Title: Shiny Happy People [3/4]
Author: morkhan
Warnings: Cursing, snark, trippiness, Winchesters getting their asses kicked, Winchesters kicking ass.
SERIOUS WARNING: there is some really graphic violence and torture towards the end of this chapter.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Adam, Meg, OCs.
Rating: R (This part only)
Word Count: 5995
Summary: Adam may have princess powers, but he is nobody's damsel-in-distress.
Disclaimer: Characters, universe, and recognizable things belong to CW and EK. The ridiculous plot is, sadly, mine.

Author's Notes: Ha! That'll teach me to guess at how many chapters something will be. Oh well, lol. Seriously, though, there is only one more chapter after this. I guess you could say I'm inserting chapter markers where commercial breaks would usually go on the show. :P Oh, and WARNING! There is some pretty graphic torture-related violence at the end of the chapter. Sorry if you're squeamish, but SPN is all about some gruesome violence and I would feel remiss if I didn't include some.

You will hate me for this cliffhanger. :P Please press through your hatred and review anyway! 3

This is stupid.

No, seriously. This is just fucking stupid. He is stuck in a stupid fucking bag that smells like stupid fucking Sam because stupid fucking Dean didn't think to reach for the stupid fucking zipper while he was chatting with stupid fucking Meg. His stupid fucking cult was lead by a stupid fucking demon, and stupid fucking Adam was too fucking stupid to realize it.

Fuck this. Fuck it. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

It's just so damn dumb. It defies all description. If this were a video game, this would mark the point where he just gapes at the screen for a few seconds before turning the game off and deciding that the disc is more useful as a coaster. He doesn't want to play anymore, doesn't want this stupid fucking life or this stupid fucking family or this stupid fucking destiny.

Harry Potter never had to put up with this shit.

And isn't that just the crux of the matter? People write stories about this shit—fantastic tales of adventure that start with a seemingly ordinary character discovering that he is heir to an incredible legacy he didn't even know about… a secret family, an ancient bloodline, the father he never knew and the world of monsters and darkness that he kept at bay. If he thought about it in just those terms, it was kind of cool… but it wasn't that simple. He had already died, was already in heaven, and as far as he could tell, the only reason they brought him back at all was to fuck with Dean. He tried to be a hero, and got nothing but Hell for his trouble. Whatever fucked up story this is, he is not the main character. No one gives a shit about him.

Well, except Sam and Dean. Maybe.

Still, he should just go. He wants nothing more to do with this cosmic melodrama, and he's fairly sure his brothers have been in worse situations than this. He'd probably just get in the way. And he doesn't even like them. Much.

He has every reason to tell this whole world to fuck off and just go hide in the mountains somewhere. So why can't he do it? Why does he feel like breaking out and kicking some ass and saving the day? The angels didn't even fucking know how well their little spiel played perfectly to everything he had dreamed of as a kid. He fucking loved superhero stories. Becoming a doctor was, as far as he was concerned, the closest any human could actually come to being a real live superhero. They fought off evils that ruined lives, shattered families, crushed dreams into dust. They saved people. So, when the angels told him they were bringing him back to life to save the world… just. Fuck. Yes.

Maybe he should do it to spite them. Save something anyway, just to prove he can. Maybe he should do it to pay back Sam and Dean's… attempted rescue. Hell, they did try. It wasn't their fault he was just a step too slow. Maybe he should do it because it's right. Or because his mother would be disappointed if he didn't. Or his father would be ashamed of his cowardice. Or because he just fucking feels like it.

In the end, he doesn't do it for the angels. He doesn't do it for mom, dad, Sam, Dean, or even himself.

He does it for the car.

She's a fucking beautiful car; a true Lady, and she deserves to be treated as such. These Hell-Holes violated her sanctity with their foul presence. They touched her in places only trusted hands were meant to touch, and Adam can't imagine how dirty she must feel, wherever she is.

There is only one way to make this right.

The demons must pay.

His brothers did way too good a job packing him. He can barely move, his elbow is in his mouth and his knees are folded up and pressing into his kidneys. He's pretty sure he can scratch his ear with his toes if he needs to. Oh well. Nobody ever said being a hero was easy… he starts off slowly, trying to pull one of his hands free so he can feel around for evidence of a zipper. When his hand gets stuck on his hipbone, he lets his frustration give him the strength of ten fish, and starts flopping around as violently as he can to try and untwist himself or maybe break the stupid bag open. After about a minute or two, he hears the door to wherever they tossed him open, and feels a sharp kick to his ribs that knocks him into the wall.

