Chapter 14
Azazel had appeared almost the instant after TJ walked out of Sam's room.
Sam had just put his shirt back on, thinking about everything that had happened with her, thinking about how incredible and special she was and how he had just let her walk away.
Then, Azazel had materialized out of thin air, as was his usual mode of entry, and stood by Sam's bed. "Hello, Sammy," he'd said in that pleasantly evil way of his, and Sam knew that he had done the right thing by letting TJ go.
He stared at the demon and felt a certain detachment. He had been anticipating and dreading Azazel's visit for so long that, now that the demon was standing in front of him, it was sort of a letdown. Yellow Eyes didn't seem so intimidating in his used-car salesman meat suit now that Sam had a plan. It was an unbelievably simple plan, but sometimes the simplest solution was the best way to solve a big problem. Sam felt a confidence that he hadn't felt in the demon's presence before.
Azazel sniffed the air and gave Sam a calculating look. "Whatcha been up to, Sam?"
Sam just looked at him.
"Got something going on with that girl that just left?"
Sam's stomach knotted with cold fear, the calm he'd felt just moments ago disappearing in a flash. "She's just a friend."
Azazel smirked. "Of course. Couldn't be anything more, could it, at least, not as you are now?"
Sam clenched his jaw. In the living room, he could hear TJ saying goodbye to Bobby, heard the front door shut, and prayed that Bobby wouldn't come to his room while the demon was there.
Azazel was thoughtful, seemed distracted for a moment, and then he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "So, you ready, tiger? Had enough of this?" he said, indicating the wheelchair sitting by Sam's bed.
"No," said Sam, his heart pounding, lying his ass off. "It's not worth it. I won't help you free Lucifer. It would hurt too many people."
Azazel raised his brows. "Such a sacrifice, Sam. Have you really thought about what you're giving up?"
"Every minute of every day. But you want me to leave everyone behind, everyone I love, not to mention put them in danger, since who knows what will happen to them once the devil is topside. The answer is no. I won't do that."
Azazel narrowed his eyes. "Ah. So noble and strong of you, willing to remain a cripple for those you love."
Sam was grinding his teeth so hard he thought his jaw might break, and he hoped his heart slamming into his chest wouldn't give him away.
The demon raised his finger, tilting his head a little, his eyes flaring yellow. "I have to say, I'm impressed. I really thought I would have persuaded you by now, Sammy."
"It's Sam."
The demon chuckled and thought for a moment. "You know, maybe you should take that healthy, able body I've promised you out for another test drive."
"What?" Sam felt as if he were at the precipice of a cliff, either about to take a plunge or be pulled from the edge. He was so close to getting what he wanted.
Azazel sounded as if Sam really was buying a used car from him. "Sure. Take it for a spin, say, twelve hours or so. Sorry I can't make it longer, but I'm on a timetable here. Lucifer's ready to get this party started!"
Sam wanted to agree, but he didn't want to seem too eager, didn't want to make Azazel suspicious.
"Twelve hours should be long enough for you to see what you'll be missing if you refuse me, long enough to sate your desires," he winked with innuendo, "but not so long that you can't explain it away somehow to Dean and all the rest of those pathetic humans that you claim to love if you decide to remain a cripple."
God, how Sam hated that word, especially coming from the demon. He wanted to rip Azazel's throat out for saying it, but he had to keep calm. "I said no."
Yellow Eyes smiled at him, but it was the smile of pure evil. "I won't take no for an answer."
In the next instant, Azazel stuck out his hand, palm outward facing Sam, not even touching him this time, and Sam felt his whole body start to tingle, just as it had in the nightmare. Time seemed to stop, and then Azazel put his hand down.
Sam lay there, almost afraid to try to move, afraid it was too good to be true. Finally, he made an attempt to sit up, and it was easy. He then rotated his bad shoulder, and, just like before, it was healed. Everything was in working order, and he could feel everything. He wiggled his bare toes and felt a thrill, kind of like he was on a roller coaster, and it took all his energy not to laugh with the triumph and elation of it.
"Twelve hours, Sammy. Take it around the block, kick the tires."
With effort, Sam maintained control of his feelings and stood, towering over Azazel. "And when the twelve hours are up?"
"If you come with me and agree to lead the army, you get to keep this body, of course. You're cured." His eyes darkened with menace. "You don't come with me? Then it's back to gimpville forever." He paused for effect, and when he spoke again, his voice was falsely carefree. "Of course, if your decision is already made, I can change you back right now, and our little negotiation will be done. I'll leave you alone for good, but you'll never have another chance to change your mind."
