AN: Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter! I wanted this one to be a slightly longer since there was so much I was trying to fit in. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Side Note: I understand that it is difficult to wait in between updates. Believe me, as a rabid fanfic reader myself, I know the struggle. That being said, I only follow my muse / creative influence when it comes to the stories I write. As I become inspired, I write my material. So if you cannot wait then I would suggest not furthering the story unless you are comfortable with waiting. Thank you so much for the reviews and all the love; I love the enthusiasm.
raison d'être — [french] reason for existence; the thing that is most important to someone or something; a person's raison d'être is their purpose or reason for living.
The room was poorly lit as Gadreel sauntered into the house, Angel blades at the ready in either hand.
The door creaked lightly on its hinges, and he paused silently hoping the angels who resided in the house had not heard his entry.
This vessel, The Great Sam Winchester, was one of the strongest in all creation. Originally meant to house the Morning Star and yet for the moment it was his.
Though this vessel was larger than he was used to and therefore much harder to maneuver. And by default made the angel's actions much louder.
Gadreel tilted his head, listening for any movement. Satisfied with the lack of noise, he continued through the house.
He wasn't necessarily worried with waking any of the angels.
Angels of course did not possess the mundane need of sleep, but they could remain inert, resting in some form or another.
But what he needed was the element of surprise in order to carry out his mission.
He could feel his grace stretch through every inch of this vessel. He flexed his hand, grateful that the youngest Winchester was not consciously aware of his presence.
If he had any idea of his actions, he would eject him as soon as was possible. Of that the angel was absolutely sure.
But at the moment Sam was tucked away in a corner of his own mind; immersed in case created by Sam's own memories.
Gadreel smirked with Sam's mouth, rather proud of his own marksmanship.
Though he did not wish Sam Winchester any discomfort of pain; he was simply a means to an end.
Just as he healed the charred and broken insides of Sam Winchester, he strengthened himself as well.
And he was stronger because of it everyday.
But what he did was not only for himself. Gadreel had meant what he had said to Dean Winchester in wanting the benefits to be mutual.
Gadreel did want the youngest Winchester to heal and be whole once more.
He had heard of Sam Winchester in Heaven's prison; both his pitfalls and triumphs.
And Gadreel wanted the broken boy to have peace, he was deserved of it.
Gadreel shook Sam's head, focusing himself on the task at hand.
Metatron had sent word that a group of angels —amongst the strongest still left from the garrison— had possessed a family in St. Louis, Missouri.
The vessels' family bloodline was amongst the strongest, and the angels were a force to be reckoned with.
They had refused Metatron's initial offer of joining his faction. They posed a threat to Metatron, and had wanted them eliminated, or that was what Gadreel had been told.
Metatron had simply slipped a paper with the targeted angels names to a lower order angel—Arael—who was working as Metatron's temporary second in command.
Arael had then given Gadreel the list without so much as an explanation of Metatron's whereabouts or motivations.
Gadreel had been seeing less and less of Metatron since the two had joined ranks, but Gadreel had dimissed it as simply Metatron being too busy attending to his newfound duties.
Gadreel loathed the idea of taking more lives, in the name of any God, new or old.
His father had not been a wrathful God; he would not have wanted this for any of his sons or daughters.
But this was his second chance. A chance at something more, perhaps redemption if labels were appropriate.
He wanted more than redemption itself. The chance to give himself a new name other than "The Angel Who Let The Snake Into Eden".
Had he not served enough penance in Heaven's lock up? Had he not given enough?
Though it did not matter any more. Who could be the judge of what was suitable punishment for his crimes?
God was nowhere to be found, and this newly claimed God was no true comparison.
Nothing could be done to create a new name for himself if he did not take action.
And this is what would wash away his abhorred sins. If it meant taking a few lives— whose innocence was highly debated— then so be it.
At one point Gadreel would have been horrified at the atrocities he had committed and the lives he had continually seized.
But all creatures had their breaking point and he had reached his long ago. So he would do what had to be done, despite the repercussions.
He listened, waiting for any movement and when there was none, continued on his path through the house.
He had been watching the house for a few hours now, and had seen the vessels.
The family was made up of a church deacon, his wife, and their two teenage daughters.
Gadreel hadn't wished to learn their names; as if that made the mindless murder of the angels along with their hosts any more painless.
The house itself was small, a two story condo in the heart of the city.
He sauntered up the stairs, and into one of the girls' room. He would make this swift; both noiseless and painless for the both of them.
