Chapter 9

The hunt was simple enough. A middle-aged man had been attacked on a late night, and was found with his heart missing. The night he was attacked just happened to fall on a full moon. It was a textbook werewolf case. All they had to do was find out where.

Dean rubbed his eyes. "How hard is it to find a couple of second-rate werewolves?"

"Apparently harder than we thought."

"No shit. Aren't they normally in abandoned farms or warehouses?"

"There are dozens of farms here that were abandoned during the Great Depression. We look at too many and the werewolves will get suspicious and high-tail it out of here."

"It's a small town. There has to be someone who saw something."

Sam rolled his eyes. "The streets are deserted by nine. This guy chose the wrong town to go late-night jogging."

"Okay, then, process of elimination."

Sam turned back to look at the map on the wall. "Well, these have been torn down for materials, mostly. So there wouldn't be a barn or anything to hide them."

"It's a start," Dean acknowledged, looking at the map. Pointing to another area, he said, "These are near a military base. It's a small outpost, but that means—"

"Cameras," Sam finished for him, taking a marker and crossing off the area. "This one is for sale, so that means people are going to be in and out all the time. Same thing goes for this one that's under construction."

"So that leaves…" Dean leaned in to read the name, "Blue Moon Pastures." He let out a chuckle at the irony of it. Sam tried not to look amused.

"Hey Annie, get your gun." Dean said with a smirk. "We've got some werewolves to waste."

"For the last time, I'm not a girl."

"Whatever you say, Samantha. Speaking of girls, we should give Tara a call. You know, just in case."

The hunt was supposed to be easy, but the Winchesters had learned to never underestimate the power of an enemy. The easiest hunt could still be your last; the "just in case" rule was the unspoken acknowledgement that any goodbye could be the last.

They were in the car when Tara picked up the phone.

"Island of Misfit Toys, how can I direct your call?"

Sam and Dean each smiled a little to themselves as they heard the words. "Have you been answering the phone like that all day?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, like anybody else calls the bunker. It's been three days. I got bored."

"We'll be back soon."

"Yeah, you'd better be. I'm not your secretary, you know."

"Tara, we don't have a landline. We're calling your cell. You're hardly a secretary."

"At least you're making use of my cell plan. Your business is appreciated. Remind me to send you guys a fruit basket or something."

Dean broke in. "How you doing, kid?"

"I'm pretty sure I should be asking you that. You guys are the ones hunting."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're okay. But seriously, how are you?"

"I've told you guys, I'm fine. Nothing has changed since when you called yesterday. Except that I got a little more bored."

"How's research coming?"

"Nothing so far. I've barely scratched the surface of the library, though. Jesus, how many books do you have in this place?"

"It's not like we've counted."

"Well, I'm starting. Remember: "Of Gods, Demigods and Angels" is number 1. I'm going to write that down somewhere."

The Impala stopped on the country road, a half mile from where the werewolves were hiding. "Listen, Tara, we've got to go. We're here," Sam said.

"Okay. Talk to you later. Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you and Dean kick some werewolf ass."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dean's smirk. He shook his head and smiled. "Will do. Talk to you later, kid."

"See ya."

The phone call ended with a click. The brothers opened the car's doors simultaneously, a habit that they had unknowingly picked up through years of hunting. Dean popped the trunk, and he and Sam grabbed their guns, which were loaded with silver. "Come on, Sammy," Dean said, cocking his gun. "We've got some werewolves to waste."

The brothers started their stealthy trek down the dusty dirt road. They were almost there when they heard inhuman screams. They sounded like howls.

Sam and Dean ducked behind a patch of trees. "What the hell is that?" Sam whispered, his gun cocked at his side.

Before Dean had a chance to answer, a werewolf burst out of the warehouse and started bolting towards the safety of the woods. A figure stepped through the door from which the werewolf had come, a reached out its hand, as if beckoning the werewolf toward it. The werewolf was jerked backwards, back towards the creature in the dooring, screaming for mercy. The figure reached out with a silver knife, and made a clean stab through the werewolf's heart before the monster had even hit the ground. The figure wore a disturbing smile as it turned back to the door and reentered the warehouse.

"Was that…" Dean stuttered, for a moment faltering as he processed what he had seen, "was that a demon?"

Sam frowned, also confused. "I think so. But why would it be here? Why kill werewolves?"

Dean cocked his gun. "I say we find out."

"Dean, there are only silver bullets in these guns. They're worthless against demons."

Dean pulled out a bullet and his pocket knife, and said with a smirk, "Not if you carve a devil's trap in them."

The demon eyed the dead werewolves, a twisted smile forming across his face. Oh, how he'd enjoyed making them bleed. Although, he thought, it would've been better if they had not already been tainted. He loved watching the innocent bleed. However, orders were orders, and he wasn't complaining.

The door slammed open behind him, and the demon turned, coming face to face with Dean Winchester. The demon's smile grew. "Look who it is: one third of the Three Stooges. Well, I guess there are only two stooges now, seeing as your angel friend is out of commission."

Dean's eyes narrowed, and the demon laughed. "What, does that make you uncomfortable? Wings isn't doing so hot, you know. Having the true King of Hell ride around with you tends to do that."

