Chapter Text
"Not we, Sam. Only one of us is getting out of here." Jake stood a few feet from him, voice trembling. "I'm sorry."
Sam's feet plunged into the mud. The air, heavy and humid, stuck to his skin. "What?"
Jake drew in a shaky breath, and he looked at Sam with something primal and animalistic. Sorrow, guilt, hopelessness. The raw need for survival. "I had a vision. That Yellow Eyed Demon or whatever it was, he talked to me. He told how it was."
Sam's heart sank. The demon got to him, like he did with so many before. Who knew how long had he been under his spell? Maybe long before he set foot here. Had he always known only one of them would get out of here alive? Had Jake been playing him all along, just like Ava did?
He shook his head. His voice sounded pitiful in his own ears, and his hands trembled. Was it fear, or just rage at being played for a fool? "No, Jake, listen. You can't listen to him."
"Sam, he's not letting us go. Only one. Now, if we don't play along, he'll kill us both." Jake was trembling, too. "I-I like you, man, I do, but do the math here. What good's it do for both of us to die? Now, I can get out of here. Get close to the demon. I can kill the bastard."
Jake couldn't fight the demon, not when his claws were already so deep in his mind. But he could pretend, tell himself he was the strongest among them — and why? 'Cause someone bought him a gun and some training and sent him on the other side of the world to kill? Sam's dad had been a soldier too, and he was proud of it, but he always used to say Vietnam was children's play, compared to what he found back home.
How many people had Jake already killed? How many had he saved? He had a demon's strength, but was that really enough to make him the strongest?
No. He was just a kid, same as they all were, trying to make sense of the senselessness that took over their life. And, truthfully, hadn't Sam done the same for the better part of a year, now? Trying to do whatever it took to survive, thinking he'll be strong enough to resist his destiny?
No, that was Dean's job; Sam knew better. That's why he made Dean promise to kill him when the time came. There was no escaping the evil growing inside of him.
Dean, who might as well be dead now.
Andy said the mental message got to him, but Sam couldn't be sure. Who knew if Andy was even Andy anymore? No one else had been. Nothing was as it seemed in this place, and who knew how deep Yellow Eyes' influence truly was.
No — he had to believe. Believe they could make it out of here alive, that Ava and Max were bad apples in a beautiful orchard, that everyone who died here was a victim, not a perpetrator. He had to believe there was still something good inside of them — of him — or he would go crazy, and the Demon would win.
"You come with me, we can kill him together," Sam offered. He hated the pleading in his voice.
Jake hesitated, his grip on the iron bar he got from the school tightening. "How do I know you won’t turn on me?"
"I won’t."
"I don’t know that."
"Okay, look." He took out his knife, a rusted old thing he found lying around, not particularly sharp, and let Jake examine it from afar. He slowly placed it on the ground and stood up with his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Just come with me, Jake. Don’t do this. Don’t play into what it wants."
Jake looked at him, that fearful expression still washing over his dark eyes. They traveled from Sam to the knife, and back to Sam, quickly, as he examined them both.
A faint wind blew between them, the air buzzing with electricity, and a few lone raindrops fell on Sam's face.
Then, something shifted in Jake's gaze. The grip on the bar loosened, and he put it on the ground, mimicking Sam's movements, down to the raised hands.
Sam sighed in relief. "Okay."
The punch came unexpectedly. A blow right under his chin, strong enough to send him flying across the field. His leg slammed against the wooden fence, breaking down one of the post, and Sam landed on the ground.
Stars danced through his eyes, and he coughed and turned, winding breathlessly as he blinked them out. He heard a crash as Jake kicked down what was left of the fence.
The soldier stood in front of him, just a couple of feet ahead, looking down like a rabid dog, scanning his prey. It was instinctual, the fight ingrained in his mind and body. Luckily, Sam had been groomed to fight just as much, if not more, than Jake had.
He ran towards him.
Taking in a sharp breath, Sam kicked him in the shin as he approached. Enough for Jake to lose his momentum. He fired two rapid punches in Jake's abdomen, and the latter stumbled back.