Sam exhaled harshly and pretended to agonize over the decision. "Fine. I'll give it twelve hours."
Azazel smiled with demonic delight. "I thought so. Feels too good, doesn't it, to actually be able to feel?"
"I assume you'll find me," said Sam, ignoring Azazel's little dig.
"Don't call me; I'll call you," the demon said with a laugh, and then he was gone.
Sam smiled without humor. So far, things had been easy, almost too easy, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Yellow Eyes had done exactly as Sam had wanted. Now, he had to get the Colt before Bobby figured out something was up.
XXXXXXXX
Sam sat in his wheelchair, waiting, trying to stay calm. Bobby would come soon to ask him if he needed any help with getting ready for bed, and he tried to look like he was still paralyzed and hoped that Bobby didn't notice anything different about the way his legs looked.
He didn't have to wait long when Bobby knocked on his door.
"Come in."
Bobby stuck his head in. "I'm goin' to bed. Need any help?"
"No. I can do it," Sam said, nervously pushing his wheels forward and then back in a move that was a little like pacing.
Bobby nodded. "All right. 'Night, kid."
Sam swallowed, hating to lie to Bobby, knowing this might be the last time he ever saw him. "'Night, Bobby."
Bobby made a move to go.
"Hey, Bobby?"
"Yeah?"
A lump formed in Sam's throat, and he hesitated. "Thanks, you know, for everything."
Bobby stared at him intently for a moment. "You're welcome, kiddo."
Sam gave him a half-smile, trying to look as if everything was normal, and Bobby left, shutting the door behind him.
Sam waited another minute, just to be sure, and then quickly got out of the wheelchair and dug his Pumas out of his closet and put them on. Then he grabbed his cell phone and some money off his nightstand and slipped them in his jeans pocket.
The wheelchair sat there next to his bed, almost as if it were staring at him with accusation, and he pushed it into a corner of the room, hoping that he would never need it again. Then, he cracked open the door to his room, listening.
He could hear silverware rattling and dishes clanking in the kitchen, like Bobby was maybe loading the dishwasher, and he quickly crept his way down the hallway to Dean's room. Dean wasn't home from Shorty's yet, but he would be any minute.
Sam's heart pounded as he entered the room. He remembered the conversation he'd overheard between Dean and Bobby, that it had sounded like Dean had put the Colt somewhere high, and he looked around. Of course, the closet was the most obvious choice, and he walked over to it and carefully opened the door.
His heart soared at the fact that he could see on the top shelf of the closet without having to tiptoe, relishing his height, but the small bit of euphoria was dashed when he saw nothing but an old, empty duffel of Dean's and a pair of old boots. The custom-made box they kept the Colt in was nowhere in sight.
He looked around Dean's room again, chagrined to see that there were really no other high places, and wondered what Dean could have meant when he had said, "up here."
Just for grins, he rummaged around in the large, battered old dresser where Dean kept some of his clothes and underwear, but there wasn't much in the drawers, and it didn't take him long to see that there was no Colt in there, either.
He even looked under the bed, but there was nothing there but dust.
Since Dean's bathroom was across the hall, and Sam knew Dean and Bobby hadn't gone in there that day he'd heard them talking, he decided to try the closet one more time.
He sifted through a few shirts and Firestone uniforms and then even looked down on the floor. There was one pair of running shoes, and Sam couldn't ever remember seeing Dean wear them. He smiled to himself, thinking that the only exercise Dean ever did was training for the hunt, and maybe, if things went the way he wanted, he and Dean could train together like they used to. Maybe he'd even drag Dean's ass out for a jog.
He stood up, at a loss, thinking that Dean had probably taken the Colt with him or maybe Dean and Bobby had rehidden it, but, to be thorough, he felt along the underside of the top shelf of the closet. "Yahtzee," he said to himself, feeling the rectangular shape of a box there, duct-taped to keep it in place. He pulled off the tape and freed the box, his heart starting to race as he set it on Dean's bed and opened the lid. "Yes," he whispered. The Colt was there, perfectly ensconced in the felt of the old box.
He heard the front door open and then Dean's voice murmuring a greeting to Bobby.
"Shit." His heart went into overdrive, about to hammer out of his chest, and he tucked the gun in his waistband in the back of his jeans and hurriedly taped the box back on the underside of the shelf.
