Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and improving this for me. Thank you Gredelina1 for all your help and advice.
Jenjoremy said I needed to post a quick update after the cliffy I left you with last time, so here you are…
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A fallen tree was across the dirt road, blocking their path. John didn't believe it had fallen naturally; it had been placed there to stop them.
When Dean pulled the Impala to a stop and they climbed out, the other cars stopped behind them and there was the sound of doors opening and closing as everyone else got out. Bobby and Daniel, Ellen and Bill began to arm themselves.
"Jess, maybe you should stay here," Dean said as John walked around the car and popped the trunk.
She cast him a baleful look. "No."
"We have no idea what we're heading into," he said. "How many demons or how many ghosts. You'll be safer here."
"I'm coming!" she snapped and walked to the trunk.
John slapped a sawn-off in her hands and said, "It's loaded with salt rounds. Ghosts will be dispersed by it. Demons will at least be slowed down a little. Stay behind us."
He didn't know what he was walking into either, so he loaded his pockets quickly with holy water and salt cans and tucked a sawn-off under his own arm, adding to the Glock already tucked into the back of his pants.
He didn't wait for Dean to catch up with him before setting out around the tree and along the tree-lined dirt road that was lit by the dim sun struggling from behind the clouds. He heard the trunk slam closed and a few moments later Dean fell into step at his side.
John thought he should say something to comfort him—that was a father's job—but he couldn't find the words. Anything he said would have been a false comfort, as he didn't know what they were going into either. He shouted Sam's name instead, wanting him to know they were coming, that they were going to save him.
"Sam!" Dean added his voice to John's and then they all started calling to him.
"Here!" A panicked voice shouted back.
"Quiet!" John snapped and they all fell silent. "Sam?"
"We're here," a woman shouted. "Help us! We're here!"
A bell began to chime at a frantic pace and over the sound John heard the woman still shouting for help.
He started running, sprinting toward the sound. The road curved and dilapidated houses came into sight. At the very end of the road stood a woman and a man. The man was ringing the bell and the woman waving her hands over her head.
"Here!" she shouted. "We're here."
John raced towards them, his chest heaving with fear as much as exertion. As he got closer, he saw that it was Laura and Scott, two of the people they'd tracked from Sam's visions.
"Where's Sam?" John shouted when they were close.
"In there," Scott said, pointing the building behind him. "You have to help him."
John's heart chilled. The open panic in Scott's voice portended nothing good for them. He didn't slow. He raced across the boardwalk and through the door.
His first thought was that it had to be a nightmare, that it couldn't be real. There was a dead body on the floor with a knife protruding from the chest, and it looked as though the body had been shoved aside to make room beside the second form lying on the floor. His son.
Sam's abdomen was drenched in blood and his eyes were closed. It was hard to see him properly as Daryll and Sarah were crowded around him, Daryll doing chest compressions and Sarah blowing a breath into his mouth. When Sarah pulled back, John saw that Sam's face was white and his lips pale. He took it all in within the second it took him to get into the room.
"Bill, keep Jess outside!" he bellowed. Jessica didn't need to see this. She already had enough nightmares to live with, and Sam wouldn't want to add to them.
"Sam," Dean said weakly beside him.
John threw himself forward, throwing the gun aside "Get out of my way!" he snapped at Daryll.
Daryll obeyed quickly, scrambling away from Sam's side. John replaced Daryll's hands with his own and began to press his clasped hands on Sam's chest, pushing down to pump whatever blood remained in his body around to his vital organs. John couldn't let himself think about how much blood had been lost already, and with each compression, more blood oozed from the wound on his stomach. Daryll seemed to read John's mind and ripped off his outer shirt, quickly balling it up and pressing it into the wound, trying to keep the blood where it was needed.
A woman was screaming outside, Jessica, and John could imagine the fight she was putting up to get free. She couldn't see this though. It would break her and John knew how it felt to be broken. He had spent years in his half-life because he lost the son he was now fighting to save.
"Let me!" Dean snarled.
