This is part TWO in the 'To Everything' series.

It's my idea of what happens to Sam as he turns demonic and becomes what everyone has been waiting for. Sure to be full of limp/angsty/hurt/evil Sam and worried/hurt/protective/awesome Dean. Bobby's there to as reinforcements as the battle of evil and the fight against it comes to fruition.

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

P.S. I haven't been watching the show (gasp and shock) so if I get anything wrong, that's why. I'm going on wikipedia, other fanfic I read and episode guides online.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

-/\-SN-/\-

When he woke, the pain was gone and his thoughts were clear. The room was lighter, and rays of sun came through where the paint over the windows had flaked away. He carefully got to his feet and touched the wall as momentary dizziness played with his equilibrium. He held his breath to listen for footsteps and heard nothing. He reached for his cell phone and flipped it open. Seven voice mails and he didn't have to guess who they were from.

With his breath tight in his lungs he held the phone to his ear.

"Sammy, well, I guess you know who this is." Sam couldn't help but smile a little. "Just, just tell me where you are. I know you said I shouldn't go after you, but you're dumber than a rock to believe that I wouldn't." And even though Sam was afraid that Dean would get hurt, he was also happy that he was being looked for. "Me and Bobby are going to cover every road until I find your ass, then then kick it for leaving. Just wait until I see you. But really, take care of yourself, please. Sammy." Dean's voice grew soft at the end.

He pressed the button to save and move onto the second message.

"Sam, just tell me you're okay, tell-" Sam was suddenly thrown back against the wall.

The phone flew from his hand and lay open a few feet away. Sam's feet were inches from the floor and a constricting pressure around his chest held him to the wall. He was frozen, unable to even move a finger.

Damas stepped from the shadows with a twisted smile on his face. "Feeling sentimental, Samuel? Well that will get you nowhere in this world, or any other for that matter."

Sam tried to draw in a deeper breath, but he was forced to shallow, staggered gasps.

Damas walked forward until he was inches away from Sam. "Fight back."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Fine." His eyes burned.

"I won't kill you, Samuel, I'm not allowed. They want you alive, alive and trained. Do you really think that after all the work that has gone into you, that they would just let you go?" He met Sam's eyes. "And I thought you were smart." Sam's eyes moved back to the phone and Damas knew his thoughts. "Fight back and you can get it. Who am I to stop you?"

"I won't play your games." Sam took a short breath.

Damas smiled. "Fine."

The pressure moved to around Sam's throat. He couldn't breathe, not even a little bit. Darkness started to rim his vision and instinct took over. Sam felt the familiar rush as power flooded and filled him. He met Damas's eyes and forced himself into the demon's thoughts.

Damas smiled. Very good, Samuel, but you will have to do better.

Oh, I will. Sam focused harder, felt the power burn through him like a fever. Euphoria flooded his brain and he had the impression that he could do anything, absolutely anything. He had no limits.

Damas's smile fell as he had to fight to stay in control. He hadn't expected Sam to be so strong so quickly, he hadn't expected that damned Winchester stubborn streak to fuel the ability like a dry forest in fire season.

Sam lost track of how long it had been since he drew his last breath and had no problem ignoring his body's desire for another. It didn't matter, none of it did, the rush of power was the only thing that mattered. Suddenly the euphoria faded enough for Sam to realize that he was only seconds away from losing consciousness. Survival added to the fire like gasoline and a strong wind.

Damas flew back as though an electric shock had passed through him. He lay crumpled a few feet away on the floor.

Sam collapsed to the floor, no strength to even catch himself as he slammed into the cold concrete. His vision blurred and blacked out a few times as he took deep, ragged breaths. Oxygen flooded his brain, but it couldn't fill the empty void that the power had left. His fingers scraped against the concrete as he tried to take handfuls of it to reassure himself that the world was not shifting and spinning as it seemed. Finally he could no longer fight and unconsciousness washed over him and pulled him under.

Damas pushed himself to his feet and popped his shoulder back into place without so much as a second thought. A wicked smile spread across his face as he walked over to Sam's still form. He knelt down and checked Sam's pulse, felt it beat double under his fingers, and stood again.

"Very good, Samuel." He pressed his hand against Sam's head. "Resurrectio."

Sam's eyes blinked open. Everything was blurry and shaded in gray. He could taste something metallic and wondered if it was blood, he didn't know how he ended up on the floor.

