Thank you so much Jenjoremy for sharing your awesome beta skills and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help.
Chapter Eighteen
Dean had forgotten none of the details of his father, so when John stood from the table and looked down at him and Sam where they sat slumped over the table—exhausted after the drive back from Massachusetts and the night of revelation—and commanded they go to bed, he wasn't surprised.
He expected Sam to argue, to say there were more important things for them to do than sleep, but he didn't. He merely raised an eyebrow questioningly, and when John said, "There's nothing coming up on the scanner yet. I'll wake you when there's something to do," he nodded and made for the back.
"You too, Dean," John said.
Dean would have liked to argue. He was a grown man and didn't need bedtime to be instigated by his father, but he needed sleep, and with John back and set on course to hunt down Death, there was no knowing when they'd get to sleep again. He followed Sam into the bedroom and collapsed on his bed. Within minutes, he was asleep.
He felt like he'd barely slept at all when Sam's voice woke him, but a glance at his watch told him it had been hours. He rolled over, knowing what he was going to see from the strain in his brother's voice. Sam was tossing and turning on the bed, sweat beading on his brow and his expression twisted with sadness. Dean didn't know what he was dreaming, but it obviously wasn't peaceful. He knew Sam wouldn't want to alert the rest of The Roadhouse to his nightmare, especially their father, by crying out, so he quickly got out of bed and grabbed Sam's shoulder. His eyes flew open and roved the room wildly.
"It's okay, Sam," Dean said. "Just a nightmare."
Sam blinked up at him. "Is Dad…"
Dean understood. After everything Sam had been through during withdrawal, all the people he'd seen, it made sense that he would doubt something as incredible as John's return. "He's here," he said. "It was real."
Sam blew out a heavy breath and sat up, swinging his legs around to the edge of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face and peered at his watch, his brow furrowing when he saw the time. "Why'd he let us sleep so long?"
Dean shrugged. "Maybe nothing's come up yet. Maybe he figured we actually needed sleep."
"I guess." He didn't sound convinced. "Better see which it is." He stood and brushed a hand down his front, smoothing the creases, and then made for the door.
Dean followed him out into the bar. John was sitting at their table, a mug of coffee in front of him along with a sheaf of computer printouts. "Good, you're up," he said. "I think I've got something." He took a sip of coffee and went on. "Okay, I'm working with the theory that Death brought me back in Wyoming, where I was burned. There were some strange weather patterns there at the time, like demon signs. Me and Ash have been tracking similar patterns across the country tonight, and we're seeing them in Michigan. Could be demons, could be Death. Think it's worth the ride."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."
Dean wasn't so sanguine. He wanted to stop Lucifer, he did, but whatever it was Sam was supposed to collect from Death had him worried. He didn't think anything coming from a horseman could be good. As he looked from Sam's determination to John's satisfaction, he realized he had no choice in the matter. He could expound on the risks, but it wouldn't be news to them. They knew what they were risking and they were set on doing it anyway, because that was what they did.
Though Castiel offered his services to get them to Michigan, John refused. He said he preferred to drive, but Sam suspected that his father was more comfortable taking control of the journey himself, just as he was more comfortable behind the wheel rather than letting one of them drive.
They arrived in the small town just outside Lansing in the evening, and drove straight to the place where the signs seemed to be centered. Sam expected to drive into a storm the way they had when he and Dean had gone for Lilith in Montana, but the skies were clear. He knew at once it wasn't going to work out. If Death had been there, he wasn't now.
John came to the same conclusion seemingly at the same time. He punched the steering wheel and cursed. Dean was the only one who didn't seem upset. He glanced over the seat at Sam, and Sam thought he saw a flash of relief in Dean's eyes. He knew that asking Dean about it with their father with them was a bad idea, so he made a mental note to ask Dean about it later and instead suggested they get a motel so they could go over the signs again and see if Ash had anything new.
John agreed, reluctantly Sam could tell, and they headed to the edge of town to the hotel they'd passed on their way in. When John pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot, Sam got out and made for the office to check them in. They had no triple rooms—though they offered to put a cot in one—so Sam took a double and king for John. He went back outside and saw Dean and John standing by the open trunk. He didn't realize what they were looking at straight away, and then John stepped back and he saw the third duffel he'd put in.