He opened the door, pushing it open with the tips of his fingers.
Both angels were faced away from him, their attention focused on a map with various pinpricks of red decorating it surface.
It was better this way; a swift death for both angels. Both of whom he had no acquaintance with.
Though he could not have met many angels from other garrisons during his time in Heaven's jail, Gadreel mused inwardly to himself.
From a tactical point of view, there was no way of killing these two without alerting the others.
He leaned forward thrusting, both angel blades into either of their backs.
They shrieked grotesquely, as their graces burned out their vessels insides. They collapsed in a bloody heap, their vessels' bodies slumped in awkward positions.
Blood splattered Gadreels face along with his hands and arms. The gore of his atrocity painting his skin—well—Sams skin.
He reached forward pulling the blades from their backs. The other two would not be nearly as easy, now that they heard the deaths of the others.
Gadreel turned on his heels, intent on finishing what he had started. This massacre would end, one way or another.
He aimed him palm forward pushing the other door open with a flick of his wrist.
The door flew open with a loud bang, shattering the mirror which hung upon the wall. Though the angels inside hardly flinched at his noisy entry.
Both angels stood, angel blades in hand.
"If you think you will stand a chance, you have been gravely mistaken." Hasdiel said, through his teeth.
Gadreel smirked, he had the power of his new god and the strength of his vessel, to back him. He was unstoppable.
Gadreel felt almost detached as Jael rushed him, and he leaned forward flicking one of his angel blades into Jael's chest.
It was as if it was all slowed down, he saw every moment, every flicker of emotion upon the angels' face.
She screamed a guttural cry; her grace burning her vessel out effectively silencing her.
He held his palm out once more, holding Hasdiel where he stood. Gadreel twisted Sam's wrist ever so slightly, and Hasdiel grimaced, the angel blade falling from his grasp.
"Do not do this, brother. You must know of Metatrons intentions; they are not of pure of heart." Hasdiel whispered.
"I am doing what I must." Gadreel says monotonously, an almost mechanical edge to his voice. It was easier to kill when he was numb to the gore.
He yanked Hasdiel by the throat pinning him to the ground, and he reached back, burying the angel blade into his chest.
The angels screams echoed in his ears, his grace blinding him momentarily. And then, perfect silence.
Gadreel reached down picking up his fallen angel blades, and shut the bedroom door behind him.
He washed his hands in he sink, cleansing himself of the slaughter.
The water ran red, as it swirled down the drain.
He pulled the crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket, and crossed the names from the list.
His pen slashed through the names with vivid red ink; reminding him of the bloodshed he had left behind upstairs.
Eremiel
Hasdiel
Jael
Marmaroth
One more dark deed done in the name of redemption.
He would lock the front door as he left; leaving his sins and the heavenly bloodbath behind him.
Sam woke with a start, gasping frantically in the darkness of their motel room.
What the hell was that? Sam thought with an almost bewildered edge to his thoughts.
He was bathed in a cold sweat; his thoughts scattered.
Another damn nightmare...or vision? Sam couldn't tell if which was which anymore. He was plagued by them every night, it almost reminded him of Azazel's visions.
Sam had to stop himself. That was over now, and it sure as hell wasn't happening again.
No.
These weren't like the visions that tormented him all those years ago.
Beside the splitting migraine which accompanied them; there was a certain vicious edge to all of them.
Sam knew they were visions the moment they happened, and what he just witnessed definitely wasn't that.
It must be fragments or pieces of Gadreel, after he was ejected.
He wouldn't let some pissed off Angel ruin him, Sam thought a vicious edge to the words.
He glanced over at Dean, grateful that he hadn't woken him up. Dean hardly slept as it was; even less now that he possessed the Mark Of Cain.
As irritated as Sam was with his older brother he couldn't help but worry about him.
He turned over on his side, the glow of the clock on the nightstand shining through his closed eyes.
He winced slightly at the cold burn which spread through his chest at the movement.
His chest ached, his lungs heavier than they should have been.
He felt like shit, and was sick of it. Hopefully it would blow over, like anything else he had gone through.
Sam reached over, popping two more of the prescription pain meds from the bedside table into his mouth.
Sam smirked at the heavy duty narcotics, wondering how Dean had got his hands on them. Though when it came to his big brother, Sam never questioned his methods.
And yet that seemed to always be the case with his older brother. Whatever Sam needed; it was there.
Even as a kid Dean always made sure Sam never lacked anything, regardless of the cost. Sam couldn't help the overwhelming nostalgia that came over him.
