Chapter Eight
"I put a spell on you," a deep, haunting voice sang out. "Because you're mine..."
The lyrics echoed through the damp building, bouncing off the walls. The wooden floor was heavily damaged from the dripping water from the ceiling, where busted pipes gushed a gross brown liquid that plopped on the floor, the occasional chuck splattering against the floor, pieces of it flying in every direction. The only light on that floor the building was up ahead, in a room that was off to the side. Darkness shrouded the rest of the floor, intensifying the feeling of impending doom.
"You better stop the things you do," the voice continued, "I'll tell you I ain't lying, I ain't lying. You know I can't stand it, you're running around, you know better daddy, I can't stand it cause you put me down...oh no..."
Fear coursed through Sam's veins. The voice was coming closer, but it wasn't from the direction of the light. No, it was coming from behind him. He tried to move his body only to discover that he was stuck in place. He couldn't turn his head to see behind him, not that it would help much; he couldn't see anyways in this darkness. He waited with baited breath as the sound of feet sloshing through the puddles on the floor became louder, more pronounced.
"You're awfully cheerful," someone drawled.
"Well, it's been a good day," a different person laughed.
"I take it you enjoyed your time with Adam?"
"One of the best days of my life," another laugh.
Two men walked through him, one in a black leather jacket and the other in a tweed sweater. The one in the leather jacket was taller, almost having a foot on the other man, but he followed the tweed wearing man like he was a God. As they moved through the shit water, Sam's body floated behind them, not too close, but never able to move forward to see their faces, to put a face to the things in his nightmares. The dim light from the room cast long shadows all over the hallway. The leather jacket shouldn't have been so familiar to Sam, but it was, as if he'd seen in several times before. But surely it was a coincidence. After all, a lot of people owned black leather jackets.
"How long do you think it'll take before John finds the Milligans?" asked leather jacket. "We don't want to leave the bodies out for too long, then his reaction won't be as fun!"
Tweed sweater laughed and reached up to caress the other man's face. The man leaned into it, practically purring at the attention. "We won't even need to call him. By this time, I'm sure Sammy boy has been having the dreams. He'll tell John soon enough, and then John will find out that he's down yet another Winchester."
What the hell did that mean? Sam wondered. Who the hell was Adam and the Milligans, and why would John be upset about his death? John hadn't made a lot of friends over the years, what with his holier than thou attitude and his inability to let someone else be in charge, and always assuming that he was right even when he was so obviously wrong. His father had burned bridges with a lot of hunters, and to be honest, if other hunters never saw John Winchester again, it would too soon.
"And what do we do about Sam?" leather jacket questioned. "Is it time to move forward with the plans?"
"Not yet, my son. Just a bit longer, and then you'll be free to work your magic. You won't let me down, will you? You'll make me proud?"
"Always," the other man breathed. "Forever."
Sam jerked awake with a small gasp of surprise. This was the first weird dream that hadn't involved something directly violent, even though the way the leather jacket guy mentioned Adam and the Milligans suggested that they'd met a rather unfortunate, bloody end. Sam flopped back down onto the pillow, craning his head to look over his shoulder at his father, who was breathing deeply in the other bed, one hand under the pillow gripping a weapon without a doubt.
Sam knew that he should tell his dad about the dreams, should tell him that he saw Jess and Emily die before it actually happened, tell him that he thinks these dreams are trying to tell him something, but he didn't know how to bring it up without John pulling a gun on him. These dreams did strongly hint at the supernatural, and anything that wasn't human didn't have much value in the eyes of John Winchester. And without Dean here to play referee and to keep John from killing Sam on the spot, he was even more hesitant to mention it.
And how would he even introduce the topic? Would John believe him if Sam told him that he thought these dreams were premonitions? Although, the only dream he could really classify as a vision of the future would be the dreams he had about Jessica and Emily months ago, which had become a reality in almost the same way that he had dreamt it. In his dreams, there hadn't been anyone else in the house. Of course, now that the YED was as good as confirmed to have been in Palo Alto that night, he knew that he'd definitely missed one part of his vision. That just left the other guy.