"Quit moving, you little shit."

The door closes again after that and… is that air he feels? Fuck yes, it is! His big toe is sticking out of the bag… somehow. Now he just needs to figure out how to get the rest of him to follow it. He needs a plan. He knows his anatomy. He will take his knowledge of the way the human body twists and moves, and all different ways to dislocate joints to give himself more flexibility, and use it to carefully construct an escape plan…

…which mostly just involves more fish-flopping.

"I told you to quit—"

Adam follows the sound and bolts forward, ramming into the demon and knocking them both on their asses. He's only halfway out of the bag at this point—he really has to congratulate his brothers on the sheer impossibility of what they did to his arms—but it's the bottom half, so at least he's mobile.

"Oh, now you're gonna get it. Come here."

Adam obliges by dashing forward, bag-first, and ramming the dumb bastard again. Demons aren't too smart, it seems. They are, however, plenty strong, which he finds out by having one grab him and toss him into the air, slamming against something with a knob that is just the perfect size for bashing right into his teeth.

"FUCK," he shouts as he flops painfully onto the floor. He hears the crack of a bone breaking, and—wait, no, that was the crack of a bone popping into place. He has a shoulder again! Fuckin' sweet! You never know how useful those things are until you lose them. Shoulders are awesome. Using his newfound ability to actually send neural signals to his left arm, he finally wriggles free of Sam's malodorous carry-on case… and gets a Hell-powered fist to the face for his trouble. It's not enough to knock him down… just enough to make him stumble backwards and scrub against the wall trying to keep from falling like his blood-alcohol content somewhere around 120%.

"You're dead, kid," the demon snarls.

"Make me," Adam counters. Which… fuck, that makes no sense. Whatever. He's new at this.

He raises his fists, even though he's not exactly sure what to do with them. He is a little under-dressed for this. After several failed attempts at Adam-compacting, Sam and Dean finally talked him down to a tanktop undershirt and a pair of Sam's pajama pants, because there was absolutely no way he was getting any nakeder in front of those pervy bastards. Seriously, he's starting to wonder if that 'erotic codependence' stuff was more than just that douche Zachariah talking out of his ass. Sam's pants are way too long (who even makes clothes for people with ostrich legs like his?), and he's not even wearing any shoes. The demon is possessing the only Asian in his cult, a guy named Chang. Oh, fuck this demon, he liked Chang. He better not have been in there for long…

Adam "fights" for about seven seconds before he realizes he is massively outmatched, and all it takes for him to affirm his conclusion is being sent ass-first through a closed window. Ow, ow, owwww. Even if his injuries knit themselves back together in seconds, they hurt like a bitch when he gets them. As he stands up and tries to scrape the glass shards off his butt, he tries to formulate a newer, better plan for success in the face of demonic invasion.

The demon bursts out of the house, followed by a buddy. The other guy is possessing Louie, a curly, black-haired surfer who Adam saved from an allergic reaction to shellfish. Louie got on his nerves, but he always seemed like a decent guy… fuck, how long have these people been possessed? Is he a fucking demon magnet?

Wait. Whoa. Time out. Magnet… he's definitely a magnet for something.

"Hey! Assholes!" he shouts, waving his arms. He tries to think of a good insult for demons. "Uhh… your mom baked cookies for orphans! And your dad was a massage therapist!"

Fuck if that doesn't actually seem to work. The two promptly break into a run, and Adam leads the charge. Little bitch legs, don't fail me now, he thinks as he charges into the woods. He's not 100% on how to find the spot he's looking for, but he's fairly sure he'll figure it out eventually. The only question is whether or not Sam and Dean will have any fluids left on their insides by the time he does. He's pretty impressed with the speed at which he is fleeing, until he looks back and sees both demons gaining on him fast. Apparently, they have super speed, too. Son of a bitch, why couldn't he get a cool superpower? At this point, he'd settle for extra-sharp teeth or being double-jointed. Anything besides Healing Punches.

