Disclaimer: Anyone want to lend me a few million dollars so I can buy them?

Warning: Ah, a few naughty words, but nothing too bad. He he.

Author's Note: Soooo, thanks everyone for all my reviews. Do you know how awesome you all are? Best birthday present I could have got! I hope you all like this next chapter. And if anything doesn't sound plausible, just pretend it is. Please? All this psychic stuff is kind of foggy for me, as in what is truth, and what is myth, so I wrote what sounded cool, lol.


Chapter 8: Hook, Line and Sinker

When Sam finally arrived at the pizza shop it was to find Dean had already left. He wanted to hit something. He hadn't been thinking, he shouldn't have left. Dean was in trouble, and he had had to go and do... He could have kicked himself. But at the same he hoped Dean was back at the motel.

He wasn't. Sam didn't bother checking the room; he knew if the Impala wasn't there then neither was his brother.

He headed to the front office. The light was beginning to fail.

"Hey, have you seen my partner in the past ten minutes?" he asked the man behind the desk. The receptionist nodded.

"Yeah, he was here five minutes ago. He got a phone call and left straight away."

Sam's stomach dropped. "Can I use your phone?" he asked. The man nodded at the one on the counter.

"Sure, we'll put the bill on your room."

Sam thanked the man and dialled Dean's number. There was no answer. Practically slamming the phone back down he smiled at the man and left. He had to find Dean. Maybe nothing had happened yet. No, not yet. So why wasn't Dean picking up. Something was up. But how was he meant to find Dean? How could he have left his phone in the library? Stupid, stupid. How to find Dean?

He stopped, almost not daring to hope. Maybe. Did he remember all of Missouri's words? He hoped so. Taking off at a run, he made his way to Archer's house, Dean's words in his mind.

There were some pretty cool protection spells, and a freaky room...


It was just dark as Dean turned the engine off. The park was still and a little creepy. Nothing moved, not even the swings. He got out, giving his hand gun a reassuring touch, to make sure it was still there. Where were Sam and Sasha? He got the flashlight out as well.

Knowing it could take him ages to search the whole park he got his phone out and dialled Sam's number.

He heard the ring coming from the maze. He turned the flashlight on and began walking. Somewhere he wondered why no one answered, but his mind was too busy hoping Sam was okay.

He entered the wooden kid's maze. He had to bend a bit, but the flashlight lit it up well. Hardly any shadows.

The ring was getting louder. He would be on it soon. What was that? It sounded like crying. Who would be crying? Unless Sam...

He ran the last couple of turns and his flashlight hit a huddled figure, who appeared to be shaking and sobbing. Dean stopped, shocked.

"Sasha?" His voice echoed, bouncing against the walls.

She looked up. The girl looked terrible, with red puffy eyes and a blotchy face. And the blatant remorse in her eyes hit hard too.

"Sasha, what's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to. He made me." She was still crying, and looked about fifteen.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, confused. Did she mean Sam?

"He's always there, watching, waiting... using me. I didn't want to, I swear, but he wants revenge so badly. He -." She cut off as her body began convulsing. And it suddenly struck Dean. He took a few steps back, hitting his head on the roof.

"Shit," he muttered. Stupid, stupid. Sasha looked up, a very different light in her eyes.

"That's right, Dean Winchester. Stupid human." She laughed.

"You're the demon!" he was still trying to back away. The demon, using Sasha's head, nodded.

"In the flesh." The voice was so cold. "Just not my flesh. But I like her. Almost as much... no, I'll save that little bit of juice 'til later."

Dean turned and tried to run, but something grabbed at him. The air grabbed at him. He felt himself turn to face the demon, which looked very triumphant, standing now. Dean let the anger - at himself mostly - flare as he struggled against nothing. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He had let himself be trapped.

And then he flew backwards, hitting his head hard on the wood and falling into darkness.


Sam came to a stumbling halt outside Archer's house. It was completely dark and he realized he would have to pick the locks. Panting, he made his way to the back door, getting his tools from his pocket. He was glad he always kept them on him. He bent over.

Under the cow pot.

Sam jumped, spinning. That had been Archer's voice. Heart pounding, he struggled to listen. He could almost hear whispers in the air. If he strained. Cow pot?

He turned back and a pot caught his eye. In the dark it almost looked like a cow. He looked underneath, and sure enough, there was a key there.

"Thanks," he muttered, entering the house.

Turning on the light on did nothing to appease his heavy beating heart. But his... feelings suddenly became stronger. The whispers became louder. He could clearly make out one voice as Archer. There were two, both male. Could the other be O'Conner? At the same time, he could feel something drawing him to a room upstairs. Suddenly knowing he had come to the right place, Sam walked towards the urge.