The guy with the leather jacket was in the dream he had last night, and the one he had when he was in the car with his dad. He had never seen the guy's face, but the deep baritone of his voice, the way he sang, and the way he walked, it was all frustratingly familiar to Sam. And so there had to be two people in the house the night his wife and daughter died, because there's no way he'd ever seen the YED before, no matter what vessel it was in. The YED had an accomplice, and it was someone Sam knew, or at least used to know.
Huffing, Sam stretched his body out on the bed, arching his back and expanding his muscles, letting out a small groan. He kicked the covers off himself and stumbled into the bathroom, snatching up his duffle bag as he went, his legs nearly failing him a couple of times, as if he were a newborn deer, taking his very first steps across the grassy forest. He shut the bathroom door behind him and set the bag down on top of the closed toilet lid. He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was greasy and stuck up in clumps around his head, a few strands plastered to his forehead with sweat. His facial hair had grown out of control, making him go from a lawyer with a family and a two picket fence to a homeless ragamuffin who had slept under a dumpster.
Disgusted, Sam spotted a few particles of food in his beard, already hardened from the nights it spent on his face. Determined to get himself together, for Jess and Emily's sake, Sam pulled out the shaving cream and razor from his bag and got to work.
He must have been in the bathroom for nearly an hour and a half before he finally finished, having brushed his teeth thoroughly and taken a long, hot, well deserved shower. Looking in the mirror now, he looked like the Sam of a few days ago, the Sam that had placed his hand on Jess' belly to feel the baby kick, their excitement palpable, Emily cheerfully chattering about being a big sister in the background. Although it brought back memories, he had to admit he felt a lot better, slightly lighter than he did before. He wouldn't be able to avenge his family if he was too busy falling apart at the seams, and cleaning himself up and making himself look presentable was the first step.
Exiting the bathroom, he saw his father sitting at the table by the window, a cup of coffee in one hand, and another on the table for Sam.
"You don't look like shit," John observed.
Downing half the coffee, Sam ignored the pain from gulping down the burning liquid and grumbled, "One of us has to, Mr. Lumberjack."
"At least my facial hair is always at a consistent length," John said. "You went from baby face to homeless back to baby face in the span of how many days?"
Sam ignored him, towel secured tightly around his waist as he tossed his bag on the bed and started to pull out clothes. God, he had forgotten just how much plaid his family usually wore. He fingered the rough material, eyeing the red and black material. The jeans were well worn and kind of frayed at the ends, but not very noticeable if one didn't look too hard. He couldn't help but compare his current wardrobe options to his home in Palo Alto, where he wore pressed slacks and button ups to work, Jess tying his tie for him every morning because she swore he could never get it right; with the jeans carefully hung up in the back of the closet, only being taken out when he and his family were going out to a barbecue at the neighbors or relaxing for the weekend.
"When did you get all of this?" Sam asked his father after he found the hiking boots in the bag in his size. All of the clothes were definitely going to fit him.
"I picked it up while you were in the hospital," John said. "I figured I'll kill some time."
"And you just knew that I'd go back to hunting?"
John cut his eyes at him. "You're here, aren't you?"
Sam shook his head and turned away again to get dressed. It was...a process. Shrugging on the plaid shirts and jeans felt uncomfortable, his skin reacting negatively to the feeling of such cheap material against his skin. He knew he would sound shitty if he said it to his father out loud, but for years he'd been wearing expensive suits and shirts, with custom made shoes that had arches for extra support. The shirts slid against his skin smoothly, a gentle caress, nothing like the shirts and jeans now, which chaffed him. The hiking boots gave good support to his ankles, but they weren't the loafers he'd become accustomed to.
Unaware that John had started to watch him, Sam became lost in his own head for a bit, wondering if he'd ever get used to this. After years of living the good life, of being supernatural free and only worrying about winning the cases he'd been assigned, he was thrown back into the world of werewolves and wendigos, and it scared him because there have been moments where it felt as if he'd never even left. Despite nearly six years away from the other two Winchesters, Sam could still recount information about the supernatural that had been drilled into his head. If his father were to ask him right now to give him the ways one would go about killing a ghoul, werewolf, or a wraith, Sam, without hesitation, could tell him, could even point out the weapons in their possession that would be the most efficient.
