Demon Blood
Chapter Eight: When Dreaming Ends
The brass pipe in John's hands shuddered as it hit home, driving right into the guts of the invisible rakshasa. He grimaced as the thing shrieked and collapsed and then went to turn off the steam vent Dean had opened while his son removed the throwing knives that pinned him to the wall of the funhouse they were currently standing in.
John turned to see a pile of clothes in the shape of the man on the ground, the brass pipe lying on top, its tip covered in blood. "I hate funhouses," Dean muttered, coming to stand beside him.
"I hear ya," John replied, shaking his head. "Let's get this cleaned up and get outta here."
Dean nodded as they quickly gathered up the rakshasa's clothes and pipe and left, making sure they were a fair distance away from prying eyes before burning the bundle and retrieving the Impala.
The hunt hadn't been particularly hard, the easy rapport John had with his son making the research and planning relatively easy. But unlike the years when Sam had been at Stanford, the underlying worry about the youngest Winchester was far more rampant in both John and Dean, causing them to each lose focus at pivotal points in the job that could have easily cost them their lives. John hoped that Ash had some good news for them when they reached Ellen's place.
"Okay, here's what I put together," Ash said, setting a laptop that looked as though it had been scavenged together using cannibalized bits of machinery on the bar counter. "I got it set up to track all those demonic omens before anything else, and you're right, that nasty sonovabitch ain't nowhere to be found right now."
John nodded, trying to stay patient. "Go on."
"As for this pattern that you were told about…" Ash trailed off before shaking his head. "Couldn't find anything at first."
"At first?" Dean questioned.
Ash nodded. "I had the narrow the search parameters pretty drastically to find it, and it was hidden beneath a bunch of other mumbo jumbo," he answered. "What's interesting is that it had nothing to do with a lot of the places he's been. As a matter of fact, only the first two years' of his travels made any kind of pattern. The rest is a bunch of busywork to hide what we need."
John frowned and leaned in to stare at the laptop's screen as Ash brought up a window showing the "pattern" he'd found. Azazel's first appearance had been at the St. Mary's convent in Ilchester, Maryland, 1972. From there, he had made a steady trek across the country, straight through Lawrence, Kansas, and ended in —
"California?" Dean asked over John's shoulder.
"Look at the shape," Ash said, gesturing to the locations marked on a map in the next window. John stared at the shape; its ends were clearly marked in Ilchester, Maryland and Los Angeles, California. Everything in between filled in what looked to be the shape of a jagged line, almost like a broken arrow.
"L.A.?" John looked up at Ash, who nodded his head.
"Narrowing down the exact location's gonna be the hard part," he said. "I'm still trying to work on that one, but I'm guessing we can assume your boy's in some kind of warehouse, and L.A.'s full of 'em dockside. Tons are abandoned or waitin' to be rented out, and he could be in any one of 'em."
John nodded. "Any idea how long that'll take?"
Ash shrugged. "It really depends on the other demons that are with your son. See," and he scooted his chair closer to the laptop, "Azazel's hiding out, but not all the other demons can possibly do the same. They're not as active right now for whatever reason, but L.A.'s already got elevated activity compared to any other place in the entire country. The moment they really start acting up again, I'll know and I'll be able to use that to pinpoint the exact location."
"Good," John said. He gave Ash his number with the instructions to call him the moment he got the information they needed and turned to Dean. "We need to head back to Bobby's, put together a plan to get Sam out."
Dean nodded, but John could see he was itching to just jump in the Impala and drive straight to California without any backup or any idea of what they could come across. "It's hard, son, I get it," he said softly, and Dean swallowed hard before nodding.
They left the Roadhouse shortly after that, clambered back into the Impala and started the journey back to South Dakota.
Sam learned pretty quickly that while he could continue to put up a fight over drinking more demon blood, he could not avoid using the various powers at his disposal if he wanted to stay alive.
Today was a fine example of this principle.
