A/Ns: I came home early from my camping trip to finish editing this chapter just for you all XD

Oookay, so we didn't cut the trip short *only* for this story; my friend also started feeling ill and the weather was pretty chuck-awful. But no lie, I sat in the woods that I love all day yesterday and grumbled about how I just wanted to be home where I could edit without worrying about battery conservation and glare on my screen. XP This story is becoming my life and I'm really not sure that's a good thing.

Minutiae: The logical part of my brain that insists on accuracy and realism tells me a town the size of Rivergrove would not have its own school. They'd likely bus their kids to a bigger town. But, the imaginative part of my brain says a town close enough to ship their kids off in a bus every day is no place for a zombie apocalypse. So I'm making Rivergrove rural enough that those bitches, all three hundred and seventy one of them, have their own school.

Just imagine how proud they'd be, having chipped in their tax dollars and a little extra to build a brand new gymnasium complete with basketball court. They'd have had one of those large signs with a thermometer drawn on it, red marker filling up the tube to show how much money they'd raised and how much more they had to go. They'd have thrown a party in that gymnasium once it was newly built. It'd be the pride and joy of the community, guys.

(Am I romanticizing small town life in my head? You bet I am. But you go watch that episode. Aside from being creepy as fuck, that town was *cute*)

(Now let's go murder a bunch of people in it.)

Quality Warning: The beginning of this chapter was so much better written when it immediately followed Ch. 41. But now I've cannibalized it so the damn Muse could have her twenty one extra pages, and it's still a little rough in my opinion.

Chapter Warnings: Dean's taking a beating, Azazel is being his usual unnerving self, Sam's faced with some difficult choices, Andy's hurting, Cas is coming to the rescue, and if you thought the last chapter was a cliffhanger…well, it was nice knowing you, cuz you're not gonna like me for very much longer.

Actual Chapter Warnings: For real, there is a pretty rough beating and minor torture and gore in this chapter. Azazel is a super creep, Andy is, uh, really not doing well, and there's a terrible, no good, dirty rotten sort-of double cliffhanger.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 43

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean kicked and fought and punched for every yard he was dragged out of the doctor's office and down the main street. The Tanner kid hadn't gotten him very far in the six and a half minutes since Sam locked himself and Andy inside one of the patient rooms and never came back out. Their lack of progress was probably due to Dean putting all one hundred and eighty pounds of fit, trim muscle (and, okay, a little bit of cheeseburgers and pie, but only, like, a little), into throwing a level eleven temper tantrum that would have any two year old looking on in aspiration.

The old man Croat, weirdly enough, followed along behind the two of them like a chaperone to the world's most unorthodox and unwanted date.

"Enough!" Duane, or whatever the demon's actual name was (probably long forgotten after centuries down in the pit) shouted as he came to a halt outside a tiny little pharmacy only two doors down from the clinic. The demon spun, slamming Dean's back into the wall hard enough to shake dust free from the brick façade.

The hunter groaned, sure to have bruises all up and down his back tomorrow (if he lived that long). He picked his head off the wall to glare at the black-eyed bastard. "Or what? You'll kill me?"

How unoriginal that would turn out to be.

Tanner sneered, lip curling up and over his teeth. He gestured with his head to the old man standing just to their left, back to swaying mindlessly. "No, Winchester. I'll let that one take you apart piece by piece. Not enough to kill you, just enough to infect you and leave you to die a slow, miserable death. Until you get back up, mindless and obedient, and hunt down your own brother just to taste his blood."

For the life of him, Dean couldn't help the way he blanched, but damnit, did he try. The hunter swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced himself to maintain eye contact. But for one of the few times in his life, he opted to stay silent and it annoyed him how satisfied the demon looked. He didn't have a choice, though. There was no telling what Hell and Time would make of this mess, and he couldn't take any chances. They were far enough off from the events he knew that just about anything could happen now. Including one (or more) of them not making it out this time.

However, that didn't mean he had any intention of making it easy for the bastard holding him in an iron grip.

"Dean!"

The hunter's head snapped up and to the side, a mix of surprise, fear, hope, then ultimately devastation passing through him like so much whiplash. Sam stood at the next corner a hundred feet away, flanked by a man and woman. A third hulking beast of a dude joined them, practically hauling Andy in front of him. Dean's chest constricted at the sight. They hadn't gotten away after all.

The three captors were far too calm to be activated Croats, and Dean realized he was seeing the first wave of that 'we' Tanner mentioned. Demons. Just how many were in this God-forsaken town? Hell was only supposed to have a handful operating on Earth at the moment. Had they upped their numbers, or were they all just conveniently summoned for a little Winchester Welcoming Party? Dean grit his teeth as the Tanner kid grinned, peeling him off the wall and dragging him towards the others. He didn't fight nearly as hard since that was exactly where he wanted to go anyway.

"Sam," he breathed out as he got close enough to see his kid brother was alright. He didn't look hurt, though he was definitely a bit scuffed up and dirtier than he had been fifteen minutes ago. Andy wasn't doing nearly as well, half of his weight held up by the demon's hands, but he still looked better than he had right after they'd left the sheriff's station. The blood and fluids had clearly helped. Dean leaned away from Duane's grip as much as he could to eye the kid's shoulder. There was some blood smattering the bandages and the poor kid was shivering in the November air in nothing more than his t-shirt, but he was alive and it looked like he might stay that way for now.

He looked in his right mind too, as much as a blood loss victim could be, which was a good sign. They were two hours into the incubation period. Dean would have expected a turn by now, if it was going to happen.

The female demon took immediate control of the situation, ordering the beast of a meatsuit holding Andy to also keep an eye on Dean, as well, given the new bruises Tanner was sporting on his face and arms. The older Winchester ended up sandwiched between the two of them as they resumed their journey to who-knows where.

The demons dragged the three humans down the deserted drag, the late hours of night upon them in the ghost town that Rivergrove was quickly becoming. They could still hear the occasional glass breaking in the distance, gunfire, and one time answering screams, but the noises were few and far between. And there was nothing the Winchester could do about any of it. Most of the town had surely been lost in that first hour after the Croats broke free. Their plan hadn't saved anyone. The whole town would be infected, dead, or missing by morning, if they weren't already.