Sarah sprawled back as Dean shoved her out of the way and took her place at Sam's head. He took a deep breath and then bowed over and forced the air into Sam's lungs.
"That's good," John said roughly. "That's it, son."
When Dean straightened, John saw that wetness was streaking down Sam's face. For a hopeful moment he thought it was Sam's own tears, but then he realized, as Dean wiped a hand over his eyes, that it was his tears that had dropped onto his brother.
John wasn't crying. He wasn't strong, but he knew it wasn't time for that yet. As long as he and Dean were there, breathing for Sam, making his blood move, fighting for him, there was hope.
"How long has he been down?" Bobby asked.
"I'm not sure," Sarah said tearfully. "Maybe a minute or two?"
"He wasn't scared," a weak voice said.
John glanced up and saw Ava kneeling at Sam's feet. She was holding his ankles as if by holding him tight enough she could ground him to life.
"What?" John snapped.
"He wasn't scared. He knew what was happening, but he wasn't scared. He told me to tell Jess."
John felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down hard. Sam had known what was happening to him. He'd been conscious enough to process what was coming and to tell her this to be passed onto Jessica. Did he think it would comfort her? How scared had he really been as he lay dying?
"Not dying," John growled, forcing himself to try harder, push faster, to do for his son what he could not do for himself.
"He wasn't scared," Ava said, her voice weak with shock.
"Shut your mouth!" Dean snarled.
Bobby squeezed his shoulder and Dean shook his head roughly.
Ava seemed to see them for the first time. "No deal!" she said as if struck by a sudden idea or memory.
"What?"
"Sam said, he made me promise to tell you, no deal. I have to make you understand."
Of course he did. Sam would want to cover his bases. He had known what they would do if he was lost. His thoughts as he lay there bleeding out were on trying to protect them.
"The hell with that!" Dean said angrily.
"I promised him," Ava said. "No deal. You have to understand."
"Quiet!" John said harshly. "It's not time for that!"
Though was it? John and Bobby had more medical knowledge than anyone there. John knew in his heart that it wasn't time, but his head said different. He looked up at Bobby, pleading for reassurance, and Bobby shook his head sadly. "We don't know how long…" he started.
"What?" Dean asked. "What are you…? No! He's going to be fine."
They needed a hospital with equipment that would save. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere without a bandage to their name, let alone a defibrillator.
"Scott!" he said, suddenly struck by a possibility. All else seemed silent, not even Jessica's screams reached him anymore as his voice rose to a shout. "Scott!"
Scott appeared at the door. "Yes," he said tremulously.
"You have to help him!" John said.
"Yes!" Dean hissed.
Scott looked confused. "I don't…" His eyes widened as he understood. "I can't!"
"You can," John said emphatically.
"I killed the cat," Scott said. "I burned it up inside. I can't."
"He's already dead," John said, and Dean moaned. "You can't hurt him anymore than he already is, but you can save him. We've got the bleeding under control, but we need to restart his heart. You're the only chance he has. You have to try!"
"Please," Dean begged. "Please try."
Scott seemed to steel himself and then he came to kneel between John and Dean. "Get back," he said. Dean and Daryll immediately obeyed.
It took real effort for John to take his hands from his son's chest. When he had been touching him, he felt that he was saving him. Now he had to rely on someone else to do what he couldn't.
"Ava!" Dean snapped.
John saw her hands were still on Sam, and he pushed them away roughly. Scott drew a breath and placed his hands on Sam's chest. There was a jolting sound and Sam twitched, but John knew even before Dean checked that it wasn't enough.
"More!"
Scott nodded and this time the jolt was accompanied by a thump as Sam's back arched off of the floor and thudded back down.
Dean pressed his fingers to Sam's throat again and shook his head.
"Look at me, Scott!" John commanded. When Scott obeyed, fixing his terrified eyes on him, John went on, impassioned. "I know you're scared, but the only thing to be scared of here is failing. You can do it. This is my son, now save him!"
Scott turned his eyes back to Sam and with his eyes screwed shut, he sent the shock through his chest.
