6 – Reactor

For a long time, Sam didn't know if Dean was alive or dead.

After that … fight, or whatever they called it, he was slung back in his cage again, and they refused to tell him if his brother was really alive or not. The last time Sam saw him, Dean was unconscious in a rather large pool of blood, with most of the crowd of monsters baying for even more blood. And why? The fight was clearly rigged, Dean was supposed to lose, but he found a way to win. From Sam's perspective, that wasn't a horrible thing. Clearly, the demons disagreed.

At some point, Sam had fallen asleep, despite the fear eating a hole in his gut, and when he woke up again, he was in a car, leaning against someone, a blindfold tied around his head. Sam immediately pushed away from whoever he was leaning against, but then he felt an arm around his shoulder, and heard a familiar, "It's me, Sammy, it's okay."

"Dean?" Oh good, he was alive. Unless this was another one of his weird dreams. Except usually in his weird dreams he wasn't blindfolded. He also smelled like Dean, which meant like leather and blood, with the faintest trace of gunpowder. "What's going on?"

Sam had reached for the blindfold, but Dean grabbed his hand and lowered it. He didn't want him taking it off. Why not? "You're being released, okay? They just won't let you see where we're coming from, that's all."

"What do you mean I'm being released? What about you?"

Dean shifted in his seat. Sam could feel padded spots beneath Dean's shirt that suggested he was wearing some bandages. Well, no shit. He was kind of surprised he was still mobile after such a vicious beating by a ghoul. How was he still alive? Then again, that was a question he often wondered where Dean was concerned. How was he still alive? Sam was beginning to wonder if life-force was will, because that would both explain how Dean kept going, and why he could be such a tremendous ass. "I'm staying with them, okay?"

"The hell you are!"

"Sam, listen to me. It's gonna be okay."

That lie again. And in that stoic Dean voice that indicated he was shutting down all his emotions, because whatever was going on was so wrong he couldn't deal with it. So his coping mechanism was to shut down and stiff upper lip it, which told Sam that Dean was half out of his mind with terror, but he was going to be dead before he showed it. Like he didn't know his brother's tells by now. "Dean, what did you do?" Sam had a sinking feeling he'd cut a deal with these demons, which was so not a good idea.

Dean never answered him. Eventually the car came to a halt, and Dean removed the blindfold from his eyes. Sam blinked, a little unaccustomed to the bright light, and he finally got his first look at his brother since he saw him unconscious in the cage.

The split lip and black eye were no surprise, as he got the shit beat out of him by an angry ghoul. He was surprised they didn't have to staple his limbs back on. But the scratches on his face looked pretty fresh. And he had this grim, thousand yard stare that just said he was seconds away from doing something awful.

That muscle guy was driving the car. That woman who seemed to call the shots was in the passenger seat, looking back at them with an evil leering grin on her face. She was enjoying this.

Before he could ask what terrible thing he was planning to do, Dean leaned in, and whispered, "Tell Dad I'm sorry." He then popped open the door of the car, and shoved Sam out. "Walk East. There's a place two blocks away. Just stop before you hit Poughkeepsie."

Oh shit. The bug out word. Did that mean Dean was hanging back to buy him some time to get away? Sam honestly couldn't tell from the look on Dean's face. It was both stoic and haunted. Whatever this was, it was really bad.

Sam did as he was told. He backed away from the car, and Dean gave him a nod of encouragement before he swung the door shut. The car drove swiftly away, making a U-turn in the dusty berm and driving off the way the way that must have come. Dean was not looking at him – Dean was not looking at anyone – so Sam took a moment to memorize the license plate.

And then he took off running.

Dean followed Evangeline and her goons into a rustic style house, which was yards away from the barn that must have been where they held the pit fights. He felt like an asshole and a coward by not attacking them or trying to make a run for it, but that was the deal, right? He had to suck it up.

He was going to have to suck up more.

The living room had been cleared of everything, including the carpet. A circle had been drawn on the floor in blood, and there had been symbols he didn't recognize drawn on both the inside and outside of the circle. Despite the heat, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and it was redolent of blood, sulfur, and, for some reason, mesquite and tar.