He could hear Dean's footsteps coming down the hall and dove under the bed and lay diagonally, barely fitting on his belly and scraping his back on the metal of the bed frame, curling his legs up a little like a frog so his feet wouldn't stick out, which was incredibly uncomfortable.
Dean entered the room.
Sam could see his brother's boots in his line of sight. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears and he was barely breathing, hoping that Dean's big-brother radar and overly-astute hunting senses didn't give him away.
Dean kicked off his boots and rummaged in a dresser drawer, and Sam hoped that his brother was getting clean clothes and was about to take a shower. Sometimes, Dean left it until morning because he was always so exhausted when he came home from work. He started to softly hum a Metallica song and then left the room.
Sam fought off a sneeze from the dust under the bed and could feel his stomach tighten. He had a gut-wrenching feeling that this might be the last time he was near his brother and felt a pang of remorse that he couldn't explain things to Dean, that he couldn't say goodbye. He would just have to make sure that this wasn't the end, that he would survive and that Azazel ate a bullet from the Colt and never fucked with their lives again.
Sam waited, and to his relief, he heard the bathroom door across the hall shut and the sound of the shower being turned on.
He slid out from under the bed, scraping his back again, and sneaked out the window, carefully replacing the screen on the outside so that nothing would look out of place, hoping that no one would discover he was gone until tomorrow morning.
Then, he ran, because he had to—and because he could.
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Sam had been up all night, but he didn't feel tired. He was exhilarated. First, he'd run—for how many miles, he didn't know—until his lungs felt like they were going to explode, just for the hell of it. Then, he'd walked for a while with no particular destination in mind, just around an unfamiliar part of San Diego where he'd ended up, relishing the freedom of movement, the lightness.
At five in the morning, he had boosted a car and driven to the ocean, where he had run barefooted on a deserted stretch of beach in the moonlight like a little kid. He had rolled up his jeans and waded into the water, feeling the wet sand squish between his toes, the brisk cold of the waves lapping over his calves.
He was sitting on the beach, now, watching the sunrise, awed by its spectacular beauty, wondering why he hadn't seen a sunrise since his injury. There was no reason he couldn't have. He could see a sunrise from his wheelchair just as easily as he could without it, and God knew he'd been awake plenty of times to see one.
There were lots of things he still could have done from the chair, but it had all been too new, too raw. He'd been so angry, so resentful, and he'd just wanted to shut himself away.
He realized how much life he had wasted in the last year, mostly because he'd been stubborn, and he thought how ironic it was that, now that he could walk again, he was contemplating how he could have lived his life differently—better—in his chair.
Could he go back to the wheelchair if he had to? He'd thought he could, but Azazel knew what he was doing when he'd let Sam "test drive" a fully-functioning body. Sam had wanted this chance, and if Azazel hadn't offered to make him whole, Sam would have suggested it himself. He'd needed to be able to walk to look for the Colt, but he hadn't thought about how much it would affect him, how even just these few hours on the beach had been sheer bliss.
He thought of TJ and wanted to go to her, wanted so badly to show her what he was like now, wanted to bury himself in her and feel her with every inch of his body, craved to be able to satisfy her and make her feel the pleasure that she'd shown him, that she deserved.
He wondered what their relationship would be like if he didn't succeed but still survived, if he ended up paralyzed forever with no real hope of a cure. Could they still be friends after what had happened last night? They would have to find a way because he still wanted her in his life, although he would never let things get to the point they had last night.
Conversely, he wondered what she would think if he wasn't in the chair, if he was suddenly healed. One thing was for sure, he would let her know how he felt, that he loved her.
Sam had no intention of accepting Azazel's deal, and he hoped Azazel would be dead before he figured out what Sam was up to. Sam didn't think the demon knew he had the Colt, but Sam was no dummy. He knew it was a long shot at best, that Azazel was a formidable, cunning opponent, and he wished he had a better plan. Killing the demon with the Colt was the only option Sam had, though. The demon had no other weaknesses, and it was the only way to kill him.
He stood, put his shoes back on, and walked for a while, turning things over and over in his mind, waiting for Azazel to summon him or come to him. It would be better to have the element of surprise, but Sam had no way of knowing where Azazel was. So, he waited, watching the warm sun get higher and higher in the sky, feeling the chill of the morning ocean breeze, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten as his twelve hours dwindled away.