Sam back arched again and then the most incredible thing happened: as his body thudded back to the floor, he coughed and drew a breath.
"Sammy," Dean said in a breathy voice.
Scott scrambled back and John moved to lean over Sam. He held a hand on Sam's now moving chest and breathed a sigh of such immense relief that it made his head swim.
Sam's eyes opened and then fixed on John.
"Sam, oh thank god," he said weakly. "You're okay. We're all here. You're going to be fine." He cupped Sam's cheek in his hand and his own tears joined Dean's.
"No deal," Sam said barely audibly as his eyes began to drift shut again.
"No, Sam!" he said harshly. "You have to stay awake."
"No…" Sam's eyes slid shut but his breaths still came slow and weak.
"Let me by, John," Bobby said.
John moved back as Bobby turned to Scott and said, "You, kid, give me your shirt."
While Scott obeyed, Bobby lifted Sam's shirt and used Daryll's already saturated shirt to swipe through the blood to find the wound. It was small, a couple inches across, but John suspected it was deep. Scott handed Bobby the shirt and he pressed it to Sam's stomach.
"Dean, hold this here," he said. "Keep it down hard."
Dean hurried to Sam's side and leaned heavily on the cloth, holding it tight to Sam's stomach. It quickly stained red.
"What happened to him?" "Bobby asked.
"Weber stabbed him," Daryll said.
"And his head," Ava whispered. "When he hit the wall, his head made a horrible sound."
Bobby ran his hands over the back of Sam's head and nodded. "We have to move him now. Get him to a hospital."
"I'll do it," John said. He squatted at Sam's side and eased his hands under him gently. Pulling him against his chest, he stood, wavering a moment under the weight before steadying with Bobby's hand on his back. He carried Sam out of the building and into the clean air.
"Sam!" Jessica shrieked.
John saw she was being held by back Bill and Daniel. At John's nod, they released her and she ran forward.
"He's alive, Jess," he said.
She didn't even seem to hear the words let alone register them. "I'm here, baby. You're going to be okay." She kissed his pale cheek. "I love you, Sam. I love you so much."
John walked as fast as he could under his burden back towards the car, noticing the body by the woods for the first time. It was Jake. He had come after all, and he had died. All those special children, and there was just a handful left.
"Jim, get the others out of here," John said. "Keep them safe."
He would trust his friends to do that, as that was what Sam would want. He was going to concentrate all his energy on getting his son to a hospital.
Dean fell into step at his side, still holding the shirt to Sam's wound.
"He's going to be okay, Dean," he said.
"I know," Dean said.
And if he wasn't, John knew what he had to do.
Once again, Dean was coated in Sam's blood.
He was standing in the men's room of the hospital, staring into the mirror at his own ashen face.
The moment they'd gotten to the hospital, Sam had been swept away from them on a gurney, out of their reach, taking away their chance to comfort or help him. He hadn't woken up in the car on the way there, though they hadn't tried hard to rouse him. Bobby said he would be in immense pain, and while he still lived, they wanted to spare him from that, even though what they wanted more than anything was for him to be awake and talking to them. They wanted to be able to look into his eyes and tell him they were going to save him.
An elderly man walked into the restroom, his eyes sad. He started as he looked at Dean though and his eyes widened. "Are you okay, son?" he asked.
Dean shook his head.
"Do you need some help?" he asked. "A doctor?"
Dean looked down at his bloody hands gripping the basin and the stains on his clothes. "It's not my blood," he said. "It's my brother's."
"I'd say that's good, but I have a brother, too. He came in here for a hip replacement but he had a reaction to the anesthetic. They say it's serious. He's eighty-five, a good age people say, but it's never enough for the people you love, is it?"
"My brother was stabbed."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "What's his name?"
"Sam. His name is Sammy."
"I'll keep him in my prayers," the man said.
"Thanks," Dean said dully.
"Will you take some advice?"
Dean shrugged. "Sure."
"Clean yourself up and get back to him as fast as you can."
"They won't let me near him yet," Dean said.
"Then be ready when they do. Your little brother is going to need you."
