Chapter 16

The next few days were more relaxing and a lot less awkward for Sam, as Dean had promised. Dean didn't hound him as much, and Sam was very much grateful for that. He gave him his space, without cutting him off which was really all Sam wanted.

However, 'relaxing' probably wasn't the right word to use. Every day, Bobby would bring them news of people being brutally murdered, and strangely, the killings looked exactly like the last few. No forced entry, with piles of sulfur by the front and back door. The local police had called in the state police because the body count had risen to twelve. Authorities were now officially calling this the work of a serial killer.

But Bobby, Sam, and Dean knew better.

Every day they would argue about what to do, and every day they would come to the same conclusion. They couldn't leave. They had to watch out for Sam, and now even Dean.

So, as stated, 'relaxing' probably wasn't the best word to use because Sam was constantly on edge. It was all arguing all the time, and he couldn't help but blame himself. If he had anticipated that werewolf's moves, then he wouldn't have gotten bit, and none of this would be happening.

And like the naïve big brother Dean was, he would constantly try to reassure him. He would tell Sam that it wasn't his fault, it was the demons fault. There was nothing he could have done in that werewolf fight.

And Sam would sigh. The demons fault huh? That then would bring him memories of Salvation, when he missed the shot at the demon. And when it possessed his father, he hesitated. This could have all been over by now, but because of his bleeding heart they were stuck in this hell.

So in Sam's mind, there was no way around blaming himself.

Now, Sam was at the house by himself. Bobby had gone to the police station to con any further information about the murders, and Dean had gone to get food at a diner, and then a grocery store for Sam.

Sam was downstairs in the living room, wearing only a pair of jeans as he rummaged through his duffel bag for a clean shirt.

Even though he was alone, he was still extremely edgy. His patience had been tested to damn near its limit, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

And on top of that, he was also testing his control every day. The other day with the intruder had made Sam really agitated, and excited at the same time. He was excited, because he no longer needed the influence of the full moon to change. And he was agitated, because he used his anger as a trigger for the transformation, that wasn't as great as Dean and Bobby were making it out to be. This meant he needed to work harder to keep his emotions in check. And considering the new daily rituals in the house, he needed that control.

The other day he and Dean were in the middle of a heated discussion that turned into a swearing match, and was a hairs way from turning into a fist fight. Bobby's attempts to shut them up had been useless. Then Dean had said something along the lines of Sam needing a babysitter, that he couldn't be left alone. And Sam damn near lost it. After that statement, Sam's nails lengthened and pointed into claws, and his canines grew into fangs. Dean saw this, and the fight was over. He knew Sam would never hurt him, but it was still a shock to see his little brother like that.

So that fight had ceased and Sam calmed himself down enough for him to change back. Needless to say, he won that round, which earned him the right to be at the house alone.

Sam couldn't help but smile sheepishly at that memory, even though at the time he wanted to just die from shame.

Sam found his white undershirt and slipped it over his head, and onto his torso. He then made a grab for his gray t-shirt and slipped it on over the undershirt. At least now he didn't feel so exposed, but he still couldn't seem to find his light blue plaid shirt for the life of him.

Suddenly, he caught a strong whiff of something that nearly knocked him to the floor. He shook his head to clear the lightheadedness, and then placed the scent. Sulfur.

But how? Bobby had this place sealed up tight; it was damn near demon proof! A regular demon wouldn't be able to step within ten yard of the house because of the protection that surrounded the premises.

But then Sam remembered the Yellow-Eyed Demon; how holy water had been useless against him.

Sam stood up straight, and grabbed for the loaded shot gun that Bobby had left for him. He cursed his brother for not leaving him the colt, but then again no one suspected that a demon would be able to get in.

Damn it, he should have known better.

"Hey there, Sam." Came a deep voice from behind him.

Sam whirled around, to face the dark haired werewolf that had been killed the other day in human form; the only difference was his eyes, instead of their normal piercing green Sam had remembered, they were completely yellow.

Sam put the shotgun down, knowing full well that it was useless against this thing. "What do you want?" Sam demanded venomously.

The demon smiled, and put his hands in his pockets as he strolled closer to Sam. "I think you know the answer to that kiddo. I mean, you are the brains of the Winchester group aren't you?"

Sam said nothing; he just glared at the demon as he struggled for control.

The demon chuckled menacingly, "Woops, I mean duo. Sorry, I almost forgot about daddy!"

A low growl came from the back of Sam's throat, and it echoed all around the room. This only made the demons' smile widen.

"Now, now Sammy, mind your blood pressure." It teased.

Sam's growls quieted, but he still said nothing. He only continued to glare daggers at the one who had murdered so many people that came too close to him.

The demon shrugged, and then continued, "I'm here because I'm tired of waiting. Not that I don't enjoy killing folks for no reason, but they're insignificant really. But I want to help you Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Help me? As in take away this werewolf problem, and then what? Take my soul sometime down the line? No thanks."

The demon snickered, "I can make you human again…well…as human as you were, but you get the picture."

"What the hell does that mean?" Sam demanded nervously.

It shrugged simply, "All in good time."

Sam shook his head, as he struggled harder for control. The demon's face dropped to one of complete seriousness as he approached Sam.

"You're my favorite." It said simply.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam demanded again. The demon didn't answer him.

"I want to help you Sam. Is that so wrong?"

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "I'd rather be stuck like this then have you take my soul!" Sam wasn't really sure if that were true or not, but he had to think of Dean here.

The demon shook his head slowly, "No, I wouldn't be taking your soul. You would only be fulfilling your destiny."

"Destiny?" Sam barked with a hint of dry laughter. "As in putting me in that army of psychic kids? And ending the world?"

"No." The demon said simply, "They're not the army you'd be joining."

"What?" Sam asked nervously.

The demon gave a sinister half smile. "You'll know soon enough Sammy."

Sam shook his head defiantly, "No I won't…because I don't want anything to do with you, and your war. I'm gonna stay the way I am, and kill you."

The demon laughed aloud, it made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck raise. "Alright then."

Sam cocked his head, had the demon really just given up? No, he remembered Dean, there was always a catch.

The demon shrugged again, "I could have a few more days of fun. I'll have the others stand down."

Sam watched the demon warily. "What are you talking about?"

The demon was suddenly in Sam's face, nose to nose with him. His hot breath coming out evenly on Sam's face. He was already breathing out of his mouth because of the sickening sulfur smell.

But this nearly sent Sam over the edge; he closed his eyes as he tried to hold himself back. When he opened his eyes the demon was still there, smiling at him.

"I see the way you struggle with that beast inside you." The demon said simply. "How you struggle for control."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as he listened to the demon whisper to him.

The demon put the saddest excuse for an empathetic expression across its' face, and then continued with very noticeable glee in his tone. "I shudder to think what would happen if you didn't have that kind of control."

Sam looked the demon in his horrible yellow eyes, and shivered involuntarily. "W-What are you talking about?" Sam whispered.

"I guess you could at least have some control, I mean what fun would it be if you couldn't remember the last kill? Or if you had to wait for the week before the full moon? I don't have that kind of time."

"W-What?" Sam asked shakily.

The demon laughed aloud, and then placed his right hand on Sam's forehead. Sam suddenly was overtaken with dizziness and then fell in a heap on the hardwood floor. His last thoughts before he lost consciousness were of Azezel. What was he talking about? What did this mean for him? What did this mean for Dean?

Haha, dont kill me! There's more to come very very soon! Come on you know me! =D