Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos. Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos.
They drive into the night, and it's only because Bobby didn't bring the Colt to Lawrence that they make the stop at the bunker at all; just long enough for Dean to run in and grab the gun that will supposedly end this whole thing. Dean keeps an eye on the atlas the entire way, tracking their progress in centimeters.
"We just crossed the devil's circle," Dean says from the back seat.
John looks out the window and expects to see a change, some sign that they were in new territory now. There should be some physical sign of what they were going through. The Impala's tires give a thump as they cross an old railroad bed, covered in hard-packed dirt from the gravel road, and that's it. John keeps his compass out, because there are no landmarks anymore. The area's deserted, even in the high beams of the Impala, so John has to measure longitudes before he determines they should be seeing something.
"There." John points, nearly dropping his compass.
It's the only rise in the horizon for miles in front of the mountains, which makes it the perfect place for a cemetery. John can see the twisted iron fence surrounding it as Bobby creeps the Impala towards it and finally through the two pillars that hold up a sign that's beyond faded. Bobby parks just inside the gate on what's left of the drive and leaves the car running. Dean slides across the seat and launches himself out of the car while John shuffles the Colt over to his left hand so that his right can support his weight as he pulls himself up to stand, using the passenger door as a crutch.
The cemetery looks old, like the kind seen on history and ghost town tours. John can't even read the tombstones in the light of the Impala's headlights. All the stones are yellow and broken with age, and the place is quiet. It's nearly three in the morning, and something in the back of John's head whispers, Witching hour.
"Sammy!"
John's head snaps to one side, but Dean's already running to one end of the cemetery, past the largest-by-far tombstone that looks more like a mausoleum. John stumbles away from the car because that's Sammy, that's Sammy propped on the ground, his back against the cold iron, and blood streaming down his nose and chin.
Bobby gets his shoulder under John's arm, and John wants to snap at him, but he can't walk on his own, and he has to get to Sammy. Together, they manage a weird three-legged run to the edge of the cemetery.
"Sammy." Dean pats at Sammy's cheeks while the kid's head rolls limply on his shoulders. "Sammy, c'mon, man."
It's worse than John first thought. Sammy's left arm has a large bruise already turning brown and black. The cut on his throat is bleeding sluggishly — John is going to kill Megaera — and there's a pretty big knot on the side of his head where the skin is scraped open. John can't get down to Sammy's level without letting go of Bobby's shoulders, and then he won't be able to get back up on his own if the demon comes. He has to let Dean be the one to crouch down in front of Sammy.
"Sammy, don't you do this to me," Dean mutters so quietly John thinks he might be praying.
Sammy moans, and John suddenly loves that sound more than the Impala's engine.
With his face still cradled between Dean's palms, Sammy blinks his eyes open and stares up blearily.
"De'?"
John is going to have flashbacks of Sammy learning how to talk if this keeps up. But then Sammy flails in his place, and John sees the manacle on Sammy's wrist and the long chain threaded in between the rods of the fence around the cemetery. The chain keeps Sammy's hand pinned down, but his free hand flops around until he clutches at Dean's braced wrist.
"Sammy?" Dean presses forward and puts himself right in Sammy's face so the kid doesn't have to look so far. "That's it, kiddo. C'mon."
"Dean, 's'not him," Sammy breathes.
"Who's not what?"
Dean needs to stop talking. John thinks Sammy must have a concussion or something, and Dean needs to get to checking over his brother, since John can't.
"Seth," says Sammy. "It's not Seth."
John blinks, one hand tightening around the handful of Bobby's jacket.
John doesn't know what to call the thump of his heart as it pounds against the back of his ribs. He can't feel his hands for some reason.
"He's here?"
Sammy tries to shake his head, but his chin just ends up falling to one side. He manages to lift his eyes to John, half-lidded and half-drugged.
"No. It's me," he says. "Dad, it's me."
What the hell does that mean? John has sudden, horrifying visions of shapeshifters and demons changing their faces and not being able to tell which Sammy is really Sammy.
