A/N: I am terribly sorry about the lateness of the chapter, but just so you know I'm blaming the website for giving me error messages last night right when I wanted to post.
Again, slight violence in this chapter, but nothing above what's on the show.
Azazel – demon of the scapegoat. Knight of Hell. Appointed by Lucifer, who is said to have fathered Azazel after his Fall.
"Hello, John."
John raises his only weapon, the revolver he always carries, and points it right at the Demon's head.
"Now, you know that's not going to do anything to me." The smile looks almost too wide for a human face, giving the Demon too many teeth.
"Make me feel better." John's grip tightens on the grip of the gun, but he keeps his trigger finger relaxed.
He needs to keep his head. John draws in a breath without opening his mouth. The air feels dry and inadequate in his lungs.
"Are you Azazel?"
"Thought you'd never guess."
Yellow eyes don't even blink as Azazel's grin grows wider.
"C'mon, Johnny. After all these years, why now?"
The room is so small that John could press the muzzle of his gun up against the Demon's chest if he only took a half a step forward. Azazel hasn't looked up at the ceiling or even glanced at any of the symbols of the wall. John doesn't know if the demon just knows that it's trapped or if it's just that confident that it doesn't care what's written on the walls.
"You're after my sons," John says and holds his arm stiffly, almost locking it in place to make sure he doesn't actually take that half a step forward.
"Sons?" Azazel lifts his eyebrows like a pretentious douchebag. "You're claiming both of them, John? Even after what you know about Sammy?"
Azazel smiles like he finds that funny. A picture of Sammy lying on the living room floor and bleeding from his head, his nose, his mouth flashes across John's mind before he can stamp it down and stare into Azazel's yellow eyes so that he doesn't think of Sammy and Dean asleep upstairs where he left them.
"They're my sons," he growls at the demon.
Azazel lifts one shoulder in a shrug. The body he's wearing looks slumped and casual; the kind of man John would see at a bar after second shift or something.
"Sammy's an awful lot like his mother," says Azazel.
John doesn't dare close his eyes, even when he sees a glimpse of white fluttering on the ceiling. His skin feels tight as if he feels the heat of the candles directly on his skin.
It's a trick. Demons lie.
"Leave my boys alone."
"Or what, John?" Azazel closes in that half-step that separates them. He stares into John's eyes, unblinking even when John's gun rests where the heart should be. "You'll hit me?"
Azazel actually laughs in John's face. Well, it's more of a chuckle, a huff of breath so close to him that John smells sulfur. That only makes it worse.
"What do you think that is really going to do to me?" Yellow eyes finally flick down to the dun at the demon's chest. It's the closest the eyes have come to blinking. "You can't kill me. And you have nothing I want."
Not true. The Demon wants Sammy. John doesn't know why or how, but he knows he can't let this thing have his son.
"I'll stop hunting you." John takes a risk and carefully lowers the hammer on his revolver. It's not like the gun is going to do any damage anyway. John leans back enough to lift the muzzle of the gun from the demon's chest.
"Leave Sammy alone, and I won't hunt you," John says. "I swear."
Azazel purses his lips and makes a show of tapping his fingers against his mouth, like a mime acting out a charade.
"You swear," the demon repeats blankly.
Is a demon really calling John's word into question? Suddenly, John hears a loud crash behind him and turns to see the iron door slam shut. The lock turns with a soft sound that John still hears. As soon as John hears the lock click into place, his feet leave the floor as he sails through the air.
It's not quite like before. There's no band of pressure around his chest like a giant fist. He's just suddenly pinned against the iron door, his feet a few inches above the floor. Nothing is holding him there. There's no reason that John can't move, but John can't move.
"Do you really think you could pose a threat to me?" Azazel hisses. "What can you do to me, Johnny? Nothing."
John glances down the length of his body. His gun is still in his hand, by virtue of loosely curled fingers that he can't really feel. And, even theough he has the gun, his body is still paralyzed. The Demon steps forward, advancing on John slowly like some predator.
"I could take what I want right now, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it."
John's heart surges, but his body still refuses to move.
"Like hell." John jerks his chin and glares at the demon.
"Oh, exactly." Azazel grins. "You have no idea what's in store, John."
Azazel lifts a hand. John braces for the strike he's sure is coming, but Azazel simply pinches John's chin in his long fingers and pulls his face close.