The aching pain in his chest never seemed to cease, but Sam shrugged it off throwing the covers off of him. He just needed some air.
Maybe a run would do him some good. He missed the feel of the asphalt flying beneath feet; the chill air nipping at his cheeks.
He limped around the room and slipped on a hoodie along with his running shoes. With one last glance at his brother he sidled out the door noiselessly.
The sun hadn't risen yet, leaving the morning sky a deep purple.
He started up at a slow jog, allowing the cool morning air to fill his aching lungs.
The pain in his chest subsided momentarily, and he smiled inwardly, loving the abandon feeling of running.
Though he wasn't as fast as he would have liked, he pushed further allowing the world around him to pass in a colorful blur.
He needed a distraction between Dean, Metatron, and whatever the hell was going on his his head.
Sam vaguely wondered if the vivid dreams were things Gadreel had done or were doing was a mystery in itself.
But he couldn't get a handle on them; any of the vision like dreams.
Sam grunted as he ran past another building, its glass windows mirroring his movements as he catapulted himself over the cracked sidewalk.
He had to at least try and figure out what was going down in Albany. They were only a few hours out; they would make it if they hurried.
After a few more minutes, Sam figured he ought to head back to the motel before Dean woke up and went into panic mode.
Sam rounded the corner, the motel swimming into view.
For a split second, there was a tightening in Sam's chest as he pushed himself even faster around the grimy sidewalk.
He had almost made his way back to the motel. Sam gasped, his breaths coming out in frantic puffs in front of his face.
Sam slowed, his limbs feeling heavier by the second as he stumbled past a dilapidated liquor store.
This was not happening. What was wrong with him?
He couldn't get air into his lungs, and his body was panicking.
His steps faltered and he tripped, his hands taking the brunt of the impact as he fell.
Pain seared through his body as he sat gasping against the alleyway wall.
Breathe. Just keep breathing. Sam chanted inwardly, as the street light flickered above him.
Sam glanced down blearily at his hands, sucking in a sharp breaths.
A silver light traveled through his arms, illuminating his veins in silvery white light. It vaguely reminded Sam of angel grace.
It traveled up his arms viciously, and disappeared completely, leaving behind an intense burning sensation in his arms.
What the hell? The light almost reminded him of the energy that had lit up his veins that night in the church.
Was it still in him, after all this time? Or was it residual grace left over from expelling Gadreel?
After the gasping subsided he stood up, leaning on the side of the motel door.
Dean eyes snapped open, and he sat up quickly, scanning the room for his brother but he was nowhere in sight.
He glanced over at the bed furthest away from the door, Sam's bed.
Sam bed sheets were in a shapeless heap, showing no sign that Sam had slept there.
Where was Sam? Dean thought with a panic beginning to spread through him. He had been asleep for two hours, where could Sam have gone?
Dammit Sam.
What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't even keep track of his sick little brother.
Anywhere where Sam was, Dean wouldn't be far. It was as if where one was the other followed; two halves of a whole.
Dean realized he had fallen asleep in clothes from the day before, not even bothering to take off his boots.
The door wrenched opened with a heavy creak, as Sam sauntered in, his skin leeched of all color.
Sam winced as he stepped into the room, the nausea only subsiding slightly.
Dean was at Sam's side in an instant, his brother instincts kicking in immediately.
"What happened? You okay?" Dean demanded, holding Sam at arms length.
The kid looked like he was going to pass out, or thrown up. Dean wasn't going either one happen, not as long as he was here.
Sam said nothing, his heart pounding in his chest from exertion.
"Sam?" Dean said more softly, trying to hold his younger brothers gaze.
Sam's eyes refocused and he gasped audibly.
"I'm fine, Dean." Sam said breathily. "Just went for a run, that's all."
"You went for a run?!" Dean asked incredulously, freshly pissed that Sam was exerting himself while he was sick.
Sam shrugged, his chest heaving slightly as if he couldn't get enough air. Dean felt a twinge of worry as he looked at Sam.
"You look like hell, sit down." Dean said, prodding Sam towards the bed closest to the door.
"What happened?" Dean inquired once more, scrutinizing his brothers ashen pallor.
"I told you, Dean. Nothing." Sam muttered, slightly annoyed by Dean's badgering.
"Then why are your hands bloody?" Dean drawled, staring pointedly at his little brother's hands.
Sam cursed inwardly, hoping Dean wouldn't have seen. Nothing got by his older brother, did it?
