I want to thank everyone for their response to Chapter 1. I'm glad this story has hooked some people!
Special thanks to Faye Dartmouth for serving as beta on this. She's a tough editor! Also, thanks go out to shimmerinstars77, GG101, nerdlygeek, and Phx over at SFTCOL(AR)S for giving me some useful insight for the second half of this chapter.
I own nothing. Reviews craved.
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Chapter 2: On Pain and Pessimism
Sam instinctively took a step back as she approached. Something about this woman was freaking him out, and, with a broken hand, he wasn't in any shape to defend himself. His head was spinning, his hands throbbing, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. He backed into the door and could retreat no farther.
"Stay back..." he commanded. Even to his own ears it sounded weak and unthreatening.
Jezebeth---whoever she was---held out her hands as if to placate him. "Don't be afraid, Sam."
Sam slid past the door and pushed off the wall with his good hand. "I said stay away from me."
"I'm only here to help. Please, don't be afraid of me."
Her voice was like honey, flowing over his frayed nerves and soothing his anxiety just by its sound. He felt his body relax involuntarily. Sam tried hard to shake off the effects. An alarmed part of his mind warned that the honey-sweet voice caressing his ears could also smother him if he wasn't careful. He reminded himself that he had no idea who this woman was…if she was a woman at all. He backed away until his calves touched the bed.
"You're hurt. Your hand is broken," she said quietly, examining him with those unusually green eyes.
Sam glanced down at his hand reflexively, though he already knew that it was broken. "How can you tell that?"
Rather than answer, she took one long stride and placed herself right in front of him. She reached out and grasped his broken hand in both of hers and squeezed. He was on his knees, crying out in pain before he knew what had hit him.
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The sound of moaning captured Dean and Bobby's attention. It didn't take long to find the source.
A young redheaded woman, wearing a blue dress, was sprawled out in the ditch along the right side of the road. Dean froze in his tracks when he realized that this was the crossroads demon.
Bobby, as if he hadn't noticed Dean's hesitation at all, moved forward and pulled her upright. Her eyes fluttered open, and Dean noticed that they didn't have the reddish sheen that they'd possessed earlier. Her voice wasn't nearly as arrogant either.
"W-where am I? What's going on…?"
Dean spoke before Bobby could, trying to control the panic growing in the pit of his stomach. He needed to know. "You don't remember?"
She shook her head. "The last thing--- I was in a restaurant…I got up to use the lady's room…."
Bobby glanced at Dean before speaking. "Looks like you were kidnapped, ma'am. Any idea who did it?"
Another shake of her head. She had no idea that she'd been possessed. Dean barely listened to her and Bobby's exchange. He thoughts moved back to Sam.
Where had Sam gone? What had taken him? Why? Why had the deal been broken, and did that mean that Sam's life had been forfeited as warned?
He felt trapped in quicksand. Nothing was making sense to him. He was supposed to be dead, and Sam was supposed to grieve for a while and then get on with his life. The deal wasn't going to be broken, they'd known that when they came out here. Dean had prepared his brother as best he could and said his goodbyes.
Sam wasn't supposed to disappear on him…be taken by force at that….
He let himself wander away from the woman, his thoughts moving too fast for him to keep up with the conversation. Let Bobby play the hero. Dean's eyes drifted until they came to rest on the tracks in the gravel…and the blood.
Every fiber of his existence told him that the blood was Sam's.
Every fiber of his existence told him that Sam was in danger.
And every fiber of his existence knew that there was nothing he could do about it.
If this wasn't Hell, he didn't know what else it could be.
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Sam could barely breathe with the blinding pain in his hand. It had been bad before Jezebeth had grabbed it. Now it was crippling. He was struggling just to stay conscious.
Then, as suddenly as the agony began, it faded away. The abrupt feeling of relief that spread down his arm was like a flood. It was bliss. He looked up at the woman with amazement.
Jezebeth smiled down at him. She kissed his hand and released it. "Better?"
Sam examined the freshly healed hand in amazement. "H-how..?"
With a broad smile, she reached down and lifted him onto the edge of the bed, then sat down next to him. "Let me take care of you, Sam. That's why I'm here."
For a moment, he felt himself falling toward that smile, losing himself. The image of a fish being reeled in sprang to his mind---the one and only time Pastor Jim had taken him fishing, a seven-year-old Sam had balked at the cruelty of sticking a hook in an unsuspecting fish's mouth---and an alarm went off in the back of his mind.
He was a prisoner here, not any kind of patient.