It isn't long before Louie-Demon grabs a handful of his undershirt and slams him into the ground before climbing on top of him and proceeding to dribble Adam's face with his fists like it's some kind of blood-filled basketball. And even though he knows it's useless in the long-term, Adam winds up punching the guy just to get him off so he can stumble back to his feet.

"Man, that feels good!" the demon sneers as Adam tries to use his mental windshield wipers to clean the flashing spots off of his eyes. "I could let you beat me up all day, kid."

"Yeah, well… too bad I can't cure ugly," Adam counters uselessly. He's too busy trying to think back to his kindergarten days and remember which direction was 'up.' He's pretty sure he learned that in kindergarten. His kindergarten teacher was hot, which he remembers quite well, even if he was too young to understand it at the time…

Louie-Demon just laughs at him, and Adam decides he can worry about up later; right now the only direction he should be concerned with is away. He starts running again, only to realize that he doesn't know where Chang-Demon is, and that he should probably figure that out before Chang-Demon does something sneaky like clothesline him with a hugantic tree branch before stabbing it through his chest.

Except, oh, wait, that already happened. Oh well. At least now he knows whose blood he's laying in. Trying to pull himself up with his arms just results in Chang-Demon shoving the branch the rest of the way through him, pinning him to the ground. Fuck, oh fuck, ohFUUUUUCK OW OW OWWWW SHIT CRAP.

Adam screams a very manly, blood-filled scream, and the demons just laugh at him.

"Face it, maggot. You're fucked," says Chang-Demon.

Adam opens his eyes just in time to see what is coming. It's cheesy as Hell, but he can't resist. "Better than being bucked," he grins.

"Bucked?" says Louie-Demon, shortly before getting an antler shovedthrough his ribcage at about 35mph.

BUCKED.

The huge deer's sudden charge knocks Chang-Demon aside as well, giving Adam time to OH SO VERY PAINFULLY pull the tree out of his lungs and desperately hope it doesn't leave splinters. Is there a name for that? Do they even have a medical term for wood in your lungs? Besides 'dead?'

Finally getting back to his feet lets him take stock of the situation again. Louie is on the buck's antlers. He is literally speared through the chest and stuck there; screaming, flailing and kicking like a beetle trying to get off its back. The deer seems to have no problems supporting his weight and no intention of dropping him, so Adam considers the threat of Louie-Demon dealt with, for the moment, at least.

"Thanks, Bambi," he smiles. Bambi gives a regal nod, causing Louie-Demon to slide further down his antlers.

Chang-Demon, in the meantime, picks himself up off the ground and sets his eyes again on Adam. "Let's see how well you heal yourself up when I rip your head off your shoulders."

Adam takes that as his cue to scamper off. He's fairly sure where he is going now—though he'd never admit it to anyone, he's taken walks in the woods occasionally to hang out with the critters. If he can't be alone to think, at least he can hang out with things that generally know when to shut up and let him brood. The place he's going for isn't much further, just a few more COCKS FLYING THROUGH THE AIR SON OF A BITCH ASS BASKETS OF USED CONDOMS. Adam trips over Sam's never-ending pant legs and sends himself head-over-heels-over-head-over-heels-over-head into a tree trunk. He doesn't even have time to turn around before Chang-Demon slams into him and starts trying to chop down the tree using Adam's face as an incredibly dull axe. And even if he can't be killed, he's starting to wonder if he can be beaten into unconsciousness because… seriously lots of pretty colors in the world right now. Lots of pretty colors that did not exist before all this head trauma. He wants to name them, but they are all so special. What should he call the color of the sky? Porpluerange? His blood is a lovely shade of crimcobauve. The leaves are greblakdigo in the lemorpulent sunlight. There are some yelvendarold birdies flying around his head.

Birdies! They must be his crazy birdies. He has always wondered how hard you would have to hit your head to cause crazy birdies to appear in real life and now he knows that the answer is very, very hard, a lot. He wants to talk to his crazy birdies and learn their secrets, but they are going away. No, they are flying around someone else's head! WHORE CRAZY BIRDIES. YOU DO NOT JUST FLY AROUND ANYONE'S HEAD. YOU ONLY FLY AROUND ADAM'S HEAD. Except… no, the crazy birdies are attacking the someone else. They are helping Adam, and he wants to tell them to stop! That the man they are attacking is a big meaniebuttface and will hurt them with great hurting. But he can't talk with his mouth right now on account of he kind of forgot what words mean what things.