There had been no reason to keep John's bag after he'd died, other than the fact he couldn't bear to let it go. It had been kept in the very back of the closet, under a wealth of other stuff. Judging from the look on Dean's face, he hadn't known it was there.
John gave Sam a searching look and then reached for the bag and swung it over his shoulder. "Thank you, son," he said.
Sam handed him the keycard to his room and said, "You're on the corner of the block. Me and Dean are beside you."
He wanted to show his father he hadn't forgotten the smaller rules of their life—ground floor corner room, nearest to the fire escape—even when he'd been gone. It was a small thing, but given the sheer number of other rules he'd forgotten or ignored when doing what he thought was best, this mattered to him.
John nodded and made for his room. Sam grabbed his own bag and followed Dean to theirs. Only when he'd shut the door behind them, did he breathe a sigh of relief. He was about to ask Dean what the relief was about in the car, but Dean spoke first.
"You kept his stuff."
"Yes. Could have needed some of it." That was a lie. The only useful thing John had left was his journal and other books on lore. Sam had taken all of them already.
"Did you?" Dean asked.
"Sometimes," Sam said then changed the subject. "Do you want us to find Death?"
Dean answered a little too quickly for it to be believable "Yes."
Sam frowned. "What's the problem, Dean?"
Dean sighed. "I want to find Death, I do. If he's the way we're going to take down Lucifer, I'm up for it, but I'm scared of what the price will be. He says he has something for you, and the name kinda gives it away that it's something bad."
It wasn't like the same idea hadn't occurred to Sam, but Death had said it wasn't his mortality that mattered. There had to be something else. Besides, not a single person's life was worth the world. He'd made that clear before.
"It'll be okay," he said bracingly.
"You don't know that."
Sam started to answer, "I believe it…" but there was a knock at the door and he trailed off. Dean opened it and their father came in looking grim.
"I've spoken to Ash," he said. "The signs haven't moved, they've just stopped. Wherever Death is, he's not showing himself right now."
"Awesome," Sam said bitterly. An eleven-hour stint in the car and it was for nothing.
"There's something going on though," John said. "Two people have died here this past week. Cops are putting it down to animal attacks, but Ash says there are holes in the story."
"Yeah?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, one of the attacks happened in a locked apartment. And they said it was an animal attack? The guy didn't even have a dog."
"And the other?" Sam asked.
"By the lake. That one could've been an animal, but I'm not convinced. Think it's worth looking around a little while we're here. We've got no leads on Death anyway. We can save some lives maybe."
"Absolutely," Sam said, nodding vigorously. They hadn't taken a regular hunt since Lilith, and the lives he'd saved in Fort Wilcox didn't balance the scales of the ones he'd cost. He found he wanted to be doing this again. Saving lives with his father and brother—together—the way he'd never had a chance to before.
"Okay," John said. "It's too late to do anything tonight, so we should get some sleep. We'll get out early and see what we can do." He smiled slightly. "This'll be good, boys. We need this."
John woke in the early morning with a name on his lips that wanted to escape as a howl. "Mary." He bit down hard on his tongue, tasting blood, to keep the word within him. The walls weren't thick, and he didn't want Sam and Dean hearing him.
He shouldn't be surprised he'd dreamed of her. He missed her so much already after all.
Heaven for John was memories of his sons, some his alone and some shared with his wife. They would settle a fussy baby Sam to sleep together and then check on a sleeping Dean, safe and young in his bed. From there he would find himself playing catch with Dean in the yard, his small hand drowned in the mitt John had used himself as a child. Mary would sit on the deck watching them, rocking Sammy in her arms. Then he would have his own memories to show Mary. Sam's first steps—toward his brother—his first word, 'Dee', and his first day of school. The memories of him as a child and adult were scarcer, as after was she gone, there wasn't much to remember that was truly happy. They shared what there was though; Mary came to know her sons through John's memories. He wished she was here now to see them, so alive. Their boys.
