Chapter Text
And the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. Ecclesiastes 12:7
The cold metal thumps against the dirt beneath him, finding its home in the sickly mess pooling beneath his feet. It drips from between his fingers and onto the makeshift halo. The world echoes quietly in his ears, the rotten, wooden doors no longer creaking with half-hidden ghosts and the towering trees no longer fostering blackened eyes waiting for their chance to lunge. It settles somewhere between peace and tension, somewhere dark inside his gut as the man surveys the body before him.
His skull was dented inwards at an odd angle, skin scraped off by the force of the hit. He lay, arms twisted at an odd angle, in the dirt, and did not get up. He couldn't get up. His glassy eyes found their home in Sam's soul, twisted and tangled in the barbed vines that held the rest of his sins.
The silence held him captive. Now, it was just Sam, God, and-
"Congratulations, Sammy." The clapping echoes into the very corners of the abandoned town. "I knew you were my favorite for a reason."
Sam jerks around, teeth barred and eyes flashing. "Let me out of your fucking game."
Azazel chuckles, lifting up his hand as if he were placating a child or a wild animal. Every instinct in Sam tells him to lunge forward, tear through his chest and puncture his heart, but he shoves those thoughts down. Instead, he waits, as Azazel asks, "Aw, Sam, so… testy. Don't you want to know your reward?"
"You told me before. Leading an army, isn't it?" Sam sneers. "I would rather die."
"Would you?" Azazel strolls past Sam to the body on the ground, peering down at it with thinly veiled disgust. His shoe gently nudges the side of the man's head, bringing the depression created in his skull farther into the light. "I'm sure it could be arranged. Of course, it would be a disappointment; You were my number one pick from the start, Sammy. You have such potential. Still, if you insist. We'll have to start over again, a new batch of potential leaders-"
Something scratchy climbs up Sam's throat. He forces it out, " Children ?"
"It would set us back by a decade or two, but still, we can afford-"
"If I agree-" Sam interrupts. Azazel's eyes glow as they move up to meet with Sam's. It feels like condemnation, like he's found a path he can never retreat from. It feels like betrayal. It feels like he has crawled into the lion's den. "If I agree. No more kids will be given… blood. Okay?"
Azazel's grin, all teeth and rotting cores, blood dripping from the end of his tongue, imprints itself in Sam's mind. He concedes, "There would be no need, if you agreed."
He can still feel the blood, drying on his hands, crusting around his finger tips. He can still see the man- Jake - lying on the ground. He closes his eyes. There is no going back; he is taking his first step on a long descent to hell. "Alright. Okay. I'll be your- your figurehead ."
Azazel leans forward. "Oh Sam, you misunderstand me." The yellow shines in the darkness. "You'll be so much more than just that."
With that, the journey begins. With that, Sam misses Dean skidding into the muddy town, wild eyes and a tight grip on a machete, only to meet the blank eyes of a corpse.
He wishes it looked like wine. That would make this easier; a simple glass in an empty motel, broken pieces of glass scattered across the room ignored in favor of rich, deceptively red wine that stains his mouth and teeth. Instead, however, it looks as if someone had dyed rotten milk a deep, deep red, until it looked almost black, and stirred in thickener for good measure. It's almost funny, for a moment, because it feels as if he really is about to drink the blood of Jesus during the last supper, but it dims quickly in the knowledge that it is the exact opposite of that. Instead, his stomach churns, and he wonders what else he must sacrifice in order to save the world.
"This, well, is the first step to unlocking your true potential. You always had aptitude, but this will let you do things you never even thought possible. Just think of the power you'll have- trust me, it'll feel good." Azazel chuckles, as if what he said was particularly funny. "Now, Sammy, drink."
Sam bites out a quick "it's Sam", before reaching out a shaking hand to the glass. The liquid sloshes slightly, heavy and thick, which makes him feel as if he's going to collapse onto the ground. Irrationally, he can feel the way in which his own blood streams through his arms and up to his head and down to his stomach and wonders who the concoction in front came from; if they, too, had died with the same blank expression as Jake.
There are children, innocent children, who are out there, who will suffer if you don't drink this, their blood on your hands or this blood in your-
It's thick , is his first thought, which should be obvious, but it didn't click until it hit his tongue. It's thick, and it's clumpy, likely due to its room temperature state. His body immediately reacts against his will, blood trickling down his chin as he heaves once, twice, his stomach rejecting the foreign liquid. His body screams wrong, this is wrong , but he forces it down. There seems like a never ending stream, flowing down his throat until he feels as if he couldn't possibly consume more, before the glass is suddenly empty, coated red with the remnants of the liquid.