Dean was fuming, but he held his stoic gaze. "You are either very brave or very stupid."

"And why is that?"

"You know what happens to anyone that messes with us. You're gonna be begging us to let you die."

"Us? Looks like there's only one of you."

"And that's another reason why you're stupid." A gun shot sounded, the bullet piercing the back of the demon's skull. The demon turned his head to see Sam, wearing a smirk. "You forgot to check the back door."

The demon tried to move, but found itself locked in place. "You're not going anywhere, you son of a bitch," Dean remarked. "Sam, go get the car."

Sam looked surprised. "You're actually going to let me drive?"

Dean seemed to rethink his previous idea. "Ok, I'll go get the car. But he makes a move, and you shoot him again."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I've got it under control, Dean. Just go get the car."

Dean cast one last glare at the demon before disappearing through the door.

Sam's eyes stayed locked on the demon. "Why, would you look at that," the demon said with a twisted grin. "It's just you and me, and you can't take your eyes off of me. Scared, Sammy?"

"You don't get to call me that. You think I'm scared of you? I've been to hell and back and put your 'Lord of Hell' back in his cage. Did you really think I would be scared of a second-rate henchman like you?"

The demon pretended to be hurt. "Ouch, that really hurt," it said, gripping its chest. But the evil grin soon returned. "I assure you, Sam, I am no second-rate henchman. You're going to wish you had killed me when you had the chance."

Sam smirked, eyes locked with the demon. In a voice no louder than a whisper, but powerful all the same, Sam snarled, "You're going to wish you were dead."

The demon returned Sam's gaze. "If you want information, you'll never get any out of me."

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked up, but his eyes were cold and uncaring when he growled, "We'll see about that."

The door opened back up, and Dean stood in the doorway, heavily-warded handcuffs in hand. "Let's go, black eyes. Me and my brother here have some questions to ask you."

The handcuffs were slapped on the demon's wrist, and with Dean on one side and Sam on the other, they dragged the demon to the Impala. Dean forced the demon into the trunk with a shove. "Have a nice rest, sleeping beauty, cause things are gonna get a whole lot worse when you wake up."

The trunk slammed shut, leaving the demon in complete darkness.

Sam took out his phone and began to dial as the brothers got back in the car.

"Who are you calling?" Dean asked, turning the key in the ignition and causing the car to roar to life.

"Tara. If we're bringing home a demon, I want her to be ready."

Dean shrugged his shoulders in agreement, and pushed his foot to the pedal, speeding the car down the road, towards the bunker.

The phone stopped ringing, and a voice could be heard on the other line. "Sam? You guys done already?"

"Not exactly. We ran into a bit of an…issue."

Tara seemed hesitant. "What kind of issue?"

"The werewolves were already dead— "

"I don't see how that's a problem."

"—but a demon was the thing that killed them."

"Oh," Tara remarked. "Yeah, I can see how that's an issue. Are you guys ok?"

"We're fine, but we have the demon with us. We're coming back to the bunker to, uh, get some answers."

"You can say interrogate, you know. I'm not a dumbass. I know how hunters 'get answers'."

Sam saw Dean's amused half-smile, but chose to ignore it. "Okay, yes, we are interrogating a demon, but we need you to be ready for anything. Get an angel blade; you need to be armed just in case."

"But you guys have got this under control, right?"

"Don't worry, we're not going to let anything happen to you."

In the bunker, Tara smiled sadly. It was a sincere promise, but one she knew Sam wouldn't be able to keep. Hunters died young, and Tara knew she would be no different. She just hoped that when she did go, they wouldn't have to watch. She knew all too well how much that hurt.

Back in the car, Sam added on to his previous thought. "Tara, can you do one more thing for me?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Can you get our dungeon ready for the demon?"

"Your what?!"

"Our dungeon. It's behind the filing cabinets in the 2nd records room."

"Let me get this straight: I've been staying with you guys for over a month and you're just now telling me that you have a secret room that's a fucking PRISON?!"

Sam flinched at the voice coming through the phone while Dean was trying not to smile. "Is that a problem?"

"That's awesome! I'll go get the room ready, if I can find it. See you guys soon."

"See ya."

Two hours later, the boys pulled up to the bunker. Dean got the demon out of the trunk while Sam opened the bunker door.

Tara was standing in the library. She gave him a friendly smile, secretly relieved to have the brothers back in the bunker. "Hey, Sam. Long time no see."

Sam returned her smile. "We were only gone three days."

"And yet you still managed to find trouble. It's like you guys have neon signs on your backs."

Sam's smile slipped a little, but stayed all the same. "You know, I think we probably do. Got your knife?"

She picked the blade off of the table. "It's ready to go. And I made a slight change for, uh, mobility." Tara gestured to her leg, which was now cast-free.

"You took your cast off? I thought you still had a couple days to go."

"It's fine, and besides, the thing was wearing me down. It's like wearing a cement boot."

The door slammed open and Dean marched the demon down the stairs. Tara's smile fell and her face turned white as a sheet as she speechlessly watched the demon descend the staircase and walk towards her. She stumbled backward a little bit, backing into the table.

Sam looked at her, concerned. "Hey, are you okay?"

