Sam Winchester took a deep breath as he descended the staircase, heading into the entryway of the mansion, where a large number of hooded cult members had already gathered. They formed a circle, faces turned up to the stairs, watching and waiting for their newest member to join them.
Slowly, Sam entered the circle and stood within the ring of psychics, joining them in their waiting game. The large circle of light that had been thrown by the skylight above him began to fade as lightning forked across the sky, and Sam knew that the demon was on its way.
The wind began to pick up, beating against the skylight in steady, almost rhythmic gusts. Sam glanced up just as the skylight imploded, spraying the waiting psychics with sharp glass.
The hunter ducked his head, avoiding getting hit in the face, as soon as he had seen what had crashed through the roof. It wasn't the demon everyone had been waiting for, but a strapping young man with wings, coming to his brother's rescue at the last possible minute.
"What are you doing here?" Sam hissed as his brother landed beside him.
"Saving your ass, what's it look like?"
Sam glanced around the room, looking over all of the psychics, who were surrounding the brothers and starting to move in. "Oh, sorry," he said flatly, "my mistake."
Dean grumbled, flipping around so he covered his brother's back, and weighed the odds. He found Claire in the crowd, standing by a railing, and met her eyes. She nodded curtly, nudging the nearest metal railing post with her foot. From his position in the middle of the floor, Dean could see it wobble. That was good.
Sam couldn't see the post from his position, didn't know that his brother had a plan, or a back-up should the first one fail. All he knew was that Dean was at his back, and he could feel those wings twitching as his brother considered their options.
Suddenly, Dean grabbed his hand. "Hang on," he whispered as the cult began to close in faster, finally growing tired of watching what appeared to be a failed rescue attempt, "tight." The force of his grip increased as he spun Sam around to his side.
"What are you doing?" Sam hissed, glaring at his brother as the psychics advanced, getting closer with each passing second.
Dean smirked. "Trust me." He spread his wings and took off, Sam clinging tightly to his arm with a mixture of fear and surprise. The older man was happy to find that the strength he'd found during his first rescue mission had seemed to return, as Sam was far lighter than he would have expected.
They were nearing the skylight, and freedom, fast. The plan was going just as it should, and would undoubtedly end with the brothers sailing out through the open skylight and into freedom, packing up the Impala, and getting as far away from the evil psychics as possible.
Unfortunately, for the Winchesters, plans never do go as, well, planned, and a certain yellow-eyed demon chose just that moment to make his appearance.
Dean had just cleared the skylight when a flash of lightning illuminated the sky and a large black mist came into view. Before the hunter had time to react, he'd collided with the demon and was spiraling back into the mansion. He felt Sam's hand being ripped from his grasp, but could do nothing about it as the demon rammed him again, sending him straight for a collision with one of the entry's brick walls.
His head hit it straight on and his neck snapped. Dean Winchester was dead before he even hit the ground.
Sam felt himself stop falling and looked around at the ring of psychics. At least three of them were holding out their hands toward him, looks of strain and concentration on their faces. Telekinesis.
He heard the sickening crack of his brother's neck breaking as the psychics set him down. Sam spun around to see Dean's body lying crumpled on the floor beside the wall, but he couldn't move. The cult members were still holding him.
Suddenly, Sam felt himself being slammed into the wall by an unseen force. It was then that he noticed the swirling black mass that was the demon wasn't in the room. It was in Holly.
Slowly, the possessed girl approached Dean's body, nudging his side with one high heeled shoe. "No wonder I could get into you," the demon mused, grinning as it turned to face Sam, "oh well. He's better off dead, huh, Sammy?"
"He's the only one that can call me that." Sam muttered, struggling against the demon's invisible bonds as the circle of psychics moved back out, giving their father room to breathe.
The creature's smile widened. "Well, he won't be calling you anything anymore, will he?"
Sam closed his eyes. He had a good view of his brother's body, which, according to experience, should have been getting up. It wasn't. Dean just lay still on the ground, unmoving, unbreathing. "Why can't you just leave us alone?"
