuffs. Despite everything, Jacob was impressed.

"Put down the gun, sweetheart," Caroline said calmly, but sternly. "You know better than to act this way."

For the briefest moment, Sam nearly faltered, but then he spotted John and observed the dead girl in his arms. Setting his jaw, he focused back on his mother and pointed the gun at her head. "I'm going to kill you." And yet, he didn't shoot.

With a long-suffering sigh, Caroline flicked her wrist.

Nothing happened.

Caroline blinked and tried again, but the pistol remained firmly in Sam's grasp. He winced, shaking precariously, but his abilities somehow managed to negate hers. Realizing it, he clenched his eyes shut and apparently neutralized her hold on the intruders. The next thing Jacob knew, they were all on the move, scrambling to recover their weapons while Dean tackled him to the ground. Meanwhile, John wrenched the ceremonial knife from Jessica's chest and lunged at Caroline, slitting her throat as quickly and savagely as he could.

Dean rolled Jacob to his back and proceeded to punch him in the face. For a normal human, he was remarkably strong, and the pain was palpable—but not unbearable. Not for Jacob, anyway. He found himself laughing, which caught Dean off guard. Their eyes met, and Jacob recognized his perplexity. He had sharp instincts—he knew Jacob wouldn't laugh so soon after Caroline's death without a very good reason.

"Dean, get off him!"

John yanked his son away from the Styne, dragging him to his feet. They all turned to gaze at Sam, who had collapsed to his knees. Thanks to the charm bracelets Olivette provided, he and Jacob were physically linked; they shared both their strengths and their weaknesses, which meant Sam suffered every blow from Dean's onslaught, and it hurt him far more than it hurt Jacob.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed, starting towards the boy.

"Don't you dare!" Despite the two feds and three hunters who were bearing down on him with imposing P90s, Jacob leapt up, caught his rival by the arm, and shoved him at his father. After all, these guys were smart enough to figure it out—attacking Jacob meant attacking Sam.

Just to emphasize the point, John shouted, "Hold your fire! Don't shoot him!"

Jacob stood between the boy and his would-be rescuers. Their weapons were trained on him, but they were obviously at an impasse. Good. If anyone tried approaching Sam, Jacob would snap the fool's neck, legacy or not! And sooner or later, help would arrive. Uncle William, perhaps, or even Victor. Jacob might despise his cousin, but they were still family, and they would set aside their differences long enough to resolve this crisis.

"You took Sam away from me once, boy," he told Dean bitterly. "But mark my words. It won't happen again."

SPN

"You've got to be kidding me!" Dean had never wanted to kill anyone—or anything—more in his entire life, but somehow, Jacob and Sam were bound together. God, he hated supernatural monsters. How much worse could this day get?

As soon as the question crossed his mind, he mentally kicked himself, because that was naturally the moment Sam held his pistol up to his head. Son of a bitch!

"Jacob!"

Anyone could hear the despair in Sam's voice. He was at the breaking point—Dean could only imagine how Jessica's death was affecting him—and now he was willing to sacrifice himself to protect his remaining family. It shouldn't be like this! Dean was the older brother. Dean was the one who should risk everything to save the day. Watching Sam now, he felt nothing but shame and panic. "Sammy!"

"Don't you even think about it!" John yelled. The others made similar remarks, but Dean barely heard them over his pounding heart.

Furrowing his brow, Jacob stepped back and pivoted to keep them all in his line of sight, but the moment he glanced at his captive, his double-take was one of genuine alarm. "Sammy?"

"I'm sorry, Jacob," Sam replied, trembling. "But I won't let you hurt them."

"Put the gun down, little brother," Jacob tried soothing him, much to Dean's disgust. "They came all this way to fetch you; not to watch you die."

"I don't care."

"Sam," John interrupted, taking a cautious step forward with his hands slightly raised. "Just think about this. You don't have to shoot yourself. We have Jacob surrounded. We can take him out after you remove that bracelet. All you have to do is remove the bracelet."