The beach was peaceful and beautiful, belying the turmoil inside him, and he tried to concentrate on each step he made, relishing the grittiness of the sand as it infiltrated his shoes. He thought that he should go, that he shouldn't waste this time just walking on the beach, but he was mesmerized by this new body, marveling at how his brain would tell his toes, his feet, his legs to move, and they did. It was because of this that he let his guard down and was startled when he suddenly felt a pistol jammed next to his temple and an arm across his windpipe, holding him like a vise.
"Got something you wanna tell me, Sammy?" It was Dean's gruff voice, cold and deadly as steel, right next to his ear.
Sam froze for a second, his heart almost stopping. "Dean," he said carefully, "I can explain."
"He got to you, didn't he, Sammy? Yellow Eyes got to you. Are you even still Sam anymore?"
Sam swallowed, hating the sorrow and bitterness he heard in his brother's voice, and felt almost panicky. The demon would be making a move soon, and Sam didn't want Dean anywhere near him. "Dean, I swear it's still me. Please, just put the gun down and let me explain."
There was a long hesitation from Dean, and then he slowly removed the gun from Sam's temple and backed away.
Sam turned around to see Dean still holding the business end of the handgun aimed at him. Sam held up his hands in supplication. "I have a plan, Dean. Everything will be okay. It's not what you think."
"You took the Colt." The betrayal in Dean's eyes was stark and raw.
"Dean—"
"Was that the deal, Sam? You get to walk again if you give that bastard the Colt?"
"No."
"There's more to it, right? You're one of his bitches, now. He's always had something planned for you, and you agreed to it. That's why you're up walkin' around."
"Dean, please, can we talk about this without you pointing a gun at me?"
Dean shook his head. "How can I trust you, Sammy? You've been lying to me. He's been fucking with you for months, hasn't he?"
Sam held in a sudden surge of anger at his brother's lack of faith, and his voice held a hard edge. "Yes, but it's not what you think. I'm stronger than that, Dean."
"I see you walking around, Sammy. That pretty much says it all."
"Dude, listen. I haven't agreed to do anything yet. This," he indicated his legs, "is a temporary deal, a sort of trial period so I can see what I've been missing," he added sarcastically, "as if I didn't already know."
Dean looked wary. "So, what's the deal on the table, then?"
"The demon has been trying to get me to lead some demon army of his and help him free Lucifer from hell. If I agree, I'm cured."
Dean's eyes widened. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"
It all seemed so farfetched, even for their line of work, that Sam could hardly believe it himself. "I know. It's way bigger than we ever thought. Believe me, no one is more repulsed and horrified about it than I am. That's what he's been doing these last couple of months, trying to persuade me. If I agree, he heals me. Of course, in return, I become his and Lucifer's bitch and help them destroy the world, I guess. He hasn't really given me all the details."
Dean's features were too rigid, like he was using all his strength to control his emotions. "Why you, Sammy?"
As good as it felt to stand, Sam suddenly felt a little weak in the knees. He didn't want to tell Dean about what Azazel had shown him, and he clenched his eyes shut for a second. When he opened them, he forced himself to look Dean in the eye. "I think—I don't really understand it all. There are supposedly others like me, chosen when we were babies to sort of be contenders for this demon army thing, to lead it."
Dean showed no reaction, just stood there, still pointing the gun.
"He showed me..." Sam stopped and closed his eyes, not wanting to picture the night his mom had been killed. He took in a deep breath before going on. "The night I had the nightmare, the night I was...yelling or whatever and woke you and Bobby, Yellow Eyes—his real name is Azazel—"
"Oh, that's fucking great, Sam. Glad you're on a first-name basis with the bastard."
Sam ground his teeth and fought another surge of anger. "Do you want to hear this or not?"
"I don't think so."
Sam exhaled a harsh breath, and he couldn't keep the desperation and self-loathing from his voice. "Good, because God knows I don't want to fucking tell it!"
Dean was quiet, almost staring a hole in Sam, but he finally relented. "Go ahead."
Sam let out another breath and willed his pulse to slow down and his emotions to cool before continuing. "Azazel or Yellow Eyes or Evil Fucking Bastard—whatever you want me to call him—visited me in a dream. He made me like this," Sam made a sweeping motion of his very able body, "and he showed me what happened the night Mom died, all in glorious 3-D." He met Dean's eyes. "He was there in the nursery that night. Just before Mom—"
"What?"