The glass shatters among impact with the wall. Sam heaves a breath, wiping at his chin as his vision swirls. Azazel raises an eyebrow at the display, but otherwise says nothing.
One second there is nothing except for Sam's churning stomach, and then the next, he can feel it. It crawls slowly throughout his body, down his arms and into his fingertips, trickling into his toes and his brain and his eyes. His body screams at him once again, twisting as it adjusts to the foreign addition to his blood stream. He's tainting his body. Sam peels his eyes open to stare up at the ceiling, mind desperately grasping at the events that were unfolding. He's impure . He was always impure, but this, this feeling, it crosses a line that no one can come back from. He feels on the verge of hysterics. If he were to pray now, would anyone even hear, or would they pass their eyes over him, knowing him to be a monster ?
The power (he hesitates to call it this, but there is no better word for it, this electricity that stirs inside him) flows through his veins, his heart beating so fast it threatens to leap out of his chest. However, it just continues to pump the demon blood to every corner of his body, until he can feel himself thrumming with energy. It's a strange feeling, to suddenly feel more powerful than you've ever felt. Sam clenches his jaw as anger surfaces in his mind.
"Demon blood is a powerful conduit, isn't it?" Azazel speaks, stepping forward to appear in Sam's line of sight. "Now, all that anger you're feeling? That's good, we're gonna use that. You ready?"
Sam's hand clenches at his side. "Sure."
"We'll start slow, hmm?" Azazel places a beer bottle on the table in front of him. "Shatter it without touching it."
"That's it?" Sam glares over at the demon, lifting an eyebrow. "No helpful advice? No friendly 'lift your hand like those superhero comics'? I just get a 'shatter it'?"
Azazel shrugs. "You're the one with the power, Sam."
Untested ground , his mind unhelpfully supplies as he turns back towards the bottle. It appears to be a normal empty bottle, the label half torn off until only streaks of white were left. He tilts his head to the side, glances back and forth between Azazel and the bottle, before slowly lifting his hand out in front of him, fingers splayed out. He feels like an idiot . Something inside him thrums against his skull, pushes his hand forward. It feels like a different entity inside of him, yanking his mind to a thousand different places, and yet it's him, him that is-
Sam flicks his wrist to the left. The bottle flies off the table and directly into Azazel's stomach, shattering upon impact. The demon doubles over, clutching his abdomen, small droplets of blood forming around his fingers. A strange sense of triumph wells up in Sam, and his fingers twitch against his sides.
Azazel straightens up and gives him a toothy grin. "Well done, Sammy. Seems like you still got that fightin' spirit in you, huh? That's good. We can use that, hmm?" The front of his shirt is stained with blood. "I think you're ready for the next challenge."
"Challenge?" Sam laughs. It feels foreign to his throat and his ears as he thinks about all the challenges he'd been through at Azazel's hands that had left people for dead. "Is this your big plan? Test me, see if I'm a good enough soldier to lead your little demons?"
"Would you rather something bigger, better?" Azazel leans forward, staring deep into Sam's soul. "I see ambition in those eyes of yours, Sam Winchester. You think you're destined for something greater."
He wants to spit in this demon's face. He wants to grab hold of his face and twist- "If you call working with demons greater , I can't wait until I hear your definition of power."
"We can skip a few steps. Get to the bigger picture. Only if you're up to it, of course. Or, maybe we should leave it to another generation?"
Gritting his teeth, Sam gives a jerky nod. He can't help but feel as if he's signed his soul off in some way, reaching up into a blackened tree and biting into the crisp, red apple. There's something burning and twisting inside of him (he has a suspicion, but he doesn't want to say it) that's telling him to go farther . He has more people to save. If he can just make it through this little charade, he can find a way out, and he can get rid of this demon once and for all.
"Good. There's someone I want you to meet."
His first instinct is to compare her to Meg. He's only seen so many demons in his life, after all. Of course, there are striking similarities, between the red leather jacket to the blonde hair, but the comparison is inherently wrong; there's something about them that is completely different. He can't place a finger on it. It's like a gut instinct, simmering beneath his fingertips.
"Sam, meet Ruby. She's…. my personal assistant, one could say."
Ruby looks at Azazel like he's an idiot. "One would say." Her eyes drift back over to Sam. "Heard you won Zel's little… game. How's it feel?"
Sam's eyes flash. "Like shit."
A smirk stretches across her face. "Yeah, he's like that, isn't he? Could use a little lesson in gratitude, too-
"Alright, Alright, you've made your point. We have business." Azazel leans into Sam, mouth next to his ear, and even as Sam tries to lean away, the demon follows. "I want you to exorcise her."