"The glory that Sammy was born for." Azazel sighs, like he's praying. "He's very special, your boy."
"Dad?"
Dean's voice practically floats down the wooden steps to the basement, it's so light and quiet in the morning. Azazel's eyes go wide, and his lips part into a slowly stretching smile that shows off his teeth.
"Stay upstairs, Dean!" John shouts, his back still pressed against the door.
"Now, John." Azazel shakes his head with a disappointed slump to his shoulders. "This is a family business, after all. Invite the kiddies down."
John tilts his chin up enough so that he can suck on his tongue. He spits at Azazel. His spittle arcs and lands on the floor somewhere between his body and Azazel's feet. But before John can even see the demon's reaction, John feels that same band against his chest yank him away from the metal door and pull him flying through the air. He doesn't have time to breathe before he's up against the wall again, breath knocked out of his lungs and gun slammed from his hand. This time, he's facing the door to the room, and he opens his eyes just in time to see it sail open.
"Dad!" Dean cries, but John hears Sammy's same cry right behind Dean's, a second separating his boys' voices.
John opens his mouth to tell them to run. Get away. Even if Azazel has him, the demon can't leave the room. As long as Sammy and Dean stay away—
"Hello, boys," comes Azazel's pleasantly slimy voice.
John sucks in as much as he can into his winded lungs and watches Dean skid to a stop in the open doorway, bracing himself with his hands on the frame of the door to keep from sliding right through the salt line. Good eyes on that kid. Sammy slams into his brother's back and wraps one arm around Dean's waist. He ducks under Dean's arm so that he can see, and John sees the still-red skin under his nose, the glorious bruise on his forehead.
"Dad!" Sam screams, his fists tight and hard in Dean's shirt.
Dean lowers one hand to press back against Sammy's chest, like he's trying to shove Sammy further behind him, a human shield for his little brother.
"Sammy," Azazel says in a soft, pleased voice.
No. Someone get this bastard away from his son. John wills every muscle, any muscle, in his body to move. He kicks, he fights, he gasps for breath. But nothing happens. His body is still pinned up against the wall. He watches as Azazel takes a step forward, his back completely to John.
"Did you like the gift I gave you, Sammy?"
"Gift?" Sammy peers around Dean's torso as Dean tries to shove him backwards.
"Sam, get out of here."
Dean has no weapons but his own hands. That's not going to help. John glances down at his revolver on the floor. The Demon is still between Dean and the gun.
"You've seen it for a while," Azazel continues, his eyes fixed on Sammy as if Dean's beneath his notice. "You just get so angry at your brother."
Sammy looks pale in the candlelight, his injuries standing out as they surround his wide eyes.
"I don't—" Sammy's chest heaves. He tries to breathe. "I didn't—"
"Your dad doesn't love you." Another step forward for Azazel.
"No." Tears slip out of Sammy's eyes. John pushes his chest forward like that's going to dislodge him from the wall.
"She's going to burn."
"No!"
Sammy releases Dean and lunges forward with his hands curled into fists.
"Sammy, run!" Dean shouts.
Dean grabs the back of Sammy's shirt and yanks him backwards before Sam can cross the salt line that's still intact across the doorway. But why isn't Dean running, too? John can die. John can go a hundred rounds locked in this room with this son of a bitch if it means his sons will get out of here.
"It's what's going to happen if you stay away, Sammy," Azazel says. "You have a magnificent destiny." Another step forward. "One reserved for so few that no one's been able to do anything like this before." Azazel stretches out his hand. "I picked you out especially, Sammy."
A flash of silver, and Azazel draws back with a hiss. Dean clutches the switchblade in his hand, holding it in front of him like a sword.
"You stay the hell away from my brother." His eyes burn at the Demon.
Azazel raises his eyebrow in a way that says most unorthodox and then flicks his eyes down to the ground at Dean's feet. Dean follows his gaze.
Don't do that, John wants to shout. Demons lie.
The hand that holds the switchblade hovers across the salt line. Dean's head snaps up, but Azazel already has one hand lifted, and he flicks two of his fingers.
Dean's wrist snaps too far backwards with a crunchy crack. Dean screams and drops the blade. At least one of his bones is broken, probably both. Then, Dean's body jerks through the open doorway, injured hand leading the way. Dean slams headfirst into the wall beside John and then slumps to the floor. John's so close that he could touch Dean if only his body would obey him.