Sam swallowed. "Yellow Eyes was in my nursery just before Mom died." His entire body tensed, and he suddenly felt sick. "He—he slit his own wrist, and he bled into my mouth. He tainted me with demon blood, Dean. It's—oh, God." He shook his head and fisted his hands, feeling the familiar revulsion. "It's been in me since that night, my whole life. I think maybe it's somehow linked to the visions I was having, all the freaky psychic stuff."
Dean was completely silent, just staring at Sam, but after what seemed like an eternity, he did the opposite of what Sam thought he would do. He put the safety on the gun and lowered it, no longer aiming it.
"You sure you wanna do that? At least, now that you know I'm not all human, you can kill me with a clear conscience."
Dean exhaled through his nose, his mouth a grim line. "If I kill you, Sammy, it'll be because you should have told me all this a lot sooner."
Sam should have been relieved, but all he could feel was the horror of that night and he was finding it hard to breathe or speak. "She tried to save me, Dean. Mom tried to save me. He killed her because she tried to stop him. It's my fault Mom is dead."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "It's not your fault, Sammy. You were six months old. What the hell could you have done?"
"Never been born."
"That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"
"No, I don't. Don't you see? I've been cursed from the get-go. Mom, Dad, Jess—they all died because of me, because they interfered with the demon's plan for me. If I'd never been born, all three of them would still be alive. You would have had a normal life, instead of growing up a warrior and then getting stuck taking care of me."
"Yeah. You're right. You've always been a pain in the ass. But you know what? That's your job as the little brother, Sammy, and it's my job to put up with your crap and watch out for you, and it always will be." He waved a hand. "All this fucked-up shit with Yellow Eyes, though? There's no way it's your fault. What I don't get is why he's so dead-set on you. I mean, if there are others that he did the same thing to, why doesn't he just go after one of them? I mean, wouldn't the SCI have taken you out of the running?"
"Apparently not. Obviously, it's an easy fix for him. He said that I'm his favorite—lucky fucking me—because I'm the only one that grew up hunting. He thinks it made me stronger than the others and honed my skills as a soldier."
Dean snorted.
"Dean, I took the Colt because I'm gonna kill him. He doesn't know I have access to it. All I have to do is shoot him before he even knows what's happening, and if I can do it before he has a chance to change me back, maybe I'll stay like this. I'll be healed."
"It seems a little too simple, don't you think?" Dean shook his head. "Nah, it's too dangerous. We'll go together, and I'll shoot the demon while you distract him."
"No way, dude. Like you've said before, he knows shit. He'll sense you're there and kill you. That's the main reason I didn't say anything to you and Bobby. He threatened to kill both of you if I told you what was going down."
"You still should have told us, Sammy. We could have figured something out together, fought him together."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. I would have been a huge help, me and my fucked up shoulder and my power wheelchair."
Dean's jaw hardened, but he didn't argue.
"I couldn't say anything to you or Bobby. It was too dangerous."
Dean didn't look convinced.
"Please, Dean. Let me go. I want to be the one that kills him, and I have to do it alone."
"Fine. You can be the one to put the bullet in his brain, but there's no way I'm letting you do this alone."
"Dude, have you heard anything I've said? He will kill you—and Bobby. It's too dangerous. It's me he wants. It's safer for all of us if I go alone."
"No fucking way you're doing this alone, Sam. No fucking way."
Sam knew there was no use in arguing right now, not when Dean was like this, like a brick wall. "Where is Bobby, anyway?"
"Out looking for your sorry ass."
"How did you find me?"
"GPS in your phone."
Of course. Sam fought the urge to smack his forehead with his hand. How could he have been so careless?
He was about to try a different tactic to try to convince Dean to stay away, but, in the next instant, he was blindsided with a vision more vicious and violently painful than any he'd had in the time before his injury. He fell to his knees on the sand, holding his head in both hands, trying to keep it from splitting in two like a watermelon sliced open with a machete.
The pain was brutal, and he felt a warm trickle of blood oozing from his nose and couldn't see anything at first but darkness. He could vaguely hear Dean calling to him from somewhere far away, but he couldn't make out the words.
Then, he wasn't on the beach anymore. He saw a sign, a realtor's sign outside an abandoned building advertising commercial warehouse space for lease. The building itself was white, and there was faded lettering on the outside of it that read "Acox Printing and Distributing."