As they got to the end of the main drag, the road split in a T-intersection, and across the street was what looked like a school, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. Well, that was a terrible idea. No horror movie ever took place in an empty, abandoned school in the dead of night in a town full of zombies. Not at all.

Dean landed a particularly good kick to Demon Hulk, to let his dislike of their current trajectory be clear. The hellspawn actually let out a grunt, grip on Andy faltering to the point where the kid stumbled and hit the ground with a weak cry. Dean felt a flash of guilt there, silently urging him to get up and run, but the kid was just too out of it. The woman who seemed to be in charge of Larry, Moe, and Hulk Curly here, spun on her heel, jaw squared tight and fire in her eyes.

"Hey!" she hissed, stalking up to him while Dean just pulled on his most charming Winchester smile. The one that never failed to piss off monsters. "You better get in line right now, Winchester, or-"

The demon stopped right in front of his face, her lips so close to his he could feel her breath on his cheek, and Dean didn't hesitate. He reared back and slammed his head into hers.

He was pretty sure the snort he heard came from Andy, but given the way his vision whited out for a second, Dean didn't actually know. The Tanner kid delivered a punch right to his kidneys for that little move, and the hunter found himself bent involuntarily in half, harboring his side.

"Son of a- That's it!" the woman shrieked as she straightened back up, hands covering her bleeding, broken nose. The demon pointed viciously at the one Croat the demons had kept with them: the old man.

"You! Get over here."

The guy obeyed without a sound, stepping towards her and Dean, who was playing nice while he put his internal organs back together. Tanner and the other normal sized meatsuit (Moe), seemed impatient to get moving, but as the woman was in charge, they stood by in disquieted agitation, hands tight on their prisoners.

"Gimme 'em," the demon demanded of the Croat. Dean tried not to let his trepidation show, but only ended up frowning almost comically when the infected man pulled three sets of cuffs from his pockets. He must have been one of the original Croats they'd locked up and raided the sheriff's station once the hunters fled. Dean eyed the cuffs, then turned that skeptical look on the demon.

"Wasn't my hands that broke your nose, sweetheart."

The woman took a deep breath, but let it out with a sickly sweet smile, made all the worse by the river of blood still dripping down her mouth and chin. "Oh, believe me. I'd take that head right off your shoulders if it was in the cards, bucko."

Dean forced a grin on his face to cover the way his stomach rolled. If the demons had orders to keep them alive – which was obvious given they'd been taken prisoner – then that could really only mean one thing.

Azazel was here, waiting for them at the end of this little nature walk of theirs.

Dean met Sam's eyes in realization, only to see his brother already knew. Well fuck.

They were all handcuffed, arms bound in front of them. As if to prove his brother's point, the bracelets didn't stopped Sam from giving his captor (Moe) a black eye, which earned him a particularly vicious hit across the face in return. Even bleeding from the temple, Sam didn't hesitate from striking out at the very next opportunity. As the demons turned to handcuffing Andy, the kid muffling a yell as his injured arm was manhandled in front of him, Sam broke free of Moe to bulldoze right into Demon Hulk (Curly, naturally).

"Enough!" The ringleader hollered, coming up behind Andy to grab the back of his neck with one hand and curl the other over his injured shoulder. She dug one of her perfectly manicured fake nail into the bullet wound as a warning, and Andy screamed.

Both hunters froze in their outright revolt, Dean releasing his captor (Larry, aka Duane Tanner) from a chokehold he absolutely had not been winning (though the cuffed hands had lent some assistance there) and Sam laid panting on the ground where Hulk Curly stumbled to his feet. The monstrosity of a meatsuit huffed in annoyance then pulled the hunter back up by the scruff of his shirt. Sam went willingly, eyes locked on the demon holding Andy.

She sneered at them, not withdrawing her finger from Andy's bleeding body but not going any further, either. The kid was struggling for air, eyes wide and glassy with pain, as a fresh flow of blood started down his arm.

"Leave him alone," Dean growled, uselessly raising bound wrists like the double-armed human club could ever be an actual threat to a demon (although, given he was a Winchester and they were known for pulling win's out of their asses, there was a chance, actually). Tanner grabbed onto his bicep with a low growl and Dean ripped away from him, his promise to turn that club on him next coming in loud and clear.

"Or what? Hunters; you always think you're the ones in charge," the demon scoffed, hand squeezing threateningly on Andy's shoulder. The kid whimpered, just barely keeping his feet under him as pain rolled from his arm like waves of liquid fire. No, worse than fire. Acid, burning him from the inside out. "Well, let me tell you, I've got no qualms having one less of you around. Hell, I'm more than happy to leave this kid right here and let him bleed to death if you two don't stow the hero complex and fall in line, now."

Her entire hand clenched, sending Andy back towards the ground as his legs gave out and his entire upper body spasmed in retaliation. His scream tore at the Winchesters, and Sam raised his hands as well, less of the threat his brother promised and more in surrender.

"Stop, stop!" he yelled until the demon let up, leaving their friend a gasping, gaping, bleeding mess in her hands, the only thing holding him up. "Just stop. You don't need to hurt him, alright? It's me you all want." Sam slowly lowered his hands as the woman regarded him with cold, calculating eyes. Her hand finally loosened from its death grip on Andy. Beside him, Sam could feel Dean tense, teeth gritted against his little brother offering himself up on a silver platter. But it's what Dean would have done if it was Sam standing there hurt and bleeding. The younger Winchester gestured to himself with shrugged shoulders and bound wrists, "Well, you got me. I'm right here."

The thin-lipped smile – half a sneer, really – was all teeth, and it immediately set Sam's hunting instincts on edge. "That's nice of you to, Sam. Volunteering like that."

She tossed her head at something just over his shoulder, but the brunet didn't have time to turn before something was stabbed into his neck. Sam cried out, trying to pull away, but a tight grip wrapped around his arm held him kept him from escaping as fire erupted where his neck and shoulder met.

"Sammy!" Dean saw the attack coming at the last possible second, but there was nothing he could do to stop Moe from plunging a syringe full of the old man's blood – gathered while the two had been distracted by the threat to Andy's life – and emptying it into Sam's neck. Duane, still hovering beside him, was quick to restrain the older Winchester and Dean could do nothing but watch as Sam stumbled to one knee, hand clamped over the injection site.