Sam clenched his hands into fists at his sides, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his arms.
"I...I..fell." Sam uttered, squaring his jaw against the sting in his hands.
Dean returned Sam's scowl. He hated Sam's attitude towards him, but what he hated more was an injured little brother.
Especially one that was already sick to top it all off.
Dean sighed, shaking his head at his clumsy kid. "Sit down" Dean ordered, crossing over to the bathroom.
Pulling out the peroxide and a couple of cotton balls from the first aid kit, he made his way back over to Sam.
"Alright lemme see." Dean said, flipping Sam's hands over.
Jagged scrapes shined angrily over Sam's palms, thought they weren't deep enough to warrant stitches.
"Not too bad." Dean muttered more to himself than to Sam.
"I'm not a kid anymore Dean. I can take care of myself." Sam grumbled, clearly miffed by Dean's mother hen tendencies.
"You're always a kid to me, kiddo." Dean said with wink as he glanced back up at Sam.
Sam gave Dean his best bitch face, but couldn't help the smile that played at edge of his lips.
Leave it to Dean to find a way to make Sam smile, when he was pissed as hell at his older brother.
"This might sting a little." Dean muttered, unwillingly to hurt an already in pain Sam.
Dean dabbed at the dried blood coating Sam's palm methodically, Dean almost smirked at the familiarity of it.
Having had to deal with scraped knees and runny noses his entire life, this was nothing new to Dean.
And he wouldn't have it any other way, Dean thought fondly.
Sam winced slightly as Dean dragged the peroxide soaked cotton ball over his palm.
"Sorry." Dean murmured, as if already in understanding of Sam's discomfort. Dean reached over and wrapped Sam's hands with gauze meticulously.
"There." Dean announced gathering the first aid kit and packing it back into his bag.
"Now try not to be such a klutz okay?" Dean said over his shoulder, with a slight grin.
Sam scoffed returning the grin, and went over to sit down at the motel table and opened his laptop.
"Did Garth ever call back with more intel on the case?" Dean asked, his fingers typing furiously as he spoke.
"No. He's shot us an e-mail and attached whatever else he could find. But Every time I tried calling him the line cut out." Sam said glancing up at Dean.
"All right well we need a few leads before we can head further upstate." Dean said pulling a beer from the mini fridge.
Dean sat down across from his brother, and looked up at Sam's concentrated expression over the lip of his beer.
The bags beneath his eyes had deepened, though his skin remained its healthy hue. So maybe that was a good sign at least.
"Hey Sam...How ya' feelin'?" Dean asked carefully, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.
Sam familiar green eyes flitted upwards, meeting Dean's gaze evenly. His hands froze momentarily on the keys.
"I'm fine, Dean." Sam said, trying keep his voice even as he spoke. He didn't want Dean to go full mother hen
Sam was all too familiar with visions. The head splitting pain, the nightmares, and the fear that came along with them.
And he would deal with them, just like he had all those years ago. He had dealt with them all before.
But this wasn't like before, Sam thought quietly to himself. And he wasn't sure these were actually visions.
"Bullshit." Dean said flatly, setting his beer down on the grimy motel table.
"You're having visions from whatever Gadreel did to you, and you're trying to tell me you're fine?" Dean said incredulously.
"We don't know what they are Dean. And we won't know until we find Gadreel, and torch his angelic ass with holy fire." Sam said, his gaze darkening.
A twinge of worry curled in Dean's stomach at the thought of Sam trying to take down anything in his condition.
Sam's eyes flitted back to his laptop, effectively ending the conversation.
At first Gadreel's possession has seemed like a gift.
Dean could almost be happy, even. His kid was looking healthier; less pale, his weight had been returning to normal, his appetite increased.
It was more than Dean could have hoped for..at first.
Sam had a new air to his personality; as if his newfound health put a smile on the kids face.
As if the angels presence made Sam feel strong; happy even.
It wasn't until Gadreel had left Sam's body that Dean had noticed the changes. It had taken a few days, but he had seen it.
The immediate loss of appetite, and the dropping of weight happened too fast for Dean's liking.
Sam now slept longer than Dean did; which was not normal to say the least.
Dean would find Sam knocked out in his room until mid afternoon; but it never occurred to him that Sam was getting worse rather than the other way around.
And as much as he didn't wan't to admit to himself, Dean knew Sam was deteriorating.
It had only been a few months since expelling Gadreel and Sam's condition was already worsening.
