Groaning, Sam forced his eyes open. It took a moment for everything to sink in, for him to remember where he was and why he was pinned to the wall. He looked around the room, at the flickering lamp, the blood-splattered wall, the pale young man pinned up across the room.
Wait…
"Dean?"
The limp figure at the other end of the motel room stirred, raising its head and proving that it was, indeed, Sam's brother. He was soaked with sweat, his skin was pale, there were terribly dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were a soft shade of blue, but it was Dean.
"You ok?" the older man asked, his voice weak.
"Should be asking you that. What's up?"
Dean shrugged, starting to shake. "Demon. It's so cold."
Sam blinked, tearing his eyes away from his shivering brother to scan the room for the evil, unseen presence. There weren't any dark masses hiding out in shadowy corners, no yellow eyes sparking to life in the shadows, nothing but Dean's violent shaking and the unseen force that was pinning the brothers to the walls to indicate that anything was wrong. "Where is it?"
Dean smirked. "Bathroom."
"The bathroom?"
"Host body had to take a leak, I guess."
"So it busted into our room, threw us up against the walls, stuck us there, and then left us hanging so it could use our facilities? Man, that's weird, even for us."
"You're telling me." Behind the closed bathroom door, a toilet flushed. "Get your game face on."
The door to the bathroom burst suddenly open in a spray of flying splinters revealing a strapping man in his early thirties with jet black hair and glowing yellow eyes. "Damn humans," it hissed, "weak bladders. One of these days…" The eyes shot up, wandering over its two victims as a smile broke out on the demon's stolen face. "Well, well, well. Nice of you to finally join us, Sammy."
"It's Sam," the hunter hissed, staring evil in the eye and not even flinching.
"Whatever you say," the demon cooed, striding confidently into the room, "it doesn't really matter, anyhow. You're back in the land of the waking, and that's all I care about. It certainly took you long enough."
Sam felt his heart skip a beat. How long had he been out? How long had he left Dean alone with the thing that had killed their parents? How much time had the demon had to worm inside the elder hunter's mind and twist his thoughts? Exactly how cold was it?
"What do you want?" Sam asked, staring past the demon as it neared the center of the room, looking over the creature's shoulder and trying to assess his shaking sibling.
"You, of course," the demon answered, changing direction and heading toward the young psychic, "it's always been you, Sam. You're the special one. You're the one that I want."
"Quoting 'Grease?'" Dean quipped, laughing shallowly, "never took you for a fan of musicals. Or John Travolta. You know he's playing a chick in his next movie?"
"Funny," the demon barked, spinning around to face the older man, "but that's all part of your MO, isn't it?"
"Déjà vu," Dean commented.
A large smile lit up the possessed man's face as he stepped toward the empath. "You know, I think you're right. Only, this time, daddy isn't here to save you. You know why that is, don't you, Dean?"
The hunter flinched, dropping his gaze from the shining yellow eyes as the demon turned its attention back on its intended target. "Now," it hissed, slowly approaching Sam, "what do you say we finish our little conversation, hmm?"
Yellow eyes glinted in the dim light of the room as Sam watched the demon grow closer, its mouth twisting into an even bigger smile. It was halfway across the room, halfway to Sam, when it stopped.
The demon spun around, stalking up to Dean, its smile faltering. It focused on his pale skin, ran a finger down his chest, laughed as the older hunter's breath hitched in his throat. "It's so cold, isn't it?" the demon asked, moving in closer, "and there's no escape. Nothing but death."
Still gasping, Dean raised his eyes to look at it. He moaned, head falling back onto his chest.
"I want you to beg for it," the demon cooed, "beg for a release. Beg for your death, Winchester, and I might give it to you."
Dean coughed, his body shuddering, and opened his mouth to speak. He once again raised his head, looking over at Sam, eyes sparkling with understanding and comprehension and a certain preparedness which all Winchesters are born possessing.
"Please," he muttered weakly, head falling, eyelids fluttering, "please, take… take it… take it all back, you… you son of a bitch." His head snapped up, lips no longer blue, skin regaining a bit of its usual tan, and the demon fell back onto the floor, flailing and clutching at it's chest.
"You…" it hissed, glaring daggers up at the older man, who had focused all of his attention on the beast, "you…"
"Sammy isn't the only psychic in the family," the empath muttered through gritted teeth, "hurts, doesn't it?"
Sam watched the scene unfold in front of his eyes, watched the demon clutch at its stolen chest, right where the heart was, watched as tears leaked from the pitiless yellow eyes, watched at the body on the floor was wracked with sobs. He couldn't believe it.
"Stop it," the creature hissed, wiping warm saltwater away from its eyes, "stop it now, or I'll-"
"Or you'll what?" Dean demanded, his strength slowly returning, "you'll take my family? You'll take my life? You already have. There's nothing left for you."
"Foolish empath. You're not dead yet. You only feel dead." It got up on one knee only to be knocked down again as Sam felt a wave of raw emotion hit him. Depression, pain, loss, abandonment, all rushing at him. Betrayal, hurt, despair, rejection, bitterness, regret. He muttered his brother's name, the weight of the world on his shoulders suddenly becoming too much, pressing on his chest, causing him to cry out. He didn't want to be alone anymore, or cold, or empty, or lost, or unloved. And it stopped.
Sam gasped, shaking his head and blinking tears from his eyes as the emotional overload was swept away. He could see Dean on the other side of the room, still pinned and looking at him with fear on his face.
"I'm sorry," the older man whispered, glancing at the floor, "you shouldn't have… but it's dead now. It's dead. Look."
Sam followed his brother's gaze. Sure enough, the demon was lying on the ground, hand still clutching its heart, unmoving. It looked dead, but something didn't quite add up. "Dean," Sam said, surprised by the shaky quality of his voice, "if it's dead, then why are we still stuck?"
"Shit."
Yellow eyes sparked suddenly to life as the demon slid up from its position on the floor, a sly smile plastered across its stolen face. "Tsk, tsk. You boys should know by now that demons don't feel. There's no way you can possibly kill me. I can kill you, however."
Dean began to scream.
I know, short update, nothing eventful happening... that shouldn't stop you from reviewing, though :)