Sam made himself small, flattening his length along the wall behind the office door. The knife in his hand felt good, and he smiled. It had been so long since he'd picked up a weapon that he wasn't sure he still had what it took to save the world one monster at a time.

But this … this felt right.

Sam barely breathed as he made himself as small as possible and inched forward - quite an effort for someone of his height. The only light in the room came in through the windows, reflected back from the lights of the cavernous parking lot outside. No one had used this building in years, and neglect was beginning to retake the interior. In every room and hallway, Sam was met with the unsettling ping of dripping water and the overpowering smell of mold – like once-living things had been left too long to stew in their own soup. It was the perfect horror story setting for the creature Sam hunted.

This djinn was the worst of its kind – the one Dean called a "bastard off-shoot." It fed on fear and left its victims helpless and trapped inside the terror of their own minds until they eventually died of fright.

Until recently, Sam had never really dwelled much on his own mortality, but he was sure actually dying of fright was a pretty shitty way to go. However this night turned out, though, Sam would take the djinn down, or he would die trying. It had already wreaked havoc on the tiny, neighboring town that butted up against Benton, claiming people that Danny and his dad knew – had grown up with – and resigning them to horrible, drawn-out deaths. And once Sam had heard the details, he knew instantly what needed to be done. He planned to end the thing's reign of terror tonight, even if it was the last wrong he ever righted.

Ever since that disastrous visit to Bixby's Bar, Sam had felt … raw ... like there was little left of himself that was worth sharing with anyone. And he cursed daily the sudden impulse that had moved him to reveal far too much of himself to his friends. Danny and Ron had yet to look at him the same as before, and deep down, Sam was terrified that they likely never would. There was a chasm now that yawned before him – forcing people he was only just beginning to trust to sidestep to avoid falling in. It wasn't that they thought less of him. Sam knew they were good people. It was just that they couldn't look at him or think of him now without picturing the portrait he'd unwittingly painted of himself as helpless victim.

Sam could live with a lot of crap, but helpless and victim weren't two of them. Picking up his knife again gave him back the power he craved – that he yearned for. And if tonight was his night to die, well, at least he'd go out with purpose.

Since Bixby, Dean was the only reason Sam still even attempted to pull himself out of bed each morning to try and face the day. He felt bad for worrying Danny and Ron, because he could tell that his three-day-old stubble and bloodshot eyes were a problem that grew larger for them every hour, but it was really only the thought of Dean that actually got him on his feet each morning as the sun came up. He couldn't just lay down and die – his brother had given too much – had sacrificed himself over and over again – and Sam just couldn't toss all that away without a fight. So Sam would still put one foot in front of the other, would still smile in all the right places, and might even make an effort to reciprocate once in a while if those things meant he was still among the living.

On the other hand, if he went out battling a djinn … well. No one could call him weak for trying to save the world, right?

After all the years of training and practice and deprivation, it was Sam's willingness to die that had turned him – finally – into the fearless hunter that his dad and Dean had tried so hard to cultivate.

But it made him reckless too. And when he rounded the last corner of the last dingy conference room on the ground floor, it was his recklessness that alerted the djinn to his presence. He charged in, knife drawn to strike, when he saw the creature hovered over the man who cowered, injured and momentarily helpless, in the corner - outlined starkly by a single beam of light that fell through the slat of one broken blind. Sam couldn't really see. He couldn't smell anything but the pervasive mold that creeped into every one of his senses. He had only the blue glow of the djinn's eyes and the guttural sounds of terror coming from its victim to guide him forward. But he made the charge anyway, desperate to save the other man, who could only be a hunter, before the djinn could subject him to his own private hell.

But djinns moved notoriously fast, and with lightning-quick reflexes, the creature was behind Sam, reaching for him. From the corner, the man Sam had wanted so badly to save saw neon blue eyes materialize right behind the slim figure that had just burst through the door, and he yelled, but not in time.

The djinn's hand closed on Sam's shoulder, jerking his body tense and sending forth tendrils of blue energy that slowly crawled along the boy's neck and upward to his temples. And Sam could feel the terror creeping in, could suddenly visualize his brother's face, colder and more distant than Sam had ever seen it. He wanted to reach out to Dean, to touch him on the shoulder and tell him that it was okay, that he understood now, but the icy fear of rejection stayed his hand. A moment longer, and Sam would be forever locked in that world with nothing but a brother who hated him, endlessly trying in vain to elicit a spark of warmth or recognition from a man who felt nothing but resentment.

But in one swift move, the second hunter hurled himself forward in an effort to save the kid in front of him, using the monster's glowing eyes to estimate his target. He attempted to sink his blood-tipped knife into the creature's skull, but managed only a graze.

But a graze was all Sam needed.

As the djinn flailed, it released its hold on the boy who spun instantly in place and sank a second knife into the beast's heart. The hunters worked together to push the foul thing back and away, and it fell with a crash that was deafening in the echoing room.

The exhilaration was short-lived, however, as the other hunter pulled out a jar of lamb's blood and shakily re-dipped his knife. He turned on Sam, "My partner!" He blurted out, pushing past the boy at a run.

Sam retrieved his own blade, re-dipped it, and followed after the older man. In the back of his mind, he reran the lore: Djinns like these were familial creatures – find one, and you'd likely find more, generations even. They lived in nests not unlike vampires, and they would fight viciously to defend their offspring. Suddenly Sam was happy in the knowledge that the odds had become slightly more even by the unexpected presence of at least two other hunters. Though he'd never before worked a case with anyone but his father and brother, Sam knew three were better together in a fight than one.

Blindly following the pounding footsteps in front of him led Sam to a set of double doors, and as the two hunters moved silently through them, they found themselves in a cafeteria filled with windows. The light was slightly better here – good enough to make out the small crowd of tattooed creatures that gathered together in one corner of the room.

Sam counted six – all in various stages of development – and they were all distracted enough not to hear the arrival of Sam and his ally, focused instead on the writhing man on the floor in front of them as one held him captive, wrapping him in glowing tendrils of blue.

The older hunter skidded to a silent stop and turned to Sam, "Go around …" He began his directions, but Sam barely heard him. With a roar, he charged onward instead, right into the middle of the fray, knife slashing.

In an instant, Sam put down two djinn and plunged his knife through the chest of the third – the one who tortured the remaining hunter. As he pulled it free, he heard the man's partner behind him, slashing away, and saw two more djinn fall like dominoes all around him.

That left one.

The one remaining djinn looked old. Everything on him was faded, from his tattoos to his hair to the eerie blue glow in his eyes. But he was built. He was tall and strong – formidable under any light.

And he sported a gentle smile.

"Alpha." The older hunter warned behind Sam. And the boy felt his blood run cold.

The two advanced on the djinn who was no doubt centuries old – the founding father of djinns everywhere - with the knowledge and wisdom of ages at his disposal.

Still, Sam wasn't afraid. He could hear the ragged breaths of the man behind him as he fought back panic, but Sam's own thoughts and hands were steady, his focus clear. He was intent on only one purpose. And the genie sensed his lethality. It turned its attention to the young boy with the fearless advance who wielded nothing but a small, blood-soaked knife and a determination that the creature hadn't encountered for longer than it could remember.

And it nodded approvingly.

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to review and to everyone who's reading or following. Your kind words and support are greatly appreciated. I hope I responded personally to everyone who commented, but if not, it's only because I'm still figuring out the whole process.

Someone who left a nice comment mentioned that it would be good to witness Sam on a hunt, and that's what inspired this chapter :)