Something bumps into his leg, and it is a turtle. The turtle smiles at him as if to say "I will help you!" and Adam agrees with the turtle. So he picks up the turtle and tells it to hide for a second. When it does, he uses its hard part to bash meaniebuttface's meanie butt face in, and… whoa.

Fuck, that was weird. Did he just bash a demon's face in with a turtle?

He checks.

Yes, he definitely did. Neither demon nor turtle seem particularly happy about it, but eh, what's done it done. He pats the turtle on the head and gives a quick "sorry!" before setting it down and resuming the chase sequence.

"Get back here, you little shit!" Chang-Demon shouts, and… seriously. Why do people do that? Do they actually expect anyone to listen to them? 'Oh, I was planning on running for my life, but since you told me not to, I decided I'd rather stand here and let you strangle me with my intestines.' Of course no one expects that.

Which is exactly why Adam screeches to a halt at the perfect moment to intercept Chang-Demon's face with his elbow. He doesn't care that the demon is probably better off now than before—that felt great to actually pull off, and Adam is right where he wants to be anyway. It might take a few minutes for her to show up, but it never fails…

"I'm going to spend years taking you apart and putting you back together," the demon snarls. It tries to sweep Adam's legs out from under him, but Adam surprises both his enemy and himself by leaping over the sweeping kick. That he is so busy gaping at his own awesomeness that he completely fails to dodge a second kick is a surprise to no one. Again the demon is on top of him, and if Adam didn't know better, he'd say there's some kind of serious control kink going on here.

"I am going to—"

"Talk some more? Never would've guessed," Adam deadpans, and more kinkiness ensues as the demon wraps fingers around his throat and starts squeezing like he is a stress-relief ball. "Play… nice…" he chokes out.

"Make me," the demon smirks.

"I'm… not the one… in charge around here…" Okay, getting a little oxygen starved.

"Oh, really? Got another little surprise for me? Another deer? A trained attack badger? The 5th Beaver Infantry?"

"Ahhh… no…" Air. Air is fucking wonderful. He would really very much like some air right now. Things are becoming very binary—nothing but shadows on white. The demon choking him is a big shadow, and getting bigger by the second, except… no. That's a different shadow. Adam grins.

"Then what is it—" is all he says before the big shadow sends him cartwheeling through the air.

"That," Adam answers, "would be a FUCKING BEAR."

The hulking beast roars with maternal fury and proceeds to lay into Chang-Demon with a special kind of fury that Hell itself would probably cower in fear of. Adam almost feels sorry for the poor bastard. He's being tossed hither and yon, flopping like a ragdoll and making loud, high-pitched noises whenever he is hit like some kind of evil squeaky toy. Both of his legs are very enthusiastically bent the wrong way in the wrong places, and Big Mama (as he has affectionately come to call her over the past few weeks) looks like she has no intention of stopping any time soon. Adam kind of wishes she would because, hey, there might still be a person in there and Adam really would like to save them if possible, but sometimes, you just have to take what you can get. His raw animal magnetism sadly did not come with Wild Thornberry powers, so he can't talk to the animals. Just get repeatedly cuddled by them.

So Adam leaves Big Mama with her chew toy. Or starts to, anyway. "That's it!" Chang-Demon snarls as the bear drags him along the ground by his broken foot. "I've had it! The boss said to keep your ass under control, and there is one surefire way to do that. Open wide, kid, and say AHHHHHHHHHHH!" As the demon shouts, a huge snake-shaped cloud of black smoke erupts from his mouth and circles around through the air. And Adam, dipshit that he is, lets his mouth fall open without even realizing it, an open invitation to hop in that the demon happily accepts.

It is easily the worst taste in the history of tongues. Take a can of moist dog food, leave it open and out in the sun for a month, sprinkle it with powdered cow shit, marinate it in garbage water and multiply the end result by the square of the ass boils of a 600lb man, and you might come close to how god-awful demon smoke tastes going down. Adam falls to his hands and knees, and waits. And waits. And waits. And… nothing happens. He feels a little tingly, maybe, but he isn't exactly feeling possessed. All in all, it's kind of disappoint—

HNNNNNNNNNNNNG.