"You must control the power, not let it control you." Damas's voice was hard. "You must hold it."

He struggled to make sense of the words. Pain was starting to ache along his chest and pound in his head. He felt sick and dizzy.

"You must be the one to ascend, release and descend."

"How?" He whispered.

"First you must learn to hold it." Damas pushed Sam up so that he was sitting against the wall. He placed his hands over Sam's wrists. "Push me away."

Sam struggled to bring him into focus. "Can't."

"You're not trying." He increased the strength of his grip and Sam winced.

He swallowed and tried to remember what the power felt like. Somehow he found a small spark.

"Good. Let it build."

Sam shook his head slightly, he was too exhausted.

"Samuel." Damas's voice was sharp. "Focus, now."

He swallowed back something bitter and tried to focus. He closed his eyes and held his breath. Slowly, he felt the power come, but it was a shadow to what he had done minutes before. The grip on his wrists lessened, one hand slipped away.

Before he could get the other hand away, Damas interrupted. "Now, hold that, Samuel. Do not go out in a burst of energy, you must learn to hold or it will destroy you."

"So let it." He gasped.

"You will not die when destroyed, you will be a slave to the next thing of power that happens by. You will be a shell, conscious of it all and unable to stop. Now hold."

Sam focused everything on holding the power where it was. He could still feel Damas's icy hand on his wrist and feel the electricity of strength there.

"Good. Now, let it fade, guide it down."

It took more stamina than the thought he possessed, but slowly, he brought the power back so that he could hardly feel it. Even keeping that small flame going, was draining and blackness was once again pressing in on the sides of his vision.

Damas's hand slipped from his wrist and he slumped against the wall. "Better. The falling is as important as the building. It takes more to start a fire from a spark than it does from a candle."

Sam let his eyes slip closed. A warm mug was placed in his shaking hands and he needed no command to bring it to his lips. He felt a hand at the back of his neck and instinctually tried to fight. Like a switch, Sam suddenly felt sleep grip and pull him. The empty mug fell from his hand and cracked against the concrete.

Damas pulled Sam over to the blankets and stood back as though to admire his student. With a sly smile he turned and left.

He didn't know if he had been asleep hours or days, but Sam knew that as soon as he was awake, pain flooded him like power had before. He curled on his side out of reflex and a sob caught in his throat. His muscles twitched and cramped and his head pounded. He felt something wet on his face from his nose, and brought a trembling hand up. In the low light he was able to make out something dark on his fingertips. It took him a moment to realize that it was blood.

Sam's vision cleared and he saw his phone lying inches from him. With more effort than it should have taken, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around it. The light shot pain through his head as he flipped it open, but he dialed the number so familiar that he didn't need to see to type it in. He listened to it ring.

"Sammy." Dean's relieved voice was like water in the desert to Sam.

"Dean." He sighed.

"Where the hell are you?"

Sam tried to remember anything that would help, but had very little. "I think an abandoned warehouse or factory, I don't even know how long I was in the car." His voice was rough from more than fatigue.

"Are you okay? You don't sound okay." The tension in his voice was impossible to miss.

"M'okay. Just tired." He breathed. "Dean, I'm sorry. Really."

"I'm going to find you. Just hold on."

"Okay." The pain ratcheted up and he curled tighter.

Dean sighed. "God, Sammy. I just -" Whatever he was going to say was cut off as Sam closed the phone.

He sensed, rather than felt Damas return. With far too much effort, he slipped the phone in his pocket and pretended to be asleep. He had the feeling that Damas expected him to be asleep still. Something that sounded like a crate was set down on the floor and footsteps came towards Sam.

Damas placed his hand on Sam's head and he felt a rush of power. Some of the pain went away and he felt a little less shaky. Sam opened his eyes and slowly pushed himself so that he was sitting against the wall.

"Welcome back, Samuel." Damas smiled. "I brought you something to eat." He turned to a bowl of something sitting on the crate twenty yards away. "You'll have to go over there if you want it. The sooner you train yourself to recover, the stronger you will be." He stood and walked away.

Sam watched him disappear into one of the darker corners of the room. Not sure which was more of an act of defiance, Sam eventually pushed himself to his feet. He had to lean against the wall until he was sure that he wouldn't black out again, but eventually walked over to the crate. The distance had never felt so long. He eased down onto the crate and picked up the bowl of stew.