"How did you know he was younger?" Dean asked.
"Because you have the look. I'm an older brother, too. It's not an easy job, is it?"
"No," Dean said heavily. "It's really not." Especially when you failed as Dean had.
"Clean yourself up, son." He walked into a cubicle and shut the door.
Dean turned on the faucet and held his hands under the water. The blood diluted and ran down the drain. He scrubbed and then soaped them, removing any trace of the blood. When they were clean, he turned off the water and dried his hands on a paper towel. He threw it into the bin and walked back out into the corridor.
They had been deposited in a waiting room. Dean went back there and pushed the door open. Everyone looked up as he entered and then looked back at clasped hands and the opposite wall.
"No news?" he asked, though he was sure they would have shared it already if there was.
John shook his head. "He's still in the trauma bay."
Dean slumped down onto the couch. Jessica was curled under John's arm and Ellen was on her other side, holding her hand. Dean wondered if Ellen was remembering her own hospital vigil, when Bill had been almost killed.
They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds Jessica's quick breaths. Dean wished he had words to comfort her, as he knew that was what Sam would want him to do, but he had none. There was nothing he could say to her, as there was nothing anyone could say to him.
The door opened and they all looked up hopefully. Bobby came in with Ava, Scott and Daryll.
Dean didn't ask them what they were doing there, already knowing it was for the same reason as he was—for Sam. He didn't know what had happened to them in that abandoned town, he probably never would, but the horror of it was still etched into their faces.
"They're still working on him," John said in response to Bobby's questioning look.
"He's going to be okay, though, right?" Ava asked.
"Yes," Jessica said firmly. "He's going to be fine."
Ava seemed to take her words at face value and she came to sit beside Dean looking relieved. Daryll and Bobby took the other couch and Scott moved to sit on the lone armchair in the corner. Dean remembered he liked to be as far from others as much as he could because of his ability. He was constantly afraid of hurting someone. Though Dean hoped he would find some peace now that he knew it could help people, too. He had saved Sam's life, and Dean would never be able to repay that debt.
"Where are the others?" John asked.
"Bill and Sarah are on their way to Tennessee. Caleb is bringing her little girl to meet them halfway," Bobby said. "Jim and Daniel have Andy and Laura at a motel a few miles away. Andy seems pretty messed up."
"He would be," Ava said darkly.
Dean knew there was a story there, but he didn't bother to ask.
There was a knock on the door and a man in deep blue scrubs came in.
"Sam Winchester?" he asked.
Jessica straightened up quickly. "He's my fiancée. Is he okay?"
"I'm Doctor Wyatt. Sam is on his way to surgery," he said. "We have found a closed head injury in addition to the stab wound. A neurologist and general surgeon are going to assess him through exploration and attempt to repair the damage."
"Attempt?" Jessica said.
"There are no guarantees with injuries like this. He is in the best possible hands and we are doing everything we can to help him. We understand he suffered a cardiac arrest at the scene."
Ava nodded and pointed to Scott. "He saved him."
The doctor clearly assumed Ava meant with CPR, and he looked surprised. "You did very well. It's not as common as TV would have you believe to revive someone with CPR. You must have worked very hard."
Scott shrugged. "I guess."
It hadn't been CPR though. John and Dean had done that and failed him. Scott had saved him with his ability.
"Do you know how long he was down?" he asked.
"We're not sure," Daryll said. "Why?"
"There can be complications from things like this," he said. "But Sam is obviously a fighter. We'll be able to tell you more when he's out of surgery. I need to go now, but there are nurses on hand if you have more questions. The surgical team will be in touch with them throughout the surgery if there is anything you need to be told. But, remember, the fewer updates you get the better things are going."
"Thanks, Doc," John said.
He nodded and walked out of the room.
"He is a fighter," Jessica said confidently, sitting back again. "He's going to be okay. He won't leave me."
Dean wished he had her absolute faith. He knew Sam would fight, but he was terrified it was a battle he would not be able to win.
"What happened?" John asked. "Weber stabbed him, but why? Was he possessed?"