It took all of his strength to push her away and scramble off of the bed. "N-no... No! Let me out of here. I want to leave."
"Why?" she asked placidly. His outburst had little effect on her attitude.
The question momentarily stumped him. Why wouldn't he want to leave? He was being held captive here, apparently. "I have to get to my brother. If you want to help me, then help me get out of this room."
Jezebeth shook her head. "You don't need to worry about Dean anymore. You have more important matters to attend to."
"What 'matters?'"
The smile didn't falter at all. "You have a war to win for us. We've been waiting a long time for you to be ready."
War? It struck him like a thunderbolt. The demon army. Jake had been their leader. The demon Bobby had exorcised a few months back told them that the army had been lying low until they found someone to take Jake's place. Sam's heart sank as he realized just how much trouble he was in.
He was the replacement.
"You're a demon..."
"Yes. It's my duty to help you in your new role."
"My new role...? You mean you want me to lead your army," Sam said, accusingly.
She didn't seem offended in the slightest. "The one you referred to as the 'yellow-eyed demon' selected you for his army. He was hoping you would be his champion. After a fashion, he was correct. You are the last survivor of this generation of psychics."
"Is that why you brought me here, so I'd take over?"
"The decision was made after you defeated Jake at the gateway. But, we lost track of you after that. When you used your power tonight, it led us to you."
Used his power... He reached up and rubbed his nose. He felt dried blood on his face beneath it. He remembered waking up on the road, his nose bleeding. The crossroads demon was no where to be seen, and Dean was breathing again.
What have I done?
Apparently, he spoke his thoughts out loud, since Jezebeth answered him, with pride coloring her voice. "You've accepted your destiny, Sam. You've seized what's rightfully yours."
He shook his head. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let Dean's sacrifice lead to their worst nightmare. "I won't help you. I don't care what you do. I'm not helping you."
"You're afraid of me," she said. It wasn't a question. "You shouldn't be. I'd never hurt you."
"Sure..." he scoffed, stepping closer to the door, even though he didn't know how to get it open.
Jezebeth looked perplexed. "What do you think is going to happen here, Sam? I'm not here to coerce. If I was here to torture you or threaten you, would I have healed your hand?"
Sam couldn't help but look at his hand again. She noticed. "You've endured enough pain for one lifetime, Sam. Let me take it away. You deserve so much better."
He blinked at her. Until then, he hadn't noticed that she had come closer and was standing right next to him now. What was she doing? It was like he was in a fog.
Her hands gripped his arms with such force that it felt like they were made of steel. He tried to move his arms, but it was no use. Jezebeth had him pinned. She pushed him firmly, but gently, against the locked door. He tried, unsuccessfully, to quell the panic that he suddenly felt.
He was boxed in.
She moved one hand to his chest and ran the other one through his hair in a surprisingly gentle caress. He gasped at the contact, overwhelmed by a surge of pain and grief.
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"You look like crap, Dean."
Dean stopped pacing and glared at Ellen. "Gee, thanks."
Ellen opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she planned to say was forgotten when Bobby re-entered the room.
"Any word?" Dean asked impatiently.
"Nothing," Bobby sighed. "I've talked to every contact that I trust and a few that I don't. No one's seen or heard from Sam. Not even a lead."
"Damn it!" Dean shouted, punching the kitchen table. "We have to---"
"You need to sit down before you fall down," Bobby commanded, matching Dean's irritation. "You've been going since I found you last night. You're gonna collapse if you don't slow down. Sit and eat something."
Dean spun towards him, ready to tell Bobby what he could do with his advice, when Ellen spoke up. "He's right, honey. You aren't gonna do Sam any good if you let yourself fall over."
That gave him pause. On the one hand, she was right, but on the other... They hadn't seen Sam the past few weeks, hadn't seen what the knowledge of Dean's impending fate had done to him. "Ellen...Bobby...Sam was so upset. He was barely hanging on when I---when we went out to that road. If something took him--- I mean...he doesn't even know that I'm still---"
He faltered, but Bobby's reply hid his distress. "We don't know what happened out on that road, Dean. All we know is that Sam and the demon were gone and you were alive when I got there."
"There has to be a reason," Dean said. "There has to be some connection we're not seeing."
"I'm sure," Ellen offered. "And if this wasn't enough, I've been talking to Jo and some of the hunters she knows. All the demonic activity that they've been tracking has stopped."
Something in her words cut through the misery and malaise that clouded Dean's mind. "What do you mean, 'stopped'?"