"It's not often I can facilitate a family reunion."
John turns his head at the familiar voice, but Bobby is already spinning around and half-dragging John's arm with him. He lets go of John's shoulders to raise the shotgun, but then Bobby freezes with the weapon only half up. Seth stands in the middle of the cemetery in his army jacket, blood decorating the left sleeve in red streaks.
"Seth!" Dean screams from the ground.
Seth smiles with too many teeth, and his eyes turn yellow.
"Azazel." John cocks the Colt as he raises it, focusing only the Yellow Eyes. "What did you do to my son?"
Azazel-Seth rolls his head back on his shoulders and chuckles, relishing in the deep amusement that comes from Seth's throat.
"Oh, you have no idea, do you?" He grins at John. "I was surprised myself to realize whose meat suit I was wearing." He rubs his fingers together as if to test the give of the skin.
"Get out of him, bastard," yells Dean. "He has a tat."
Dean has a point, and John wonders if Knights of Hell are immune to the anti-possession tattoo that John spent so much time learning from Seth.
Azazel pulls the collar of Seth's T-shirt down to reveal a perfect circle of skin missing right over Seth's heart. Where his tattoo once was, John sees gooey, pink viscera that still bleeds in trickles of red down his chest.
"Easily taken care of," says Azazel. He releases his grip and lets the shirt fall back into place. "You know, I should have guessed it right away. Seth, third son of Adam and Eve. The only son that lived. I guess he had enough of Cain and Abel."
John has no idea what Azazel is talking about. Doesn't want to, really. But he knows how to kill the Demon, now.
"Get out of him, or I'll shoot you straight back to Hell." John lines the sight of the old revolver up with the center of Azazel-Seth's forehead.
"No!" Sammy cries, his voice high and desperate. "Dad, don't!"
Goddammit, he doesn't want to. How can Sammy think John wants to shoot Seth? He still has to ask the man why he has a baseball glove with John's name on it.
But then Seth convulses. Literally, his arms jerk inward as his back snaps forward so hard, John thinks Azazel is trying to snap Seth's spine from inside his body. Seth flails forward and lands heavily on his knees as his arm comes forward, but not in time for his hands to catch him. Seth stays on his elbows and knees and cries out painfully. John has no idea what to do.
Then, Seth looks up, and his eyes are their regular brown again.
"Shoot me," he says, looking right at John.
Inversely, John lowers his gun. Seth is bleeding from a new crack in his lip. John thinks he's bitten through the skin with whatever trick he just pulled.
"Please, shoot me," Seth says. "You can kill it. Please."
He sounds like a POW begging for a clean death. The hairs on John's arms stand up, and he nearly shivers in the summer night.
"Dad," Dean whispers behind him.
Seth is begging for death, and his sons are begging for life, and John doesn't know who to listen to. Nothing should be above his sons, he knows that. But—
Suddenly, Seth's body jerks again, his spine bends backwards like something out of a horror flick. Seth screams, and Bobby flinches behind his shotgun. John can't move. Seth straightens so that he's on his knees in the cemetery. Azazel's yellow eyes look out from Seth's face again.
"Stubborn little soul," Azazel scoffs then picks himself up from the ground.
"He's stronger than you," Dean spits.
Azazel glares at a point just to John's right, and it gives John the strength he needs to raise the Colt again.
"He's practiced, that's all." Azazel frowns at Dean then waves his fingers up near Seth's temple. "It's a mess in this kid's head. I think Lucifer broke him too often."
John's hands shakes; he can't stop himself. Lucifer is supposed to be a fairy tale. The Devil doesn't exist like the church says he does. But Seth has mentioned Lucifer before, in a small kitchen with a shudder like he knows something John doesn't.
"I mean, I knew Winchester blood was strong, but the things he went through in Hell." Azazel shakes his head slowly, disapprovingly, while he stroked his fingers across Seth's chest. "You would be so proud of him, Johnny."