The blood burned through his veins like liquid ice, and Sam shuddered at the slight buzz that accompanied it. Not unlike demon blood, he realized, and his eyes shot open at that. Sam jerked his head around, wincing as it pulled at the fresh bruising to his neck. He stared at Moe and the red-ringed syringe in his hand with wide eyes.

"What was that?" the younger hunter asked, a hollow fear in his voice that had Dean immediately on his toes.

It was the demon in charge, popping her lips in success, who answered coolly, "Just a little cocktail. Something we're trying out."

Sam met his brother's eyes, the fear there clearly painting a picture of what else could have been in that syringe. Dean hadn't been paying attention – had Moe filled that syringe with some of his own good stuff before passing it onto the Croat? Damnit, they couldn't afford demon blood on top of everything else this night was turning out to be!

His part now played out, the female demon shoved Andy away from her. The kid stumbled a step and a half before his legs gave out. Luckily, Hulk Curly came to the antithetical rescue, grabbing Andy by his shirt before he could completely crumple to the ground. He set the kid back on his feet, holding up most of his weight when Andy couldn't quite manage it himself. Blood was once more falling to the black asphalt in a steady drip, drip, drip. The woman dusted her hands off on her skin-tight jeans and turned back towards the darkened school.

"Let's go," she tossed over her shoulder. The hunters' babysitters grabbed them one by one and started hauling them across the road.

-o-o-o-

The Rivergrove Robert Gray K-12 School was not a big building. It had one hallway lined with lockers that fed into four classrooms, a tiny teacher's lounge, and an administrative area that doubled as the principal's office. The building had an unattached gym, just big enough for a full-sized basketball court, which sat kitty-corner from the school. Hemmed in by the two buildings was a small rec field and playground. For a small town, it was the pride and joy of the community. They held local plays in that gym. The field doubled as a park on weekends, where the town held outdoor movie nights and the local Bluegrass band played every Friday. It was the central meeting location for just about anything town-related.

For the three hunters currently being dragged down its dark, deserted corridor, it was looking increasingly like a grave. Or, at the very least, an uncomfortably close call and the fuel for a series of nightmares they'd all rather not experience.

Andy was still shaking, eyes on the slow but steady stream of blood trailing down his arm, when the group came to a stop at the end of the school's only hallway. There were another four demons waiting for them there, eyes black and expressions grim.

Jesus Christ, how many damn demons were in this town? This was now beyond the number Dean had been comfortable thinking were topside at this point in the timeline. This was bad.

A door to their left, marked with a glowing red exit sign, led out to the field and gymnasium beyond. Still holding Dean, the Tanner kid all but tossed him into the waiting arms of two of those demons, who grabbed him and started hauling him towards the exit. Duane followed along behind, a little limp still in his step (much to Dean's satisfaction), and the whole little party was joined by another demon and Hulk Curly.

"Dean!" Sam tried to follow, not liking the uneven split of manpower and what it hinted at. But the last of the new demons latched onto him, and he and Andy were hauled into the classroom at the end of the hall, no matter how much Sam fought against it. Dean disappeared through the exit surrounded by demons, and Sam had the gut-wrenching thought that this new timeline, created by decisions he'd insisted on, was about to get his brother killed.

The two were hurled through the door, Andy catching himself on one of ten school desks that filled the room. Sam toppled backwards into another, awkwardly catching himself half on the surface and half in the attached plastic chair that was absolutely not designed for a frame as large as his. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the two boys alone in the dark, silent classroom.

At least until a light clicked on in the front corner over by the wall of windows. Andy, already facing that direction, looked up from his near death grip on the desk (sure they were about to be torn to shreds by a hoard of zombies just waiting for them in the dark, because what else could this nightmare possibly be missing?) and suddenly couldn't breathe for all new reasons. Sam rolled off the desk so he could face the threat head on, but even he couldn't fight the urge to back away.

Azazel sat at the teacher's desk in the far corner, chair balancing back on two legs, feet up on the surface. He was tossing a shiny, cliché-as-fuck, red apple up and down in one hand, a lazy grin stretched across his borrowed face. Yellow eyes glowed beneath the light of the desk lamp, the silver pull chain still swinging back and forth underneath the shade.

"Hello, kiddos. Welcome to the party."

Andy started shaking again and beside him, while he might have been able to hide it better, Sam wasn't doing much better.

-o-o-o-

The four demons brought Dean, kicking and hollering, into the gymnasium. He threw a two-armed punch (damn cuffs) and got punched back by the Demon Hulk, almost toppling to the side as they shoved him through the double doors. His boots made god awful squeaks on the shiny wood of the basketball court as he stumbled inside.

There were two more demons waiting for them, and Dean's stumble that time had nothing to do with his current captors shoving him towards them. This wasn't right. And not just the time bullshit, because, honestly, time not following the damn timeline was old news. But this – this, six demons plus the three more with Sammy was unheard of numbers pre-Hell Gate. This was…this wasn't good.

The hunter lurched forward as the hardest push yet sent him sprawling into the two waiting demons. They caught him and immediately tossed him back, keeping Dean off balance. Like some elementary school bullying, the six demons formed up a circle around him, shoving at him as he stumbled back and forth, until the hunter finally managed to catch his footing enough in the center that he wasn't within arm's reach of any of them.

Dean wiped at the blood gathered in the corner of his mouth and spat the remaining glob onto the court. The handcuffs jingled as he lowered his arms. "Let me guess. The first rule of Demon Fight Club is, we don't talk about Demon Fight Club?"

Hands grabbed from behind and spun him. The first punch was utterly unsurprising, but the force of it took the hunter to the floor. Dean groaned against the stupidly reflective surface. His breath left a cloud of condensation across the polish. He stared along the length of it, frowning when his double vision focused on another figure, not participating in ring-around-the-demonic-rosy. Another demon, no doubt; he was leaning against the far wall beside the bleachers, observing the proceedings with about as much interest as a fat kid would have in a Whole Foods. Dean didn't recognize the guy he was possessing – his short-cropped blond hair, too-tight black t-shirt, and leather jacket didn't particularly stand out – or know why he was so important he got to opt out of the Minions Anonymous meeting (beat-a-Winchester-to-a-bloody-pulp edition).