Vashta was a pretty powerful demon compared to the ones that had possessed Marian and Thomas. And Vashta, well, she wasn't going back to Hell without a fight. In fact, she seemed pretty determined to have Sam's guts on a stick before the day was out, and even made a startling revelation.
"I hate Azazel," she snarled in Sam's face as she mentally held him against the wall. "I fucking hate his plans, how no one but him knows the end game. All I really know is we don't need you humans to lead us. Fuck, I'd live a long and happy life if I could see every last human on this planet down in Hell."
"Good for you," Sam choked out.
Vashta stared at him for a moment before she grinned. "Would you like to experience a level of Hell, Sammy?"
"It's Sam, bitch," Sam snarled, and Vashta started laughing.
"Well, there's the Sam Winchester I've heard so much about," she chuckled. "You'd still rather not fight me, though, right?"
Sam didn't answer her. He knew Dean would want him to focus on staying alive until he could find and save him, but maybe it'd be better this way if she killed him here and now.
Vashta leaned in even closer. "You ready for this, Sammy? It's gonna hurt worse than anything you've ever experienced." And she reached out to place her fingers on Sam's temples.
Everything exploded. For a moment that seemed to take an eternity, Sam felt nothing but pain radiating throughout every inch of his being. It was like every injury he had ever suffered was hitting every part simultaneously, but ten times worse than anything he had ever felt before. He thought he might be screaming, and then —
He shot up in bed, breathing harshly, tears running down his cheeks.
"Sam? What's wrong, are you okay?"
No. It was impossible. She was dead. But the bedside lamp clicked on and Jess was sitting before him, running her hand through his hair with a concerned look on her face, same as every other time he was woken up from yet another nightmare. Sam couldn't slow his breathing down, staring into Jess's warm eyes, seeing her curly blonde hair cascade down her shoulders, feeling her hands as they gently touched him.
Sam had been plagued by incomprehensible nightmares for as long as he could remember. When he had still been with his family, Dean had always comforted him when he woke up, gasping for breath. When he had come to Stanford, he had scared off a few roommates that first year before his friend Brady introduced him to Jessica Moore. The first night they spent together, Sam had woken from yet another nightmare he could barely make sense of, and when it had woken Jess, Sam had felt beyond embarrassed and expected things to be over.
Jess had been a real turning point for him. She had instantly come to his side and comforted him. Sam had been surprised by this, even went so far to admit that this happened almost every night, but it hadn't mattered to Jess. "You never remember what you dream about, right?" she had asked. When Sam shook his head, she had given a shrug, said, "Well, then, it doesn't matter so long as you're all right" and pulled him into her arms. After that, Sam had slept pretty peacefully for months after, until the visions of her death suddenly started.
"This is impossible," Sam gasped out, pulling away and shaking his head. "You died, Jess. I'm just dreaming."
Jess frowned, one hand still suspended in the air. "I never died, Sam," she said slowly, a horribly confused look on her face. "Did you have another nightmare?"
Sam's chest was still heaving. "No, it's been eight months since the fire," he said before allowing his eyes to dart around the room. He almost stopped breathing.
It was their apartment. Nothing looked different or out of place at all. "What?" he gasped out, struggling with the sheets so he could stand. "No, this isn't real, it all burned, and you died!"
"Sam!" Jess cried, moving closer and stopping him before he could make it to his feet. "Sam, calm down, you just had a really bad dream, I'm fine! Look at me."
God, how he wanted to. She was beautiful, everything Sam had ever wanted for himself, but he had lost her almost a year ago now, right? Azazel had killed her, he remembered it…
Jess was staring at him, still looking worried and confused, but he could still see the love in her eyes, and it broke his heart all over again. This couldn't be real, it just couldn't, but he could feel her hands on his skin, smell the faint traces of the perfume she wore…
"What day is it?" he asked softly. Jess smiled, even though the worry was still evident in her features.
"Monday," she said. "The interview? It's in like, ten hours."
