Dangerous Games

A/N: This is an alternate ending sequence to the story "Thicker Than Water" by Adolescently. The original story concept is to her credit; I'm just building on it. If you haven't read her story first, stop reading this and pull up hers! Thanks!

For those of you who have already read "Thicker Than Water," I'm picking up where John and Bobby have performed the summoning spell, and caught Meg instead…characters' opinions aren't quite spot on matched, but bear with me.


Tears forced themselves from Dean's eyes. It was hard enough to hold Sam down as he struggled, begged, writhed in pain. But to know that Sam's misery stemmed from a need for demon blood, of all things…Dean almost couldn't handle it.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy. It's going to be okay…"

"For the record, this is the stupidest thing you've ever done, Winchester," said Bobby, lighting the final candle.

"You don't have to be here," growled John. "I'm the one that needs to do this."

"Your boys still need you; I'll be damned if I don't make sure they have that much. Just get it over with."

John chanted the word's from Bobby's antique text. As Bobby watched the setup they had created, the candles flickered ominously. The ritual herbs and other ingredients blew around in their bowl. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the Devil's Trap upon which everything sat. Except this was a dark-haired girl.

"What the…?" John's indignation died in his throat. The girl smirked.

"Father sends his regards. How is little Sammy?" she greeted the dumbstruck men.

Sam went rigid in Dean's arms.

"Sammy? Sammy, talk to me."

"I can feel it," the boy groaned weakly. An unnerving mixture of fear and hungry sparked in his hazel eyes. "It's so close. Please, Dean…" Sam struggled to rise, but Dean still easily outmatched him.

"Sorry little bro, I can't let you do that." Dad, Bobby, I don't know what you're up to, but make it quick.

"Fixing Sam isn't as simple as you might think," purred the she-demon. "He's valuable to us, yes. And no, he won't be able to survive your stubborn cold-turkey regimen. However, unlike you, my Father can resurrect Sam for his purposes if he needs to. You're unlikely to see him again, if we have to do that."

"So he'd just let Sammy die?" John spat.

"Preferably not. He's willing to make you an offer. You get to hold on to Sam—if you give him demon blood."

"No!" Bobby and John shouted in unison.

The demon shrugged. "Have it your way. Sam's last days will be agony, I assure you. So can I go?"

"Wait." John fairly shook with anger. To let the demon pull this over on them! His hunter instincts screamed at him not to accept the abominable task. Anything but feeding Sam demon blood! Yet the part of him already willing to go this far, the father in him, couldn't bear the thought of letting Sam suffer. He had to save his son.

Bobby startled as John moved quickly, pinning the demon from behind at the edge of the Trap. "What're you doing?"

"What I have to. Do it, Bobby," hissed John. "Take her blood. I hate it as much as you, but I will not let Sam die like that. He's just a kid."

"You're going to poison your son to save him?"

"Do it! We don't have much choice. I won't let that Yellow-Eyed bastard take him."

Reluctantly, Bobby grabbed an extra bowl and pulled out his knife. With the demon watching him, eyes at once satisfied and fearful, he prepared to lay open one of her outstretched arms. "Know this, Hellspawn. We're gonna bleed you dry before we send you back. See how cocky you are then." For good measure, he dipped the blade in holy water first.

Dean couldn't make out the muffled voices over Sam's whimpers and groans. Something was going on, and he didn't like the uneasiness it gave him. Meanwhile, his little brother became increasingly listless, sweat-coated face against Dean's chest. This new development scared him more than Sam's pleas for demon blood.

Without warning, a scream erupted outside. A girl's scream. Then the back door slammed, and his dad and Bobby strode into the room.

"You wanna tell me now what the hell we're doing?" snapped Bobby. He carried a bowl; something thick sloshed inside. Dean felt queasy.

His dad snatched a tipless syringe from the first aid kit on the table, dipping it into the bowl. As Dean feared, the plastic tube filled with red liquid.


"It's the only way, son. Believe me, I hate having to do this. But we're dealing with an addiction here. Sammy can't handle the severity of going completely cold turkey, so we're going to have to help him down," John explained.

Dean stifled a retch in his throat as his dad put the syringe in Sam's mouth. The youngest Winchester had turned ashen, trembling slightly.

The effect was instantaneous. Sam's twitching muscles relaxed, his face taking on a calmer expression. He took his first truly steady breath in hours. John wiped his hands, and stood to face Bobby.

"The demon never specified we had to keep feeding him blood. We'll wean him off it like we would any drug. That way we can keep him alive, but he won't always be dependent on this poison. It's the best option Sam has," he croaked.

Bobby set his expression. "We should all get some rest, then. It's a long road ahead."