Dean allowed himself a moment, staring at the son of a bitch staring right back at him, before he got his chained hands under him and slowly hauled himself back up. He was surprised said minions hadn't bothered kicking him when he was down.

They even almost let him get to his feet before the next punch landed.

Dean knew how to take a beating; he'd had plenty in his life to learn by. In his experience, demons were some of the least creative when it came to a smack down. That always seemed to be the case with the monsters with super strength. So busy flouting their ability to throw you across the room like a hacky-sack they didn't even notice they weren't doing all that much damage. Now, the ones down in Hell – the ones that worked the racks and turned others – they were definitely creative, if you wanted to call it that. His time on the rack was, hands down, the worst beating Dean had ever taken, and not only because it lasted forty friggin' years. But your average demon, like the ones surrounding him now, they were overpaid nightclub bouncers at best.

Another punch landed right between his shoulder blades and Dean cried out as he found himself stomach down on the court once more. Of course, bouncers or not, it didn't mean it didn't hurt. He knew he could take it, though.

The only problem was, Dean didn't know how long it was going to go on, and if Azazel really was on scene, that meant Sam was alone with him. Sam and Andy. And as far as Hell was concerned, the kid was expendable. They needed Sam and they had the leverage to get what they wanted. Dean didn't have time to make like Tyler Durden with these guys.

He felt a tooth loosen with the next punch, then lost it completely when the Tanner kid's foot connected with his face while he was still on all fours on the ground. Dean spat it out with a little clatter across the bloodied court. His face was an array of pain, the newest addition a throbbing shock along his jaw, causing neck muscles to cramp and his head to throb in tandem with his now agitated pulse.

Unfortunately, Dean wasn't exactly seeing a way out. Six to one (seven, if you counted the Travolta-wannabe over by the bleachers) were ugly odds, even for a badass such as himself. And he was a badass. Dean launched himself off of the floor to tackle the Tanner kid to the ground, reigning punches on him for as long as he had, spouting an exorcism through a swollen jaw all the meanwhile.

Demon Hulk hauled him off, and this time the punch to his face dislocated the bone completely. No more exorcism for Dean, or talking of any kind.

"Wiping the floor with your face is fun, Winchester." Dean groaned from the floor, and the demon – a new woman in a tall, athletic meatsuit with gorgeous dark skin (exactly Dean's type any other day) – picked him up by his jacket, hauling him to his feet. He managed to turn his head enough to deflect her blow from striking the same jaw, but it boxed his ear instead and his whole head rung like a bell. "But I bet it's not as much fun as little Sammy's having right now."

The demons around him laughed and Dean struck out blindly. His cuffed hands clipped the lady, but it might as well have been a mosquito buzzing in her ear for all the damage it did. She dropped him to the floor like a sack of potatoes, a kick from a high-heeled boot sent him rolling several feet back into the circle.

"Do you think Azazel's got him on the good stuff, yet?" The Tanner kid grinned toothily as Demon Hulk hauled the exhausted, bleeding hunter off the floor for the gazillionth time. He was set back on his feet with another punch to the head.

Much more and he wouldn't be conscious to save anyone, least of all himself. And though it all, that guy in black just stood there, leaning against the back wall, watching the beat down.

"I bet he's sucking down blood like a baby from its mama's teat right about now."

Fear struck through him like a bad cord at the thought. Dean blinked through the blood and the ringing that seemed to exist between his ears and his eyes. But he didn't need to see to pinpoint the one who'd said it. It was the same woman, the only female voice in a chorus of asshatery. Dean was getting real tired of her.

She locked eyes on him, a vicious smirk lighting one side of her face. "I bet it tastes good to him. Mother's milk, straight from the source-"

Dean tackled the bitch with a muffled roar. He even managed to take down the demon laughing beside her, the three tumbling to the floor in a heap. The hunter was hauled up and off of them in no time at all, but tucked his knees into his chest the second the demon whore climbed back to her feet. Making use of the strength of the guys wrestling him from behind, Dean struck out, encircling her throat with his legs and snapping her neck like a twig. The demon behind him toppled over backwards trying to shake the hunter free and they both went down together. Benny had taught him how to do that during some seriously weird Purgatory lessons.

But the demon just stumbled back to her feet, grabbing at her bent head and untwisting the mangled vertebrae with a sickening series of cracks. Her eyes flicked black as she stalked towards Dean with murder in those soulless depths.

Without an exorcism or a miracle, he just wasn't getting out of this one.

But Dean had promised. He'd promised Sammy that this would never happen to him again. Dean wouldn't let it. He'd said it – and meant it – the day they started fixing up the Impala. Sam would never be forced to drink demon blood again. Big brother Dean wouldn't let it happen.

Well, big brother Dean was currently mopping the Rivergrove basketball court with his face and blood. Lot of good he or his promises were.

Of course, there was still option left. It was a little of column A, a lot of column B, fully capable of getting him out of this mess, and the only move Dean had left that didn't require the application of a dislocated jaw. But he didn't want to do it. Hadn't wanted to do it, before Hell's Fight Club started talking shop. In a shit ton of ways, Dean still didn't want to do it. Using their get-out-of-jail-free card, the ace up their sleeve, meant showing their hand way ahead of schedule. Way, way ahead of schedule. It could easily be the thing that broke the timeline for good, that jump started a biblical war two damn years early.

But if he couldn't get to Sam, then someone else had to. Timeline be damned.

The hunter turned his head away from the next round of hits, away from the tightness spreading across his chest and the twisting knots making Swiss cheese of his stomach. Dean shut it all out, closed his eyes, and prayed to Castiel.

-o-o-o-

"You boys won't be needing those," Azazel spoke through a mouth of full of apple, juice dripping down his chin. He waved the hand holding the half-eaten fruit, and suddenly two sets of handcuffs clicked open, falling off of Sam and Andy to clatter to the floor. The demon swallowed the apple down then grinned widely. He sat up quite suddenly, pulling his feet from the desk in a shift from cool and in control to manic and still very much in control. With sweeping movement, Azazel stood and rounded the desk, taking another loud bite.