"He was talking to the demon," Daryll said. "He said it had been happening for months. He told him about Andy and trained him to kill. That's what we were supposed to do. We were supposed to kill each other until there was one left. That was what it wanted—one of us to win."
"There was another man there, one Sam didn't see before," Ava said. "He was called Matthew. There were more of us than we knew about. Sam said there were a lot of bodies in a pit. Matthew had been killing a long time. But when we came, Weber was stronger. He controlled this… Acheri thing it was called, to kill Karen when we tried to escape, and he used his mind control to make the others commit suicide. Lily hung herself from the water tower, and it looked like Jake stabbed himself in the neck. I don't know how Matthew did it."
"Sam saved us," Scott said. "He was so calm, and he kept us calm, too. He told us what to do to protect ourselves and he looked after us. When he found out what Matthew had done, he told us so we were warned, so the demon couldn't make us do the same."
"He was so brave," Ava said admiringly. "A hero like you."
Dean nodded. Sam was a hero. For all their combined life of hunting, none of them had faced something like he had in Cold Oak. Would they have risen to it as well as Sam had? Dean and John hadn't wanted Sam to be a hunter, they'd fought it at every turn, but Sam had stepped up and saved the others. He had taken on more than a hunter's role, and proved himself. Dean was so proud of him, though he would never let him be in a position that he had to do it again.
"So that's why this Weber stabbed him?" Bobby said. "So he would be the victor?"
"That was his endgame," Daryll said. "But Sam worked out what he was doing and confronted him. He just… switched. He had been terrified the whole time we were there, having these terrible headaches. When Sam started talking, he pretended to be scared, but then he changed. He was confident, bragging about it. That's when he stabbed Sam."
"Scott shocked him," Ava said. "He dropped the knife and Andy… He killed him."
Jessica gasped. "Andy killed his brother!"
"Yes," Daryll said gravely.
John seemed unconcerned by the news. He turned to Scott and said, "You saved my son twice then. Thank you so much. We will never be able to repay you, but I promise we will try. If you ever need anything call us and we'll deliver."
Scott looked pleased but his smiled faded after a moment. "I should have been faster. I could have stopped Sam being hurt at all."
"It's not your fault," Jessica said. "None of us know what we would do in that situation until we were in it. And Sam's going to be fine."
"I hope you're never in it," Scott said. "I've never been so scared in my life."
"Do you think it's over though?" Daryll asked thoughtfully. "There were more of us that Sam didn't see that were there before us. What if there are more to come after? We might not have been the last group taken."
Dean shrugged. He really didn't care either way. He had been consumed with trying to save everyone for Sam and had let down the person that mattered most. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
Hours passed. They got occasional updates from Jim and Bill of what was happening to the others, but the update they really needed didn't come for a long time.
Dean was sitting with his head in his hands, trying desperately to hide the tears burning in his eyes. Despite what the doctor had said about no news being good news, he was scared by how long it was taking. How much damage was there to repair? He didn't want to voice those questions, though, or let Jessica see his tears. She was being so strong, and he couldn't risk that by showing his weakness.
After what felt like a very long time, the door opened and two people came in, a woman and a man. They were wearing scrubs and surgical caps.
Dean wiped a hand over his face and joined Jessica and John in standing. The others stayed seated, and Scott seemed to press himself further into the chair.
"Sam Winchester's family?" the woman asked.
"That's us," John said, waving a hand inclusive of them all in the room. They had all earned their right to be called family.
"I'm Doctor Findlay," the male doctor said. "I'm the general surgeon that operated on Sam. The knife wound penetrated his small intestine. I have repaired the damage, but the nature of the injury presents a high risk of infection. We have him on a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics. The blood loss he sustained is being replenished with transfusions."
"He'll be okay?" Dean asked.
The woman cleared her throat. "My name is Doctor Abbott, and I'm a neurologist. Sam's head injury is the main concern for me. Some swelling has developed and we're treating it with a drug called Mannitol. We're monitoring the pressure carefully and using anticonvulsants as a preventative measure."