It terrified Sam to come to the realization that despite leaving the hunting life, the hunting life had never really left him; it had just been dormant, waiting for just the right moment to spring back into existence.
"You okay?"
John's gruff voice startled Sam. The taller man gave a weak smile and jerky nod, forcing his hands to stop shaking as he zipped the bag back up.
"So, what's our next move?" Sam questioned. "Did you and Bobby hash out a plan last night?"
"Somewhat," John grunted. "Listen, Sam, there are some things we need to tell you."
"Something I didn't hear about last night?" Sam sank into the seat across from his father. "I think it's safe to say that I missed out on quite a bit, seeing as how I passed out."
"No, Sam," John sighed. "I mean that there are things that I didn't tell you about last night while you still awake. I should have told you, but I didn't know how to break it to you gently." Sam tensed. John continued, "I...I know I've never been able to really communicate with you in the way that Dean was, and that's just made this a lot harder. I want to tell you things, I want to try, but you have a habit of undermining me," Sam opened his mouth to protest but his father plowed on, "and you never want to listen to what I have to say. If I had a dollar for every time you accused me of something without even having all of the information, I'd be rolling in cash, Sam."
Sam's mouth shut with a muted click.
John continued, "When you were sedated again at the hospital, I stepped out and went back to your neighborhood. I thought that maybe I could ask some of the neighbors what they saw, find out if they had come across anything that resembled the supernatural. We both knew that it was the YED, but I thought that maybe someone had at least seen the face of the poor sap he's been possessing. When I got there, I didn't even get the chance to knock on anyone's door before someone reached out to me."
John reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a camera.
"Why do you have Lacy's camera?" Sam demanded. "Did you steal that from her?"
"I'm a little concerned that you know it's her camera without having to hesitate."
"Seeing as how I bought her that for her birthday," Sam rolled his eyes. "Why do you have the camera?"
"Sam," John murmured. "What you're about to see...I need you to promise me that stay in control of yourself. We can't afford an outburst, we can't afford a fight. Not right now."
Sam's stomach clenched tightly, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was starving or because it was filled with dread. Lacy's camera gleamed at him, yet another reminder of the life that he'd left behind. Or, more accurately, the life that was stolen from him. Whatever was on that camera, from the way his dad was acting, it was bad. But how bad? Bad enough that John was expecting a brawl?
"I promise."
The Impala's engine rumbled, causing the warmth of familiarity to spread through Dean's chest. No matter how many times behind he got the wheel, every time felt like he was coming home. A lot of people had let him down, but he could always count on his Baby to be there for him through thick and thin. He slid his hands over the steering wheel, inhaling deeply. He'd cleaned the car after dealing with Adam and Kate Milligan, so now the smell of fresh leather filled the car.
Killing Adam and Kate had been filled with vindictive justice.
When he had found out about their existence, he'd nearly lost his mind to his rage, prepared to tear the world apart with his bare hands. He spent his entire life under John's thumb, being forced to jump out of high school and abandon his hopes and dreams because of some wild goose chase after the YED, and the entire time John had been giving Adam a happy, normal life filled with baseball games and birthday parties. And although Dean wasn't very happy with Sam either, he had killed Adam for him too, because Lord knows John threw a fit when Sam went to college but was overjoyed when Adam skipped a grade.
Dean wished he had drawn Adam and Kate's death out a bit longer, although he had enjoyed watching them beg for mercy, trying to appeal to his better nature as he plunged his hands into the wounds in their torsos. Their agony filled sobs had been drawn out for hours; Dean liked to be thorough with his work. After all, his father raised him to be the best.
But he needn't worry for too long. His father, the one who showed him who he was destined to be, had compiled a list of John Winchester's old friends and family. With Adam and Kate out of the way, it was up to Dean to get rid of the rest, to take out whatever bridges John hadn't yet burned and slow their procession down. John was a formidable hunter, Dean had to admit, but Dean was better, and his years in Hell had only honed his skills.