It was as if Tara had not even heard the question. Her eyes were wide and locked on the demon. "You," she breathed. "I know you."

The demon, who had previously been staring at the ground, looked up. As soon as he saw her, his face twisted into a grin.

That was all it took. Before either brother had a chance to move, Tara's fist was flying through the air, connecting with the demon's face. "You were there!" she cried furiously. "I saw you there! I remember you!" The hits came in rapid fire, bloodying her knuckles, but Tara didn't seem to notice.

Tara grabbed the angel blade on the table, in a rage of which Sam and Dean had never seen from her before. Before she could finish the demon, Sam grabbed her arms. She struggled and twisted to get out of Sam's grip. "Let me go!"

"Hey, hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"He was there!" She cried, still trying to get free. "He was there the night I lost everything. He killed my family and he made me watch them burn."

The blade dropped limply to the floor. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, the rage replaced with a deep heartache. "He was there," she whimpered. "He was there."

Dean's hold tightened on the demon, digging his fingernails into the monster's arm. We may need answers from you now, he thought, but right after we're done, I'm going to make sure that you die as painfully as possible.

Sam also looked furious, but none of that was reflected when he said to Tara, "Hey, let's get out of here, okay? Let's go clean up. You hurt your knuckles pretty bad."

"But—" Tara began, and for the first time in the time that the boys had known her, she actually looked like a kid. Not a seasoned, snarky hunter, but a girl who just wanted her family back.

"It's okay, he's not going to hurt you," Sam reassured. "Come on. It's okay."

Sam led Tara, who looked more than a little bit shaken, out of the room. As soon as they were gone, Dean pushed the demon up against the wall, and held the angel blade right to the demon's throat. "Listen close, you son of a bitch. You hurt her, you talk to her, you even think about her, and I will cut you into tiny pieces with this blade. I will carve your ass up into so many pieces that Lucifer himself wouldn't be able to find all of you. Do I make myself clear?"

The demon was no longer smiling. "Crystal clear."

"Good. If you're lucky, and you play nice, maybe we'll be merciful and make your death only a day long."

Dean dragged the demon off of the wall and marched him towards the dungeon.

Meanwhile, Sam was wrapping Tara's bloodied knuckles in silence. Tara's eyes did not stray from the floor. Finally, Sam spoke. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, although the way her voice broke said otherwise. She cleared her throat and spoke again, "Sorry for the outburst back there."

"You don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I shouldn't have made a scene like that."

"You have every right to be infuriated. It's okay." Tara opened her mouth to disagree, but closed it when Sam held up his hand. "No, seriously, it's fine. I've been in your shoes, and I know that there are things that never stop hurting, and you want to make those who hurt you to feel your pain. What that son of a bitch did is unforgivable, and I promise that as soon as we get everything we need from it that it will die in whatever way you choose."

Tara sat back, leaning against the headrest of her bed. "I hate that thing for what it did to my family, but I hate what it does to me. It turns me into something that I'm not." She got very quiet, and said in a voice no louder than a whisper, "I turn into someone who wants nothing more than to make that motherfucker bleed."

She turned to Sam, and asked, "How do you know if you're the good guy? I mean, there's no black and white in this business. There are so many gray areas… how do you know that you're not becoming the monster?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, wondering the same thing. "I guess you should trust your instincts, and the people who care about you. They can make the biggest differences between monsters and men."

"Sammy," a voice called. Sam turned to see Dean standing in the doorway. Dean gestured with his head. "It's time."

"Right." Turning back to Tara, Sam said, "You shouldn't go into the dungeon for a while." Torture wasn't a sight that he wanted the teen to see, regardless of her background with the demon. Besides, he wasn't sure that the kid could emotionally handle seeing the demon again.

"Yeah, okay."

With one last reassuring smile, the brothers left, leaving Tara with her thoughts.

All the demon saw was darkness, a pitch black that consumed everything. Footsteps echoed through the seemingly hollow hallways, and suddenly the demon was confronted by a single, blinding light. When black eyes adjusted, they focused upon the cold, cruel eyes of Dean Winchester. He was crouched over, looking the demon right in the eyes, while Sam was leaning against a table in the corner. An unfeeling smile quirked the side of Dean's mouth. "We're going to find exactly what we're looking for, one way or another." Dean slid his finger along the dull side of the blade he was holding. "So, either you tell us what we need, or you enter a world of pain."

The demon gave a short cackled, and then looked past Dean, right at Sam. "I'm guessing you're the good cop in scenario?"

Sam shook his head, looking completely soulless except for his eyes, which contain a terrifying fire inside of them. It was the look of a hardened hunter, an assassin, which the demon found quite disturbing, if not altogether terrifying. When Sam spoke, his voice wasn't warm, but instead monotone, calculated, as if any compassion that had once been there had been discarded long ago. Both Dean and Sam looked as if they had been completely stripped of their humanity, like it was a mask to put on and off. The real question was which was the mask: the murderer or the man?

Sam looked the demon straight in the eyes, and straightened to his full height, seemingly causing the demon to shrink. "There is no good cop in this scenario," Sam said menacingly. "There's a bad cop and a worse cop. If you think I'm bad then just wait until you meet my brother. So, like we said, there are two options: tell us now, and die quick, or tell us later, after we've broken every bone in your pathetic body. Which will it be?"