Suddenly, he could see inside the building, and his heart almost stopped. Dean and Bobby were there, pinned against a wall by invisible bonds, agony on their faces and blood coming from their nostrils and mouths. And if that wasn't terrifying and sickening enough, TJ was there, too, pinned to the wall and bleeding right along with them. Sam felt a groan escape from him and could hear Dean again as the vision began to fade.
"Sam! Sammy!"
Sam knew without a doubt this was the "call" the demon had been talking about. Azazel was letting Sam know what would happen if Sam let Dean and Bobby get involved, and he was letting Sam know that he knew about TJ.
Sam's heart dropped to his stomach in terror, knowing that Yellow Eyes might already have TJ. He had to get to that abandoned building now, and there was no way he was going to let Dean or Bobby go with him, not after what the demon had shown him in the vision.
He could feel Dean's hands on his face.
"Sammy! What is it? What's happening?"
Sam swallowed, panting. "Vision," he croaked.
Dean wiped his sleeve across Sam's nose, wiping away the blood. "What was it, Sammy?"
"TJ. I think he's got TJ, and he's gonna get you and Bobby, too."
Dean pulled on Sam's arm, helping him to stand up. "All right. Then let's go gank the evil son of a bitch."
Sam pulled free of Dean's grasp, and in the blink of an eye, he swung his right arm, connecting his fist to Dean's jaw, effectively stunning Dean and nearly breaking his own hand in the process.
Dean wasn't out cold, but he was close to it, and he lay on the sand, unmoving.
"Sorry, man," said Sam, feeling a pang of remorse, and that was all he allowed himself. He flexed his hand, wincing at the pain, but he didn't have time for that either.
He turned to leave and looked back one last time, seeing the bruise that was already forming on the side of Dean's face.
Dean was starting to come back to his senses, working his jaw back and forth.
Sam was relieved that the jaw didn't appear to be broken and took off running toward his car. He would have to look up the address of the warehouse using his phone and then get rid of it so that Dean and Bobby couldn't use it to find him again.
Dean was gonna be pissed, but Sam would rather have an alive, furious Dean than the Dean on the brink of death that he'd seen bleeding in his vision.
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TJ was completely and utterly terrified. She didn't understand what was happening, kept thinking she was in some nightmare that she couldn't wake from. One moment, she'd been sitting on her sofa, working calculus problems, and the next, two burly guys had broken into her apartment, grabbed her, and taken her to this cold, empty warehouse.
When they had arrived, they had shoved her into a huge room, and one of them had waved his hand at her, and she had flown across the room and landed on the wall—and stayed there. She was stuck to it like a fly on flypaper, but there was nothing she could see or feel that would explain why she was absolutely unable to move any of her limbs and was just barely able to move her head a little if she mustered all the strength she could find.
She'd never been more afraid—or enraged—in her entire life. Her heart was pounding, and it was all she could do to keep herself from hyperventilating. "Who the fuck are you, and what are you gonna do to me?" she said to the two dark-haired muscle heads, sounding much braver than she felt.
They looked at each other and smiled, but they didn't answer her. They hadn't said a word to her since they'd abducted her.
She tried again to move, maybe even just a pinky, but it was a futile struggle. Nothing would budge.
Suddenly, a man who looked less threatening compared to the two bruisers walked into the room and said to them, "Bring me Dean and Bobby."
The two men nodded and left without giving TJ a second glance.
TJ hadn't thought it possible, but her fear soared, reaching new heights. Did he mean her friends Dean and Bobby? What did this guy want with them? She swallowed, trying to keep her wits about her. "Who are you? Why are you doin' this?"
The man walked closer to her, a cryptic, weird smile on his face, blue eyes piercing her. "Well, well. Such a sweet, down-home accent. It's the charming little—" He stopped, and his smile grew broader. "It's the charming, overgrown TJ. Too bad you never knew the old Sam, the walking Sam, the tall Sam. You two would have made such a cute couple," he said mockingly. He was close enough to touch her, now, and he ran his fingers over her cheek and jaw. "It's a shame you won't ever know the new Sam."
His touch was cold and disgusting, and TJ tried to move her head away from him, but all she could manage to do was move it a fraction of an inch. Her heart was beating so hard now she thought it might come loose and beat right out of her chest. "What in the hell are you talkin' about, you creepy, demented sicko?"