Evangeline and the muscle guy, whom Dean had learned was named Lucas, grabbed his jacket, and Dean passively let them strip it off him. Dean was working hard to be dead inside and out, but it was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

"Stand in the circle," Evangeline instructed him, throwing his jacket aside.

Dean did as he was told, feeling like a million different kinds of shit. Everything in him was screaming to fight, to do something, but he couldn't. They'd lived up to their end of the bargain, at least for now. He didn't expect that to last forever.

More goons came in, and this time they were dragging people he didn't recognize, bound by duct tape. "What is this?" Dean demanded.

Evangeline smiled at him. "Part of the spell. It's not for you to worry about."

There were six people in all, but as Dean looked at them, he saw three of them go black eyes. Humans and demons? They all had knives at their throats.

The other goons in the room started chanting something. Some of it he recognized vaguely as old Latin, but other words he didn't recognize at all. At some signal he didn't catch, all the goons cut the throats of their hostages, human and demon alike.

As the blood washed over the floor, the chanting continued, and a solid wave of dizziness hit Dean, making him drop to his knees. From so close to the floor, he saw all the blood was starting to swirl around outside the circle, joining it but making it no wider. It made no sense, but what about this did?

The sigils on the floor seemed to waver, move, and he felt a true, deep despair. This was it. His last moments as a human. He'd have cried or screamed if it would have done any good, but it wouldn't. It wouldn't even make him feel better.

Dean suddenly wondered if possession would hurt as the room went completely black.

John had come down hard on the shooting her side. Really hard.

As traveling companions went, Jade left a lot to be desired. She talked a lot, and was pretty damn judgmental. A know it all smart ass, which was absolutely one of the worst kind of people you could be on a road trip with. He was about ready to push her out of the car when his phone rang. He answered it, and was surprised when he heard, "Dad?"

"Sam?" he replied. He almost veered into the other lane. "Where are you?"

"I'm at a gas station at Tate and Rosewood. I don't know what city."

"I think we're on our way to you." He was letting Jade point the way, because he was reasonably convinced she knew where they were supposed to be. John had not ruled out that she was a part of this. She wasn't a demon, but that didn't rule out other monsters, or even a complicit human. She could have a stake in this that he just didn't know about yet. Maybe it was her job to trap him. "How are you? Where's Dean?"

Sam sighed. Sometimes he seemed like he was thirteen going on thirty. "I'm fine, but Dean's in real trouble. He's still with them. I think he cut a deal to get me released."

John hissed a sigh through his teeth. Damn it. "What are we dealing with?"

"Demons. Although they locked Dean in a cage with a ghoul, so maybe they're working with others."

"What?" Now that was truly alarming. "How badly hurt is he?" He noticed Jade giving him a lot of side eye now.

"He got the crap kicked out of him, but he still managed to win the fight. You'd have been proud of him."

Was it John's imagination, or did he hear some bitterness in that last sentence? "Shit. Do you know where they are?"

"No. But I know which way they went."

"Okay. We'll be right there."

As soon as he hung up, Jade said, "Well, at least one of them is okay."

"You know where Dean is?"

She cocked her head, as if listening to something only she could hear. "I think so."

"What are we dealing with here?"

"I already told you: Church of the Black Sun."

John shook his head. "And I already told you that means nothing to me."

"They worship Taraka."

It took him a moment, but it hit him with the force of a baseball bat to the skull. That weird group of demons he ran into in Utah a couple years ago, attempting to bring back to Earth a demon lord named Taraka. They were leaving a trail of corpses, not only because they liked eating people, but because they were unable to find a proper vessel for Taraka. The hosts they kept choosing kept exploding, like walking, talking bombs of blood and bone. To call it grisly was actually an understatement. It was like someone going Scanners on an entire human body. He remembered how confused the medical examiners were, because they couldn't figure out how the victims had bombs planted in them, and how those bombs left no residue or trace of their existence. Apparently they needed a special vessel to hold Taraka's energy, but were unable to find it.

John was pretty sure he'd kill them all. Clearly he was wrong.

Oh shit. They weren't going to try and use Dean as a vessel, were they? "Are they gonna use him?" He didn't elaborate. If Jade was as psychic as she claimed to be, she would know.

And sadly, she did. She nodded. "I believe so."

"Shit!" Most of the vessels chosen lasted twenty minutes before they violently disassembled. Taraka could and did actually do some damage in the minutes he had a body, because he was a really evil bastard.