Sam was awake first the next morning, and he set himself up at the laptop while Dean showered. He found the local news page, planning to see what else he could garner from the stories of the two deaths. Before he could search though, he saw a banner flash across the screen declaring breaking news. He clicked the link and a page opened with a short summary of a body discovered on the edge town that morning. It had been found by a truck driver passing through on a long distance run. Details were scant, but it said the police weren't treating the death as suspicious, stating that it appeared to be another animal attack. It went on to advise people to be aware of wildlife when out and report any animal sightings.
Knowing his father needed to be told, he went to his room and knocked on the door. John answered at once, looking alert and ready. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"There's been a body found."
Sam made for his room again and John followed. Sam slapped a hand on the bathroom door and shouted for Dean to hurry and then went to stand behind his father at the table. John read the article with a frown. Before he'd finished, Dean came out of the bathroom, bare-chested and hair wet, but tense.
"Another attack," Sam said, giving him a quick rundown of the article.
John sighed as he finished reading and pushed himself away from the table. "What's the moon cycle?" he asked.
It was Dean that answered. "Quarter moon."
"Not a werewolf then." John sighed.
"Could be a skin walker," Dean said. "Vampires disguising their kills with maulings, maybe."
John considered the ideas for a few moments, but then shook his head. Sam wasn't convinced either. He couldn't help but think of Milltown. The demons' kills had been so bad the cops had said some were like animal attacks. That coupled with the signs in the area made him think maybe there were demons having another apocalypse party.
They needed to know more. "We need to see the body," Sam said. "If the heart's gone or the blood drained, we'll know what we're up against."
"Okay," John said. "Sam, you go by the morgue and see if you can get a look at the body. Dean, you come with me to the place the body was found. We might be able to pick something up from there if the cops haven't screwed up too bad."
Sam nodded, falling into the familiar role of following instruction easily. It was a relief in a way, because he was less likely to screw up if he was following orders from the best. And that's what his father was—the best.
John dropped Sam off at the hospital that housed the morgue before he and Dean went to the scene of the latest death. Sam followed the signs to the basement and when he came to the morgue, he knocked on the office door.
The ME was about what he'd expected—middle aged with graying hair and a somber demeanor. He always wondered at the kind of people who would choose to immerse themselves in the world of death for a living. Didn't they want to save lives with their knowledge?
"Agent Page," he said, holding up his badge to the man.
"Alfred Dunne," the ME replied. "Doctor."
"I'm investigating the recent deaths in town," Sam said. "I need to see the body that was found this morning. I'd also like to ask you a few questions about the other two deaths you've had."
"Of course. Just follow me, Agent," he said. He went to the back wall and took a manila folder from a rack then led Sam out of the office into the vast lab. There were three steel tables in the middle of the room with shower hoses above them and drains below. He went to a bank of fridges at the back, checked the file in his hand and then opened a door. Sam felt the chill as cool air poured out and he shivered.
The doctor pulled the sliding tray with the sheet-covered body on it and hesitated. "Eaten yet?" he asked.
"No," Sam replied.
"Good. This isn't a pretty sight." He eased back the sheet and Sam took in the face of the body. He was probably in his forties, threads of grey just starting to spread and wrinkles forming around the eyes. The sheet lowered to the waist and Sam saw the ruined chest.
He gasped in spite of himself. He had seen this before.
"Like I said, not pretty."
"No," Sam agreed quietly.
Without thought he pulled the tray out fully and eased the sheet all the way down to the man's feet. He'd known what he would see, but that didn't soften the blow—ravaged legs, torn muscle and sinew on show from where the claws had raked over them, stopping the victim from running. Unnecessary as there was no escaping these creatures. The torso was where they attacked next, lungs torn and stomach eviscerated, the killing blow.
"You going to faint?" the doctor asked as if from a long distance away.
Sam took a deep breath and shook his head. "No. I'm good." He cleared his throat and turned away from the ravaged body. "Were the other two victims like this?" he asked.
"Pretty much exactly, yes. The legs and torso have the most damage. It's strange, because most animals we know go for the throat. Yet, these people were unmarred above the neck."
Because the creatures wanted the people to be recognizable—to add to the agony of the surviving family. They were cruel and intelligent.