Ellen glanced at Bobby before answering. "Ever since that demon army escaped last year, we've been trying to keep tabs. There's been more than the normal number of possession and demonic signs, and even though we don't know where the big crowd is, we've been seeing some of the lesser ones moving in some areas."
"Doing what?" Dean asked. He suddenly regretted having pulled so far out of hunting the past six months. He was totally out of the loop.
"We don't know," Bobby answered.
Ellen spoke again. "But, as of today, virtually all of the demons we'd been tracking have disappeared. I mean…gone. Poof."
Dean frowned. "'Recently?' As in…since last night?"
"Yeah," Bobby said. "When I talked to Jefferson this morning he said the same thing. It's like someone flipped a switch and all but a few of them have gone to ground. I think something big is happening."
Dean's blood ran cold. "You think Sam did something, don't you? You think these demons all vanished when Sam was taken…."
Bobby frowned this time. "Hold on! I don't think Sam did anything, besides find some way to save you at the last minute. These demonic signs might have nothing to do with his disappearance. We don't know what it all means."
"We need to work on the assumption that Sam's alive and well," Ellen added calmly. "Panic isn't going to help him."
Outflanked, and with exhaustion nagging at him, Dean sank into one of the chairs. "What can we do?"
"You, get some sleep," Ellen said in a commanding tone. "Bobby and I will make some more calls. Sam's bound to turn up somewhere...we just need to get some eyes out there."
Dean nodded, feeling numb from the neck down. Regardless of their reassurance, there was no doubt in his mind that Sam's situation and the demons were intertwined. The idea made him nauseous. But, there was nothing he could do. He stood and shuffled resignedly towards the stairs and Bobby's guest room, though he had no intention of sleeping. Bobby called him before he reached the steps. "We'll find him, Dean."
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"Sam...I don't want to hurt anyone else. I don't want to hurt you…."
He stared at the gun as if it might bite him. He looked from it to Madison's watery, but determined eyes and back. He couldn't do this...
"We can find a way, all right? I can. I'm going to save you."
"You tried. I know you tried. This is all there is left…. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it…."
"I don't want to die. I don't. But, I can't live like this…."
"No, please. I can't... Please, not again..." Sam stammered. He squeezed his eyes shut, even though that did nothing to stop the memories from running like a movie through his mind.
"Sammy...I got this one, I'll do it..."
"She asked me to."
"You don't have to."
"Yes, I do..."
"Please...oh, God, please. Make this stop. I can't go through this again..." That night in San Francisco had practically torn Sam in two. He'd done his best to bury the memories and never revisit them. Even Dean had steered clear of anything that might bring Maddy up in conversation.
He reached for the gun. "Please..."
"Just wait here."
Steeling himself, Sam gave Dean one last look---begging him to let him do this...begging for him to find another way---and, knowing there was no other option, he turned and walked into the room where Maddy was waiting. As his eyes slid away from his brother's, Sam understood with agonizing clarity the pain Dean must have felt when Sam had begged him to kill him if he turned evil.
The gunshot that ended Madison's life was still ringing in his head when he heard Jezebeth whisper into his ear.
"You've carried this pain for far too long, Sam. Let it go. Let me take it from you..."
Too overcome by the memories---which even more than a year later were too raw to deal with---Sam didn't even think about declining her offer. In that moment, he'd do anything to be free of it. He nodded.
She moved, one hand still running affectionately through his hair, the other pressing against his rapidly-beating heart. He could feel something building, but he didn't understand it. He opened his eyes in time to see her move in and kiss him on the lips.
With a rush, the pain was pulled out of him. All the grief that night had burned into his heart, the crushing weight of his guilt, the raw agony that her memory filled him with...disappeared. In its place, he could only feel the pleasure of Jezebeth's lips against his, the warmth of her hands and body pressing against him.
He still remembered what happened. He could visualize every moment of it, but the heartbreak was gone. For the first time, he could look back on those events objectively. With stunning clarity, he saw what Dean had always told him. They couldn't have saved her. He wasn't to blame. If nothing else, he had saved her. His strength had kept her from a life of misery and fear.
The difference was like night and day. And all he could feel was gratitude for the woman before him who had made it possible.
"Thank you... H-how...?" he muttered, actually regretting it when she moved away. He wasn't sure why...he'd only just met this woman. And she was working for the demons. A small part of his mind warned him that she was dangerous.
But...if that was so, why would she have helped him like this? Why would she have shown him such compassion? Was she just using him? Trying to win his confidence? The cynical side of him, the one most like Dean, thought that was the most logical answer.