And now Sam was even more confused. "Interview… Oh, right," he said lamely. Jess had died in the early hours of the morning he was set to have his interview for that law school full ride scholarship. So much had happened… Except none of it had. He should have still been with Dean on his way back to Jess, but it suddenly seemed none of that had taken place. I don't understand, he thought, rubbing at his eyes before focusing on Jess again.
"You think you can sleep now?" she asked. Sam nodded silently, relishing when Jess leaned forward and pressed her lips to his before curling under the covers again.
Maybe it had been nothing but a long-lasting nightmare. Sam took a calming breath and went to turn off the bedside light.
The moment it flicked off, the bedroom door burst open and a dark figure strode in. Sam tried to sit up, but a wave of the figure's hand pinned him to the bed. And then Jess shrieked as she suddenly flew up to the ceiling, staring down at Sam with genuine horror in her expression.
"NO!" Sam screamed. "NO, JESS!"
He couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't access those damn powers he was supposed to have. Jess gasped, screamed as her stomach was slashed, and the figure started laughing, and Sam knew that laugh from somewhere, some part of him knew who the figure was, because there were no yellow eyes glinting in the darkness, and that meant Azazel hadn't been the one who killed Jess that night —
And then the Jess above him burst into flames.
Sam screamed, bellowed his despair, unable to tear his eyes away from Jess as the flames ate her alive once again, and there was no hope, no salvation from any of this…
He never quite figured out how he did it, but suddenly he was standing again and Vashta was flying across the room, a look of genuine surprise on her stolen face. She hit the ground hard, skidding a few extra feet before finally stopping. She groaned as she slowly sat up.
"How did you get out?" she gasped out. "The dream-memory merge I did isn't supposed to end until I say it does."
"Fuck. You," Sam bit out. "I lost everything that night, you bitch. You had no right, showing me that." He stuck out one hand and Vashta screamed as her insides were twisted unnaturally. A small part of Sam's mind couldn't believe he was actually torturing someone like that; there was still a human girl inside the body before him, but Sam's rage at watching Jess die all over again overrode his normal instincts.
"There was only one good thing to come out of what you just made me see," Sam told Vashta as he dropped his hand and watched her gasp for breath. "Now I know Azazel only put out the order to have Jess killed. Someone else did it, and when I find him, he'll suffer just as much as I'm gonna make you suffer."
Vashta's hand shot out suddenly, and Sam was propelled back against the wall, cracking his head and making his vision black out for a moment. He dropped to his knees, but forced himself to focus, meeting Vashta's gleaming eyes with his own.
"Bring it on, Sammy," Vashta whispered, and Sam's face contorted in rage. Only Dean got to call him that, and no one else.
He was dimly aware of Azazel and Tara watching from the second floor of the abandoned warehouse they were in, his focus on the female before him. Vashta rose to her feet and they started stalking each other in a wide circle.
Sam had realized early on that while he could go after any demon shoved into the same room as him, Azazel and Tara were off-limits. He desperately wanted to take the both of them down, but the fact of the matter was that without those two, the other demons wouldn't hesitate to swarm him and kill him where he stood. If he wanted to see Dean or his dad again, then he had to stay under Azazel's thumb. That was the only way the other demons would stay away unless ordered to fight.
Vashta struck first, knocking Sam off his feet with a twitch of her hand. Sam quickly recovered, using his power to fling Vashta across the room once again, but she managed to roll to her feet and then she was running at him, hatred burning in her black eyes. Sam thrust out a hand and she skidded to a halt on her knees, gasping as Sam ruthlessly set about crushing her lungs.
"She's possessed. That's a human possessed by a demon, can't you tell?"
Bobby's voice suddenly broke through the anger, and the rage melted away. Sam jolted backwards, eyes wide and chest heaving as he realized he was killing the girl before him, and his hand dropped slightly.
That was all Vashta needed.
Sam gasped as the demon slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and forcing the air from his lungs. "You're gonna pay for damaging this body, Sammy," Vashta said breathlessly, gripping his throat with both hands and squeezing for all she was worth.
Which was a lot.
Sam could feel his windpipe being crushed beneath Vashta's hands as he gasped desperately for air. He scrabbled at her hands, trying to make them release their grasp, but he knew it was useless, there was no way she was gonna stop until he was dead.
NO!
It was like something under constant pressure finally snapped. It snapped, and Sam knew deep down that there was no going back. It took a little effort, but he broke Vashta's hold on his neck with his bare hands and head-butted her, sending her flat on her ass as he gasped for air and clutched at his now-throbbing head. He'd had enough of all of this.
Lurching forward, Sam shoved Vashta flat on her back, bodily holding her down as he exorcized the demon from within the human body before him. It took so much more effort to do so, given how powerful Vashta was compared to the demons that had been in Marian and Thomas, and he saw blood from his nose drip onto her shirt as the black smoke was choked out from the human girl's lips. Then he banished it back to Hell before slumping off the girl and nearly face-planting into the hard concrete floor.
Weak, wet-sounding coughing reached his ears, and he finally raised his pounding head to stare the girl. She was coughing up blood, looking far more battered and broken than she had before. Sam closed his eyes tightly, knowing already that the girl was dying, that it was too late for her. And it was all his fault.
He started when two demons seized him under his arms and pulled him to his feet. Azazel was standing on the other side of the girl. "Inhuman strength," he said as though he were merely commenting on the weather and not another freakish skill that Sam now had. "Still getting headaches with that nosebleed there?"
Sam nodded dully.
"Well, by now I think that'll go away the more you practice," Azazel said with a shrug. Then he turned and faced Tara, who was still on the second landing of the warehouse. "Did you catch all that?" he asked.
Sam looked up and was shocked to realize that Tara had been holding a camcorder in her hands the entire time. "I did," Tara answered with a wicked grin. "Think they'll get a kick outta this?"
"Of course," Azazel replied. "Send the girl with it as soon as she's dead." Which the girl didn't look to be too far from, Sam thought bleakly.
You can't save everyone, he told himself as the demons guided him back to his room where Derrick was waiting with food. Sam wasn't hungry, but he knew Derrick wouldn't leave him alone until he ate at least half of what was there. And he knew the guilt that assuaged him for the way he had hurt that girl wouldn't leave him alone. Ever.
The fact of the matter was that Sam had to survive this, and that meant using these damn powers the demon blood gave him until his family found him. He had to hold onto the hope that John and Dean were still searching, that they would find him and help him get over all of this. And then he remembered what Azazel had said to him nearly two weeks previously and wondered if he was really worth the price Azazel had set. And he had to admit to himself that as much as he wanted to be rescued, he couldn't imagine he was worth it. Not like that.
"It's getting harder to pretend, isn't it?" Derrick suddenly said. Sam looked up from his meatloaf.
"Pretend?" he echoed and Derrick smiled in a way that was almost sad. Sam made himself look away.
"To pretend that life goes on without you in the wake," he answered, resettling himself next to Sam without looking at him. "We know that's exactly what you tried to do when you went to Stanford. Hell, you kept trying to hold onto that illusion for the last year, didn't you?"
Sam looked away, unable to answer. But Derrick was right. It was getting harder to pretend. In fact, he knew he couldn't pretend anymore. There may be others out there with psychic abilities, but in the end, Sam knew that somehow, this was all about him.
"It had to be you, Sammy. It always had to be you."
The unknown, female voice suddenly penetrated his skull, spiking his headache once more. Where the hell had that come from? He rubbed his forehead with a wince, ignoring the inquisitive look Derrick shot him before making himself focus on his food once more.
Where is this all going? he wondered for what felt like the millionth time since Azazel that taken him from his family. He knew this was bigger than anything he had ever come across, and he prayed that he'd be able to figure it out and somehow put a stop to it before he lost everyone he cared about.
Yeah, right. Like I'll ever manage that.
TBC...