"Thank you for your time," Sam said vaguely, making for the door.
"You don't want anything else?"
"No," Sam said. "I've seen enough."
He hurried out of the lab and into the hall, only coming to a stop when he was outside. He took deep breaths of the clean air and tried to clear his head of the panic. Just because he'd seenit before, it didn't mean it was going to happen again. That was just his panic.
The hounds weren't coming for his family this time. They were coming for strangers.
When Dean and John got back to the motel, Sam was already there. Practically the moment they got inside, John started talking. He didn't seem to notice Sam's pale skin and wide, scared eyes.
"There wasn't much to see at the scene," he said. "But it was enough to know what's killing."
"Hellhounds," Sam said quietly.
John's eyes snapped to him. "How'd you know?"
Sam swallowed hard. "I've seen those injuries before."
Of course he had. Twice. When he had wrapped and burned his father and then later, when Dean had died.
"Sammy…" he said sadly.
Sam shook his head and sniffed, effectively cutting him off. "There has to have been a demon working the area ten years ago. I've been looking stuff up on the computer and two of the dead have impressive life stories. One was a renowned pediatrician and the other made a killing on the stock market. I don't know what the deal is with the third, but I'm guessing he made a deal for something, and I…" He broke off and closed his eyes, seeming to be trying to summon calm.
"Okay, Sam," John said firmly. "It's okay."
Sam nodded and looked at him grateful and embarrassed.
Dean wanted to do something to comfort his brother, but he knew it wouldn't be accepted with their father there. Instead, he turned to John and asked, "What are we going to do? There could be more deals." There was no way to fight hellhounds—they knew that from bitter experience.
John considered. "Your deal was held by Lilith, yes?" Dean nodded. "And that's why the demon Sam went after couldn't break it. But the people in this town… maybe they're just in the clutches of the crossroads demon that made the deal. We can try at least."
"We have to," Sam said.
"I know, son. Okay. I figure we get a hold of the demon that made these deals at the crossroads and see what it can do."
Sam looked relieved. "Should we go now?"
"Not yet," John said. "The road isn't exactly busy, but there's enough traffic for people to spot us if we lay a devil's trap in the middle of it. We should wait till midnight at the earliest to work it."
"Okay," Sam said reluctantly. "What do we do now though?"
"We look for another good luck story in town and try to protect the person."
Sam nodded. "I'll get Ash on it, too." He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Let's go get some food, Dean," John said.
Confused, Dean waved a hand in farewell to Sam and followed his father outside. John stopped just outside the room and leaned against the wall. When Dean had clicked the door closed behind them, he said, "We need to keep Sam out of this."
Dean frowned. "I don't know if you've noticed, Dad, but Sam's not the ditchable sort."
"I mean we keep him away from the hounds," John amended. "If this comes down to failure, if we can't stop the death, I don't want Sam seeing it happen."
"Me either," Dean said, "but how do we stop him?"
"We send him after the demon. He's more than capable of handling himself against one. He's not capable of seeing another hellhound death."
"Agreed." Sam was one of the strongest people Dean knew, but hellhounds... He was already unsteady and that was just the body of a victim. How would he cope with seeing someone else taken down by one? It was better they didn't find out.
John had intended to summon the demon with his own offering, but he had done no more than pick up the tin before Sam snatched it out of his hand and placed his own FBI badge inside. John gave him a questioning look, but Dean cleared his throat and reminded them of the time, saving Sam the need to explain.
Sam set the tin in the ground and scuffed gravel over it then stepped back out of the trap. John and Dean stood behind him. Dean had the knife in his hand and John a flask of holy water, though they all knew they had no need of either when they had Sam with them.
The demon didn't keep them waiting long, and her look of fear when she saw them standing there was something to savor.
"Winchesters," she said. "Heard Senior was back in the mix, but I didn't believe it."
"Who told you?" Sam asked.
John was wondering the same thing. Ash had a big mouth, always had, but he wouldn't talk to a demon.
"The boss," the demon said.
"Crowley," Sam growled.
John recognized the name of the demon that had set Sam and Dean up with a gun to kill Lucifer that wouldn't work. He wanted to hurt him on principle. Had Ellen not inadvertently shown them that it wouldn't work, they'd have set themselves in Lucifer's path needlessly.