John ducks behind the gun again, but his finger doesn't pull the trigger. It would probably be a kindness to Seth; he's possessed by a Knight of Hell, and John has the means to end this. End it all.
"Dad," Sammy whispers.
John can't look at him, but then Dean lets out a weird, strangled groan. While John stays frozen, Bobby suddenly spins around and raises the shotgun to his shoulder. John tries to look behind him without taking his eyes away from Azazel. The sight of a knife against Dean's throat is what makes him take a staggered step back and turn so that he can see both Seth and his boys.
Megaera, still in Arendt's bleeding body, holds the scythe that's supposed to be in Seth's hand up beneath Dean's chin. Dean's teeth are bared like a wild animal caught in a trap, but he doesn't move. John holds the Colt up to Meg's face. She's not a larger target than Azazel, but John at least doesn't care if Arendt dies with Meg inside him.
"Ah ah ah," Meg taunts, eyes staring straight at John as the demon presses the curved blade further into Dean's throat.
Sammy whimpers, and John deliberately points the Colt to the ground again. His finger stays on the trigger, little good it'll do.
"Drop it." Meg-Arendt glares at him.
John's fingers stick to the grip of the Colt, damp. Meg drags the scythe up across Dean's throat, scraping the top layer of skin so that drops of blood swell and press out from Dean's skin.
John's fingers flex abruptly. The Colt drops.
"You, too, old man." Meg's eyes flick over to Bobby. "I don't fancy walking around with buckshot under my skin. That shit itches."
John hears the shotgun hit the ground softly. His boys are in the hands of demon, and his— Seth is still possessed.
"Are you finished playing?" Azazel hisses.
John glances at Azazel and sees Seth's face scowl back at his supposed daughter. Arendt's lips purse together, but Meg doesn't answer.
Azazel steps forward, and John thinks that he's about to smite his own daughter — if Megaera can be called a daughter, really — but then Azazel stops in front of John. For a moment, John stares at Seth's face, looking at the dark hair and the eyes. Something in the shape of the eyes and the nose is familiar like looking in a mirror is, if John ignores the ugly sulfur-colored eyes. Then, Azazel pivots in Seth's body, and kicks John straight in his stitched leg.
Pain rips through John's thigh, and he cries out before he manages to clench his teeth on his way to the ground. Sam screams for his dad while Meg shushes him like it's all just a nightmare.
Azazel bends low in front of John's vision, smiling wide. He gingerly picks up the Colt from the ground.
"You don't even know what this is, do you, John?" Azazel grins in John's face.
"I'd love to see you eat it and find out," John spits.
"Blow Seth's brains out the back of his head?" Azazel smiles wider. "Seen it already."
John swallows down his nausea quickly. He claps a hand on his thigh, feeling the blood soak through his pants as he digs his fingers into his leg.
"As pretty as that would be, I like him," Azazel says.
Azazel straightens, then, and walks toward the center of the cemetery, to the tall, standing stone. The cenotaph is the only thing in the graveyard taller than a regular gravestone, but it looks just as old as most of the others, chipped and cracked with pieces missing.
"What are you doing?" John says. He doesn't think Azazel's actually going to tell him; villain monologues don't happen like in Bond movies. But something bad is going to happen if the demon reaches that monument.
Azazel holds the Colt out in front of him like a strange gunslinger, the barrel pointed at a wide crack in the center of the cenotaph. Then, he thrusts the gun into the opening, and it gives, cracking the stone straight down the middle as if an invisible saw had split it cleanly. The crack grows wider, like a door opening, as white light streams out from the widening gap between the two halves of the stone.
A force like a strong wind blows through the cemetery, and John raises a hand to shield his eyes. The white light flickers and fades as the doorway opens further to reveal darkness, but moving darkness. John can just barely see shapes within it.
"What is that?" John says.
The wind snatches the words out of his mouth. There's no way anyone hears him.
"Hell," says Sammy. "He's opening Hell."
John inhales, smells sulfur, and holds his breath.