The demon spit in Dean's eye, who just happened to be the closest. Dean said nothing, but simply removed the spit with one clean swipe of his finger. The knife edged to the side of the demon's face, merely centimeters away from touching the skin. Dean pushed harder, and the blade penetrated the demon's skin, not yet breaking the skin but so close. Dean smiled coldly. "Okay then," Dean snarled. "The hard way it is."

The knife buried deep into the demon's skin, and the screams echoed through the silent halls of the bunker.

The screams lasted hours. They would fade, sometimes even silence, for a couple of minutes to an hour, then come back with full intensity. Sometimes it would be both brothers, or just one, in the room with the demon. Tara saw the brothers once in a while, as they passed in the hallways, grabbing "tools" that they needed, but she nor they stopped to say hello. For the most part, Tara stayed in her room, doors closed with music blaring through headphones, and tried to block out the noise. The times that she left her room were few and far between; she would peek out of her room, and as quiet as a mouse would get what she needed, scurrying back to her room as quickly as possible. Once, after a trip to the library, she paused in the middle of the suddenly silent hallway, listening. A sudden, terrible curiosity enveloped her, and she crept toward the archive room and the dungeon. She heard familiar voices, and she listened to what they had to say.

I'm not going to say this again, a deep voice said menacingly. Definitely Dean. You tell us what we need to know, or we just keep going. Why were you collecting werewolf blood?

To make a nice werewolf stew. Tara could hear the sneer in the demon's voice, but whatever smugness it possessed was soon wiped away, as the sudden crack of knuckles hitting bone echoed.

Why were you there? This voice was quiet, yet forceful and slightly terrifying. Sam.

Who cares? Soon my lord will come for me and you and that teenage bitch that's hanging around will die, so why tell you?

Another crack, this one harder than before, and a small whimper of pain slipped through the demon's lips. Leave her out of this.

Why are you defending that thing? She's not worth the effort.

Tara sucked in a breath, a tightness suddenly engulfing her lungs. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

Dean's voice slipped through the cracks of the closed door. I'd stop talking if I were you.

Why? You fond of that kid? She kinda reminds me of someone… you know, Whatshisface." The demon snapped as if remembering something important. Ah right. That kid, Kevin. She's about his age, right? I wonder if she'll die at the ripe old age of 19, too.

Shut up!

Or what about that other girl, Charlie? What a sweetheart. Too bad she had to die bloody. I wonder how much blood Tara is going to be lying in when you find her. If it's done my way, that pretty little face is going to be unrecognizable.

I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!

The demon was suddenly quiet, but was not finished. In a voice that had Tara straining to hear, it said, Tell the kid what happened to your other friends, and see how fast she runs.

You hurt her and—

You'll kill me, I know. But just remember, when she does die horribly, beaten and bloody, I wasn't the one that killed her. Look in the mirror and you'll find your murderers.

Tara's curiosity had officially gone sour, and she no longer wanted to listen to a single thing the demon had to say. She turned and took off down the hallway, desperate to get away from the things that haunted her.

She didn't come out of her room for the rest of the day. When Sam and Dean finally shut the door of the dungeon for the night, she didn't say a single thing about what she'd heard. Instead she asked, "How did it go?"

Sam let out a big sigh and rubbed his face. "About as well as you'd imagine. He really didn't give anything away." Then Sam let out a small smile. "We did, however, get his name: Belial."

"That was a long time for just a name."

Sam shrugged. "Like I said, he wasn't revealing much."

In all honesty, both Sam and Dean were extremely frustrated with the lack of progress they had made on the demon. They knew, however, that nothing was unbreakable, and it was only a matter of time before the demon was completely at their mercy.

Steering the conversation away from Belial, Dean asked Tara, "So what did you do today?"

"Oh, you know, the normal stuff. Research, some weapons training, that's about it." She eyed the two of them and noticed how tired and depressed they looked. It had definitely been a long week, and the emergence of this demon probably signaled the start of Lucifer's apocalyptic scheme, yet another source of stress to add on top of the always-increasing pile. Tara suddenly remembered something that could cheer them up.

"I'll be right back," she said, suddenly turning and sprinting down the hallway towards her room. Sam and Dean looked confused, but didn't follow her, instead plopping down in the chairs in the library. Tara returned less than a minute later, holding a USB in her hand.

She reached out her hand, giving the USB to Sam before sliding into a chair herself. At Sam's look of confusion, she nodded at the laptop next to Sam on the table. "Go on. Plug it in."

Sam booted the laptop and plugged in the USB, a curious Dean peeking over his shoulder and Tara looking very excited. Almost immediately, the screen was flooded with images and book pages. Quickly scanning them, Sam and Dean discovered that they all stated something about monsters and how to defeat them. Sam looked over at Tara. "What is this?"

Tara was almost hyper as she explained, "While you were on your hunt, I scanned a couple of the books and made them into digital copies. I know that you guys have to come to the bunker to do a lot of the research, so I thought, 'Why not make the books portable?' It's like having a pocket-sized bunker!"