"Winchester." The passenger door to the Impala opened and Meg slid in, shutting the door behind her. He'd been parked at a desolate strip mall, a few cars parked throughout the parking lot. He was meeting Meg here to pick her up, but he'd had no other information besides that.
"Meg," Dean grinned. "Father has an assignment for me?"
"He does," Meg drawled. "Your next targets are Ellen and Jo Harvelle, although you won't be killing them. Not yet."
"That's no fun," Dean pouted, steering the car onto the road, his Baby picking up speed on the empty highway. Meg rolled her window down and leaned back in her chair, the wind whipping her dark hair about.
"You'll be befriending them both, but Father wants you to focus on Jo, use some of that Winchester charm I keep hearing about. From our sources we gathered that John wouldn't be heading to the Roadhouse for quite some time, seeing as how he got Ellen's husband killed. However, there is a wrench in our plans that we hadn't accounted for."
"A wrench?" Dean glowered. "Sounds like something we need to take care of."
"I don't think you'll agree," Meg smiled. "Bobby Singer has joined John and Sam Winchester in the hunt for you and dear old Dad."
Dean clenched his jaw tightly, foot pressing down harder on the gas, the Impala speeding up to go flying 85 mph down the highway. He hadn't thought that Bobby would join John and Sam. The last time Bobby and John had been in the same room, Bobby had nearly blown John's brains out, and had banned the oldest Winchester from ever coming on his land again. Of all the people that had pissed him off in the past, Bobby was one person who he was fond of. He didn't want to hurt Bobby if the situation escalated, but he knew that if Father didn't approve of his request, he'd have no other choice but to get rid of the last link to his past.
"Don't take it personal, love," Meg purred, patting Dean's cheek. He slapped her hand away. "You should count yourself lucky; Dad's thinking about letting you keep Singer as a pet. You keep doing what you're doing, and you'll get your reward."
"And Sam?"
Sam was someone Dean would love to get his hands on, had been dreaming out killing for years now, but Sam's importance in the grand plan prevented him from going after him. He had to be patient, but it was killing him to let the little bastard walk around as free as a bird. But Sam couldn't be harmed, at least not physically. He was needed to contain Lucifer once he got out of the cage, and Dean wouldn't dare disobey his father and jeopardize the entire apocalypse just because he wanted to play with his knives. But Dean supposed that he could deal with it; after all, Dean may be good at what he does, but Lucifer was better.
"Ruby has her orders," Meg said. "She's ready to go whenever Dad gives the word. It'll be soon, don't worry. We have to move as quickly as possible before Heaven catches on to what we're doing. That's why we need you to be effective. There's no telling what Heaven will do when they find out that Michael's vessel is unavailable, and we can't let them get to you, especially not now."
"Relax, I'll be careful."
No other words were shared, and Dean took the opportunity to push a tape into the dashboard. Music filled the car along with the sound of the whipping wind, and the two rode down the highway in companionable silence.
"I trust everything is going according to plan?"
The drawled sentence was spoken softly, and yet it still resonated off the walls of the room, the cold, damp walls creating a chill despite the room's location. A cage was bolted down in the middle of the room, a bundle of pure energy shimmering inside, a mix of light and darkness. Azazel walked forward slowly, keeping his eyes pointed downwards. His master was on edge, ready to be free of the chains that God had bound him in, and Azazel was pleased that he could report good news. Coming in with reports of set backs and other obstacles only served to make his master hostile, and Azazel knew as well as anyone that anyone on Lucifer's bad side now would surely never live to see the apocalypse, because Lucifer would punish them the second he got out of the cage. And Azazel had put in too much work to be torn to shreds before he could see it come to fruition.
Lucifer had been in that cage for, goodness, how long had it been? Millions of years spent in isolation, in the darkness. Ensuring that the apocalypse went according to plan was the only thing keeping Lucifer content in his cage. And despite the millennia spent in Hell, Lucifer's beauty was nearly unparalleled. Without a vessel, his true form was condemned inside the cage, and his multiple heads and dozens of eyes were on full display. The only part that any demon that came down here took care to avoid looking at was Lucifer's wing. There wasn't enough room to stretch them in the cage, and they had gotten dirty over time, and Lucifer promised a slow, painful death to anyone who dared to mock his current state.