"Where's the fun in that?" the demon asked, "besides, if I let you go, I'd have to let everyone else go, and that's just not acceptable."
Sam opened his eyes and looked at Holly's body, slim and pretty. She stared back at him with murky yellow eyes, smile never faltering. Behind her, Dean slowly rose to his feet, head lolling on a broken neck. The angel grabbed his head and twisted it, popping his spine back into alignment and revealing a large, bloody hole where he'd hit the wall.
The demon groaned. "Guys," it muttered, "could you keep it down? Sammy and I need to have a little talk."
"F-father," one of the psychics began, but was cut off.
"No," the demon said sternly, "just give the adults a little quiet time here, kiddies."
"But-"
"I said shut up!"
The psychic fell silent as Dean stalked silently across the room, holding his hand to the wound on his head, and approached Claire. He grabbed the wobbly railing post and tore it off with ease, staring at it for a moment before nodding, and turned back toward Sam and the demon.
"Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?" the demon asked, clearing Holly's throat, "oh, yes, that's right. I believe it's about time for your initiation, Sammy. Trust me, it'll make things a hell of a lot easier for you."
The creature raised its hand, placing it firmly on Sam's forehead and opened its mouth to speak. At just that moment, Dean snuck up behind it and swung the post hard at Holly's head. The demon was caught off-guard and went sailing across the room, trailing blood from a nasty new hole in the firestarter's head.
"You all right?" Dean asked, turning the railing post over in his hands as he assessed his little brother for any damage.
"Think so," Sam muttered, staring at the bloody post. It wasn't very thick or long, and looked more like something you'd find outside than in. It was hard for him to tear his eyes away from the ordinary metal stick, though, because it was glowing.
Before Sam had a chance to ask about the odd, golden light emanating from the post, though, the demon was up and stalking toward the brothers, growling low its stolen throat.
"You have a death-wish, don't you, boy?" it asked, reaching out and grabbing the metal rod. It tried for maybe half a second to pull Dean's only defense from him before backing away, screaming in pain, and looking at its hand. The flesh bubbled and smoked, running off the bone like melted wax.
Dean glanced down at the post, which had lost its ethereal glow, and then back up at Holly's body. A sly smile crossed his face as he advanced toward the demon. He prepared to swing out again as two cult members came forward, ready to stop him, but the demon held up a hand.
"Let him," it gasped, "I want to see what our little angel does."
Dean's smile turned into a scowl as he swung out at the creature, hitting it hard in the stomach. It doubled over, flesh boiling, as Dean swung again, hitting it between the shoulder blades. The cult members watched, horrified, itching to help, as their leader was beaten within an inch of its pathetic life.
Finally, the demon rolled onto its back, body mangled and burnt, boiling and steaming, and held up Holly's hands in a sign of submission. "All right," it nodded weakly, "you got me. Do your worst."
Face set and determined, Dean stood over the demon and reared back, holding the post over his head as if he intended to impale the creature that had almost stolen his entire family from him. He stood that way, waiting, for ten long seconds before his intended victim spoke again.
"Well," the demon hissed, eyes gleaming weakly as its host's body slowly gave out, "you sanctified the stick, what're you gonna do now?"
"Get rid of you once and for all," Dean replied, glancing back at his brother, who was still pinned to the wall.
"You do that, and all of the people in this room, yourself and your brother excluded, of course, are gonna die. They're connected to me, Dean, and killing me will end them all. Can you really live with that?"
Dean stared at it, at the people surrounding them, at Claire, then back at Sam. How many people in the world had been touched by this thing? How much blood would be on his hands if he ended it?
The hunter didn't get a chance to find out, as his indecision gave the demon the window of opportunity it needed. The light returned to its sickly yellow eyes as it lashed out at the angel, throwing him across the room and into the wall, where both wings broke upon contact. The railing post was sent after him, slamming through his midsection and embedding itself in the wall, impaling him.
Dean screamed as the pain in his wings gave way to searing pain in his stomach as the pole was rammed through him. His head drooped and he saw blood trickling from the hole in his stomach onto the floor. Finally, everything went black.