He didn't walk into the room immediately. He turned the light on and watched nothing. He was scared. He didn't trust his... ability. Didn't like it. But it was the only thing that would save Dean. He had to save Dean.

Sam took one step in. Immediately he felt relieved, peaceful, like all his exhaustion was wiped from him. Breathing deeply, he moved to the centre of the room. He was still scared.

He sat, feeling lonely. Normally he had Dean to help him with this. Not actually this. Never before had he tried to force a vision. Missouri said it was hard, almost impossible. Or had she said it was impossible? He couldn't rightly remember, but he was sure he could do this.

He began to breathe deeply, evenly, counting and focusing on the counting. Slowly, slowly, his heart began to relax, began to beat normally. He breathed in and out and in and out. This room was so... safe. So close to the supernatural. The whispers became louder. He could make them out now; they were no longer whispers caressing his mind.

Revenge... lust for it... kill it... rip it from its body... not its... revenge.

Sam smiled, at ease. Archer and his friend weren't talking about him. And they were yet to pass. They could be helpful. He took a deep breath.

He fell into the 'psychic state' (as Missouri called it) too quickly to comprehend. Left dazed, his head spun, flying through... his head. Struggling for sanity, he finally saw that black cloud encompassing reality; it drifted over the town, but he could see it in his mind. At the moment, it watched him, watched his ability, hungered for it. He gaped, knowing if it went on for much longer it would consume him. He realized it had already been feeding off of him, like he knew it had eaten away at the other psychics in town. And all their struggles would come to nothing if he couldn't get his mind right. He spun, out of control, struggling for a grip on reality. His grip was failing…

"Got to save Dean!"

The shout echoed around the room and around his mind. And then he felt himself steady. Only then did he open eyes he didn't remember closing.

The room was still there, but it was bathed in a light glow. And now, Archer sat in front of him, and to the right. A man he recognised instinctively as Daniel O'Conner sat to the left. They faced each other, not him. Before Sam could speak up, Archer and O'Conner did, speaking to each other.

"He will be brought to us." The voices of the ghosts were hollow. "Tear him from the body so he can burn in hell's fury. It's our revenge, our justice."

Sam felt himself nodding. He would bring the demon, as soon as he stopped it from killing Dean.

"He must accept his abilities. Only then will he expel his inner demons. He lusts revenge for a father's acts. He lusts power for the future."

Suddenly a wind picked up, whisking the two spirits away as if they were sand. Sam felt his hair ruffle and he closed his eyes.

The wind stopped. Sam opened his eyes to find himself looking down at a pulverised Dean. Looking over him. His older brother mouthed something and this time Sam just made it out.

"Sammy."

And then he zoomed out, taking in the house in the forest, the forest beside the town, the town in the state and out and out and out until blackness enclosed him.

When Sam woke he knew what he had to do.


When Dean woke he wanted to return to unconsciousness. His head pounded something shocking. Thankfully the room he was in was dark, so light wasn't there to make his headache worse.

He was alone. He knew that before he opened his eyes. And he was tied to a chair. An uncomfortable chair. His butt felt numb. How long had he been in here?

He opened his eyes. It wasn't completely dark. While there were no windows that he could find, light came in from the cracks around the door. His heart pounded away.

First things first; getting out of here. Blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision, he bent to study his bonds. He was tied with rope, which was always good. At least for him. There wasn't any rope in the world that could hold him: he always told himself that. And anyway, the chair was crappy.

He knew sawing through the ropes with the edges of the chair arm would take too long. He winced: the only other plan coming –

A bang sounded out, rattling the house and chair. What was - Bang. Someone was hitting something with as much force as that someone could muster. Bang.

Dean felt a rush of relief. Not all his stress left, but the bang would mask his own crash. He just hoped this would work.

He counted between hits a few times. Then, a second before the next, he kicked out. Or tried to. But he heard the chair creak promisingly. He waited with bated breath.

He kicked out, and the sound of the chair collapsing mixed with the sound of whatever that bang was. Trying not to groan - he had hit concrete - he waited, listening intently, sure that at any minute he would hear footsteps thundering towards him.

They didn't come and he started breathing again. He lifted his leg, bringing his ankle to his still bound hand. He could feel the knife still in there, and he smirked. The bitch of a demon hadn't even bothered to search him.

In five minutes he was standing, massaging his bruised hip. He kept the knife out. Next barrier - the door.

To his dismay he couldn't even find a handle on the rectangular light-edged part of the wall. He wasn't even sure it was a door anymore. He ran his hands all over it and finally kicked out in frustration. The door shook a little but remained closed.

Maybe half an hour later Dean had ran his hands over the rest of the room. He had come up with no way out. Not a crack. Kicking the wall this time, he squatted in a corner, near the door but so he could move behind it when it finally did open. He could wait. To get that son of a bitch of a demon he would have to.