A little voice inside her head was screaming, Keep your mouth shut, girl, but TJ was scared and mad and felt helpless—never a good combination for keeping her sharp tongue where it belonged and out of trouble.
The man gave her another humorless smile, and his eyes suddenly turned a freaky, glowing yellow color.
Lord, have mercy, prayed TJ, and this time she wasn't taking the Lord's name in vain. She felt another surge of terror and suddenly wished she'd been more diligent about going to church while she'd been in San Diego like her parents had urged her to do, like maybe if she'd been a better Christian she would be more deserving of God's help right now. Please, Dear Lord, help me. I promise I'll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life if you get me out of this.
The strange man didn't seem too upset by her insult, but he was looking at her like she was the fly and he was the spider.
TJ shivered, and a sob escaped her. The show of weakness made her even angrier because she wanted to be brave, didn't want this psycho to know how utterly afraid she really was.
The man rubbed his hands together as if anticipating something exciting. "It's almost showtime! I have to go now, sweetie pie," he said, mocking her accent, "but I'll be back. You should have some nice entertainment before the finale. Of course, the last bit might be a little...unpleasant, but you keep praying to that god of yours."
He leered at her and then was suddenly gone, and it wasn't like he had walked out through the door. He had disappeared into thin air. Oh, God, when was she going to wake up? This couldn't be real.
Now that he was gone and there was no one to see, TJ succumbed to her weakness and started crying, thinking about all the people she loved, all the people she would never see again—her parents, her friends, Sam.
Sam. Ah, that one hurt a little deeper than the rest. She thought about last night, what they had shared. It had been wonderful, almost a religious experience for her, a communion. She'd never felt more alive in her life or more beautiful or more like a woman. He was so incredible, and she loved him beyond comprehension. She hadn't said how she felt in so many words, but she hadn't exactly done a great job of hiding it, either, and he had turned away from her. It had hurt so much she almost couldn't breathe, but it was nothing she hadn't already known. He didn't feel that way about her, and he never would.
She knew, though, that he still cared about her deeply as a friend and would miss her if that horrible man killed her. And what if this crazy weirdo was planning to do the same thing to Dean and Bobby that he was planning to do to her? Sam would be alone, and that thought broke her heart. Losing his brother and Bobby would devastate him.
The thought saddened her deeply, but then she had an even more bone-chilling thought that maybe something had happened to Sam, too, that maybe this man had already hurt Sam somehow and was now going after Bobby and Dean—and herself, by association. She didn't understand it all and was scared to death, could feel a fresh batch of hot tears sliding down her cheeks.
Then, as if she had conjured him just by thinking about him, she shifted her eyes up to see Sam coming toward her, his features rock-hard and focused, holding a gun at the ready like some cop from a TV show. She couldn't believe her eyes, and the sight of him took her breath away.
He was walking.
XXXXXXXX
The first thing Sam heard when he entered the main lobby of the old printing warehouse was TJ. He could hear her muted crying echoing from a nearby room, and he knew it was her, could feel her. His gut clenched, and he said a silent apology to her parents for not keeping his promise to take care of her, for not seeing this coming. He was overwhelmed by a feeling of remorse that he had let them down, not to mention TJ, and prayed that it wasn't too late, that he could still keep her from getting hurt.
He pulled the Colt out of the back of his jeans waistband, cocked the hammer, and held it at the ready, following the noise, and entered a large, cavernous room. The smell of ink and paper still lingered there, and there were still a few printing machines and bundles of paper scattered about the room.
He quickly scanned the area, looking for the demon, but the only person in the room was TJ, who was pinned to the dingy white wall like he'd seen in his vision. Her arms were spread out as if she were on an invisible cross, but there was no blood coming from her nose or mouth. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her eyes widened in shock when she saw Sam walking toward her. "Sam?"
Sam held out a hand, palm up, in a pacifying gesture. "Hang on, Teej. I'm gonna get you out of this. It's gonna be okay."
She swallowed hard and sniffed, chin trembling. "What's happening?"
"I'll explain everything, but right now I need to get you out of here. Are you hurt?"
"No, but I can't—I can't move, Sam. What—how—" She stopped, a choked cry escaping her. "You're walking."
"Shh," he said, trying to comfort her and not alert the demon at the same time. "I'll explain everything later. I promise."
She was dressed in her usual ponytail, sweatshirt, and jeans, but her feet were bare, her flip-flops having fallen off to the floor a couple of feet below her.