When the boys were still quiet, Tara said, "It's easier to find the information too. I set it up with special word recognition. So if you typed in 'demon', for example, you'd be able to find all the documents with that topic without having to flip through hundreds of books." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Of course, it isn't done yet. I only had time to scan a couple books, and the encryption software isn't done yet…"

Dean held up his hand, signaling for her to stop. "Wait a minute. Encryption software?"

"Yeah. I know that this falling into the wrong hands could literally be the worst thing to happen to humanity, so I'm working on encryption software to lock anyone out who doesn't know the codes. Too many missed passwords and the whole thing erases. I did finish the warding, though, so there's not a monster alive that could touch this drive without getting the ass-beating of a lifetime."

"This is…" Sam was speechless. For a second Tara began to worry that she had overstepped her bounds. But when Sam finished, her worries were eased. "This is amazing. Thank you."

Dean put a hand on her shoulder. "Impressive, kid."

Tara was blushing, as red as a tomato. She was surprised at how proud she felt; she wasn't used to feeling useful.

Dean gave her shoulder a gentle pat and said, "I think it's time to hit the hay, kiddo. It's almost one in the morning."

"Oh…yeah," Tara pulled herself out of her haze and began to walk to her room. "Goodnight!" she yelled behind her, feeling pleased when she heard a reply. Screw Belial; she was worth something after all.

Back in the library, Sam and Dean were still looking through the contents of the flash drive. Sam was geeking out. "There are so many possibilities for this," he rambled. "No more winging it on hunts, no more late nights of research on the road. This is awesome."

Dean let out a short laugh. "Calm down, nerd. It's a flash drive. It's not like you've ever seen one before."

A singsong male voice rang down the halls. "Winchesters, I need to talk to you!"

Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I swear, if that demon keeps me up tonight, his life is going to be even more of a living hell."

Sam looked at his brother questioningly. "Should we go?"

"Nah, he can wait for a little while. Let him stew in his juices in that dark room and maybe tomorrow he'll come to his senses." Dean closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

Sam, eyes fixed on the ceiling in thought, asked, "Hey, what do you think?"

Dean smirked, eyes still closed. "That's a loaded question, Sammy. Any topic in particular?"

"About what the demon said. Don't act like you didn't hear it."

Dean's smile fell from his face. "I'm not going to pretend like I didn't." Dean's face hardened. "That son of a bitch had no right to talk about them like that."

For some reason, Dean hardly ever said their names after they died. Sam would just know who his brother was talking about, without their names driving a deeper wound into their already-scarred chests. Sam would think about them a lot, in dreams or in certain situations. He'd see a quirky girl on the street, and his mind would jump to Charlie, one of the smartest and sweetest people he'd ever met. A college student would pass by, and Sam could only think of Kevin, wishing the poor kid had never met them, and could be the successful Ivy-league student he should have been. Dean had these same thoughts, but pushed them down farther and farther; the memories just hurt too much. When Dean had said their names, they were questions, asked by a shell-shocked man to a couple of kids who wouldn't wake up. Sam still remembered how his brother had stumbled blindly, staring at the girl they had considered their little sister, whispering, "Charlie?". It was a quiet plea to wake up, but also a contract, forever sealing the fate of a part of their ever-shrinking family, death stealing her away like a thief in the night.

"Do you think…" Sam trailed off, and Dean knew exactly what he was going to say. Do you think he's right?

Do you think we're the monsters?

Dean said nothing, but the unspoken resolve between the brothers was Yes. They carried the weight of every person they'd ever let down and failed to protect. The guilt was suffocating and unnecessary, yet in their minds a lot of the good they had done over the years had been wiped off the record by the people they lost along the way.

The thoughts were too heavy. They both pushed them far away, to the back of their minds, out of sight but still tangible.

Dean patted Sam's shoulder, reassuring him the only way he knew how. "I'm going to hit the hay. Don't stay up too late."

Sam gave a half-smile. "Yeah, of course."

"G'night, Sammy."

"'Night, Dean."

The footsteps faded, until disappearing altogether, leaving the bunker in silence once again.

The bunker was not silent for long. Tara had not been asleep, but had been waiting. Listening. When she heard the last set of footsteps pass the door, signaling Sam turning in for the night, she peeked her head out of her door. With a stealth acquired from years of sneaking experience, she crept down the hallway until she came to the dungeon. She stood there for a moment, staring. A voice in her head was telling her to stay out, but the rest of her was screaming for her to open the door. She reached out her hand, running it over the smooth, cool metal of the knob, before gripping it and pulling it open.

For a second, her breathing stopped. There was the demon, Belial, the one that had haunted her nightmares, was sitting five feet in front of her, bloody with a bowed head.

"Back for more, Winchesters?" The demon taunted. When it raised its head and saw Tara, it grinned, looking completely delighted. "Well, well, look who it is. Has the widdle girl come out to play?"

Tara said nothing, studying Belial closely. Her confidence was shaken, but she didn't show it. She stayed stone-faced, a skill acquired through years of practice.

Belial spoke again. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue? You obviously had something to say, so go on, ask away."

Tara kept her distance, but looked the demon straight in the eyes. "Why did you do it?"