"He might have seizures?" John asked.
"That is a common reaction to a head injury, yes. We're trying to keep the risk of that as low as possible as we don't want to cause further damage to his abdominal wound or exacerbate the brain injury."
"He's going to be okay," Jessica said decisively.
Doctor Abbott looked somber. "Sam is deeply unconscious, and he's isn't responding to painful stimulus. His injuries are stable at the moment, but we're playing a waiting game now. The sooner he wakes up, the less chance of damage there is."
"Brain damage?" John rasped.
Dean swayed and someone placed a hand on his back to steady him.
"We don't know anything for certain yet," the doctor said. "There's always a risk of it with injuries like Sam's, but he has made it this far. If I may speak frankly, he's already exceeded expectations. We have to hope he continues to do so."
"And if he doesn't?" John asked. "What kind of damage are we talking about?"
"John!" Jessica said sharply
The doctor looked at John and his demanding look and answered. "There could be long term cognitive and/or physical impairment. He could suffer seizures. It's possible that he could not wake up at all. None of these are certainties, but they are possibilities, and I would be remiss if I didn't warn you."
John eyes were wet and distant. He sagged where he stood and his chin shook. Though he'd hoped he would never see them again, Dean recognized all the signs of a breakdown at once. He thought he should say something to help him, to sit him down before he fell, but his words had disappeared and he was frozen. He was in shock. He thought he was heading for a breakdown this time, too.
"He was going to law school," John said weakly. "He was getting married."
"He is going to law school!" Jessica said harshly. "He is going to marry me and we will have our whole life ahead of us. We're going to live it together." She gripped the front of John's shirt and tugged on it. "He's going to be fine. He is going to fight this and win. Don't you dare give up on him again. He's not dead. He's not been taken. He is alive and he will stay that way."
John turned haunted eyes on her but he didn't speak. His face said it all. He couldn't take a knock like this and hold on. He had been through too much in his life; he had lost so much and suffered so horribly. He was broken perhaps even more than he had been when Sam was lost the first time.
Jessica released him, looking disgusted, and turned to the doctors at the door. "Take me to my fiancée."
Doctor Abbott nodded. "He's in ICU, so there can only be two visitors in the room at a time."
John took a step forward and made a hoarse sound in his throat.
Jessica rounded on him and pointed an accusing finger into his chest. "No! You stay here. You can see him when you're ready to believe in him again."
Dean shot his father an apologetic look, but John didn't even seem to notice. He was looking at Jessica as if he had never seen her before. There was no anger in him, just devastation.
"I'll come," Dean said. "He's my brother," he added for the sake of the doctors.
They nodded and gestured them out ahead of them. When they were in the corridor, they led Jessica and Dean toward a door at the end. They passed through it and into a quiet ward with individual rooms. There were windows set into the walls, and as they passed, Dean glanced into several and saw people in beds hooked up to all kinds of equipment with people sitting by the bed and holding patient's hands.
They were halfway along the corridor when Doctor Abbott stopped them and opened a door. Dean drew a deep breath before following Jessica inside. He gasped at the new nightmare in front of him. The room was so loud. There was humming and beeping and the rush and click of a ventilator.
Sam was lying flat on a bed, his hands perfectly still at his side. His skin was almost as pale as the sheet that covered him to the chest, and as Dean moved closer, Dean saw his lips, which were parted by the ventilator tube, were almost white. There were two large electrode pads on his chest connected to a machine at his side.
"What's that?" he asked weakly, pointing.
"That's the defibrillator," Doctor Wyatt said. "If Sam's heart fails, it will automatically deliver a shock. It's standard protocol in cases such as this, as the response is instant rather than the delay of waiting for a code team to come."
"Will he need it?" Dean asked.
"No!" Jessica answered sharply.
"It's the recommended approach," the doctor said carefully.
Jessica shook her head jerkily. "Can I touch him?"
"Yes, but be mindful of the equipment."
Jessica nodded and carefully leaned over the bed and kissed Sam's cheek. "Hey, baby," she said gently. "How're you doing?"