Sam leveraged himself up, but Jake was quick to come back from the blows, and his fists slammed against Sam's arm. His bone made a crunching sound, and pain exploded all the way up his shoulders.
The blow made him turn, holding his injured side, and Jake kicked him on the side of the knee. It gave out, and he fell to the ground, the pounding in his shoulder something atrocious.
He rose up again, biting his lip, arm protectively held up in front of his stomach, trying to keep it as still as possible to avoid another rush of pain. It was dislocated, at the very least, and now he was down one arm in the fight against Evil Superman.
He stumbled back as Jake came towards him, until Sam hit the fence behind him. With his uninjured hand, he felt the wood behind him. The wood was dry, soaking up the rain that was slowly starting to pour, and it creaked when Sam put his weight against it. But it held. During the fight, he had circled the fence, and now the broken part stood on the other side, in front of him. Jake was standing between Sam and the freedom that small gap gave him. He was trapped. Shit.
Jake swung at Sam, choosing strength over precision. Only that allowed Sam to duck out of the way, as Jake's punch went through a wooden railing a few inches above where Sam's other shoulder had been, and stayed there, stuck.
Sam kneed him in the stomach, then shoved him out of the railing, and Jake folded in over himself with a wince. Sam kicked him once more, sending him against the railing, which broke under Jake's weight, and he finally fell to the ground.
He caught his breath, looking down at the man who could have been his ally, if not his friend.
He panted heavily, the light drizzle washing over him. The moon came out of the clouds for a moment, shone over something a couple of feet away, and the twinkle caught Sam's eyes. The knife and the iron bar, their makeshift weapons.
He picked up the iron bar. John would have mocked him, fighting with such a useless thing, but John wasn't here, and he had taught his son to make do with what they had, no matter the circumstances.
Jake quivered, starting to get up again, but Sam smashed the bar on his chin. He flapped back on the ground, unconscious, and Sam loomed over him, iron bar in hand.
His shoulder pounded, fire coming over in waves, each worse than the last, taking up much of his conscious thoughts. Jake, on the other hand, barely had a scratch, his skin seemingly indestructible. Lily was stuck with the death touch, Sam with death premonitions that split his head in two, but this guy was basically a superhero, new and improved, with no setbacks of sorts. For the first time, he understood Lily's frustration.
That morning, there were five of them. Sam managed to keep them all safe for a grand total of two, maybe three hours. Then, two others died — one killed by Ava's demon, the other by Jake himself. Given the chance, he knew Jake would kill him, too.
He remembered the first time he met Ava, when she drove across the country to warn him of her vision. Back then, Gordon was on his tail, planning to blow him up using Dean as bait, and he had already killed at least one other psychic.
He briefly wondered if Gordon had done that kid a favor. Who knows what would have happened to him had he gotten to Cold Oak? A clean stab wound was better than getting torn apart by a demon.
Sam and Ava parted ways then, with the promise that Ava would be safer back at home with her fiancée. That night, he was dead, and Ava was missing. Sam and Dean had gotten there just in time to find blood and sulfur on the windowsill — had she known all along he was dead? Did she see the light go out from his eyes, as the demon clawed him open in his sleep? And how could that sweet secretary from Peoria turn into a demon-controlling killer?
His mind involuntarily went back to Jess, like it always did. Was the demon planning on taking him that night, just like he did with Ava? No, it couldn't be — Yellow Eyes said he needed Sam sharp, focused, back on the field. It was too soon for Sam to get abducted and thrown into Battle Royale; his powers had barely started back then.
Had this thing already started when Jess died? How many people died before he got here?
Five months. Ava alone spent five months in this godforsaken town. She killed, and murdered, and at some point, she started to enjoy it, creating ploys and schemes more complicated each time. It was a hunt, a game, like the one the Benders played; she wanted it to be entertaining, the killings weren't enough. How many people had she killed? When did she start to enjoy it?