"Dean!" Sammy hunches over his stomach and screams, but he stays on the other side of the salt.
Azazel closes in on the doorway and stoops down so that he's closer to Sammy's level. John's breath comes quicker.
"You can make this stop, Sammy," the demon says kindly. "I can make everything bad go away. You won't have to wait around for Daddy to come to a soccer game anymore."
Azazel lifts his hand and pets at the air in front of Sammy's face like he's stroking down Sammy's cheek.
"I could be a good daddy," he says. "Would you like that, Sammy?"
John's chest burns, and his lungs explode.
"No!" he shouts. "Me, you bastard! Take me!"
That pressure is suddenly on John's chest. It's not just that his body is paralyzed now; that invisible hand presses him straight against the wall and forces the air out of his lungs. He can't breathe.
"Sammy?" says the Demon. "Wouldn't you like that?"
John's head is getting light. It's hard to see in the room, and the candles are starting to look like thin little lightbulbs in the darkness.
"Stop it!" Sammy cries, high and loud.
The shout makes John open his eyes wider and try to breathe. His head is knocking against the ceiling of the room now. He hadn't even been aware that he was moving. To his side, Dean is pinned to the wall as well, just a few feet below John. When did that happen?
"Stop what?" Azazel asks lightly. "How do I know you're not the one doing this? Don't you want to teach your dad a lesson?"
John edges further up so that his neck has to twist at an uncomfortable angle to press tight to the ceiling.
"I don't! I'm not!" Sammy squeezes his eyes shut as tears drip down his face. His nose starts to bleed. "Stop it!"
A sharp and sudden bang splits the heavy air. John's body stops moving at the same time he registers the gunshot. Dean?
"He said stop."
No, that's Seth. John forces his eyes open and sees Seth standing at the base of the basement stairs. He has his handgun in his right hand while that crazy-ass scythe is in his left. He looks like a giant behind Sammy, like a guardian.
"How many bloody hunters are there in this house?" Azazel throws his hands in the air with a useless gesture as he straightens and turns enough so that John can see the bullet hole right in the middle of Azazel's forehead. John thinks he's going to chew Seth out for shooting a gun when the target is that close to Sam. Later.
Then, Seth steps forward, putting his body at Sammy's back. The light from upstairs shines at his back, and the candlelight shows more of his face now. Azazel freezes and slowly turns to face Seth full on.
"Oh," he breathes. "Well, I heard there was another Winchester floating around."
John blinks and tries to breathe in very quietly while also taking in as much oxygen as he can. The lack of air is apparently affecting his brain. Azazel still has his back to him.
"You boys just won't quit." The demon's head shakes slowly.
"You have no idea." Seth's eyes are hard like John hasn't seen before. He keeps his gun trained on the demon, but he still has his scythe held out so that his arm blocks most of Sammy from view.
"And what do you contribute to this motley crew?" Ax axel tilts his chin up and peers at both Seth and Sammy, trying to look down his nose. It actually doesn't look like it's working with Seth standing so rigidly tall.
"Take me, and leave," says Seth.
John's heart thuds against his ribs. What is Seth doing? He was the one who told John to wait for a plan, for the Colt. And the gun Seth has sure isn't a Colt revolver. So Seth's new plan is self-sacrifice? Awesome.
"Sorry, what was that?" Azazel cups his hand around one ear and tilts his head down with an expectant look on his face.
Seth doesn't move.
"Take me, and leave this place," he says again. "Leave John, Dean, and Sam alone."
Sammy clings to the edge of Seth's shirt, hanging on without really pulling at the fabric like he's trying not to let Seth know that he's doing it. Seth doesn't look down at Sammy or try to get the kid to let go of him.
Azazel drops his and curls his lips back into a sneer. It looks better than his smile, John thinks as his neck grows sore. At least this way Azazel actually looks like the evil that he is.
"What's the appeal for you?" Azazel faces Seth, and John knows the demon isn't happy. "I can smell you from here. You stink of Heaven."
Heaven? How does that work? Does that mean Seth is dead? That can't be right because Seth is human. Seth doesn't change his expression except to lower his eyebrows so his frown turns into something altogether disapproving.