He just couldn't fucking stand to watch it happen. This angel had fucked with the wrong kid, Dean's kid.
He glanced over at Sam, almost out of habit.
Sam was still busy working on his research, his entire face furrowed in concentration.
The only sound resonating through the room was the furious typing of Sam's fingers.
The sound almost made Dean smile. If wasn't for the fact that Sam was starting to waste away in front of Dean's eyes, he would've smiled.
Gadreel hadn't cared about Sam when he came to Dean in that hospital. He had only his own motives in mind when had had made his offer.
Sam was one of the strongest vessels in creation; it was no surprise that Gadreel would want to possess him.
In a way, Dean envied Gadreel's detachment; simply looking at Sam as another human, another vessel. Not worrying about Sam's existence or well being every waking moment.
What must that be like?
A shiver ran through Dean at the thought. He couldn't imagine that sort of existence. Didn't want to imagine.
"Hey so I ran a search through NYPD statewide database and got a hit on one of our victims." Sam said, breaking Dean from his reverie.
"How'd you hack into a police database?" Dean cut in, taking a sip of his beer. He smirked, amazed by by Sam's intellect.
"Don't sound too surprised." Sam said, laughing slightly despite himself.
Dean wasn't surprised in the slightest. He had been to every science fair, spelling bee, and play the kid had been in.
He had seen his kid excel in everything he pursued, so it didn't surprise him that Sam could do this too.
"I'm not, I just...that's sort of hardcore even for us." Dean said, raising an eyebrow as his younger brother.
Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder reading through the police reports, taking a swig from his beer.
"Nice." Dean commented.
"Well I didn't learn it all by myself. I picked up a few things from Charlie. Turns out her that girl can hack into just about anything." Sam said, musing over what he had dug up on the the three victims.
He had always known Sam was smart, ever since he was a kid.
"So what the connection?" Dean said with a vague smirk, scanning through Sam's research.
"Turns out three of our warehouse victims worked at the same chemical processing plant, just two blocks away from where the disappearances happened." Sam said drumming his fingers impatiently along the motel table.
"So we thinking that our "abductor" works somewhere at the plant?" Dean said, rubbing his eyes as he squinted at the screen once more.
"I mean it worth a shot. We might as well check it out." Sam stated cooly shrugging, avoiding Dean's gaze.
Dean frowned at Sam's cool demeanor. It frustrated him; he just didn't understand why the kid couldn't forgive and forget?
"Alright, be ready in fifteen. I'll pack the car." Dean said gruffly, turning away from Sam.
He spun on his heels towards the motel door, feeling angrier than he wanted to be.
The impala rumbled her familiar roar, as the two lane asphalt flew beneath her. The darkness sheltered the boys in within the Impala
The weather had improved considerably from the night before, so Sam hoped they would be able to make good time after they checked out the plant.
The sun had begun to set as they made their way upstate.
"Leave it to them to have the processing plant all the way on the outskirts of town." Dean muttered, his hands tightening on the steering wheel unconsciously.
Sam smirked at his older brother's grumbling, his eyes focusing on the map before him.
"So according to the state database the plant is completely off the grid, no street address I could find off of any county records either. " Sam said, his hands trailing up an unmarked path along the map.
"It should be..Right about here." Sam muttered, pulling a pen from between his teeth and marking the spot with a red slash.
"Right there! Turn here Dean." Sam said, pointing to a turn off in the road.
The disappearances had occurred just two blocks down he road. They had to figure this out before more people turned up missing.
Dean squinted into the dark, angling the Impala down the next street. The car slowed to a crawl as they pulled up to the plant.
The lights from the warehouse illuminated the night in a brilliant white light.
"Now why the hell would the workers still be here this late at night?" Dean thought aloud, as he killed the engine.
"Does any of this smell right to you?" Dean said turning to look at Sam.
Sam shook his head, his expression conflicted. "No but it's not like we can just ignore a bunch of missing people."
Dean swore under his breath. "I know." he said, sounding defeated. He didn't want to check it out especially with Sam so weak.
"Alright we'll check it out." Dean grumbled, tucking his Taurus into his jacket. Sam nodded, climbing out of the Impala and shutting the door close behind him.
Sam pulled a gun from his jacket, holding it firm in his hand. He winched slightly at the aching pain that shot through his chest.
"Stay close, Sammy." Dean said anxiously, standing closer to Sam as if the proximity to Sam would keep him safe.
Sam nodded wordlessly, raising his gun. Dean treaded lightly as he neared the warehouse door.