A tear slid down Sam's face. "I can't."

"It's magically clasped," Jacob explained. "Only I can remove it."

Figures. Dean wanted to scream. How could this be happening?

Suddenly, Caleb intervened, firing two expert shots at Jacob, first in the arm, then the leg. He went down hard, gasping, even as Sam dropped his gun, howling in pain.

"SAM!" Dean made a beeline for his brother, charging as fast as he could. Behind him, he heard John yelling and Caleb defending himself—the kid was threatening suicide! What was he supposed to do? At least this way he'd recover.

"Sammy!" Dean dropped to his brother's side and gently gathered him in his arms. "It's okay! I've got you! It's not that bad!" Luckily, Caleb knew what he was doing. The wounds were bloody, but superficial. Findley and Henriksen were already shedding their jackets to apply pressure, and while Sam grew pale, his wet eyes remained focused.

"Dean?" He was clearly devastated. "I tried…"

"It's okay," Dean insisted. "Don't talk. We're gonna get you out of here." He sensed Jacob's gaze and looked up to find the bastard lying on his back with Ellen and Rufus guarding him. His expression was unsettling—not just angry, but jealous. Dean had to get Sam as far away from here as possible, and he had to do it now. John and Caleb were still at each other's throats, so he turned to Findley for help. "We need to reopen that portal!"

"We can't leave yet," Sam objected. "We have to find Cyrus!"

Cyrus? The name caught John's attention, and he whipped around while Jacob grinned. Crap. That didn't bode well.

"Who's Cyrus?" Dean asked, but John cut Sam off.

"Forget it," he said harshly. "The boy's trapped in a containment pod deep inside that house, and the Stynes have hundreds of freaks at their command. There's no sure way to reach him. Our only option is to leave while we still can."

"No!" Sam struggled to sit up, but Dean, Findley, and Henriksen urged him not to move.

"I'll open the portal," Ellen offered while Caleb took her place, towering over Jacob. She scrambled to the mirror while Sam resisted.

"Dad, please! I promised not to leave him! The guests have all been knocked out! There's no one between us and the laboratory. I swear!"

John wasn't listening. He had taken off his tie and was binding Jacob's ankles together. When Henriksen noticed, he whistled and tossed John a pair of handcuffs. He rolled Jacob over and quickly fastened his wrists behind his back. They might not be able to kill him, but at least they could slow him down.

"We could take him with us," Rufus pointed out.

"We're going to have enough trouble as it is with Sam," John predicted. "We don't need Jacob complicating things. Get the girl!" Rufus hesitated, but only long enough to observe Dean and the feds still wrestling with the boy. Then, he claimed Jessica's body and went after Ellen. Caleb followed.

"You can't do this!" Sam shouted, sobbing furiously. "Dad, please! I'm begging you!"

Dean held him down, heart racing, beyond confused. What the hell was going on? "Who's Cyrus?"

He heard Ellen chanting in the distance. The ground quaked and the wind howled tempestuously as the portal once again tore itself open.

"Jacob has a seven-year-old brother named Cyrus!" Henriksen bellowed over the frenzy. "Must be him!"

Dean frowned. Why would Sam care about a Styne? Son of a bitch!

"Let's go!" John commanded in a manner that brooked no argument. Together, Dean, Henriksen and Findley managed to haul Sam up, which made him practically hysterical.

"Let me go! I have to find Cyrus! Please!"

Dean nearly caved. How could they refuse him anything after ten days of unending anguish?

But then John shouted, "Dean! That's an order! Move it!"

"C'mon, Sammy!" He and the feds half-dragged, half-carried the kid to the portal. He fought the whole way, and the next words out of his mouth were bone-chilling.

"Jacob! Please!"

"Don't worry, Sam!" Jacob returned his cry. "It doesn't matter where they take you! I'm gonna get you back! I promise!"

Over Dean's dead body! But somehow, he didn't think the sentiment would be well received. Damn it! What the hell was wrong with his brother? And would he ever forgive them?

SPN

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