As if on cue, a flock of dead birds fell from the sky, pelting the car like bloody hail, smearing the windshield with blood and feathers. John knew from experience that was an omen of Taraka manifesting. It was too late to stop it.

Now they were really on the clock. Dean had minutes to live, if he was still alive at all.

It was like drowning in swamp water. Thick, murky, full of slime and gunk.

In spite of his promise to Evangeline, Dean still reflexively tried to fight it, but it didn't matter, because he couldn't. Just like he didn't want to swallow the murky water, but the body allowed you to hold your breath only so long.

There was pain as he inhaled water, which was extra confusing considering he wasn't actually drowning. It was just the best metaphor his mind had to deal with this. Was this why most possessed people died? Did it feel enough like death to trick the body? Dean kind of hoped that was true, because maybe he was dead already.

Suddenly Dean found himself back in the cheap motel room he and Sammy had been staying in lately, sitting on his bed. Instantly he knew something was wrong, and before he could stand, the door opened, and he saw himself standing in the doorway. Himself with demon black eyes.

"Whoa, it's like a funhouse hall of mirrors in here, isn't it?" Taraka said, coming inside the room. Dean tried to stand, but it felt like invisible hands was holding him down. "You are one bucket full of broken, you know that?"

"Fuck you." Since he couldn't stand, Dean snaked his hand under his pillow, searching for his gun.

Taraka held up his gun. "Looking for this?" Taraka tossed it away, and it seemed to disappear upon contact with the floor. "Hate to tell you this, kiddo, but I control everything. You can't even go to a safe place in your mind, because I can put you anywhere I want."

That was exactly what he was afraid of. But there was no help for it now. "So you're here to what, gloat?"

He shrugged. "Kinda. I mean, I know this is killing you." He grinned like it was the best joke in the world. "I can't tell you how hot that is. I mean, you usually have to pay for pain this good."

Dean frowned, biting back a thousand different insults. It didn't matter; the fight was over before it began.

Taraka kept smiling at him, much in the same way Evangeline had. It was superior, leering, and awful. "Oh, don't give up now. Dean. I want you to squirm some more."

"Eat me."

"Hey, how about this. How about you watch me kill your Dad?"

He was baiting him, he just wanted a reaction, but Dean couldn't help it. The terror he felt at the thought was reflexive and abject. "I did what you asked. Why torment me like this?"

Taraka's grin became lopsided and impish, which was a million times worse than before. "Dude, demons? That's what we do. And we dropped Sammy off at a place not far from here. They should have no problem finding us."

Dean's stomach turned to lead and plummeted, or at least it felt that way. It was probably all in his head, which didn't make it any better at all. Taraka gave the bed a small kick. "What? Dean, are you telling me you didn't realize this was all part of a trap? Wow, you are stupid. At least you're strong, huh?"

Now he really wished he was dead. But he knew now there was no easy way out for him. He just had to hope his Dad killed him first.

It never got old, no matter how many times they did it. Evangeline was hoping this was the last time.

Poor little Dean was crouched down in the circle for a moment, then he straightened up, his eyes alight with blackness. Just from the energy alone, she knew Taraka had returned to her. "My Lord," she said, giving him the slightest respectful bow.

Taraka grinned, standing up. "This vessel feels stronger than the last one."

"He's young. We have high hopes."

Taraka looked at his arms, as if admiring the sinewy muscles and tight young skin. That was possible. The last vessel they tried was middle aged. A hunter, sure, but not in the greatest shape for one.

Taraka held out his hand, and the entire front wall of the house exploded in a shower of wooden shrapnel and broken glass. He laughed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Finally!"

Evangeline smiled, pleased. If she had known Dean was so perfect for this, she would have gone after him sooner. Of course, Dean and Sam were never the point. The target had originally been John, but Dean, thanks to his youth, was an even better upgrade. Not that she'd tell Taraka this. Let him think Dean was the plan all along. It made her look brilliant, and her rewards would be immeasurable. And how perfect would their revenge on John be using his own son as the weapon? That was the problem with attack dogs, though. Sometimes they turned on their masters.

Taraka held out his had to her. "Let's go raise some hell."

She thought he'd never ask.