"We all have our gifts, Sam. Mine is the ability to take away pain. To free you from the chains that have held you back for so long," Jezebeth answered. Her hand still fondled his hair.
He blinked, trying to think. Her proximity made that more than a little difficult. He stumbled back half a step, only to find himself pressed against the locked door. He also found, to his surprise, that he really didn't want to be away from her. His thoughts tumbled as he tried to concentrate.
"No…. No. You're just using me. You're looking for a replacement for Jake."
Jezebeth shook her head slowly. "No, Sam. My interest lies only in you, not the war, and not the army. I was brought here for you."
"I don't understand…."
"The demon that you and your brother defeated brought me to Earth. My function was to prepare his champion for the coming conflict."
"Train his---" Sam squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that her beauty wouldn't be quite so distracting that way. It didn't help much. His mind's eye took over for his closed eyes. "Jake was his champion."
"Yes, for a while. Before you defeated him."
Before I murdered him…. Sam thought sadly. "I can't take his place…I won't…."
She didn't seem phased by his statement. "That's your choice, Sam. I can't advise you on that…."
He opened his eyes and stared at her incredulously. "But…you--- You're trying to---"
"I'm only trying to help you. I told you, I won't coerce you. I won't force you to do anything. I only care about your pain."
"Why? If you aren't trying to convince me, then why does it matter to you?" he asked.
She considered him for a moment, then cocked her head to the side. The way the light glinted off of the curves of his neck entranced him for a moment, until he could finally drag his eyes back to hers. "Sam, do you understand how reapers work?"
Reapers? He frowned, confused. She continued when he didn't answer. "They have but one function in their existence. They move souls---or life forces if you prefer---from this plane to the next. That is their only concern. They don't seek revenge, they don't choose sides. They merely preserve the delicate balance between life and death."
"That's why there's a trade…" he offered, following her line of thought, but only barely. He couldn't get over how her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the room.
"Yes. Even crossroad demons are bound to certain rules. It's the way the universe operates. You upset that balance when you killed the demon the other night. That's how you were located so quickly by Azoreth."
Her words hit him, momentarily breaking him out of his stupor. "Killed? I killed….?"
"Don't worry, you restored the balance. You returned your brother's life, and took the demon's in his place. It was masterful. Your power is impressive."
Sam blinked. He killed the crossroads demon? He didn't remember doing that. But, he remembered Dean. He remembered Dean lying there, breathing when he was supposed to be dead. My God…it's true….
Jezebeth kept on, seemingly oblivious to his realization. "And it is the same with me. My concern lies only in healing the pain of those who I am summoned for. The one you called the 'yellow-eyed demon' summoned me for you. He knew your power was limited only by the pain with which you were afflicted. He knew that I could help you."
Sam reeled. It was so much to absorb, and his mind was racing in a thousand directions at once. Somehow, Jezebeth was in all of those directions. He could only listen as her calming words flowed over him like warm breeze. It countered the chill in the air around them.
"Pain robs us of clarity, Sam. It makes us waste our lives on regret when we should be moving forward," she said quietly. He found himself leaning closer to hear, as much due to her quiet tone as to the rhythmic stroking of his hair. "You carry so much pain in your heart, Sam..."
She pressed her hand to his chest again.
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Dean stared forlornly into his cup of coffee. It had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd woken on that gravel road. They'd found no sign of Sam or anything that might have taken him. The crossroads demon was no where to be seen either. Apparently, whatever had happened, Dean was off the hook.
And, somehow, Sam ended up on it in my place. Dean was sure of it.
Sleep had helped a little, despite his attempts to avoid it. He no longer felt like he was going to pass out. But, it hadn't helped his mood any. His brother, either through his own actions or something else's, was still missing. No one had heard a word.
Bobby and Ellen had contacted everyone two or three times. Wherever Sam was, he was out of sight…incommunicado.
Maybe dead.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut at that. After the past year, watching Sam destroy himself trying to break the deal, enjoying a few blissful months traveling---exploring a life free of demons and deals, if only for a short time---only to have the deal rear its ugly head again….
It was just too much.
Dean had been close to the end. The capitol E "End." Sam had been devastated, but he'd been alive. He'd have gotten over it eventually, and with luck would have enjoyed a normal life. The one he'd always wanted.
At least, that had been Dean's plan.
Whatever had transpired after his---temporary---death on that road had shot the plan to hell. Now, Dean was hunting again. Hunting for his brother. Searching for Sam.
Maybe they were doomed to hunt forever.