"Yep," the demon said brightly.
Sam took a breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. When he spoke again, his tone was measured and careful. "You've been collecting in this town."
"I have."
"Are there more?"
She smiled "Wouldn't you like to know."
Sam glanced back over his shoulder at John at he nodded. "Go ahead, son."
He knew what was troubling Sam and he wanted to ease his mind. He had spent a long time with Gabriel watching Sam using his powers, long enough that the shock had worn off. If this was what it was going to take to get them the information they needed, it was what had to happen.
Sam nodded to himself and then raised his hand from his side and pointed it at the demon. He curled his fingers in one by one and the demon screamed. Sam held her for a moment and then released her.
"How many more?" he asked.
"Four," she panted. "There's four."
"Ten year contracts?" Dean asked.
She nodded.
"Then why was there one here?"
"He came to bargain again," she said quickly. "He wanted off the hook. He thought I could do it."
"And you can't?" Sam asked, obviously disappointed.
"No, I don't hold the contract."
"Who does?" Dean asked.
"That'd be me." The voice came from behind them. John spun on his heel and saw the demon he'd seen with Gabriel standing there, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his black overcoat and a smug smile on his face. "Nice to see you again, gentlemen."
Sam raised his arm and the demon laughed. "Don't we know how this dance ends, Moose?"
Sam glared at him, his hatred obvious. "What do you want, Crowley?"
"A favor," Crowley said. "Well, is it a favor if it benefits both parties?"
"Like the colt benefited us?" Dean asked. "You sent us off like lambs to the slaughter."
"Well how was I supposed to know it wouldn't work?" Crowley asked. "The gun that kills anything they say; with press like that we'd have been fools not to take the chance."
"Except you didn't take a chance," John said. "You let them do it all."
"Aw, protective dad," Crowley said. "That warms the cockles of my heart, you know." He nodded, satisfied. "Now, I know for a fact you're still without a clue of how to take down Satan, which means I'm still screwed, so how about we have a little chat and discuss our options."
"How do you know we don't have something?" Dean asked.
"Couple reasons," Crowley said. "One, you're here taking care of a crossroads whore instead of actually, you know, killing Lucifer. Two, I've got your gas guzzler of a car bugged with a magic coin."
"Bastard," Sam said, starting toward the demon. Dean caught his arm, stopping him.
"Actually, you're not wrong," Crowley said. "But that's beside the point. I'll pull the coin if you agree to stop and listen to me."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, obviously distrustful. John wasn't exactly pleased with the idea of trusting a demon, but he thought it might be their best chance. "Call off the deals in this town first," he said "Then we can talk."
Crowley narrowed his eyes. "You know that's against the rules."
"Don't care," John said. "You want us to listen, we need the town safe."
Crowley looked at Sam and Sam nodded.
"Fine," Crowley sighed. "We've got a deal." He snapped his fingers. "Deals are off. Now, let's go somewhere a little less public." He started to walk away but the trapped demon called after him in a querulous voice. "Sir?"
Crowley turned and laughed. "Nearly forgot you, pet. Moose, take care of her, will you?" He stood back and waited expectantly.
Sam eyed him for a moment and then he nodded. He faced the demon, drew a breath and raised his arm once again. A moment later, the smoke was drifting down to the ground.
Sam was flying high on the success of their meeting with the demon. They'd saved four lives and another from a lifetime as a demon's meat suit. His mood only started to retreat to trepidation when John pulled the car over in front of the address Crowley had given them: a bar on Main Street. They climbed out and John took the lead to go inside.
Sam peered through the crowded space of the room and saw Crowley sitting at a table at the back. He weaved through the people and took a seat opposite the demon. When John and Dean were seated, Crowley leaned forward and said, "Isn't this pleasant? Four heroes getting together to save the world."
"Except you're not a man," John said.
"Semantics."
"And I'm still not convinced you're on our side," John went on.
Crowley affected a look of shock. "That hurts. I'm laying myself on the line here."
"Sure you are," Dean said. "Like you did last time? What are we supposed to do for you this time?"