He glanced over at Sam, and nodded wordlessly understanding Dean's unspoken command.
Sam held the gun in his hand, and wrenched the door open with a harsh creak. Dean sauntered in immediately, shielding Sam from view immediately.
If there was anything in here, it would have to go through Dean to get to his little brother.
Dean had a bad feeling about this, and usually his instincts were always right.
The warehouse had pallets stacked haphazardly, and crates full of metal odds and ends.
What the hell?
This didn't look like a processing plant, this was just a warehouse. It was a front for whatever illegal shit that was going on here.
It was eerily silent as Dean passed through entrance hall and into the main
Dean half turned feeling Sam shadowing his every move.
It was eerily quiet as both brothers passed through the warehouse. Dean paused, realizing he had stepped in something.
A large pool of black ectoplasm coated the bottom of his boot.
What the hell? Ghosts?
A few moments passed, and Dean turned to ask Sam a question. Though his little brother was nowhere to be found.
"Sam?" Dean shouted in an almost panicked voice holding his gun up as he went back towards the warehouse entrance.
An enraged cry answered him from behind him.
"Dean!" Sam bleated, his voice reverbrating with panic against the metal walls.
Dean's legs shot forward unthinkingly, following Sam's the sound of Sam's plea.
See that was the thing about Sam, he would never say "help" but instead would cry out "Dean" instead. It didn't matter if Sam was three or thirty it was all the same.
"Sammy?!" Dean shouted anxiously, his voice shooting up a couple of octaves .
No. This was not happening. Not now.
"DE-" and the cry was cut off abruptly, as Sam was silence.
Dean picked up the pace,making his way towards the middle room of the warehouse.
Multiple bodies lay scattered around the room, lying in pools of their own blood.
Dean's heart nearly stuttered to a stop, as he saw Sam lying on the ground next to another body, utterly motionless.
"Sam." Dean said, shaking his head at his brother. Dean crashed to his knees next to Sam, hating how still the kid was.
"Sammy." Dean said slapping his brother's face, trying to rouse the kid from unconsciousness.
But what if the reason Sam wasn't waking up was because he was dead?
No. Dean couldn't think like that.
He wouldn't do it.
But there was so much blood.
Too much blood. It pooled beneath Sam in a sinister manner.
Dean had to find the wound before Sam bled out.
Without warning, Dean was hit from behind, a blunt hit to the back of the head.
A sharp pain shot through Dean as fell to the ground, blacking out instantly.
Dean eyes opened blearily, his head feeling like it would split in half.
He blinked at the bright lights, a kaleidoscope of shapes warping his vision.
What the hell happened?
A figure stood before him, and Dean blinked, trying to clear the haze from his mind.
Dean grunted, as the figure came into focus. It was a kid. Well a kid to Dean, anyway. couldn't have been more than twenty.
"Rise and shine, princess." The young kid said scathingly, his lanky blonde hair falling into his face.
Blood was spattered across his face, and coated the side of his neck.
Dean shook his head, his mind reeling.
Sam.
"Where's Sam?" Dean grunted, his eyes flitting around the room nervously, looking for his kid.
The kid smiled a sort childish grin at the mention of Sam's name.
"Dean Winchester, I presume?" he said, twisting a jagged knife in between his hands.
"Where's Sam?" Dean repeated relentlessly, gritting his teeth against the nausea that threatened to overpower him.
"Sam, Sam, Sam." the kid retorted, shaking his head.
"Do you realize how much easier your life would be if you if you would stop worrying so much?"
Dean only answered with a deep scowl.
"Piss Off." Dean said balefully, his expression dangerous.
"He's over there." The kid said, gesturing to to where Sam had lied just moments ago, covered in blood.
"What did you do to him?" Dean said, unable to tear his eyes from Sam's bloody form.
Anxiety spiked within Dean as he looked at Sam.
"He's fine, for now. Just taking a little catnap." the kid said, waving the knife in Sam's general direction.
"I'm gonna kill you." Dean growled, realizing that his hands were bound to the beam he was leaning against.
"I'd like to see you try." the kid said with a smirk. He blinked, his eyes flitting to shiny black.
Demon.
"Oh I'm gonna kill you, you can bet on it." Dean snarled, the rope digging into his wrists as he leaned forward.
"We're going to make Sam wish he were dead. And there's nothing you can do about it." the demon grinned, a menacing glint in his black eyes.
The demon blinked, his eyes returning back to their grey color.