"Adam and Kate Milligan have been taken care of," Azazel reported first. The Milligan's death was essential to the plan. After all, they couldn't have Michael pulling a fast one and trying to persuade Adam to say yes. And to ensure Michael's lack of vessel, Azazel had granted Dean to drag their souls down to the deepest, darkest pits of hell. "Dean is on his way to the Harvelle's as we speak. He knows what to do."
"Mhm," Lucifer chuckled darkly. "I never thought I'd see the day that our very own Righteous Man joined our side."
Azazel shrugged. "His family should have kept a better eye on him then. Their loss is our gain, and Dean is all too happy to serve."
"And what of Heaven?" His master questioned. "Have they not yet noticed that their golden boy is missing?"
Azazel had been keeping tabs on the divine creatures, but so far, he'd heard nothing that implied that they were on to him. Dean Winchester had yet to cross their minds, and their arrogance in their plan is what set them back.
"Heaven has an awful habit of assuming that they can take their eye off of something for a while and when they look back, it'll be undisturbed. They should know better by now, honestly. And when they finally do realize that Dean isn't where he should be, there isn't much they can do about it. Dean's body is still his own, the same one he had when he was dragged down under. If Michael wants to jump in, Dean will still have to say yes."
"And he won't?" Lucifer's light was blinding, even with Azalea's head bowed the brightness caused him mild discomfort.
"I swear it," Azazel replied. "Dean is ours. He's eager to serve you. He looks forward to your release. As do I."
Azazel exited, the door shutting tightly behind him. Lucifer growled, curling one of many hands around the bars of the cage. Even from inside his prison, he could feel Sam Winchester's soul, broken and hurting, a perfect target for a vessel.
"Soon," Lucifer whispered to himself. "Very, very soon."
After watching the video from Lacy's camera, Sam had nearly broken his promise and gone into a fit, prepared to leap over the table and give his father a well deserved punch to the face. But he knew that his dad was right; right now was not the time to get into fights and waste time squabbling, not when the YED and Dean were out there.
And, God, to have Dean be confirmed to be working with the YED, or maybe even acting on his own? It had made bile rise in Sam's throat, and he'd only just managed to make it to the bathroom to throw up.
Spitting into the toilet one last time, Sam pushed himself off of his knees and flushed the toilet. He turned to the sink and rinsed his mouth out thoroughly with water until the taste of vomit was nonexistent. He could hear his father out in the motel room, his boots thudding against the carpeted floor. He knew he'd have to go back out there and face the music, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to accept that his brother had gone off the deep end even though the evidence from last night's conference, Dean had already leapt off the deep end a long time ago.
Honestly, last night's revelation that Dean was probably a demon was already a ground shaker. But to have Dean be confirmed as the one who broke into his house the night Jess and Emily went up in flames? To have him confirmed as an accomplice to the YED?
If he had any more heart to break, it would be shattered right now.
Two quick knocks came through the door. John spoke. "Hey, we need to head over to Bobby's and get you caught up. We have some possible leads we need pursue, see what we can find out about Dean."
"Coming," Sam replied shakily. He wiped his mouth on the end of his plaid shirt, frowning down at himself after he did so. Just a few days back on the road with his dad and he'd already reverted back into a heathen. Wonderful.
Taking one last look in the mirror, the voice from his dreams echoed through his head, taunting him.
"He'll tell John soon enough, and then John will find out that he's down yet another Winchester."
What did that mean? Down another Winchester? As far as Sam knew, it was just him, Dean, and their father as the last of their bloodline, unless their father had been tight lipped about his side of the family, which wouldn't really surprise him. But why would John be upset about being down another Winchester when the person who had been killed was apparently a Milligan?
He wanted to analyze the dream, tear it apart at the seams and figure out what exactly his dreams were trying to tell him, but he knew that in order to do that in a timely manner with all the information, he'd have to admit to his father and Bobby that he had an awful habit of dreaming of the future. That wouldn't go over well with John, but Sam knew that he couldn't keep this a secret forever, especially if these dreams were trying to point him in the right direction when it came to the YED and Dean. Steeling himself for the storm that was sure to come, Sam exited the bathroom. His father didn't give him a chance to speak, ushering him out the door and towards Bobby's motel room.