Andy and Sam both stumbled away from the approaching demon, but not in the same direction. The kid, clutching at his head with blood running down his arm like he'd forgotten he was injured, stumbled backwards down the aisle of desks until he had the length of the room between him and the yellow-eyed man. Sam only made it a handful of feet before his back met the wall beside the door. They had no weapons, nothing to defend themselves with. Not that much would work against a demon. Especially this demon.

Sam opened his mouth and got six words of an exorcism out before Azazel slammed into him, one hand slapping across his mouth, the other curling into his shirt. The apple bounced off the floor, splattering juice as it rolled away in a curve.

"Nuh-uh-uh, Sammy-boy." Those pale eyes were way too close for comfort, and Sam turned his head to the side just for the scant distance it put between them. "You play nice, now, or I'll give you the paddle, boy."

The purposeful drawl on his last word had Sam clenching his teeth against the connotation far more than the threat. Not that the threat of punishment – regardless of the obviously condescending choice – wasn't still very, very real. Sam remembered every bone Azazel had broken in his brother's body, every cut and laceration. Every scream Dean had made in that Michigan cabin. The younger Winchester was under no illusions of being safe simply because he was the demon's 'favorite.'

"What do you want?" he spat out as soon as Azazel's hand slid from his mouth. It shifted down his jaw to wrap around his neck and Sam gritted his teeth against the way his body trembled, from fear as much as anger and disgust. The touch was far too close to a caress, and Sam knew it was intentional. This demon had always been nothing if not taunting in his possessiveness over the younger Winchester. Dean would have called him creepy as fuck, Sam just wanted him away.

"You, tiger! Always you." The smile was almost cheerful, the tone full of excitement, and Sam tried to push himself further into the wall, to no avail.

"Leave him alone."

It was just a whisper in the mostly silent room, but it drew the attention of both demon and hunter. Andy was barely on his feet, the far wall all that was keeping him upright. His hands were still buried in his short hair, trembling fingers clutching at his scalp, body curled in on itself. He looked on the brink of losing it entirely. But lucid eyes were focused on them, on Azazel.

The demon chuckled, though he did draw back enough for Sam to breathe again. "And so the mouse speaks! Let us know when you've worked up to a roar."

Azazel turned back to his main prize, but Sam's eyes stayed on his friend. Andy looked terrible, pale and sweating. The hunter dropped his gaze to the kid's blood-soaked shoulder, the bullet hole still bleeding sluggishly through its bandages. The infection wound wasn't visible, hidden away on the other side of his arm. Sam could only hope those stitches had held. The kid really couldn't afford to lose any more blood.

Sam's eyes darted back up to Andy's, now glass over, and the Winchester hesitated as the old worry of infection popped back into his brain. But Dean had said it was the demon blood. Or, tried to, at least. It had been almost three hours and Andy hadn't turned yet, so Sam took it on faith that he wouldn't turn now. Even though he looked close to the brink of insanity, curled in on himself along the back wall, clutching at his head like he was losing it. Staring at him now, this kid who'd become like a little brother to the Winchesters, Sam prayed to a God he still believed in that the demon blood in his veins kept him safe from the infection, and somehow, Sam would keep him safe through the rest. Long enough to get them out of here.

"Now, kiddo." Sam tuned back in to the demon still holding him to the wall as Azazel patted down his jacket and pants with his free hand. Sam used the opportunity to wrap his cuffed hands around the wrist pinning him to the wall, but even putting his full weight into it, Azazel's arm didn't budge. Instead, Sam trapped and the demon found the hex bag he'd been looking for, pulling it out and tossing it up and down in his palm. "This here's some naughty contraband. No witchcraft on school property, boys. You know the rules."

One pale yellow eye winked at him before the small pouch burst into flames, causing Sam to jerk away from the source of heat not a foot from his body. Azazel turned his hand over and the little fireball fell to the classroom floor where it continued sizzling away.

"Clever, though. Did you kill the witch that taught you that, Sammy?" Azazel wiped the front of his hand on Sam's shirt, then flipped it over to wipe the back. "It would fit, after all. Hunters are such hypocrites."

Sam was pulled off the wall when Azazel's hand fisted in his shirt and hauled him forward. The six and a half foot man stumbled for footing as he was tossed across the room, catching himself between two desks and only sort of sliding to the ground rather than falling on his ass completely. Yellow Eyes, meanwhile, strolled to the desk across from the downed hunter and hopped up on it. Sam glared up at him as Azazel crossed one leg over the other, hands clasped around his knee.

The younger Winchester had always enjoyed school. Always liked every one of his teachers. He'd never had the kind of problems with authority figures that his brother did. But staring up at the demon, every inch of him a lesson in condescension, his stretched grin practically spelling out I-Will-Abuse-My-Authority-Over-You…well, Sam suddenly found new sympathy and understanding for Dean, who had wanted to punch every male teacher he'd ever had right in the smiling teeth.

"How you managed to block your mind, though…" Azazel tsk'ed through his teeth. It set Sam's nerves on edge like nails down a chalkboard. "That's the one I'm really curious about. I'm guessing… Spelled artifact? That's some pretty nasty magic, Sammy. Real dangerous, dabbling in stuff that can seal off your mind." The demon leaned forward, and though he was a good four, five feet away, Sam still found himself leaning further into the metal legs of the desk and chair. "You never know what might get trapped in there with it."

The trill of fear that ran down his spine was, Sam was quite certain, the whole point of Azazel's words. So he did his best to ignore them. Tried not to let this demon get under his skin or into his mind. Cas had warned them that consecutive use of the coin could turn dangerous, but Andy and Sam had both only been using it for a couple of months. They should be fine. Cas would have told them otherwise.

And besides, even if they weren't, what exactly was Sam going to do about it now? They had way bigger problems.

"How you doing over there, little mouse?" Azazel turned his gaze and half his upper body towards Andy. The kid, still propped up by the back wall, whimpered.

"Leave him alone," Sam demanded between clenched teeth. He tried to leverage himself off the floor using the desk and chair he was still clinging too, but Azazel shook a finger at him, warning look in his eye. Begrudgingly, the Winchester stilled.

"Not so fast, Sammy. You stay right there."