Rage burned white hot through Dean at the mention of the demon hurting Sam, his Sam. All he saw was Red, he would kill all those sons of bitches.
"We?" Dean growled, working furiously at the ropes binding his hands. If he could just gnaw them off and get to the demon knife concealed in his boot...
"Oh yes we. But not just yet." the demon said carefully. "Bigger plans for our little Sam here."
"Boss said that the youngest Winchester was his, special orders." the demon drawled, dragging his boots along the cement floor.
"You're not gonna to touch him." Dean uttered through his teeth, leaning forward the ropes biting into his wrists. He didn't care.
He was going to make this piece of shit demon wish he had never spoken Sam's name.
The demon threw his head back, cackling at the eldest Winchester's words. His blood stained blonde hair shone in the subdued light, as he glanced back to Dean.
"You don't have the slightest idea what we're going to do with him." the demon said grinning wickedly.
That's the thing the demons and angels didn't understand, if they harmed of even threatened to hurt Sam they were dead.
It wouldn't always be immediate, but one way or another they always got what was coming to them.
Not his kid. Never.
He glanced at Sam's inert form, panic threatened to consume Dean.
Stacks of wooden boxes blocked his view of Sam, not allowing him to see if the kid was breathing or not.
His brother's still form worried Dean, as he hoped Sam would awaken and signal to Dean that he was alright.
Sam was still, too fucking still for Dean's liking.
"Boss told me that he was off limits, the youngest Winchester was for him." the demon grunted, interrupting Dean's frayed thoughts.
Dean began to tug at the ropes binding him, painfully slow.
"And why would your boss gives a rats ass about Sam?" Dean said challengingly.
"The boss has many reasons for what he wants. And it doesn't matter. Boss said our little Sammy was going to get what he deserved." the demon sneered, and came over to sit on his knees his face inches from Dean's.
Dean flinched at the demon's casual use of the nickname that was reserved only for him.
But he couldn't help it, Dean hated the way Sam's name fell off the demon's lips.
The demon smiled at Dean's reaction, pleased by his obvious discomfort.
He stared at Dean almost daring him to challenge his declaration.
Dean held the demon's glare, tugging at the ropes behind even more slowly now.
"And what about the brains of this operation? Obviously someone's pulling the strings, and it sure as hell ain't you." Dean jeered at the demon, an almost comical look on his own face.
If there was any way to get a demon to give up secrets, it was by making them talk.
"He goes my many names; A real big shot in hell, actually." it retorted through a stiff lip.
"I hold a very high position. One of the boss' most trusted." the demon said, his black eyes flitting briefly to a pale grey.
"Oh really? If he's such a big shot, why's he got the likes of you doing his dirty work? I mean let's be honest, you couldn't have been his first pick."
"This is what you do, isn't it?" the demon drawled slowly, scrutinizing Dean's face.
"You poke, and you prod. Until you get one of us to spill our guts to you?" it chuckled, shaking it's head.
"I'm disappointed to be honest. The illustrious Dean Winchester, so predictable." it said in an almost sing song voice, the demon's words echoing against the walls of the warehouse.
"You don't live up to the name." it challenged, shaking it's head at Dean.
"I mean your big news, everywhere. Heaven, Hell, even Purgatory. I get out of hell and this is what I return to? Give me a break."
"You and that brother of yours. The Winchester Epic, you're the story monsters tell their children at night." he growled, his eyes flitting back to their normal black.
That was the thing, Dean already knew he was worthless. He didn't need some piss poor demon to lay it all out for him.
"Well I'm flattered." Dean said, flashing his best eat shit grin.
"Don't be." the demon said flatly, immediately unamused. "Soon all supernatural creatures will forget the name Winchester."
"We're ripping up the beginning of the book, and writing a new chapter. "
"So what's your endgame? What do you want?" Dean said his lip curling, as he met the demons gaze once more.
"So...many...things, Dean Winchester. But when it does happen, you'll never see it coming." the demon purred, his grey eyes practically glowing with elation.
"Bite me." Dean said slowly allowing the sass to drip into his tone.
The demon lunged forward punching Dean square in the Jaw.
"Don't tempt me, Dean. I've got tons of other demons who would love to sink their teeth into you." the demon said, clicking his tongue.
Dean blacked out for a moment as he tried to gain his bearings. His world tipped in front of him, as his visions blurred slightly.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the ringing in his ears.
"Who the hell are you?" Dean said bitingly, tasting the copper taste blood in his mouth.