Belial let out an exasperated sigh. "For fuck's sake, it's like everyone is stuck on a broken record. For the last time, I'm not telling anyone about the werewolf blood."

"Not that. That night, when I was young. Why did you come to my house? Why attack us?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because it doesn't matter anymore, does it? You're going to die anyway, one way or another. No one would ever know. Besides, it was 10 years ago; whatever you came for you must've got."

"We didn't get what we came for."

"And what was that?"

The demon smiled smugly. "You can figure that out."

Tara began to think out loud, circling Belial as she thought. "I have some ideas to start with. Let's see, what do demons come for? Vengeance? No, that's not it. There were a lot of you, not just one. An ambush? No. An attack? A raid?" The demon's eyes lit up at the last suggestion, so she continued with that. "Ok, so a raid. But raid parties are looking for something. What would a demon look for? Not money, not that we had any…" It hit her like lightning. "You want power. Let me guess…a weapon. Powerful enough that it takes a small army of demons to capture. And even that failed."

She spun around, enlightened. This time, she was the one looking smug. "Now that we've established what it was, maybe you could add on to the story."

Belial glared at her, but started with the story anyways. "There was a huge power surge, unlike anything we'd seen. Anything that powerful is something we'd love to get our hands on." For a moment, the demon almost looked whimsical. "With that kind of power, I would've been a god."

"Lucky you never found it then."

"All we ever found was your crummy family."

Tara chose to ignore him as another thought dawned on her. "Wait a minute, demons come for power…That's what the werewolf blood is for. You need it for something. A ritual? A spell?"

The demon's eyes lit up again. "You said you were on an errand for Lucifer, though. Why would Lucifer need a spell? He's the freaking devil. He's got unfathomable powers. Unless…" Tara's eyes widened, "…he's not powerful anymore."

The demon winced, and Tara knew she was on to something. "He fought the Darkness, didn't he? That's a lot to take on, even for him. Even though she's dead, he's still weak. It's been almost a year now, but he's still not up to speed. He's weak. He's vulnerable. He needs the spell to power up again."

"That's far-fetched, don't you think? You really think the Winchesters will buy that?" He looked at her closely. "They will never believe you. They don't trust you."

"They don't have to." Tara pulled her phone out of her pocket. She showed it to the demon. He watched as the mic picked up every sound in the room. She pressed the stop button. "I have everything I need right here." She put it back in her pocket. "I'm going to get the Winchesters. They're going to find out exactly what spell Luci's using, and then your usefulness has expired."

In Tara's ramblings, she hadn't noticed that the devils trap had been breached by a leak in the ceiling. The demon had somehow wiggled his way out of the handcuffs, and the ropes were weak and breakable. "In that case…" the demon started. The ropes snapped and before Tara could react, the demon was on top of her, lashing out. She didn't even have a chance to cry out.

The demon grabbed an angel blade off the table and held it up to her face. "They said if I hurt you, I'd die. But since I'm gonna die anyways, there's no point in keeping you alive, is there?"

The demon swung the blade down, but Tara moved her head. The tip of the blade was mere inches from her ear. Tara kicked at the demon, hard, and it was stunned enough for her to get away. She turned and swung the dungeon door closed, breathing heavily. The doors began to rumble and shake. "Come on, now," the demon chuckled from inside. "It's time for the orphan girl to join her family."

She needed a weapon, now. She also couldn't let the demon walk around the bunker unchecked. It was too dangerous. Tara searched the walls for something to defend herself with. There, on the table, was an angel blade. The only problem was, it was completely shattered. There was still part of a jagged blade still attached, but if it came down to hand-to-hand combat, she would lose.

She needed to lure it somewhere, somewhere she could get the upper hand and where there were no magical items to use. The garage.

The door crashed down, making a loud bang. Tara grabbed the jagged blade and ran, the demon close behind.

Sam woke to the sound of a crash. He shot up in bed, grabbing an angel blade and bolting out of the room. As he rushed down the hallway, fearing the worst, he noticed the door to Tara's room was open. A quick glance inside the room was enough for him to realize that she wasn't there. Shit.

As he neared the dungeon, he saw Dean running towards him. They met in the middle.

"What the hell was that noise?"

"I'm guessing it was the sound of the dungeon door breaking down," Dean said, breathing heavily. "There was a breach in the devil's trap, and the demon somehow got his way out of the ropes. The angel blade is missing too."

"Dean, Tara's not in her room, and that demon is dangerous enough without a weapon."

Dean's face went pale, but he quickly covered it up. "Split up. You take the west wing and I'll take the east. Let's find this SOB."

Tara was running out of places to run. Even though she had made a beeline for the garage, going full speed, the demon was close behind her. Her leg was still weak from the break, and she was not ready to bolt like she used to. The garage was close, she just had to keep going.

She rounded the corner only to come face to face with the demon. "Did you really think you could run from me?"

Tara lashed out with the jagged blade, striking Belial across the eye. He cried out, both in pain and anger, and brought his hand up to his eye. Before she could strike again, he caught her hand, forcing it backward into a painful position. She kicked at his legs, finally making contact, striking him off his feet.