The young hunter bared his teeth with true huffiness that Dean would be proud of (and endlessly annoyed by, most likely). "I told you. Only my brother gets to call me that."

Azazel just smirked and re-clasped his hands around his kneecap. "I'm afraid I can't leave Mr. Gallagher alone, tiger. I need him."

At Sam's pinched expression, turning towards the poor kid barely keeping it together in the back, Azazel clapped his hands. Sam's eyes snapped back on him.

"Let me tell you how I think tonight is going to go." The demon's arm disappeared behind his back as if he was reaching for something on the desk that had definitely been clear a minute ago. "I'll pull out something like this."

The jar of blood hit the table beside his thigh with a loud clang that caused both of his boys to jump. Still fresh, a dribble of red slid down the curvature of the glass, pooling along the bottom. It would leave a half-circled stain on the worn wooden surface that would never fully come out.

Its inevitable presence in the conversation was far from unexpected, but even just the sight of it, that dark liquid settling from being sloshed about, still stole Sam's breath from his lungs and turned his veins to ice.

"And you'll get a choice." Azazel's patient tone was just about the only sound in that classroom aside from Andy's labored breathing. Sam's fingers were shaking against the metal and wood, but he blamed it on the rage scouring through him like a festering wound.

If eyes could speak, Sam's glare would be screaming N-O, capital letters, at the top of his lungs. Azazel clucked his tongue, one finger snapping into a finger gun, which he aimed at the hunter on the floor. One of those pale eyes winked at him again.

"You will choose the ill-advised, futile path of a hero," the demon continued his account of the evening's upcoming events as if his audience was nothing more than that. Then he aimed his hand, pointer and thumb still out, towards the ceiling and the tremor in Sam's muscles became more pronounced. He locked his jaw and prepared for pain. "And I will be forced to do something like this."

Sam slammed his eyes shut as Azazel waved his hand. But, of course, it wasn't Sam Winchester who suffered the demon's punishment. It never would be, until he agreed to play the game.

Hazel eyes ripped back open at Andy's scream and Sam tried to surge to his feet. But this time, Azazel did wave his way, and the hunter slammed back into the chairs. Pinned to the metal legs of the classroom furniture, Sam desperately turned his head, trying to see Andy through the sea of desks.

The kid sunk to the floor, limbs shaking and eyes wide. He was pressing a spasming hand to his chest, where three fresh tears in his shirt revealed shredded skin and fresh blood bubbling out of him. A lot of blood. Too much blood, when the kid had already lost so much.

"No!" Sam cried out, too little too late, and fought against the power keeping him down. He turned furious, desperate eyes to the demon sitting above him. "You can't!"

"I told you I needed him," Azazel shrugged one shoulder.

"Stop," the hunter pleaded, still pulling with all of his strength, legs scrabbling across the slick vinyl tiling, but the only thing he was managing to do was heave his torso off the floor. His arms stayed pinned to the desks. Sam had anger to spare on his best days, but all the fury in the world wasn't going to break him free of Azazel's powers.

Not…not without that jar of demon blood sitting next to him.

Sam slammed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the buzzing he'd felt the moment that demon injected him with the Croatoan virus. He'd felt it, he had. Something so similar to the demon blood that maybe…just maybe…

Nothing happened, and Sam was forced to open his eyes to face the smiling demon again. He looked desperately over at Andy, then snarled at Azazel. He had to do something but he had nothing. "He's one of your kids!"

"So was Max Miller."

The struggling man stilled at the name – at the reminder of what had happened to the kid it belonged to – and stared in horror at the yellow eyed man. He was going to kill Andy. He was going to sit there and listen to the kid die without a care in the world, because Sam wouldn't do what he wanted. The reality of the situation hit the younger Winchester like an eighteen-wheeler, and he turned desperate eyes to the surrogate little brother bleeding out a dozen feet from him.

Azazel resumed his earlier pose, hands clasping around his knee once more, like this was a parent teacher conference and all they were discussing was a kid's ailing grades. "You missed my Aesop reference, champ. I'm looking for a lion. That-" he pointed to Andy, not even looking at his kid bleeding out on the classroom floor- "is a mouse."

Sam stared at his friend, still clutching at his chest. Their Jedi. A kid whose powers and abilities far outweighed Sam's own. But he didn't have the right blood in his veins, so he meant nothing to the demon. Just another pawn in the game.

Andy's breaths were ragged, terrible gasps, each a heaving, panicked inhale. Sam turned back to the demon, eyes sliding down to the jar of blood that would save Andy's life, whether it be by bargain or a Hail Mary play to get them out of this. Either way, he was running out of time to make a choice he knew he shouldn't make.

"I have tons of special kiddos, Sam-boy. But I only need one winner." Azazel smiled down at the hunter glaring up at him. When the the heavy, ugly silence stretched far longer than the demon expected it to, those yellow eyes narrowed curiously. He knew his favorite well, and Sammy wasn't sticking to the script, here. "Aren't you going to ask me why?"

The human's hands curled into fists and the demon clucked his tongue.

"Maybe, you already know. That little bird on Dean's shoulder, perhaps?"

The hunter stilled in his effort not to suck in a breath. Shit, he stayed quiet so he wouldn't accidentally give anything away. He hadn't meant to hint at even more with his silence.

"I'll tell you what, Sammy. Let's make a new deal." Azazel leaned forward, crossing his arms over his legs almost lazily, hand dangling off a thigh. "You tell me all about Dean's little friend, and you don't have to drink this."

His head tilted towards the jar of demon blood, and Sam couldn't help but follow that gesture. The hunter's stomach coiled into tight, sharp knots just looking at it.

"I'll even heal the mouse, free of charge!"

Sam closed his eyes briefly as a tidal wave of desperation threatened to choke him. He couldn't. It was an out, an out that meant he wouldn't break his promise to Dean, wouldn't break his promise to himself, wouldn't end the world. It was an out he desperately, desperately wanted to take. And he couldn't do it. He couldn't drink that blood, he couldn't let Andy die, he couldn't give Cas up. He couldn't do anything, and the world was going to move on, taking Andy with it, before Sam could come up with a solution that didn't end with him or his family losing in every way possible.

"Hmm," the demon above him hummed when he didn't answer. "You seemed so much more willing to talk to my daughter about him."

Sam's eyes snapped open at that. Azazel was tapping his hand idly against his leg, still hunched over and watching the hunter like this was nothing more than a schoolyard warning.

"Was it because you thought the little birdie was a demon at the time? 'Cass', wasn't it?" It took every ounce of effort in Sam's already straining body to keep his pulse down, to keep his breathing as normal as it could be, fighting as he still was. "That's the name you gave Meg, no? Not exactly the name of an angel, I'll give you that. But humans do love their pet names, I suppose. Did you know there's only a handful of those winged gnats out there with 'Cass' as part of their name?"

Azazel raised his hands pointer finger hitting pointer finger as he started counting them off. Sam slammed his eyes shut; he knew the second he heard the angel's name, pupil dilation alone would give it away if his racing heart didn't do it first. Sam started reciting the periodic table in his head, loudly, along with every other meditation trick he'd ever heard of to block the demon.

"Cassiel," was the first name the demon spoke, and Sam's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his eyes locked shut, his face scrunched up and his thoughts on anything but their angel.

"No, not that one? How about Casrathaol? Kashiel? Damn, none of those either, kiddo? Ah, well." Azazel made another clucking sound with the side of his cheek. He'd started with the bigger name angels, but maybe he'd gone about it wrong. Maybe it was some minor league pair of wings making a mess of things. There were a lot more of those, unfortunately. Azazel sighed dramatically as Sam moved into the radiated elements. "I'm offering you an out here, kiddo! That's some fast loyalty you've got for something that's not even human. Whichever cloud jumper it is, he's not actually on your side, Sam, I can promise you that."

Hazel eyes opened to mere slits, glaring up at the demon, fisted hands straining against the bonds that held him down. Azazel sighed again and let his gaze wander over to the other end of the classroom.

"How about you, mouse?" he called to Andy, who was all but unresponsive in the back. The kid was slumped on the ground, blood starting to pool around him. He breathed shallow, raspy gulps, and glassy eyes struggled to focus on them. "Don't suppose you know anything? It'll save your life!"

Twitching, eyes half-lidded and yet still somehow wide with the growing realization that he wasn't getting out of this, Andy's gaze flickered to Sam. The rest of him barely moved. He was only half with them, but half was plenty to know he wasn't surviving this without a miracle. Or, in this case, the opposite. Hazel eyes met his and Andy saw the look there. The regret, the equal fear and horror. The guilt. Sam nodded and the resident Jedi recognized the permission there. Permission to betray them. To save himself. To give up Cas and live.

Sam couldn't do it, but Andy could.

But…should he? He knew the numbness slowly spreading through his body, bit by bit, working at the edges of the burning, screaming wound, wasn't actually a good sign. Neither was the cold, encasing him like a sprawling darkness. He'd lost too much blood and if someone didn't do something soon – if he didn't do something soon – he was going to die.

Then it would be over. He'd get to see Tracy again, if the stuff Castiel had said about Heaven was true. This weight on his shoulders that he'd been carrying for months now would be gone. Everything would just be…done. That didn't sound so bad. Maybe he was okay with that.

Andy didn't think he was suicidal. A pretty weird thought to have while bleeding out, knocking at Death's door while slumped on his front step. But it still rang true. Andy didn't really want to die. His racing heart and the pure anxiety choking his lungs in some sick form of hope from the demon's twisted offer alone told him as much. But if dying meant not betraying Sam and Dean, not giving Hell a one up against the brothers who treated him like family for the last three months, who included Cas in that family...

The kid let out the easiest breath he'd taken since that first Croat sliced him up. He locked resilient eyes on those terrifying yellow irises.

"Go to hell."

Azazel rolled his eyes, the annoyance there about as much as a man swatting at a particularly whiny mosquito. He raised his hand to squish the nuisance once and for all, but Sam cried out, surging against his power hard enough to screech one of the desks an inch across the floor. Azazel raised an eyebrow at him, arm still outstretched.

"We had a deal." Sam's eyes dropped pointedly to the jar of blood and yellow eyes followed. "Heal him and I drink it."

Slowly, Azazel withdrew his hand, crossing his arms over his legs once again. A bemused smirk formed in the corner of his mouth and he watched his favorite kiddo with intense curiosity.

"Interesting," the demon commented almost offhandedly. He picked up the jar, setting it on his knee. The blood-ringed the bottom stained his jeans with a crimson crescent. "I offer you an out, and you don't take it. But one little mouse lies dying…. Hmm."

Sam's chest heaved with the steady flow of anger coursing through him. Andy was dying and Sam had picked his poison. They didn't have time for the demon to wax interesting poetics about angels and fables, God damn it. But the hunter bit his tongue hard to keep silent. All that mattered now was saving Andy. Getting out of this without that jar was already out the window as far as Sam was concerned. Not if they were all getting out of it alive.

"Is it that soft, squishy heart of yours, I wonder?" Azazel tapped the top of the jar before he wrapped long fingers around the edges and spun the lid. The grinding noise of metal twisting across glass, so quiet if not for the oppressive silence of the room, was deafening. Sam swore he could smell the metal in the air as the lid came off. "If it is, it'll be your downfall, tiger."

The Winchester just huffed. "It's getting you what you want, isn't it? Me hooked on that crap? Thought that's what you needed for me to win."

"Oh, it's a long game we're playing, kid. Let's just say you'll win some, lose some over the course of it," was the demon's unconcerned response. Sam gasped in surprise and relief as one of his arms was freed from the power, collapsing to the ground like a dead weight. "But you know what I think?"

No, he really, really didn't give a shit.

Azazel bent forward, holding the jar out. "I don't think it's your soft heart at all, Sam. I think you just want it."

Already reaching forward, the hunter froze as the words rung in the silence. His fingers trembled in midair, so close to that thing that really, truly scared him. That thing that was so very terrifying because Azazel wasn't completely wrong. Sam didn't want it. But he also really, really did.

The younger hunter shoved the demon out of his head, burying his words as hard and as fast as he could. He couldn't let Azazel get to him. He was doing this for Andy. Not for himself, not for that buzzing just beneath his skin, not for the power it promised.

"Haven't you noticed?" Those yellow eyes were locked on his, hovering just beyond that glass jar, and Sam didn't even know which of the two he couldn't seem to look away from. "You're even weaker now than you were before this all started. Hell, kiddo. You've barely got any powers at all. The mouse is stronger than you. We can't have that."

Azazel wasn't even trying to make him take it. He just sat there, arm outstretched, like he already knew Sam would. Not to save the life of a friend. Sam's gaze flickered to Andy. The kid's eyes were still open, but only barely. The hunter could still hear his lungs laboring for breath, but the sound was growing softer and softer. Andy's skin was grey, sickly so, and his shirt was completely soaked through. He was out of time.

"Heal him." The hunter turned back to the demon, a challenge in his eyes.

Azazel tipped the jar towards him, blood flowing to one side, but it was too far away for Sam to actually reach and the demon wasn't getting any closer. "After you drink."

"He's going to die!"

"Then you should stop wasting his time." Yellow eyes, hard and expectant, didn't blink. The demon didn't budge, calling the bluff that Sam himself hadn't fully known was one.

The hunter clenched his teeth, entire body shaking against the power that still held him back, but he knew he'd already lost. That half-raised hand curled into a fist. With a pained, angry noise, Sam finally sagged against the weight holding him down, chin dropping to a heaving chest. The side of his fist hit the ground in a punch that split skin. The least of his worries now.

"Alright."

Azazel slid off the desk like slime with a smile to match and crouched in front of the defeated hunter. He held the jar within easy reach now, and Sam stared at its sloshing red contents. Dean was going to be so damn pissed at him. So disappointed. Sam glanced at Andy again and his heart picked up when he realized he couldn't hear his breathing anymore. Panic gripped his throat like a vice and resolve formed, thick and cloying. Sam turned back to that jar.

The hunter's fingers wrapped it just as a shockwave hit the building, accompanied by a blinding, brilliant white light flooding the room. Sam released the jar with a jolt, his single free hand raising instinctually to block the flare coming through the windows, which rattled first from the explosion, then continued to vibrate from a sustained, high pitch noise hitting the classroom a second later.

Azazel straightened, still crouched in front of the boy, but upright enough to look out the shuddering glass. The gymnasium beyond was practically pulsing, every single window blown out by that brilliant, sustained light, shooting out into the night. The field and playground were lit up like a stadium. The white light was painfully bright on the demon's face, and Sam lowered his hand enough to see the grin stretch across his features like a plague.

Something ugly filled the hunter's stomach at that smile.

"Well, well, well." The demon stood, the whole upper half of his body now illuminated from the floodlight pouring through the windows. They were still rattling and Sam glanced up at them, worried they might shatter at any moment from the high frequency that was causing his ears to ring painfully.

"Looks like a little birdie just flew right into our trap." Those yellow eyes turned to stare at Sam, bright and sickening in the floodlight. The grin stretched wider. "Dean must have used his phone a friend option."

Sam's eyes widened in horror, realization sinking in.

Castiel.

"No," he whispered, eyes turning to the windows he was too low to see out of. He pulled and tugged at the power holding him down, but he couldn't gain enough leverage to see anything but that blinding light.

A light he'd seen it before. A ringing he'd heard before, in the Baku's dream. In the explosion that had almost killed his brother in a cabin in Michigan. The same explosion that had left Dean terrified the angel was dead.

Sam bolted off the floor, but Azazel's power was still wrapped around his left side, keeping him pinned to the desk, which jerked and screeched with his desperation. "No!"

Yellow Eyes crouched back down, and Sam tried to surge forward again. To head-butt him, crack his nose, tell him to leave Castiel the fuck alone, anything. But the demon's power was plenty to keep the man trapped.

Azazel set the jar of blood down next to Sam's thigh.

"I'll just leave this here." He patted Sam's cheek, and the hunter threw a punch that was easily blocked. "Be right back, tiger."

The demon practically hopped to his feet, skipping out of the room. However, when he reached the aisle Andy was collapsed in, he paused thoughtfully. Yellow Eyes stared at the unmoving body for a minute, glancing back to Sam. The hunter glared at him, teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurt all the way up to his temple. Hazel eyes darted between the blinding light and his fallen friend.

Azazel smiled.

"You know what? Let's put the mouse someplace for safekeeping. Just in case you get any ideas, Sammy." He swept down the aisle toward the downed kid. Sam fought against the power holding him, but it was futile as it had always been. Azazel reached Andy, bending down to start digging through his pockets. Sam's view was obstructed, but he saw the hex bag hit the ground and roll several feet from where Azazel tossed it. "Alrighty then, off you go!"

The demon's hand slapped down on the kid's back and Andy was gone.

"No!" Sam struggled, trying to use his free hand to pull himself off the desks, to shove them back or move them forward. Anything! But the binds wrapped around him were invisible and intangible. There was nothing Sam could do. He let out a scream filled with frustration and hatred.

Yellow Eyes cast one more look his way before he swept out of the room.

Sam collapsed, breathing so heavily his heart felt like it might burst from his chest. Damn it. Damn it! The hunter hit the ground with his fist, then did it again. He pulled at the desks, but could only ever get an inch, inch and a half out of them before his muscles cramped and his body warned it was nearing its limits.

"Damn it!" Sam kicked out at the desk again and again and again, but he couldn't break free. That steady white light still filled the room, casting eerie, long, flickering shadows across everything. The high pitch noise still shook the windows, and Sam was terrified it was Cas's true voice. That's what Dean had called it once.

Whatever was happening, Cas had come to Dean's aid and now she was screaming.

Sam's eyes fell to the jar of blood, so purposefully left within reach. The liquid inside was rippling under the stress of high frequency noise. The younger Winchester stared at it, knowing his freedom could lie within, but so did imprisonment of the far more eternal kind. His lungs quivered with every fast-paced, panicked breath. He glanced at the windows, light still pouring through, the building vibrations of Cas's screams threatening to shatter them.

Dean needed him. Cas needed him. Andy needed him. And he wasn't helping anyone tied to a damn desk.

Chest still heaving, Sam turned back and reached for the blood.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: [insert weak, slightly sadistic, mostly masochistic smile here] Sorry, not sorry? I love you all! And will now promptly run for my life.