"The name's Alastor, the avenging Knight of Hell." Alastor said cockily with a vicious grin plastered across his face.
A Knight? Wasn't Abaddon the only knight that had survived Cain's massacre?
Dean couldn't help the shock that flickered across his face.
"So what's a piss poor Knight doing taking orders from a lesser demon?"
The demon frowned at Dean's words.
"Watch it Winchester. Just because the boss ordered hands off Sam, doesn't mean I can't have a little fun." the demon threatened an almost elated tone to his voice.
He waved his knife in front of Dean's face, gesturing towards Sam. "After all, the best torturers never get their hands dirty."
He stood up, making his way over to Sam.
"You leave him, the hell, alone." Dean nearly snarled.
The demon scoffed audibly, ignoring Dean's blatant threats.
The demon extended his arm flicking the stack of crates aside with a flick of his wrist.
Dean's heart nearly stuttered to a stop as looked over at his little brother.
Sam was completely still as he lay there in a haphazard heap, his arms splayed at awkward angles.
One of his arms looked twisted, as though it shouldn't be able to bend in that direction. Blood ran down the side of Sam's face his head angled towards Dean.
"If you touch him, I'll kill you!" Dean shouted, his expression almost animalistic.
He had finally cut the ropes free which bound his hands. From this point on it was all about opportunity, and how to lure the demon away from Sam.
He hated how close Alastor was to Sam, and he be damned it he let him hurt his little brother.
"You know you're going about this the wrong way. I mean you have the perfect opportunity." Dean said quickly, trying to keep his poker face.
Alastor's head tilted in Dean's direction, his gaze breaking away from Sam.
"And what's that?" Alastor said, his blonde hair flopping into his face.
"You could run this operation entirely by yourself, if you wanted. But instead you let the head honcho call the shots. I mean how pathetic is that?" Dean laughed tauntingly, shaking his head at the demon.
Alastor frowned, his expression suddenly becoming enraged. He sauntered over to Dean, yanking him upwards by the collar.
"Do you know who I am?" Alastor barked enunciating the last few words.
Dean's gaze darkened as he met the demons black eyes.
"Dead man walking." Dean snarled, and leaned forward ripping his way from his bindings.
He pushed Alastor down, nearly tempted to rip out the demon's throat. But that wouldn't do anything it would only royally piss Alastor off.
Alastor was fast, but Dean was faster, and the mark gave him an edge over most supernatural creatures.
The mark gave him clarity; calm even.
This was the high he craved, the kind he relished. There was no shame, fear, or anxiety. Just unadulterated power, and he couldn't get enough.
The demon twisted Dean's wrist, trying to get him to drop the blade.
Dean pushed back exerting himself more than he thought was possible The demon was just as powerful, if not more and he knew it too.
Dean kicked the demon's feet out from underneath him, pinning him by the throat.
"Who are you working with?" Dean spat, holding the demon back with all of his weight.
The demon laughed a sort of rattling choked laugh, since Dean was cutting off his air supply.
"I tell you, I won't die." the demon gasped, the cool metal of the angel blade pressed tightly against its throat.
The demon fidgeted underneath the compression of Dean's weight on his chest.
"I don't tell you, I still won't die." Alastor spat, his bloodied teeth set in a wide grin.
"Either way right now you can't hurt me Dean Winchester." Alastor grinned, his face stained with his meatsuits blood.
Ultimately the demon was right. If he really was a Knight like he said he was, Dean couldn't do a damn thing until he had the First Blade.
Didn't matter. Dean wanted to hurt this demon, and the knife could do just that.
"Good point." Dean snarled, pulling the demon knife back and brought it down sinking it into the demon's chest.
But it was too late, the demon's head reared back, black smoke spewing from the kids mouth.
He didn't even feel sorry about the kid's body the demon had ridden out.
All he could think about was what the demon said about Sam, his kid. Fury reigned through Dean as he remembered the demon's previous words.
The mark burned savagely on Dean's arm, egging him on further. Finish him.
His fists clenched at his sides, and suddenly he brought his fist forward until it connected with the kids face.
Over and over Dean punched the host body, his hand covered in the kid's blood.
Ah yes. The pure raw energy he had grown so familiar to, greeted him like an old friend.
It coursed through his veins, burning it ways outwards in a tantalizing surge of refined power.
Through the red haze in his mind, Dean's resolve suddenly faltered as he remembered where he was. And who was still with him.
Sam.
Where the hell was he?
TBC