His initial instinct is to scoff. He steps backwards, out of Azazel's grip, and says, "I don't have the-"
"You don't need it." Azazel smirks, once again, and Sam flicks his eyes away from the demon over to Ruby. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her eyebrow raises at him. He can't tell if she knows Azazel's plan or not, but the past few minutes makes him believe she probably does. She's cunning enough, surely. Azazel keeps talking over Sam's thoughts. "....The same way you did with the bottle. Just a little bit more of a…" He grunts, as if he were the one exerting any energy. "Squeeze. Got it? You did say you wanted lessons."
"Yeah." Sam mumbles, making eye contact with Ruby. It seems like an impossible thing to ask; she looks as human as he does. His mind, for a moment, wonders what she would do if he offered her help, a way out from Azazel's hell hole. If she would creep up the stairs back into the sunlight and find a way to live . Clutching at this feeling, he reminds himself once again that he's here to save people, not destroy them. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, he doesn't want to hurt anyone-
Her eyes flicker solid black. Perhaps that's what did it, or maybe Sam knew deep down that he would attempt to do this regardless of her reaction. Because of course, there was valuable knowledge in the idea of exorcising a demon without even touching them. The practical uses were endless, as well as the possibilities beyond that. As much as he valued the copious amounts of information in Dad's journal or the few hunter-made books he's gone through in Bobby's house, nothing in those could compare to this. This was revolutionary. This could change the game.
His hand jerks out in front of him before he consciously thinks about it, acting upon its own will. Blood rushes up to his head and his thoughts jumble into a language he does not speak. It's on the tip of his tongue, Carthago delen- but his mouth feels like lead as he twists his wrist ever so slightly, and then: Squeeze .
At first, there's no reaction. Ruby tilts her head sideways, eyes still as black as the night, like a snake ready to lunge, and Sam can feel his palm burning as if he had stuck it directly into a fire. However, after a moment, she starts to cough, covering her mouth in an attempt to hide it, before she doubles over and drops to her knees. Blood drips from her lips before the smoke does: little whispers of black, sinking down to the ground and spreading out across the concrete. It's a strange feeling; there's a sensation around his fingers and wrist as if he were reaching inside of her, down her throat and into her very soul, yanking at the fringes of a thrashing, flayed mess.
The proverbial tug-of-war could have lasted a few seconds or a few hours; Sam could hardly focus on anything but maintaining his grip on something that felt like water. Until finally, there's a sickening slap of flesh against concrete, and Ruby's body has gone still against the floor. It's like a sickening snap, the way Sam's body suddenly stumbles backwards, barely gaining enough balance to stay upright. It feels as if someone had shoved cotton balls up through his nose and into his brain. An ache appears behind his eyes. He blinks dumbly for a few seconds, trying to clear the edge of black around his eyes.
Azazel whistles out a long, low note somewhere from the sidelines. "Well, Sam, I gotta hand it to you, that was some impressive work you showed today. Taking out one of my top operatives? It's like you were destined for this."
Sam's ears twitch as he spits something to his left. The iron tang in his mouth makes him lean towards blood. " You did this."
The demon shrugs. "I'll take the credit for it, sure." There's a moments pause, as if he were considering something, sizing Sam up for the next slaughter. "Y'know? Just for you Sam, we'll speed things up a bit. How'd you like to meet a Prince of Hell?"
The information takes a few seconds to filter through his brain. "A…. Prince?"
"Exactly. Listen, I'm sure you feel all high and mighty, hopped up on your juice, but against a prince? Well, you'd be like a little lamb, squashed by a giant. Which is why we'll start small, build out way up. With their power, well, the opportunities are-"
"You want me to drink a Prince's blood," Sam interrupts with a half growl, vision growing ever darker. "You want me to kill the opposition."
Azazel snorts. "If you can call it opposition."
"This is insane." Sam wobbles on his feet as he steps backwards. "How long is this going to go on?"
A flash of yellow. The spotty black dots around the corners of Sam's eyes overtake his vision. His body burns as he tries to blink it away, panic growing as he continues to see nothing. He hears a groan, a female grown, and the scent of something burning, but he can't see it. There's something there, but he can't-
"Until destiny takes its course, Sammy."
With that, the world pitches forward and Sam loses control of all his senses, landing on the ground with the same thud that Ruby had just moments before. Azazel steps forward and leans over his body, eyes scouring his face.
"He doesn't know yet, does he?"
Azazel chuckles. "Which part?"
"Any of it."
"No. And he won't know. Not unless he says so."
Then He took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. For this is My blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins" Matthew 26:27-29