"Technically, it's not the 'we' I need. It's Boy Wonder there." He pointed to Sam.
"What do you need me for?" Sam asked, even as John and Dean started to protest.
"There's a demon…" Crowley started.
Sam didn't know why he was surprised. Of course it was a demon. What other worth could he have for Crowley?
"You want me to kill it?" Sam asked conversationally, ignoring the sharp look Dean sent him.
"No. Well, yeah, but before you do that I was hoping you'd bust out some of the tricks you pulled on Alastair. See, he's got something we need, and, as talented as I am, you're better when it comes to causing a demon pain."
"What do we need?" Sam asked.
"The whereabouts of Pestilence," Crowley said blithely, looking from one face to the other. "How's about I get us a round in and we talk?"
He slid out of his chair and walked to the bar. As soon as he was gone, John spoke. "I don't trust him."
"You'd be mad to," Sam said. "But he might actually be telling the truth in this."
"Sam's right," Dean said. "And if we can take out Pestilence, that'd be a helluva tick in the to-do column. Whatever Lucifer needs him for can't be good." He looked thoughtful and his eyes drifted to Sam. "Croatoan."
Sam's eyes widened. "Of course."
"The demonic virus you took on in Oregon?" John asked.
Sam nodded. "Not just there. Zachariah—real dick angel—gave Dean a 'future' vision of what could happen if he kept saying no to Michael. Croatoan was everywhere."
"It was the real end of the world, Dad," Dean said. "We figured it was all bull, but maybe not. Maybe there were parts that were true."
"Could be," John said. "That definitely sounds like something Pestilence could be doing."
Crowley sidled back over to their table, a beer and three shots of whiskey on a tray. He gave Dean the beer and slid two of the shots to John and Sam. Sam pushed his own away and looked at Crowley, "What's Pestilence's big plan?"
"No idea," Crowley said. "Something apocalyptic, no doubt."
Sam believed him. "Why do you want him taken out then?"
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Because he's a part of Lucifer's army of destruction. The more power Satan has, the worse trouble I'm in. I quite like the world as it is, and I don't want to see it taken out, and I definitely don't want to see me taken out."
"Okay," Sam said slowly, "where will we find this demon?"
Crowley smiled, satisfied, and said, "You're on board?"
Sam glanced at Dean and his father. Neither of them looked happy, but they didn't say anything, so he knew he had their agreement. "Yes. We're on board."
"Brilliant," Crowley said. "Then let's get to work. He's in Chicago. Incidentally, Sam, Dean, you know him already."
"We do?"
"Yes," Crowley said sounding satisfied. "He's the ultimate demon fix-it man. Name's Ellsworth."
Sam's expression darkened and he brought a hand to the spot on his gut where a scar told the story of a gunshot that almost killed.
"Thought you might like to get reacquainted," Crowley said.
"Yeah," Sam said darkly. "I owe him."
The drive to Chicago was long enough for John to question them about Ellsworth and why they both looked furious when he was mentioned. Sam told him parts of it—he was a demon they'd gone after in the mission to save Dean and he'd shot Sam—but he didn't tell him the parts about how Dean had beaten him so hard that the meat-suit hadn't had a chance. Dean was grateful, but he felt guilty that John knew all Sam's shame but not all Dean's.
Their conversation turned to how they were going to handle Ellsworth. According to Crowley, he thought himself 'quite the man'. He liked to spend his evenings unwinding in a strip club called the Pink Monkey. His meat suit had been an executive in a pharmaceutical company in the city. That was the persona Ellsworth was taking now, a prime placement for Pestilence's assistant.
They arrived in Chicago around midnight and went straight to the club Ellsworth frequented. Crowley had already scoped the area to check the demon was there. He was. They parked the Impala on the other side of the block so as not to tip the demon off to their presence until it was time.
They laid in wait in a stinking alley in silence, waiting for Crowley to pull off his part of the plan—going into the club and luring Ellsworth out under the pretence of being a dumbass that happened across his place of play.
Dean heard a door open and close and then Crowley's strained voice. "Now, now, Ellsworth, you don't want to do anything rash…"
"I really do," a voice replied. "Let's go somewhere a little more private."