"You would know," he says shortly.
Seth steps forward so that his toe actually brushes the grains of sand that border the doorway. John strains and flexes his shoulders, or tries to. His body is still frozen, but it's getting easier to breathe.
"I have power that he doesn't." Seth's arm pushes on Sammy as Seth shifts his own weight so that Azazels eyes follow Seth, not Sam. "I've been polluted and purified. I know what you want."
Azazel leans back slowly while John reels on the ceiling. Seth knows what the Yellow-Eyed Bastard wants?! All this time, he's known? Still, Seth holds out one arm to protect John's son while the other holds a gun on his enemy. Azazel goes back to the slow, wide grin that John already hates.
"And you're just going to give it to me?" Azazel scoffs.
John's eyes find Sammy, but the cry to run won't leave his mouth. His lips form the words, and he can hear the hoarse noise like a cough that comes from his throat. Sammy's eyes dart up to the ceiling, but he barely glances at John before he drops his chin again. A streak of blood stains Sammy's arm where he's swiped the back of his arm under his bloody nose.
"Of course not," Seth says. John feels his lungs expand. He can breathe.
"But if you manage to break me," Seth says, "you'll have more to work with, won't you?"
John squints at Seth down below. Now the Demon wants Seth?
"You don't even have to wait." Seth isn't even frowning anymore. He's actually trying to convince the demon. "You take a risk with me, but the payoff's better."
Azazel takes one step backward. Half of his mouth is smiling while the other half is slack and barely open.
"You think you can beat me," the demon says softly, shocked.
Azazel's half-smile slowly turns into a full grin.
"You're on, Winchester."
Seth nods solemnly then turns and stoops down. He wraps his left arm around Sammy's shoulders and holds the revolver in front of him. Sammy takes the gun with both hands shaking. With his head bent down so far John can't see his face, Seth puts his mouth next to Sammy's ear and whispers something. Then Seth stands straight and steps over the salt line.
John expects something to happen right away, but Azazel just stays where he is as Seth walks across the room, his short scythe still in his hand. Seth takes the stepstool that rests to one side of the symbol on the floor and reaches up above his head to the devil's trap John drew around the broken lightbulb. He lingers close enough for John to see Seth's white knuckles around the handle of his blade. Then, Seth scrapes the edge of the scythe through the drywall on the ceiling and makes a blank space that breaks up the circle. Azazel's hand shoots out immediately and closes around Seth's arm. A flash of white blinds John, and suddenly it's like gravity re-enters the picture. John comes free from the wall and crashes to the floor. His arm hits something solid beside him, and Dean gives a pained cry that cuts off almost immediately.
"Dad!" Sammy cries. "Dean!"
John peels his eyes open quickly, blinking in the darkness. Thin smoke winds its way up from the blown-out candles. Both Azazel and Seth are gone. Sammy races past the door and falls to his knees on front of John, leaving the gun to clatter on the cement floor.
"I'm sorry, Dad." Sammy is sobbing through tears and blood. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Dean finally pushes himself to sit up, his back resting against the wall, and reaches for Sam with his good hand.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean says weakly.
John braces his hands on the wall behind him and pushes, ignoring the way Sam is folding himself into his big brother while one of Deans hands is tucked tightly into his side. Nothing about this is okay. On shaky legs, John steps forward and kicks at the dark candles. He sends two of them flying into the wall, and a third clatters across the floor. The room is dark and silent.
"Upstairs," John orders.
Dean needs a brace if not a cast, and Sammy needs to wash his face. John stoops to pick up his revolver and Seth's gun from the floor. Seth challenged a demon to break him. And for what? To take John's place? To take Sammy's? It doesn't make sense.
Sammy helps Dean to his feet, although once he's up, Dean doesn't lean any weight on Sammy. It's more just Sammy hugging Dean around his waist and Dean laying his good arm around Sammy's shoulders. John leads the way up the stairs. In the hallway, he sees the living room light on, and a small baseball glove in the middle of the floor, like it's been cast aside. John bends down and picks up the child's baseball glove that Sammy's been using all week. It's been oiled and rubbed.
"Sammy, what did Seth say?" Dean says behind John.
"He said 'sorry'."
John turns the glove over in his hand and sees the writing on the leather across the little finger pad in thick black marker: John Winchester.