Bobby was waiting for them, his books and piles of research stacked on the tables and wobbling precariously on the lopsided motel beds. "It's about time you two showed up," he said, eyes shifting to Sam to take a closer look at him before turning back to John. "I'm guessing you showed him the video?"
"There has to be another explanation," Sam insisted, although he knew deep down that there wasn't. Bobby looked at him, his eyes filled with pity. "Dean would never try to hurt me of his own free will. You know that. He's being controlled, he's-"
"The Dean we know is gone, Sam," John cut him off. "Whatever is in his body now, that's not him. We have to put him down like we would any other monster."
"Wait a minute," Bobby barked. "We are not going to kill Dean!"
"From the looks of it, he's already dead!" John argued. "We just need to cut our losses and-"
"Of course," Sam murmured. "I don't know why I expected anything different from you. You always shoot first and ask questions later. You don't even want to consider that there might be a way that we can save Dean! There is no way on Earth that he's stuck the way he is. There is a way to reverse everything."
"I get that you're still getting over what happened in Palo Alto," John said, ignoring the rage on Sam's face. "But we can't sit around and wish for a miracle. We need to take care of this mess the only way we know how."
"Then I guess this is where we part, John," Bobby sighed. "You may be eager to cut your losses and forget everything that's happening, but I can't do that. I won't give up on Dean, not when there is even a tiny chance that we can bring him back to us, that we can save him. I know that it seems like a long shot, like we're grasping at straws here, but we can't just roll over and show our bellies! That's what the yellow eyed bastard wants! He wants us to give up, wants us to abandon all hope in Dean. If we give up on Dean now without going after all leads, all possibilities of reversing whatever was done to him, then the YED's won. Is that what you want?"
John clenched his jaw and looked away, hands balled into fists. No, that wasn't what he wanted. But he couldn't afford to be hopeful right now, not with that YED all over what was left of his first born. That bastard had taken Mary, and now it had Dean. He couldn't handle the emotional onslaught that would happen if he let himself believe, even for a second, that Dean could be saved, only to find out that he was doomed forever. It was bad enough trying to get through the day with Mary's absence hanging over his head. Now he had Dean to mourn, too.
"You know that's not what I want," John said quietly. "But there's no use in giving ourselves false hope. These delusions are only going to get us killed. Sometimes...sometimes," John took a deep breath, "you just have to accept that you lost and move on, no matter how hard it is. Even if it kills you."
"Dad," Sam pleaded. "This is tearing me apart, just like it is to you. But we have to at least try, Dad! If we don't try now, and then find out later that there was a way we could have saved Dean, then we will never forgive ourselves. I don't want to hope too much and find out that it was just a ruse, but I don't want to give up hope either. We just," he threw a glance at Bobby, who nodded at him to continue. "We just need to tie up any loose ends. So any leads, any possibilities that could help us kill the demon and save Dean, we have to at least look into it. Ignoring even the most ridiculous lead could be our downfall."
Bobby and Sam stared expectantly at the oldest Winchester, waiting with baited breath for his response. The distance sounds of cars speeding down the highway filtered through the thin motel walls, horns blaring and tires squealing against the asphalt. Bobby and Sam were on the same side. Whether John agreed or not, they weren't going to stop until they'd exhausted every possibility, every opportunity. It would kill them inside to face rejections and false leads, but it would kill them even more if they turned their backs on Dean without even putting forth their best effort. Sam had turned his back on Dean a long time ago, and now he had the chance to maybe make things right, to fix their relationship that had been torn to shreds when Sam got on that bus to California.
"We multitask," John finally grunted. Sam inhaled sharply. "We look for ways to take down the demon and save Dean. The second, and I mean the fucking second, we get any information that tells us that Dean is too far gone, we let it go and move on. Understood?"
"Understood," Sam breathed, smiling for what felt like the first time in months, his face muscles straining at the new position.
"You don't tell me what to do," Bobby muttered. "But...understood."