If even someone like her, whose life was so bubbly and sweet and normal, could be turned, what chances did someone like Jake or Sam have, someone who was raised on violence, who had made their job of it, not out of necessity like Ava, but as a choice?
If Ava hadn't murdered those people, they would have killed her. Circumstances shaped her into a monster, someone she would have never become if she had managed to marry, or so Sam hoped. There were no abusive parents in her life, like Max, no years of neglect like Andy's brother. What if that darkness was inside of her all along, what if it couldn't be helped, no matter the circumstances?
After all, the demon showed him what he had done that night, the demon blood dripping inside his mouth, and how Sam didn't even cry as Yellow Eyes did it. As if he accepted it, even as a baby.
Maybe it wasn't the blood that turned him into a freak; maybe he had the blood because he already was. They all were.
Jake moaned, bringing Sam back to the present. As long as Jake is around, Sam will never be safe; he will always have a target on his head. If he killed him, he could leave this godforsaken place, walk out of here a winner, go back and look for his brother; he'd know what to do.
And then what? Yellow Eyes would just bring him back to hunt more people. Or worse, choose him as the ultimate champion. He'd play right into his hand.
How many times could he try to save them all before he, too, turned into Ava? Would it really take him five months to turn into a monster?
Jake stirred under him, slowly gaining back consciousness.
He grabbed the end of the bar and pierced Jake's chest with it, right through the heart.
The stirring stopped. A pool of blood mixed with the mud under Jake's body. Sam let himself fall to the ground.
He had killed a man. Just like that. He had never killed a man before, and yes, that man would have killed him, but he wouldn't be the first to try: the Benders, Gordon. There had been a lot of people who tried to hurt and kill him or his family over the years, but he had never crossed that line. He hunted monsters, not humans — and he had refused to do even that for most of his life, had run away from that life. Until now.
A voice called from far away, faint and barely audible. Sam's ears perked up. Maybe the next round of contenders would come sooner than he expected.
The voice called again, this time nearer and cleaner, and Sam recognized his own name and the voice calling him.
"Dean!" he called back. He stood up, walking towards his brother, his arm lolling helplessly at his side as Sam held it with poor results. "Dean!"
His brother appeared from the edge of town, Bobby following a few steps behind, and Sam broke in a relieved sigh, his features softening.
Dean was alive. He was alive, and he had found Sam.
Dean spotted him, and his brows relaxed in relief. "Sammy!" he called again, and ran towards him.
The anxiety and exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours finally washed over Sam, as the ten-year-old inside of him relaxed at the sight of his big brother. Because Dean was here, and Dean would make everything better. He would fix everything, he would look after Sam, and everything would be alright.
His legs gave out, and Dean caught him just before he face planted against the mud, his left arm too busy holding the right one to soften the fall.
"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty, don't you pass out on me," Dean said, going for sarcasm, but his voice was laced with worry. He grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to keep him from falling down, and Sam winced as a fit of pain shot up from his joint.
Dean's face hardened again. "Sam, are you okay?"
He sucked on his teeth. "Shoulder."
Dean's hand let go, staring down on him with clinical eyes, looking for any injuries Sam wasn't telling him about. After a moment, he decided Sam wasn't gonna bleed out on him, just for now. "Good. Okay. I can deal with that," he mumbled, more to himself than to Sam.
Bobby appeared next to him. He looked at something a couple of feet behind Sam, on the ground. Then, his eyes shot up to the water tower, and the body hanging from a noose. Jake and Lily. Luckily, Ava and Andy's bodies were still inside the house; Sam couldn't bear the idea of Bobby finding all of them at the same time.
"They're dead. What the hell happened here?" Bobby asked.
What I need is a leader.
Sam stared intently at the ground, carefully avoiding Bobby and Dean's gaze. Especially Dean's. "Yellow Eyes — he put us all in here for some sort of Death Tournament. He wanted us to kill each other…"
He trailed off, thinking back to Lily's panic. She could have killed them all in their sleep, had she wanted to. One touch, and she would have been free, victorious. Instead, she ran, and Ava hunted.
"How many are still around?" Dean asked. Sam still refused to look at him. His voice was focused, something dangerous bubbling under the surface, but he kept it under control for Sam's sake.
Sammy, you're my favorite.
"Sam?" Bobby asked.
Sam gulped down. "I'm the only one left."
There was silence as the realization dawned on them.
"Sammy, look at me." Sam obliged, despite himself. Dean's face was hard, jaw tensed, and brows furrowed. There was a little panic behind his eyes, but no disgust, no disappointment. "Did they come after you?"
His voice came out smaller than he anticipated, because that was not an excuse, even if they did. "Yes."
Dean clenched his teeth even more, if possible, rage building up in his features. "Then you did good. Whatever happened, it doesn't matter. You had no choice."
Bobby sent them both a look, trying to mask his reaction, what Sam could only assume would be disgust at what Sam had done, and Sam couldn't bear to look at him anymore, scared of the moment his face would twitch in a way that left no doubt about his real feelings.
Sam couldn't blame him. For all they know, Sam slaughtered a town full of civilians, no matter if they were psychics or not, and Dean was okay with that. If anything, he should be more distraught.
After the way Sam had so vehemently refused to kill monsters in the past few years, insisting they could be cured or spared, the idea of him killing humans in cold blood should be terrifying.
This ruthlessness, this cruelty, killing anyone that stood in his way — this was what monsters did, this was what Max had done before killing himself, what all the other children did before turning evil. They started to kill out of self-preservation, before it turned into revenge.
But Dean didn't even bat an eye at the idea of Sam killing humans. How could he not see how close to the edge Sam had gotten?
Maybe he knows that's what you were always meant to be, Sammy.
He tensed, shaking as he slowly got up. Dean followed his every movement, hand outstretched to catch him if he fell again. Sam used his uninjured hand to slam it away, sending another wave of dull, aching pain in his shoulder, all the way to his fingers.
He sucked on his teeth, the damp air around doing nothing to ease the pain.
"That's it, I'm getting you out of here — can you walk?" Dean asked.
"Yeah."
"You sure, boy? It's a hell of a hike, about a mile and a half that way," Bobby added.
Sam took one more moment to check himself over. Almost every muscle in his body ached, but nothing compared to the shoulder, and he had no problem walking with that. "I'll manage."
Dean nodded, "Good. Let's get the hell out of here."
The hike through the forest was harder than Sam thought it would be. The drizzle becoming more of a storm, rain falling aggressively to the ground, bouncing around and collecting itself on the leaves and branches above them, making the ground slippery and muddy.
With each step, it became harder to free the boots from the slosh of fallen leaves and dirt. Sam blinked the rain out of his eyes, but it didn't help with the blurriness of his vision.
His muscles were heavy, dulled by the fight with Jake and the blows they suffered, and his head hurt. He slowed down, treading carefully to avoid tripping on some roots or short branches, dragging himself onward rather than hiking.
His shoulder didn't give any sign of getting better. He kept holding the joint close to his chest, but it proved increasingly difficult to avoid sudden movements, especially as he slipped and fell, and more than once, Dean and Bobby had to break his fall.
He tried his best not to think about the last day, as if putting physical distance between himself and the ghost city could somehow erase the worst parts of the experience — he wasn't very successful, though.
The images of Andy's slaughtered body, Ava's cold stare as she called on the demon, Lily hanging, eyes hollow, and Jake running towards him, tensing and then relaxing as Sam poked the bar through his heart; those images kept coming back to him, merging with others he really did not want to think about. Madison facing the window as he pulled the trigger on her; the last kiss he and Jessica shared; the smile John gave him as he asked him to bring him some coffee, and his mom running into the room the night of the fire.
Dean kept sending him worried looks, not bothering to conceal them. His gaze was all over him, studying his steps, his pace, the tension in his left shoulder.
Bobby was worried too, Sam could see that, but the older hunter was too occupied showing them the way to fret over Sam. He was the only one with true hunting-in-the-woods experience, and the only one who could successfully bring them out of them in this rain.
All the attention rubbed him the wrong way, as if he were a toddler learning how to walk, instead of a twenty-three-year-old who had killed countless monsters without batting an eye. Countless monsters and a human.
He shivered in the rain. His foot got entangled in a root, and he almost fell to the ground. Dean caught him before he could.
Sam relaxed at the touch, and he cursed himself. Despite everything, it was nice to slip into the younger brother's shoes again after being forced into the leader role.
Dean helped him up to his feet, and then stayed there for a moment longer, holding him up, as if to make sure he wouldn't wobble and fall.
"I'm fine," Sam said, shoving him off.
Dean eyed him once more, then said sarcastically. "I can see that."
He trailed off, following Bobby, who had stopped a few yards ahead, waiting for them. "Everything alright, you two?"
"Peachy," Dean answered with a grunt, and they all let the conversation die.
They kept walking. Sam's body slowly started to relax as the adrenaline died off. The headache grew into something more persistent, adding itself to the growing list of symptoms and fatigue-related issues.
He didn't know how long they walked; it felt like an eternity, but he found himself relying more and more on Dean's help to navigate through the woods.
At some point, Dean started asking him questions, maybe to keep him from slipping out. His thoughts were becoming sluggish and slow. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to keep himself occupied, which unfortunately led right back to the town and the death matches. His answers were short and to the point, but they helped keep him present.
"So, Ava killed Andy, and this other kid — Jake killed Ava. And you killed Jake?" Dean put a hand on his side to help him pass through a particularly steep and slippery slope. "I get killing Ava, but why would he attack you? You had been helping him."
Sam tensed; he hoped Dean would chalk it up to a rush of pain from his shoulder. "The Demon got to him."
Dean cursed under his breath. "Was he in town?"
Sam shook his head; the motion made the headache spike a little. "Dream."
"Great. Did he make contact with all of you?"
"Dunno. I didn't see him," he lied.
Dean didn't answer immediately, and Sam feared he'd read right through him. He wasn't ready to talk about what Yellow Eyes said, what he showed him.
"So what, he just gave up? Agree to become the demon's bitch or something?" Bobby asked.
Sam's foot slipped on a rock, and he felt Dean's arm against him tighten, keeping him upright. The shoulder sent him a shockwave of pain, but he sucked it in. Through gritted teeth, he added, "Jake wanted to kill him. He thought only one of us could get out of there alive."
Bobby snorted. "I'm glad it was you and not him."
"I guess so."
Water dripped from Sam's bangs directly into his eyes, and he shook his head to rid himself of it.
"I think I see the car," Bobby said.
Sam squinted, blinking out the rain, and there was the Impala, a couple of yards away, rain gliding lazily into bigger drops on the black body. Sam had never been happier to see the car.
He melted a little, Dean still holding him upright. "C'mon, big boy, we're almost there." He helped Sam walk past the big trunk that had blocked their way coming in, and then into the passenger seat. Sam fell inside with a wince. "You okay?"
He leaned back into the seat's cushion, the familiar leather welcoming him, molded to his shape, and all the exhaustion fell on him like a blanket, his thoughts lazy and slow. His eyes begged to shut, but he forced them open. "Peachy."
Dean, to his credit, tried to keep the smirk in. "Alright, Sleepy. I'm gonna put that shoulder back now. On three."
Sam didn't even react to the nickname; he felt Dean's hand taking position, but he shook his head. He was too tired, and the shoulder wouldn't bother him as much if he were asleep. But if Dean maneuvered it now, the shot of adrenaline that came with it would keep him awake for the whole trip.
"La'er," he mumbled.
"You sure?" Dean asked. His voice sounded distant, and Sam barely made out the words as it was. "It's a couple of hours to Bobby's."
Two hours — that wasn't a very long time, he could take a nap. He nodded, already drifting away.
"Alright, Sammy," Dean spoke from somewhere underwater, voice muffled, but tone bright and light, as if he was trying not to laugh. "Goodnight."
It all faded to black.
He woke up in the passenger seat of the Impala, rain tapping on the window as the landscape slid away outside. Not that there was a lot to see in the darkness.
Dean drove next to him, eyes fixed on the road, head swinging lightly with the radio, set to some soft rock station. A faint earthy smell in the air — probably the rain. He could hear Bobby's breath, riding in the back seat, awake, but relaxed.
He let out a jaw-breaking yawn, covering his mouth sheepishly. Even that small movement sent an aching wave from his shoulder, but it wasn't as painful as it had been before, probably because he still hadn't gotten back full sensation on his body. "How far are we?"
"We're a few miles outside of Mitchell, so I'd say about five hundred and twenty-three miles in the wrong direction." Answered a voice from the back seat.
Sam turned around, the shoulder forgotten.
He sat on the seat behind Dean, smile bright and mocking. Short hair over a rectangular face, big nose, and ears. He wore that same jacket he had last seen him in. But those weren't the details Sam focused on. It was those unmistakable yellow eyes that held him, frozen in place.
Yellow Eyes smiled. "Howdy, Sam."
"I am dreaming again, aren't I?" Sam asked, voice calmer than he expected it to be.
The demon ignored the question — not that Sam really needed an answer. It was clear in the way Dean and Bobby hadn't reacted to his presence in the slightest. "You killed Jake. Won the game. Huzzah! I always knew you had it in you, my very special boy."
"I'm not your anything," Sam said, voice tight.
"I have to say, for a moment there, I didn't think you'd make it. But I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
"I didn't do it for you, Jake was gonna kill me."
Yellow Eyes nodded. "A real fighter, that one. I wouldn't have bet on him as the runner-up, Ava had grown into such a strong player, but he really knocked it out of the park. Coulda been useful, you know? But alas, there can only be one leader. Two, and you start plotting against each other. We can't have that."
"I'm not your leader. I'm the one who's gonna kill you."
"Riddle me this, then, why did you fight for me, if you didn't wanna lead for me?"
"I didn't."
"Keep telling yourself that. You could have spared Jake, could've run from him. But no. You chose to fight. Why is that?"
"He would have killed me."
"You already said that."
"It's true."
"It doesn't change anything. You've been going around for months, asking Dean to kill you if you ever, you know, went dark. And then, right where you had the chance to free Dean of that promise, you fought it."
His hand rested on the headrest in front of him, his finger tapping to the rhythm of the music still whispering from the radio, inches from Dean's head. His brother didn't bat an eye.
Yellow Eyes shot a look at Bobby, on the other side of the backseat. Sam couldn't see him, not with the way he sat, but he didn't need to.
He had kept Dean in the corner of his vision the whole time. He looked stuck in a loop, swinging his head. He hadn't blinked, changed rhythm, or position the whole time, as if Yellow Eyes didn't care to spend more energy than he needed to make the dream more realistic. Sam was sure Bobby was just as frozen.
Besides, this was a dream — Yellow Eyes couldn't hurt them in here.
"Who are you gonna ask to off you next, Bobby here?" Yellow Eyes asked.
"Shut up."
The demon smirked, leaning in. His eyes rested mockingly on Dean for a moment. "He is never gonna kill you. He can't. That was your only chance to stay on the path of the high and mighty, and you blew it."
"I'll kill myself."
"No, you won't. You don't have the balls for it. And I've got work for you, Sammy."
"Screw you."
He smiled, cold, like a wolf toying with his prey before striking. Sam looked into his eyes, and Sam saw the millennia in them, and all the hundreds of ways he could bend him to his will.
"We'll see about that. Don't be a stranger, won't ya?" A shiver ran down Sam's spine. "I certainly won't."
Sam opened his eyes and saw the familiar silhouette of the Singer Salvage Yard barely visible in the moonlight in front of him, with its hundreds of broken-down and rust-eaten cars.
"Welcome back to the land of the living!" Dean chirped from the driver's seat. "Slept well?"
Sam gulped, jaw clenching. "Like a baby," he lied.