Sam's blood sang as he finally released the power that had been thrumming and building inside him for the last couple of hours. He'd never drank so much demon blood, he'd never been filled with such strength. He'd never felt so free, so alive, so in control.
It was glorious!
Today, for the first time, he would undisputedly be the one to Save the Day. He would be the one to stop the Bad Thing. He would be the one to save Dean.
All his doubts, all his hesitations, they meant nothing when he could do this. Sam willed forth another burst of power into the demon he was keeping pinned to the wall of the old meat packing plant -- a just place for such a one to get their due.
Satisfaction poured through him as a burst of light shot out of the stolen body. The twist of pain on the stolen meatsuit's face this time also equated to pain being felt by the demon. And this was no ordinary demon. No, it was Alistair, the entity that tortured his brother in Hell. The thing that twisted Dean until he couldn't take anymore and drove him to start torturing others.
For once Sam felt anything but impotent.
Whether this thing lived or died was totally up to him. His supremacy over such a choice made him heady. And the decision about whether Alistair lived or died had been made long ago, had been made from the moment Sam first heard of the odious demon and the things he'd done to Dean. There would be no mercy. Not for the likes of him.
And this time, this time Alistair wouldn't be sent to Hell where he could pick up the pieces and start over again. He wouldn't get the chance to twist others to be like him or find a loophole to get him back topside and try for Dean again. No, this time this dark thing known as Alistair would cease to exist.
Sam had the power. He would make it so.
The scent of blood, water, fear and rust coiled about him like perfume as he focused his energy a little more around the trapped essence of the demon writhing in front of him. One of Hell's most powerful beings and Sam held him helpless, stuck to the wall like a bug on flypaper. As bright flashes of light burst anew from Alistair's chosen meatsuit, the smell of burning flesh and sulfur also suffused the air.
The energy of Ruby's expended blood tingled all over Sam's skin, in the air, through his soul. The sensation of Alistair being crushed out of existence was almost orgasmic. And he liked it. This was what it felt like not to have fear. This was what it meant to take charge of your own future.
This was power. And it was his.
With but a thought, Alistair was no more.
Sam released the demon's empty shell and let it collapse to a broken heap on the dirty floor.
There was a momentary twitch of pity for the man who'd been the demon's prisoner, but Sam buried it. The stranger had been a necessary sacrifice in order to rid the world of a great evil. Chances were the poor victim wouldn't have survived the possession anyway. The body had taken too much damage between the strong demonic essence it'd been forced to house and the ministrations of his brother in his vain attempt to make the demon answer the angels' questions. Sam had done him a kindness by making it quick.
Though none of this would have been necessary if not for the angels who'd kidnapped his brother and put him directly in harm's way in the first place.
Sam threw a glance in Castiel's direction but the wounded angel avoided his gaze. The demon had done a pretty good job on him, the angel looking the worse for wear with a gash on his forehead and blood staining his beige coat from where the demon had put his shoulder through a hook on an I-beam. Sam looked around the warehouse now that he could take the time. A giant contraption sat to his right in the form of a six pointed star with chains and manacles. A complex devil's trap was drawn around it and on the far side of it, he found Dean splayed on the wet dirty slaughterhouse floor.
He wasn't moving.
Apprehension mixed with a different kind of dread shot through Sam. "Dean!"
He ran to him the feelings of utter power and control slipping from him. Surely he'd not come too late. Surely his great accomplishment wouldn't have been for nothing!
He dropped to his knees beside Dean, his gaze taking in his brother's battered, bloody face, the skinned hands, and the nasty red bands around his brother's neck. Dean stank of salt and blood and terror. His breath wheezed in and out of his partially open mouth as if he were having trouble breathing.
"Dean?" Sam's hands shook as he reached out to touch his brother and never actually did. He possessed no idea what kind of damage was hidden by his brother's clothes. There could be broken ribs, internal bleeding, even ruptured organs. His head snapped up and back in the direction he'd come from. "Cas! Dean needs your help!"
But the angel wasn't there. There was only a smear of blood still dripping down the iron strut where the angel had been.
A tide of rage burned through Sam at Castiel's desertion. This was the angels' fault! His brother had been hurt because of them, because they'd forced him into this, and this was how they repaid him? "Castiel, you bastard! Come help Dean now. You owe him!"
Though his anger echoed through the vast space, he got no answer. Not a stir of air, a whispered word, nothing. The bastards had used them again and left them once more to pick up the pieces when things went wrong. And these were the messengers of the God he believed in? His helpers? How could He tolerate them being like this?
Sam shook his head, shoving the questions out of his head, knowing there was no one around to answer them. He'd had such faith, such hope, that God would be there for them, that somehow someday he would help them. That He would save him from the destiny the demons had for him. But if He allowed his own people to treat them like this, what hope could Sam have that He would help him when he needed Him? Sam was on his own. The only one who could stop him from following the path started by Azazel was no one but himself.
He was also the only one he could rely on to keep the last blood member of his family alive.
"It's going to be okay, Dean. It's going to be okay."
Sam reached for his cell phone but never actually brought it out of his pocket. Calling 911 was out of the question. With Alistair's dead meatsuit across the room, the giant metal devil's trap, the torture implements, blood and who knew what else, there was no way he'd be able to explain it all away.
It would have to be just like he'd said -- all up to him.
Trying to be as gentle as possible, Sam reached under Dean's limp body. With infinite care, he lifted his brother up in his arms. The quickly dripping residual power in his blood made it effortless.
Sam rushed Dean outside and slipped him onto the Impala's back seat on his side.
Googling for the location of the closest hospital, he lost no time setting off to get them there.