It was as if she expected an answer. Dean had to swallow hard twice to force down the lump in his throat. He stepped up to the side of the bed and touched Sam's icy cold hand. "Hey, Sammy."
Jessica pulled a chair close to the side of the bed and ran her fingers up and down Sam's arm. Dean sat down on the other side of the bed and stared at his brother's still face.
After a while of silence, he said, "He isn't giving up."
"I know," Jessica said with certainty. "He never does."
"No, I mean Dad. He's just… scared. He's been through a lot."
"We all have," Jessica said dismissively.
They had, but Jessica hadn't seen Sam in that schoolhouse, dead on the floor. She hadn't fought second by second to sustain him with CPR. She hadn't been sure that it was too late the way Dean had. She hadn't seen the miracle that was Scott saving his life.
"I know Sam," she said. "He won't leave me. There's still so much for us to do." She smiled sweetly. "We're going to get married."
Dean heard the absolute surety in her voice. She believed in his brother completely. Dean would have to do the same.
After a while of listening to Jessica speaking softly to Sam, Dean noticed movement at the window. John was standing outside, looking in. His face hadn't lost the haunted look.
"I'll be right back," he said.
Jessica nodded without taking her eyes from Sam.
He slipped out of the door and walked to his father's side but when Dean reached him, John turned and walked away. Dean rushed after him and grabbed his arm. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"
John stopped and looked at him. "I'm not giving up."
"I know, Dad. None of us are. Go in and sit with him a while. I'll wait outside. It'll help."
John shook his head. "I can't. There's something I have to do."
"What?" Dean asked angrily. "What can be more important than Sam?"
"I have a plan."
He pulled his arm free of Dean's grip and walked away. Dean could only stand frozen, watching him go.
Azazel walked through the woods, twigs breaking under his heels. He smelled death before he saw it. The dream walker lay dead at the foot of a tree. Her throat had been slit by Ansem's Acheri demon. It was a clean kill. He was surprised at the demon's speedy murder; they usually liked to play.
He carried on walking, passing the barn with its stench of death. He didn't need to look inside, having visited the pit of victims each time he came here. Something drew him in though. He stopped inside the door and saw the corpse of Matthew slumped against the far wall. He was pleased by his demise. He had been useful for a while, weeding out the dead weight, but his time was over.
He left the barn and walked along the street. There was another body sprawled in a pool of blood. Jake Talley. He had been stabbed in the throat. He felt a thrill of hope that it had been Sam's kill, that he was finally moving along the foretold path.
He noticed the lack of voices as he drew closer to the schoolhouse. There were enough of them left, surely, to make some noise. Perhaps Sam had thrown himself into the task and killed the others already. He imagined finding Sam curled in some corner, the knife in his hands and the guilt in his eyes. Azazel would swiftly deal with that guilt, showing him that it was the only way. Sam was a smart kid; he'd understand.
When he entered the schoolhouse, though, there wasn't a victorious but guilt-ridden Sam anywhere in sight. Ansem Weems lay dead on the floor, a knife protruding from his chest and a smeared pool of congealed blood beneath him. His eyes were wide and staring.
Azazel wasn't remotely concerned about his death. Ansem was never going to be the victor after all. He was far too unstable. It was the second pool of blood that concerned him. It bore multiple footprints and smears where it looked as if people had kneeled.
He couldn't be sure, and he tried to reassure himself that Sam would have been motivated to save any of them if Azazel hadn't managed to corrupt him as well as he'd hoped. The footprints could be Sam's. Without Ansem's Acheri to stop them, they could have all escaped through the woods.
He wasn't certain though. This was a complication he hadn't foreseen.
"It's not the end," he said, looking down at his deceased servant. "I'm nothing if not adaptable."
He was going to find Sam Winchester.
So… John has a plan. Who knows what it is? Before you close the tab and curse me for lack of imagination, ponder this: if you're still reading, it's because I haven't failed you so far, so should you stop now? Give me a little longer. There's only one chapter and the epilogue to go now. Be here for it.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx
