Author's Notes:
Behold teh disclaimz0rz. You can probably figure out which stuff is mine and which isn't.
Three things:
First, I'm sorry about the wait. My regular beta was out of town for the week, and it took me a while to find someone who was willing to fill in for her. Believe me when I say that between a week-long wait and an un-betaed chapter, the former is preferable.
Second, I'd like to profusely thank all those of you who reviewed the story up to now. It is your praise that makes this all worth it.
Third, thanks to hakirby for the beta. Your suggestions dramatically improved the quality of this work. I owe you a solid.
So here's chapter 4, I hope it was worth the wait.
Chapter 4: Unprepared
"Turn left here."
"How do you know?" Dean demanded for something like the fifth time.
"It's like I said. I just do. I don't know how."
Dean did not appreciate Sam's attempts to shut this conversation down. If he was supposed to trust Sam's vision to lead them into their next fight, Dean needed to know what Sam had seen. He needed to know exactly where they were going and what, if anything, Sam had learned about the demon's weaknesses. He needed to be able to make a plan.
At the very least Dean needed to know why his brother was trembling through three layers of clothing.
Dean looked at the dashboard clock: 8:45. He sighed heavily and pulled over into an abandoned gas station.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sam's voice was very near panic. Dean looked at him with a mix of appraisal and concern, hard green eyes practically ordering Sam to calm down. Sam broke eye contact almost immediately, shifting to a straight-ahead stare through the windshield.
"We don't have time to talk about this now." Sam tried.
"We have over two hours before this thing is supposed to go down. We're not on the highway, so I'm guessing where we're going is in town. And unless you've been giving me the wrong directions all this time, we can't be much more than twenty minutes from wherever it is you're trying to get us to. We've got plenty of time." Dean could be rational when he needed to be. And he was much, much smarter than Sam ever gave him credit for. "So talk."
Sam squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He clearly didn't want to talk about this, but that was just too bad. Dean wasn't leaving until Sam spilled.
"I thought you didn't like the touchy-feely crap." Sam mumbled.
"I don't. We got creamed by that thing the last time we fought it, and we were both at the top of our games. I don't know where we're going, and as far as I can tell, we still don't have any idea how we're going to kill this thing!" Dean said, allowing the anger and frustration to build in his voice. Dean wasn't nearly as angry as he was acting, but he knew what his brother responded to. Sometimes Sam just needed somebody to kick his ass, to get him out of his own head. "Am I wrong? Did you see something that gave you a hint how to kill it?"
Sam shook his head slowly. He didn't look up.
"Look at me, Sam!" Dean commanded.
Dean suppressed a twinge of guilt himself as Sam tried to comply. For a moment Dean could read pain, desperation, and not a little fear in his brother's eyes. Sam looked down almost immediately, unable to hold Dean's gaze.
The younger man looked tired and weak. His face was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes from inadequate rest. He wasn't close to fully recovered physically, Dean assessed, even if he appeared to be fully mobile again. Dean was sure he'd seen Sam stifling a grimace as he'd hurried them to the car. But the bigger part of this was emotional; something about this vision, Dean presumed, had shaken Sam to his core. Dean needed to know what that was; and whether he knew it or not, Sam needed Dean to know it too.
"What was different about this vision?" Dean asked softly, insistent but sympathetic. Sam clenched his jaw, a sign that Dean had indeed hit very near the mark.
"I…" Sam started roughly, pausing to shake his head as though to dispel a pernicious thought. "I saw the whole thing."
"The massacre? The thing you were babbling about when you were dragging me to the car?" Dean asked. Sam nodded his head. That wasn't good enough for Dean. His reply was caustic. "Well that's got to be why you're so freaked out—you've certainly never seen anything traumatic in a vision before."
Sam hung his head resignedly.
"I wasn't outside of it, like I usually am." Sam's voice was weak and unsure. "I saw it from his perspective. The perspective of the demon."
Dean knew better than to allow his surprise to show. Sam needed his brother to be entirely unimpressed by this, needed Dean to deny it significance. And Dean was more than willing to do that. In fact, he was quite well-practiced at it. He affixed an unaffected expression and looked over.
Sam was hunched, elbows on knees, hands interlaced behind his head, glassy eyes staring through the floor.
"I didn't just see it, Dean. I felt it. I heard his thoughts like they were mine. Felt his sword going through people like I was holding it." He paused before continuing with a tremulous whisper. "I felt his pleasure at killing them."
Sam looked as though he might throw up. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Dean honestly didn't know what to say.
"I'm worried, Dean. I don't know what this means." Sam admitted.
"Look at me, Sam." Dean said again, this time gently. Sam did. Dean looked back earnestly. "It doesn't mean anything. Whatever these visions are, it seems like they show you what you need to see. Maybe you needed to see this through the demon's eyes."
Then Dean picked up on his brother's use of pronouns. "You're calling it him. Is that just because it looks like a guy?"
"No. I felt…something in the vision told me that he used to be human." Sam answered, not seeing the relevance.
"Well, that's a start. That's more than we knew before." Dean was encouraged. "What about weaknesses?"
"Touching the relic gives people the ability to harm him, but it doesn't make them better fighters." Sam replied, trying to regain control of himself. "He already got the relic, and neither of us touched it, so that's not useful.
Both fell silent for several long moments.
"Well, we've tried guns, exorcism, fire, and bladed weapons. I doubt electricity would do anything. He laughed at the idea of holy water, so even though we didn't try it on him, I'm guessing it wouldn't work."
"We tried rock salt, too." Sam reminded him. "But he disappeared before it hit him. Maybe he's afraid of rock salt."
"It's worth a shot." Dean was reasonably certain the demon had avoided the rock salt for sport rather than because he was afraid, just as he had deflected Dean's sword strikes despite the weapon's ineffectiveness, but it was better than nothing. "What else?"
"Blessed weapons." Sam ventured.
"No good, my knife was blessed." Dean answered. "And crossroad dirt only works on ghosts. Are we sure he's a demon and not a ghost?"
"He's not a ghost." Sam said with certainty. "Ghosts are trapped on Earth. This thing has to work really hard to manifest here."
"So it's expending energy to be here?" Dean queried. "Sounds like that could be important. Maybe the longer it stays, the weaker it gets."
"Maybe." Sam conceded. Things still looked pretty bleak. "That's not much to go on."
Again the conversation died, and the brothers were alone with their thoughts. Even as he mentally ran through their arsenal, Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. The younger man's expression was searching, as though he were reaching for a distant, foggy memory.
"You remember something else about the vision?"
"Nah…It's just." Sam frowned and squinted, as if to squeeze the memory out. "I feel like I should. Usually I remember premonitions with perfect clarity. This one's foggy for some reason."
"Well, you're still low on blood. Even your freaky head can't be one-hundred percent."
"I'm missing something. I'm sure of it. And I think it's important." Sam sighed in frustration, letting himself fall back against the seat. "Maybe we shouldn't do this tonight."
"You mean go home and let these people die? Are you crazy?" Dean erupted, incredulous. "You're the one who dragged me out here. You saw everything. You know how important this is!"
"But if we can't stop him, we won't do these people any good. And I'm telling you Dean, I've got a bad feeling. Something is very wrong about this." The desperation was back in Sam's voice. He seemed genuinely disturbed. His next words were meek and defeated. "I don't know what I was thinking rushing us out here. I wasn't rational."
"Yeah, well, that hasn't changed." Dean argued. "Even if all we can do is warn them all to run when they show up, we have an obligation to these people."
This time Sam didn't answer. Dean glanced over and his brother looked away. That got Dean's attention. This was about more than just the vision.
"What is with you, man? First you can't get here fast enough, now you want to run on home?" Dean challenged, letting the question hang for several interminable seconds. Sam just sat there uncomfortably, hiding behind his bangs. Dean waited as long as he could, before adding pleadingly: "Talk to me, Sammy."
At that Sam looked up, and it didn't take long for Dean to read his expression.
"He got into your head, didn't he?" Dean's voice was gentle, his eyes knowing. "You're afraid of him."
A long moment passed in silence. Dean could see his brother struggling, his pride battling against his fears.
Sam nodded his head almost imperceptibly, unshed tears shining in his eyes. Sam was afraid. He was deeply, terribly frightened and neither he nor Dean knew why. It was in the details: something dark and haunting that had lurked in the back of his mind ever since he'd been stabbed. Something from the vision that he couldn't remember.
Something more than wounds and desperation.
Something unnatural.
It confused him. Hell, it confused Dean.
"You should be afraid." Dean stared at the side of Sam's face and put a hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping this was what Sam needed. "You just can't let the fear control you."
Sam leaned forward and took a deep breath, trying not to cry.
"DAMN IT!" He shouted as he exhaled, punching the dashboard as hard as he could. Dean recoiled instinctively, surprised. "God fucking DAMN IT!"
"Whoa, there." Dean coaxed as Sam slammed the dashboard again. "The car didn't do anything."
Sam looked up and some of the fear was gone. In its place was anger and determination.
"Sorry." Sam took another deep breath, gathering himself back up.
"Better?"
"Yeah. Let's kill this son of a bitch."
----------
The air was thick and musty and the warehouse glowed warmly in the orange light of already-burning torches.
"Dean, it's 9:30. None of the monks are here yet. Why are all the torches lit?" Sam's voice was wary. The brothers locked eyes for a minute. Realization hit them simultaneously.
"Because it's a trap." Dean groaned.
"That it is." The demon's voice came from behind them. The brothers spun around, and found the creature standing just a few feet from them, regal cloak pulled closed in front, sword un-drawn. Dean brought up the double-barrel and fired. The demon took both barrels full on in the breast and was unharmed. "I presume that is all, then?"
The demon looked disdainfully at the barrel of Sam's pump shotgun. Sam lowered it. "How did you know we'd be here?"
"The same way you knew I would, Sam Winchester. Your vision." The demon answered with an aristocratic smirk. "We have been connected since the moment I drove my sword through your body. I saw everything you saw. I heard your thoughts as you watched. I was there with you, boy, and you didn't even notice me."
"Why come here early? Why face us before the others?" Sam asked, not knowing what else to do.
"You know why." The demon's eyes flicked to Sam's.
This afternoon's vision flooded back in its entirety. Horror gripped him as Sam saw what he had forgotten. The demon intended to use the brothers to empower himself, to forever cut the strings tying him to the in-between place so he could manifest permanently in the human realm.
He had fogged Sam's memory to ensure that they'd come.
"After I'm done with you I'll have all the time in the world to deal with the rest of them."
"What is he talking about, Sam?" Dean asked nervously, keeping his eyes on the demon and trying not to feel completely useless. There was no answer.
Sam held the demon's gaze, transfixed by their connection. The demon was not satisfied with restoring his memory. He wanted Sam to know everything. To understand.
So he showed him.
Sam fell to his knees as the thoughts came, images, sounds, feelings welling up and pressing against the inside of his skull, threatening to break it open.
"Sam!" Dean yelled, dropping down in front of his brother and grabbing him by the arms. He turned around to look at the demon, whose expression was beatific with joy. "What the hell are you doing to him?"
"As Aeschylus wrote, 'He who learns must suffer.' He seeks knowledge. I'm giving it to him." The demon smiled at his wit.
The pain wasn't the worst of it, Sam realized, as the thoughts began to align and sort themselves. Centuries of violence played out in front of him. He saw horrors beyond description in the monstrous void of the demon's mind. As he saw more, the pieces began to fit together and then came the worst burden of all: the burden of comprehension. The pain suddenly ceased.
"NO!" Sam shouted as it all became clear. He felt Dean's hands on his arms and saw his brother's worried face and nearly came unglued right there. He grabbed Dean back, determined not to let this thing have his brother. The demon put a hand on Dean's shoulder and pulled him roughly out of Sam's grip.
Before Dean could react he and the demon were gone, the torch-light disappearing with them.
"Please God no." Sam whimpered inaudibly as he finally broke, all alone in the dark.
End Chapter 4