Sam closed the envelope, shaking his hand again. It had been cramping up the whole time he had been writing the letter. It didn't say much, just what Dean needed to hear.

He replaced the pen in Archer's draw and put the envelope in his jacket pocket. He was pretty sure about what was going to happen.

He left the house, leaving the back door open behind him. The whispers cut off and he suddenly felt very lonely. Shouldering it, he began jogging towards his brother.


It was maybe ten minutes later when Dean finally heard footsteps approaching his room. A click as something was unlocked and the door swung open.

He blinked against the light and stood silently. He heard the demon walk in, surprised. Dean walked forward quietly as the demon, still in Sasha's body, walked clear of the door. He glared at the back of the head as he prepared to bring the knife hilt down. No one caught him by –

He lifted his head groggily, feeling his body bruising. The wall was nearby, the knife no where to be seen. The bastard had thrown him into the wall, without him even realizing!

Hands picked him up and stood him on his feet. Dean wobbled a bit, leaning against the wall for support. Sasha's eyes stared into his. But they weren't hers, he reminded himself. The ruthless gaze didn't fit the teenager. That was all the demon.

He grunted as a fist smashed into his stomach. Doubled over and on one knee, he couldn't stop the blow to his back that knocked him to the ground, fighting unconsciousness. The demon leaned down and began whispering to him in Sasha's voice.

"It's so nice to see you again, Dean. You've grown boy."

Dean didn't answer. He struggled to move, but couldn't.

"I am sorry. About what I have to do. I don't want to hurt you. But your father has to suffer the consequences. No one tries to kill me and gets away with it." It paused and Dean felt nauseous. Those words sounded so wrong in that voice. "I'm sure your brother will be very... understanding. Hell, he might even enjoy killing his own father. We'll see."

It paused again, cocking its head as if listening. "Ah, here he is now. Night Dean."

No! Dean was screaming inside his head. He wouldn't let the bastard get his baby brother. But, as if ordered, the wretched darkness swallowed him.


Sam walked slowly, shot gun held out in front of him. The old home was dark, shadowed. His skin crawled. The flashlight barely did anything. The demon could be anywhere. Anyone. Who?

He walked into an open room. A splintered chair caught his eye, but nothing else. He backed out.

"I'm so glad you came, Sam."

Sasha's voice made him jump and turn. She fell into the light of his torch, standing there, smiling. His skin crawled some more.

"Sasha? What are you doing here?" he asked, not lowering the gun. Honestly, she didn't seem to mind all that much. Indeed, she sneered and Sam realized who, no, what she was.

"That's why you were in all the photos," he spat harshly. "Checking out your own dirty handiwork."

She didn't answer, just smiled, and flung her... its arm out. He went flying, crashing into the wall and then the floor. Somewhere he lost the gun.

He rolled over, wincing. Sasha - the demon - was sitting on top of him before he could move. He couldn't believe the strength as he pushed against her - it.

"Cri-," he began, but a backhand to his cheek stopped him. Dazed, he couldn't stop the demon cuffing his hands around something. He shook his head too late and felt it stand.

"Cri-," he tried again. This time it was a kick that stopped him forming the word.

"Don't, Sammy. You'll just make me angry." She began turning away.

"Cristo!" Sasha's body flinched and stumbled, but did little else. This time the kick made him try to double over, gasping for breath.

"You'll learn. Like the man who owned this house. Sickest bastard I ever knew. Loved him. He would pick up women, bring them back here and then tie them to a table in his basement. Then he'd rape them 'til they starved to death. Course, when they found out they walled him up in his own room." She chuckled harshly. "He learned not to trick me real quick. Of course, that was almost fifty years ago, before your precious daddy took my body from me."

The words sounded twice as bad coming from Sasha's mouth. He got to his knees, jangling the cuffs around the pole he was bound about.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, finally having enough breath to talk.

Sasha turned to him, or the demon did. A happy, expectant, triumphant grin was on her face.

"You'll find out soon enough. This is going to be fun."

And then she lunged at him. Well, Sasha only got half way before she fell, unconscious, to the floor. But the spirit collided with him, at chest height. Sam screamed, feeling as if his chest was imploding. The demon was ripping him apart, tearing its way in.

"NO!" he screamed, trying to force the demon out with his mind. For a moment it worked, until the demon redoubled its efforts. Sam's back arched, pulling on the cuffs. The pain was unbearable. He tried to fight, but it was too late...

The pain left as Sam's body collapsed. The demon-spirit, inside Sam, sunk in, suppressing his captive until Sam was a mere speck struggling inside the mind. Laughter bubbled from Sam's lips. Finally.


Thanks heaps for reading. Only a few more chapters left, so hang in there.