She tried to run, but he caught her ankle, bringing her down and sliding the jagged blade out of reach. The demon was up, wiping the blood from his eye and stooping over her, ready to strike. Tara was on her stomach, unable to see the demon, but she knew he was there. She needed to get the blade, which was so tantalizing close, within her sight, but just out of her grasp.

Tara began to crawl on her elbows. She reached out to grab the knife. She felt her fingers brush the cold metal. Belial grabbed her ankle and dragged her backwards.

He played with the blade, running his finger along the blunt side. "Ready to die?"

Tara turned herself over, and watched with wide eyes as the demon raised the blade, ready to strike. Suddenly, she felt a metal object in her hand, and without thinking she thrust it forward, right into the demon's exposed chest.

Belial glanced down at his chest in disbelief, staring at the broken angel blade embedded deep into his chest. The blade he had been brandishing dropped from his hand. He was flickering, his light fading. He swayed, unbalanced, and fell forward. Tara had just enough time to roll out of the way before the demon hit the floor with a surprisingly quiet thump.

As Tara stared at the lifeless eyes at the demon next to her, she suddenly felt a rush of emotions. Pride, for killing the son of a bitch, fear, because just a few seconds she was going to die, and also overwhelming confusion. Had the blade always been in her hand? She didn't think she had grabbed it. Plus, wouldn't the demon have seen it? She wasn't hiding it, and she had in all honesty thought that she was going to die. The angel blade had been too far out of her reach. Hadn't it?

The adrenaline that had kept her alive before was now turning into a sense of panic. Tara had killed the only lead they'd had. Yes, they knew what Lucifer was doing, but this demon could've given so much more information. And she had messed it all up.

But this was her family's killer, or one of them. She had avenged them, right? But it didn't make her feel any better. There was no closure, no satisfaction, just a dead body.

Too many thoughts in too little time flooded her head, leaving her dizzy and even more confused than before. She ran a hand over her face, trying to wipe away the thoughts, but was surprised to find it was wet with something warm and sticky. Looking down, she saw that it was covered with blood. In fact, she was covered with blood; whether it was hers or Belial's, she didn't know. All she knew is that she wanted to run, away from the blood, away from the walls that were closing in, to the place that she had felt the safest. Instead of ignoring the instinct, she gave into it, and took off down the hallway, sprinting towards the garage.

Dean was making his way down the east hallway when he spotted something red seeping around the corner, creating a puddle. Dean inhaled sharply, saying a silent prayer to a God that he wasn't sure was even listening. Please, not Tara, he pleaded. She's just a kid. Let her be okay.

He closed his eyes, taking one more deep breath. He turned the corner to see the demon lying face down in a puddle that was hopefully his own blood. Dean had seen enough dead demons to determine that this demon was dead as a doornail. But this created another problem: a demon that could've given them the answers they were looking for was wasted beyond repair. They would have to start from square one.

And another question emerged: If the demon was dead, then where was Tara?

Sam appeared at the end of the hallway, and began jogging towards Dean. "I searched the entire west wing and I couldn't find a trace of—" Sam stopped running and talking, staring at the pool of blood currently making its way toward Dean's boots. Sam slumped against the wall, as if the strength had been seeped from his body. His eyes were fixed on the floor and the blood, and he seemed to have trouble finding words.

He swallowed. "Is…is that…"

"No," Dean shook his head. "Come take a look."

Sam stood up straight and looked around the corner. "Jesus," he breathed.

"You can say that again. This dude is gone." Dean squatted down and examined the body. Noticing the blood was coming from under the demon, he turned it over. There, in the middle of the chest, was an angel blade. When Dean pulled the blade out, he was surprised to discover a jagged, broken blade.

"Where's the rest of it?" Sam asked, also surprised.

As Dean studied the blade, they heard the revving of a car engine coming from the garage. The brothers jumped to their feet and took off toward the garage. They entered the garage just in time to see Tara's red truck zoom out of the garage, leaving a rush of air behind it.

The brothers stood there for a moment, a little confused. "Why the hell would she run?" Sam thought aloud, obviously not expecting an answer from Dean.

"There's something very wrong here, Sammy."

"Yeah, I can see that, Dean."

"Get the ammo and your stuff. Meet me at the car in ten minutes."

"Why do we need ammo?"

Dean shrugged. "It's just a precaution. Who's to say that the demon didn't smoke out?"

"Are you saying Tara's possessed?"

"I'm saying it's a possibility. Now go."

Three hours later, the Impala was parked in front of a cemetery in Fremont, Nebraska. "Are you sure that's where she is?" Dean asked.

"Her car is parked here, and this is where her phone is," Sam said, pointing at the little red dot on the digital map.

"Well let's go then."

The brothers exited the car and made their way into the graveyard. It was noticeably empty, save for the one girl staring at the gravestones in front of her.

"Tara?" Sam called out cautiously. Her head turned, acknowledging the brothers' presence.

"Hey guys." Tara's voice cracked, but she cleared her throat as if it had never happened and continued. "Sorry for running off. I just…" She sighed. "I just couldn't stay there. I didn't mean to worry you."

Dean looked right at Tara and said, "Christo." Tara didn't flinch, but instead shook her head. "I'm not possessed, if that's what you're thinking."