Well, if that was the case, he planned on doing it with Sam. He'd have to find Sam first, but they'd see it through together. Dean would need to get the weapons out of storage.
Whatever had taken him was demonic in origin. The sulfur on the road was proof enough of that. The tracks proved that Sam had tried to resist, which was proof that Sam hadn't done something stupid like offering himself in Dean's place. Those were the facts. If Sam was still alive, they'd just need to---
Dean's thought's ground to a halt at that. "If Sam was still alive" was just optimistic speak for "if Sam wasn't dead." Dean had never been that keen on optimism. It made you complacent. Pessimism worked better, made you sharp. Made you cautious.
Sam had always been optimistic. He'd been the one to imagine a life beyond hunting. He'd been the one who prayed to a God that Dean couldn't believe in. He'd been the one so certain that he could find a way to break the crossroad demon's deal.
And what had that optimism gotten him? Shattered dreams. A lifetime's worth of misplaced guilt. A twice broken heart. Ultimately, none of it would matter if Sam was dead.
If Sam's dead…. Well, that was the real question, wasn't it?
Dean polished off what was left of his coffee, grimacing when he realized that it was cold.
If his brother was dead, then Dean would just have to find out where he was.
And join him.
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"Families with infants?"
John just stared at him grimly. "Yeah, on the night of the kid's six month birthday."
At some point, they'd moved onto the bed. Sam was physically and mentally exhausted. Jezebeth had explored some of his worst memories---Dad's death; Dad throwing him out when he'd decided to go to college; the awful hours spent watching his brother die after the crash---removing pain that in some cases he didn't even know he'd been carrying. He sagged against the headboard---Jezebeth supporting nearly all of his weight and holding him upright---and let his eyes droop.
"So, basically, the demon is going after these kids for some reason…same way it did for me…."
At his Dad's confirmation, Sam followed the thought through to completion. "So…Mom's death…Jessica's…it's all because of me?"
"We don't know that, Sam," Dean jumped in angrily. Sam returned the anger, mostly because he figured Dean knew as well as he did and was just in denial.
"Oh, really? 'Cause I'd say that we're pretty damned sure, Dean!"
"For the last time," Dean shouted, "what happened to them is not your fault!"
Dean's words should have provided solace. He trusted his brother's judgment, after all. Most of the time. But, this time all he could see was the stony look on his father's face.
Dad wasn't saying it wasn't Sam's fault.
Dad was saying nothing.
But his eyes were. His Dad's eyes were telling him everything. The demon had come for Sam and his Mom---their Mom, his and Dean's---had gotten in the way. That morning in Colorado it had only been a sinking feeling…the notion that Dad knew more than he was letting on. That Dad knew he was responsible and was only sparing his youngest's feelings.
Later, when Dean told him the secret Dad had left with him, it was ominous, vague. The secret and warning had twisted Sam's insides with worry and fear. It was more than the simple idea that his psychic abilities might be used for evil. It was more than the idea that his Dad had told Dean that he might have to kill Sam---though, that in itself was pretty bad.
What hurt and scared him the most was that his own family had kept it from him. Dean, especially. For all of his brother's protestations of needing more time, it was painfully obvious to Sam that the real reason Dean had kept silent was that he believed it.
He believed that his little brother could be turned into something evil. He'd told Andy as much when he'd been under the other psychic's mind control. On some basic level, Dean thought Sam was doomed.
But, it wasn't until Sam had been taken to Cold Oak, to fight in the yellow-eyed demon's sick psychic kid death match that he'd gotten confirmation about the deaths of his Mom and Jess.
The demon had shown him the events in his nursery, and explained quite clearly about the reasons behind Jess' death. They'd both gotten in the way. Hell, the demon hadn't even wanted to kill Mary, she'd surprised him and tried to protect her six-month-old helpless son. His helplessness had orphaned both him and his brother. It didn't matter that any six-month-old would have been helpless in that situation. Sam saw it the only way he could.
His fault.
His curse.
He felt the fires consuming his loved ones just as clearly as he felt the hot tears streaming down his face.
"Shh," Jezebeth whispered. "Let it go, Sam."
He was too tired to argue. Too weak to explain his culpability to this demon before him. How could she understand? Sam knew little of demonic relationships, but he was sure that Jezebeth, if she had a family, hadn't shattered it by her mere existence. Not the way he had.
He'd give anything to be freed of that crushing weight in his chest. Anything at all.
Her lips brushed his again, and with a strangled sob, he let her fold him into her arms and take his pain away.
TBC