A fucking C4 detonates in his stomach. Really. That's the only way to describe the feeling that suddenly erupts from his center. He's pretty sure there is some kind of audible, dull FOOM that comes from inside of him, and… fuck, did he just light up? He did! He flashed streetlight-orange for like two seconds and for one of those seconds, he could swear he saw his hand bones through his skin. The feeling doesn't last very long, but it is massively unpleasant and leaves him feeling a little gassy in its wake. Standing up unsteadily, he puts a fist to his mouth for a second before letting out a big, juicy BURRRRRRRP. A tiny little whiff of black smoke escapes from his mouth as he belches. The smoke floats languidly through the air for a few seconds before getting caught on a slight breeze and evaporating, and Adam gets the funniest feeling that was all that was left of Chang-Demon in the world. Fortunately, it wasn't all that was left of Chang.

"HELP," the poor guy moans. Big Mama is no longer attacking him, but she is sitting on him, which cannot feel anything but horribly unpleasant.

Adam runs over to the bear and gently coaxes her off of his favorite Asian-American Cult Member, before giving him a healing hand. "Ummm…" Adam says, because it's hard to find the right words for this situation. "You okay?"

Chang responds by placing a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Yes. Thank you. Goodbye." And then he runs away faster than anyone with legs that short should be able to. Maybe the demon didn't have super speed. Maybe that was just the meatsuit. Adam just shakes his head, pats Big Mama on the nose in gratitude, and takes off at full sprint back towards camp. Sam and Dean might not have much time left, but if he can get to them before the clock hits zero… he can push the reset button and at least give them a chance…

Meg is a bitch. This cannot be said too loudly, too emphatically, or too much. Meg is a stone-cold, hardcore, down-and-dirty fish-smelling skank-breathed whore-assed BITCH with a capital everything. Dean is going to kill her so hard…

"You boys are so fond of your little Holy Water torture trick," she sneers as she paces around them. "I figured it'd be an… educational experience for you to learn what it's like to be on the receiving end." She pauses in front of Dean, and Dean can hear Sam's heart rate skyrocket. "Sadly, I can't really handle Holy Water, and it wouldn't hurt you any way. So I guess we'll just have to settle for the next-best thing."

And then she dumps a ladle of boiling water all over Dean's lap. He is not ashamed in the slightest of the ear piercing scream he lets out—there is some important, highly sensitive shit down there that Dean has come to value and she is fucking cooking it. It sizzles and scorches and burns and even though Dean can't hear him over the sound of his own screams, he knows Sam is shrieking at Meg right beside him.

Really, the knife stuff wasn't so bad. Meg was no Alistair with a blade, and she had no idea where to put it to inflict the maximum amount of agony. Turns out, the knife was just to pass the time while the water came to a boil.

"LET HIM GO," Sam roared. "You filthy whore, I will ERASE YOU from this fucking planet if you don't let him go RIGHT. NOW." He punctuates the last part by lurching forward in his chair, struggling in vain against the steel chains digging into his skin.

Meg smacks him with the steaming hot ladle. "Wait your turn, Sammy."

Dean is in far, far too much agony to think of anything coherent besides shouting and cursing and struggling to relieve the horrible scorching pain in his man-parts, but his mind finds the strength to push aside the pain when Meg goes to fetch another ladle and brings it over to Sammy. "Don't you dare," Dean grits. "Don't you dare."

"Oh, I dare," she grins, looking right at Dean. "Open wide, Sammy…" And the bitch pours it on his face. Sam screams—poor guy can't help it, and that just makes matters worse because the bubbling liquid gets into his mouth and just makes him scream harder, gurgling and choking and screaming. His eyes—oh god. He can't even describe them. Sammy's eyes are ruined. He'll never see again.

Dean lurches forward so hard that his chair falls over. "I will kill you," he growls. "If it is the last fucking thing I do on this earth I will kill you with my own hands."

Sam's screams of agony die down to moans and gentle whimpers, and FUCK; falling over has reignited the blinding-white pain in his groin and he grinds his teeth so hard he's fairly sure he cracks one of them.

"So you say," Meg says, completely unfazed. "And yet… you've said it before, haven't you? When my puppies killed your precious little stalker girlfriend… or maybe when I crawled up inside Sammy here and he and I had the time of our lives… or maybe when I made your daddy my own personal chew toy… we've just got so much history."

She fucking saunters back over to the stove, fetching another ladle. "And yet… I'm still here," she smirks, leaning right into his face, just close enough for him to feel her breath. "I outlived them all. I outlived daddy, outlived Lilith, outlived Alistair… I even outlived the Devil himself. No matter how many times you get rid of me, I just keep crawling back." Dean spits at her to keep her attention as he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. She dodges, and grabs a handful of his hair to yank him upward, sneering. "No matter what you worthless bags of pus throw at me, I'm still here."

"Hey, me too!" a chipper voice sounds out from behind her. Meg drops Dean and turns around just in time to get a frying pan to the face, courtesy of a very roughed-up-looking Adam, blood and mud-stained in the shredded remains of Sam's pajama pants and what barely qualifies as an undershirt. Dean counts it as good karma that the frying pan just happens to be made out of iron, and the blow sends Meg crashing to the floor. "Dean!" Adam shouts, leaping over the prostrate demon and reaching frantic hands towards him. One touch is all it takes, and at this precise moment in time, Dean has the best little bastard secret half-brother on the face of Planet Earth. "Holy shit, SAM!" Adam gasps, seeing the much more visible damage on Dean's first little brother. Fortunately, it takes nothing more than a poke and Sammy is as good as new and looking like he is ready to cry from relief. Magic fingers indeed.

The newfound strength that comes from Adam's healing mojo combined with Dean's boiling (har-har) rage at Meg give him the strength to break the back of his wooden chair, struggling free of the chains to stand up. Adam frees Sam soon after, and the three brothers stand side-by-side as Meg struggles to her feet.

"You think this is a setback?" she growls. "This just means we get to start the fun all over again."

"Oh, no," Dean shakes his head. "No more fun for you, bitch. The fun stops here. Forever."

"Oh? And what do you plan on killing me with? You've got nothing, and you know it. All your little toys are mine now. Face it, fellas: I've WON."

"We've done way more impossible shit than gank you, bitch. You're not the last one standing—you're just the nasty-ass leftovers that nobody wanted," Dean smirks.

"Time to take out the trash," Sam adds.

"You… suck," Adam tries. Dean figures he should give the kid a break. He's new at this.

Meg snarls and jumps forward. Dean just barely dodges to the side, grabbing the bitch and throwing her towards Sam, who knocks her down with a two-handed overhead smash. Dean looks around for more cookware and spots a few pots and pans in the sink. They all appear to be iron—God bless this dinky little summer camp.

The demon bitch takes Sam's legs out from under him and jams a hand through his chest. It's not much use, however, because Adam springs into action, grabbing Sam's hand and pumping him full of life. The wound seems to heal up around her hand, causing it to get stuck there, and Dean takes full advantage of the distraction by performing a running baseball-swing to her ugly bitch head. Her hand is pulled free of Sam, and the wound heals the rest of the way.

"Hot damn you are handy to have around," Dean says, grinning and slapping Adam on the back, and Adam—holy shit on a stick—actually grins back.

This time, it's Meg who takes advantage of their distraction, knocking Sam out of the way and grabbing Adam's neck in a vice grip. Dean is enraged to see the damage he just caused patch itself up like magic. Meg smirks at them. "Works just as well for me, boys. And I'm tougher to begin with." With that, she gives a little squeeze and Adam's neck snaps with a sickening crack. Dean is pretty sure his mojo has him covered, but it's still pretty horrifying for a moment to see the kid's entire body go limp and his head awkwardly flopping over as Meg drops him like a sack of potatoes.

Speaking of sacks, Sammy, ever-thinking genius boy that he is, seems to have realized something very helpful about fighting in a kitchen, and has disappeared into the pantry. Dean engages in a little pan-fu with Meg, but the bitch knows how to fight, and her demonic super strength seems to have gone way above average. After a few seconds, he manages to catch his arm and crushes the bone with nothing more than her hand. Oh, dear bitter merciless GOD ALMIGHTY, that smarts. Why do there have to be so many different kinds of pain?

Fortunately, Sam has him covered, and chooses that moment to emerge from the pantry wielding an enormous bag of salt, swinging it around and spraying the stuff everywhere. Meg clutches at her face and shrieks as she backs away from the salt cloud, but Sam just keeps pushing her back. Meanwhile, Dean feels something wrap around his ankle, and his splintered arm-bone knits itself back together. Adam gives him a thumbs-up and a smirk as he climbs the counter to get on his feet. "You guys are… like… crazy injury prone. How did you survive this long?"

Dean picks up his frying pan. "We ate our Wheaties," he says, but Adam isn't paying attention to his clever quips. He is staring at the stove and the pot of boiling water.

"Is that thing on?" he says.

Dean nods, but can't elaborate due to two hundred or so pounds of Winchester slamming into him from the side. Meg seems to have activated her mojo and is doing some kind of chant-thingy to sweep away the salt—and apparently, the Sam—so she can get to them again. Dean looks up to see Adam take the boiling water off the eye, and put an empty frying pan on it. What the Hell is he thinking?

As he and Sam disentangle themselves and help each other up, Dean sees Adam take a deep breath, grab the boiling water pot with his bare hands, and, screaming in agony the whole time, run forward to try and dump it on Meg. Unfortunately, he slips on the salt falls forward face-first, spilling the damn thing and making matters worse as the water spreads across the floor and washes away the salt keeping Meg at bay.

"Don't quit your day job," she says as she struts through the path he made, being sure to step on him and get a little mojo going to cure her salt wounds. She is moving in a slow, purposeful stride as she approaches them. Sam launches himself forward, and gets elbowed over the kitchen counter for his trouble without Meg even breaking her stride. Dean tries to strike with his own pan, but Meg grabs a sizeable butcher knife off the counter and jams it through his wrist, forcing him to drop the pan and using it to pin him to the counter while she kicks him in the ribs. Hard. "You. Can't. Kill. Me." She punctuates each word with a harder, faster kick. "You. Can't. WIN."

"It's not whether you win or lose…" Dean hears Adam say, and Meg turns around just in time to get a frying pan to the face; a red-hot frying pan. The superheated iron is pressed into her face and the sound of sizzling flesh is gratifying and sickening at the same time. Adam is wearing a hateful snarl as he just presses the pan even harder into her cauterizing flesh. Eventually, he pushes Meg over and Dean is surprised to see that the pan stays on her face. She tries in vain to scream through the iron cookware, but it has fused with the flesh of her meatsuit, and she can't touch it to pull it off. The bitch winds up writhing on the floor as Adam looks down at her in scorn. "…it's how you play the game."

Much, much better. Dean will give the kid some points for that.

Sam is recovering on the other side of the counter, looking at the writhing, silently shrieking Meg in what looks to be equal parts abject horror and genuine admiration. "…dude. That is fucking twisted," he finally says.

Adam shrugs. "Just wanted her to shut up. So I stuck something over her mouth."

Dean smiles. "I like the way you think, kid. That bitch talks way too much."

Unfortunately, Meg seems to have a little fight left in her yet. She stumbles to a semi-standing position and launches herself at the door, not even flinching as she slams her head into the doorframe due to lack of eyesight. Dean figures demons must have some kind of ESP thing going on; otherwise she wouldn't be able to see at all.

Adam is the first to charge after her. Ordinarily, Dean would chide the kid for being so wreckless, but… hell, what's the worst that could happen? The kid's like Wolverine, just without the awesome claws and slightly gayer.

It's not even a minute later than Dean learns the answer to his question, as he and Sam follow Adam and Meg up a flight of stairs and into a janitor's closet. Meg manages to smash the pan off of her face and Jesus Christ is it nasty-looking under there. Fortunately, (or rather, unfortunately) Dean doesn't have to look at it for too long as Meg promptly grabs hold of Adam and is fixed right up.

"Son of a bitch," Dean shouts as Meg maneuvers Adam into a chokehold and positions him as a human shield.

"No more games, boys. You think baby brother is invincible? How about we find out just how invincible he really is?" Adam struggles against her uselessly as she reaches into a toolbox to pull out… the fucking Magic Knife.

"No," Sam breathes, but Meg just smirks at him.

"Say goodnight!" she smiles, and jams the knife upwards through Adam's chin and into his skull.

"NO," Dean shouts, but it's too late. Adam goes limp, his eyes becoming horribly vacant as smoke rises from where the knife entered. Meg contemptuously tosses him aside, and he flops over twice before lying utterly still.

He is going to kill her. So hard.

To Be Continued…