Sam looked around the graveyard, studying his surroundings. "I know how it feels to want to run, but why run here?"

Tara gave a sad smile. "This is my hometown. I think I could make it back here in my sleep." She closed her eyes, reminiscing. "After everything that's happened, I just needed a little taste of home. Although, this place doesn't really feel like home, not anymore."

She turned and pointed her finger. "My old house is 10 miles that way. Or was that way."

"Was?" Dean repeated.

"It completely burned down when I was six. And that's why I'm here." Tara turned back to the graves. "I needed to come back here, to see them." She pointed at the gravestones one by one, making a list. "My mother, my father and…" her voice got caught in her throat, "…my older brother, Daniel."

The word brother meant something to the Winchesters, and almost instinctively they cast a glance at each other. Sam cleared his throat and asked, "If you don't mind me asking, what did happen?"

Tara took a deep breath and began. "I was six, and it was in the middle of the night. Daniel shakes me awake, and he tells me to come with him, because we have to run. My dad was grabbing weapons out of our closet, and my brother was carrying me to the back door. There were demons in our front yard. We didn't live near anyone, we just lived on the outskirts of town, and the demons were there, in our yard, with my mom at knife-point, asking my dad to give them something. And then there's a scream." A tear slipped out of Tara's eye, but she wiped it away and continued. "My mom was in our front yard, in a pool of her own blood, and these things just start storming the house."

"I was screaming for my mom, and I tried to go to her, but Daniel held me back. My dad handed my twelve-year-old brother a shotgun and told him to take me and run as fast as he can. So Daniel grabbed my hand and dragged me through the back door. The demons are everywhere; it's like a fucking swarm. There were screams coming from the house, but we never looked back. Daniel just kept saying, it's gonna be okay, alright? We're gonna go somewhere safe and Dad is gonna meet us and you're going to be just fine. And I wanted to believe it, you know?"

Tara was on the verge of hysterical. "They just kept coming and coming and they wouldn't leave us alone. They were following us, and they wouldn't stop, so Daniel told me to keep running. And I did. I ran and ran until I was at this old cellar, and I hid."

"What did your brother do?"

"He fought them off." Tara gave a short, humorless laugh through her tears. "Imagine that. A twelve-year-old boy fighting off a whole hoard of demons. He never stood a chance."

Her eyes were filled with tears, and in each breath, there was a hidden sob. "I heard him cry out and I just stood there, frozen. It was silent for a while, and when I finally came up, the whole house was engulfed in flames." She sucked in another breath and looked at the sky to calm herself. "Those bastards dragged my brother's body back into the fire to burn. It was nice and tidy for them, but what about me, huh?! WHAT ABOUT ME?!" She got very quiet, obviously distraught, and whispered, "I didn't even get to say goodbye. I should've been with him. I never should have left him to die alone."

"Hey, look at me." Tara turned to Sam, who had bent down and was looking at her right in the eyes. "This is not your fault. You were just a kid, and staying with him would've just gotten you killed."

"But that was my family. All of them are gone." She sobbed, "I was so alone. I don't want to be alone anymore."

To her surprise, Tara found herself in a hug. It was warm and comforting, and something she had missed. Instead of holding in the tears, like she normally would, she let them come out in full force. "It's not your fault," Sam said gently. "And you're not alone."

I'm not alone anymore. Tara could've laughed. I'm not alone.

As much as she didn't want to, she pulled back from the hug and wiped the tears from her eyes. She took a couple deep breaths and tried to calm herself. "Thank you," she said, looking at the ground, slightly embarrassed. "Thank you for coming after me."

"Any time, kid." Dean shot her a reassuring smile that made a small smile grace Tara's mouth. She went up to her brother's gravestone and knelt down, touching the stone with her hand. "See you later, bro. Miss you." She looked at the other gravestones, which read G. and Alicia DiAngelo: Loving Parents. "Miss you too, Mom and Dad."

She stood up and the three of them began walking towards the exit. "Sorry about the demon," Tara apologized. "I should've never gone near that thing. I just needed to know, you know?"

"Yeah, we get it," Dean said, accepting the apology. "But we still have no idea what he wanted with those werewolves."

Tara's eyes widened and she began to search her pockets. "Oh my god, I almost forgot." The Winchesters watched in confusion as she pulled out her phone and handed it to them. She was so excited and exasperated that she stumbled over her words, trying to find the right ones to say. "I hadn't really thought that I'd get very far, because you guys didn't get very far, but he really liked to hear himself talk. He talked a lot, mostly nonsense, but he did give some clues about what he was doing. I kind of deduced the rest, and he basically admitted it at the end. I got an audio recording."

She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "In hindsight, I probably should've gotten a video recording, since a lot of the stuff he gave away was by facial expressions…"

The Winchesters looked at her and then each other. "Hey Sammy," Dean questioned, "were the dungeon security cameras running?"

A grin lit up Sam's face. "All night."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" asked Tara, kind of shocked.

"It means," Dean grinned, "that we have our first lead on the devil in almost a year."

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long. Finals were a bitch. I really appreciate all the support I've gotten while writing this! Expect a new chapter soon. Reviews are welcome!

-Sweet Victori