He hated that she was so afraid—hated that he was so afraid for her—and tried to remain focused on why he was there, tried to keep his cool. He made his way to her, lowered the Colt, and reached out with one hand to see if he could somehow get her unpinned.
"Well, well, tiger. You made it." It was Azazel's voice behind him.
Sam froze and slowly closed his eyes, not wanting TJ to witness what was about to happen. He had hoped he could somehow free her before the demon came, but he should have known better.
This was it, the big showdown. He would have to be fast and act before Azazel knew what was happening. He could feel the iron of the Colt in his hand, felt a sort of heat coming from it like it was a living thing.
"Good boy, Sammy. You even brought me the Colt."
Fuck. Any element of surprise he might have had had just flown out the window. He looked up at TJ and met her eyes, wanting desperately to erase the fear and confusion he saw there. He gave her a look of apology and tried to somehow convey reassurance, which was pretty ludicrous in their current situation. Then, he steeled himself and slowly turned around.
Azazel was smiling the maniacal, used-car-salesman smile.
Sam held up the gun and aimed it at the demon.
Azazel showed no fear, and, behind him, two big, muscular guys with the black, inky eyes of demons walked into the room holding Dean and Bobby at gunpoint.
Cold fingers of fear spread through Sam's body like cracks in ice.
Both Bobby and Dean were holding up their hands, palms outward, twin looks of anger and defiance in their eyes. In the next instant, Azazel waved a hand, and they were flung across the room by an invisible force and pinned against the wall next to TJ.
TJ let out a startled yelp, her eyes like saucers.
Bobby and Dean struggled futilely against the demonic bonds that held them.
Sam was furious. "Why did you bring them here? They don't have anything to do with our deal."
"Because I think they cloud your judgment, and it's time to get rid of them." Azazel held out his hand and made a squeezing motion.
TJ, Dean, and Bobby all cried out, excruciating agony on their faces.
"You'll be a better general once they're all dead. No one to distract you."
"You son of a bitch." Sam cocked the hammer on the Colt, a hair's breadth from pulling the trigger.
Azazel was unfazed. "You kill me, you kill the power that's making you whole, that's letting you stand up and walk around."
Sam froze, knowing he should just pull the trigger but unable to, seeing the last remnant of his plan go down the drain. If the demon died, so did his cure.
Azazel jerked his head toward the three people pinned to the wall. "Look at them, Sam."
Just as in Sam's vision, blood now streamed from the noses and mouths of Bobby, Dean, and TJ, and they obviously weren't breathing. Their faces were an ugly, bluish-purple color, as if they were being strangled from the inside out, and they no longer seemed to be conscious.
"It's too late, Sam," said Azazel. "There's no saving them. They'll be dead in," he looked nonchalantly at his watch, "oh, about thirty seconds."
"No! Please, just stop. Please fix them," Sam begged, although he knew it was futile. Azazel had already killed his parents and Jessica. It made sense that the demon would go ahead and kill everyone else Sam loved. His throat and chest tightened painfully, and he could already feel the heart-wrenching grief, the loss.
"Sorry, tiger. No can do. Save yourself, instead," reasoned Azazel. "We're talking about curing you—no more gimpville—and you'll practically be ruling the world. If you kill me with that gun, you'll kill the power that is making you whole. You'll go back to being a cripple for life—and you'll be all alone. Is it really worth that, killing me, now that you have nothing and no one to go back to?"
Sam was on the brink of giving in to that darker side of himself, of giving in to the feelings of anguish and sorrow. Maybe it wasn't possible to fight his destiny.
Azazel's features were pleasant and confident, as if he knew that Sam would do what he wanted. "Don't throw away this chance. You have no reason, now, to refuse me. Think about what it feels like to be able to stand, to walk, to be free of that broken body."
Sam closed his eyes. Azazel was right. How could he go back, especially if the three people he loved the most were dead? What was the point?
But he had to. He couldn't let Dean and his dad down yet again. He had to do what was right. He would kill the demon for them and for Bobby and Jessica and TJ. Azazel would never hurt anyone else again. Ever.
Sam pulled the trigger.
The smug look on Azazel's face gave way to surprise and horror.
The bullet hit Azazel right between his glowing, yellow eyes. There was a spectacular flash of light and fire that seemed to come out of every orifice of Azazel's body, and, finally, he hit the floor in a mass of flesh, charred from the inside out.
And just as the demon's body hit the floor, so did Sam's.
TBC