"If that's your thing," Crowley said. "I'd prefer a hotel myself, nice sheets, champagne, hot tub."
Crowley appeared in the mouth of the alley followed by a black-eyed demon Dean guessed was Ellsworth. He wasn't what Dean was expecting. He'd assumed Ellsworth would choose a similar meat suit to his last, but this one was much younger, probably Sam's age, and handsome.
Black eyes widened as he saw Sam, Dean and John waiting in the alley. "Oh, crap…" he groaned.
"Nice to see you again," Sam said, stepping away from John and Dean and fixing his attention on the demon.
The plan was for him to hold the demon while John and Dean got the warded bands around him, but Sam seemed unable to resist the urge to hurt him a little. The demon grunted in pain as Dean and John surged forward and wrapped him in the leather straps Crowley had brought for them. The demon struggled, but it couldn't resist Sam's grip on him. Dean and John stepped back, smiling smugly at the capitulated demon.
"Lovely job," Crowley said. "Now, let's go a somewhere a little more intimate so we can all have a proper chat."
"I'll get the car," Dean said.
Sam nodded, his eyes still fixed on the demon. Dean had a feeling Ellsworth was in for more than his fair share of pain for what he'd done to Sam.
John watched Sam circle the demon in the chair. There was a devil's trap painted onto the old floorboards of the house Crowley had found for them, but Sam didn't bother to stay outside of it. He didn't seem to care for his safety, though John supposed if there was anyone in that room safe from a demon, it was his youngest son.
Dean stood by the wall, just watching Sam, seemingly familiar with the set-up.
Sam circled the demon one more time and then stepped back and glared down at him. "You shot me," he said darkly.
The demon laughed. "I did. It felt good."
Sam smiled. "I bet it did. I shot your old boss, too. That felt good."
"You think I care about Azazel?" Ellsworth asked. "You're kidding, right? I was glad when you took him out. Opened up a whole new world to me."
"Yeah?" Sam asked. "How did Hell work out for you?"
"It was fine. I wasn't there long enough to enjoy it. Seems the boss wanted my skills."
"I know all about your skills," Sam said. "And I'm sure you've heard of mine." He smiled and tightened his fist at his side. The demon howled in pain.
When Sam released his hold on him, the demon panted. "What do you want?" he asked.
"Right now, I want to hear you scream," Sam said.
John turned away. He'd seen Sam hurt demons before, exorcise them and even kill them when Gabriel had taken him on his little trip through the past, but seeing this, Sam's obvious pleasure at what he was doing. That was his son there doing those things.
Sam turned to him and his expressive eyes were sad. "Maybe wait outside, Dad?"
John hesitated. He didn't want to abandon Sam, but Dean tugged on his arm insistently and John followed him outside the small house to the dilapidated porch. The distance wasn't far enough to block the sounds of the demon's pain.
"Damn," Jon groaned. He hadn't wanted to walk out on Sam, but at the same time he couldn't watch his boy enjoying torturing a demon.
"I know," Dean said, "but remember why he's doing it. It's for the good."
"I've not forgotten. It's just…"
"I get it," Dean said. "I feel the same. But Sam doesn't need you looking at him like that right now." His tone became firm. "Stay out here, okay?"
Dean stared him in the eye, waiting for his nod of acquiescence, then turned and walked back into the house without a word.
After a long time of waiting, listening to the demon's pain and the rumble of Sam's voice, John watched Dean and Sam came out again. Dean was supporting his brother with an arm around his shoulder, and Sam said in an exhausted voice, "I know where to find, Pestilence."
"Well done, Moose," Crowley said, clapping his hands together. "Knew you could do it."
Sam didn't react to the demon's words. His gaze was fixed on his father and he seemed to be on the verge of speech for a long time. "Dad?"
"You did good, Sammy," John said. "You did what we couldn't."
Sam smiled and John saw his relief.
So… Good to see Ellsworth again. I love to link back to the old stories, and Ellsworth seemed the perfect person for Pestilence to pick as an assistant.
Thank you all for the reviews, PMs, alerts and favorites. It means a lot that you're still supporting the story .
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx