Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! It's summer and this is just about the end of the story, so I'm going to try to wrap this up and post some more stories. I have a short one that I believe it's somewhere in my backpack, I just need to type it up. Thanks to everyone who's put up with my sporadic posting.

Sam struggled as Manson began to lower the knife to his chest, but the screwdriver in his arm was making focusing difficult.

"You don't want to do this." Sam tried one last time to argue with him. "If this does what you say it will, then I'll be stronger. I'll be able to fight you. I'll kill you."

Manson laughed. "I'd like to see you try, boy. Most of my creations have tried. They all fail. It's inevitable." He brandished the knife with a smirk. "Now please, try to stay still. This will all be much harder if you're struggling the entire time."

Sam looked helplessly at Dean, who was also struggling as much as he could.

"Now, what I usually do first is open your major arteries. Get the blood pumping." Manson looked at the screwdriver in Sam's arm, where blood had begun to well and drip down the side. "Let's start by unplugging this, shall we?" He gripped the handle and none too gently ripped it out of Sam's arm, turning and pivoting it all the while.

Sam screamed as he felt the screwdriver rip through muscle and tissue in his arm. The blood began to flow out of the wound more freely, and the pain doubled. "That's not quite enough..." Manson muttered to himself. He took the knife and dragged it down the inside of Sam's other arm.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as Sam cried out in pain. "Sam!"

"Dean!" Sam groaned.

"Now... I think we're ready to begin. Tell me, Dean, are you ready to watch your brother's heart stop beating?"

"You sick sonofa-"

"Language, Dean! Language!" Manson chuckled. "I think we can all be civil, no?"

"I'll be civil when you're dead." Dean growled. "Sam, you with me?"

"Dean, can you please have a pissing contest with the evil guy when I'm not bleeding out?" Sam muttered with a slight smile.

"I don't know, Sammy. I think this is the perfect time!" Dean smirked furiously at Manson.

"I can see that you two will just be aggravating until you're both dead," Manson muttered. "So I think it's time to get this show on the road." He pressed the tip of the knife to the top of Sam's chest and pressed in slightly.

Sam gritted his teeth and struggled to hold in a cry of pain as blood began to pool around the knife.

"Wait!" a voice called from the side of the room. Mia stepped forward.

"Mia, what could you possibly want now?" Manson snarled.

"I want to do it." She smiled oddly.

Manson tilted his head. "You want to do what?"

"I want to be the one to cut him open. Isn't that a tradition of yours? Let the newbie cut the next one open? I thought it was a right of passage, or something. I want to get my chance to do it too." Mia slowly came forward to plead with Manson. "I want to do it."

Sam searched Mia's eyes. "Mia, don't do this. Please. Not you."

"Shut up, Sam." She smiled dangerously. "You'll thank me when this is over."

Manson looked at Sam, pondering the situation. "It seems, Sammy," Sam struggled at the use of the nickname, "that it would hurt you so much more if Mia were to be the one to cut you open." He spun the knife through his fingers. "Of course, you may not touch his organs," he instructed Mia. "You may just...open the wrapping paper, as it were."

Mia grinned. "That's all I'm asking for."

"Mia..." Sam pleaded while Dean watched helplessly.

Mia stepped forward and grabbed a knife off a table nearby. "Shall I begin where you did?" She lowered the knife to Sam's chest.

"No!" Manson stopped her just before the knife touched him. Mia looked confused, and the knife hovered for a moment. "You have to use this knife." Manson handed the knife from his sheath to her.

She took it and gently rotated it in her hands. "Why?"

He gritted his teeth. "Does it matter?"

Mia held up the knife she was about to use. "I'm more used to this kind of knife. I would be more comfortable using it."

Sam and Dean realized what she was doing simultaneously. She was testing Manson, trying to get him to admit that the knife he had been holding was significant.

Manson realized his mistake almost as soon as they did. He reached out for the knife, intending to snatch it back from Mia. But in doing so, he left himself wide open for attack.

Mia dropped Manson's knife into Sam's waiting hand and slashed at the inside of Manson's reaching arm with the knife she still held. Sam reared his arm up, ignoring the pain that flared in his arm as he did so and plunged the knife into Manson's heart.

Everything froze in that moment. The men at the door stopped rushing forward, Dean stopped struggling, and Manson and Sam both froze in the roles of killer and corpse.

"You...little...bastard!" Manson seethed. Sam's hand dropped off the knife as blood began to slowly dribble out of his mouth. The men at the door dropped to the ground as if a switch had gone off in their heads.

The blood on Manson's shirt spread and blood began to trickle out of his nose and from his eyes as well as the blood coming from his mouth. He began shaking and he bent over around the knife that was imbedded in his chest.

"Bastard," he hissed one last time.

Manson finally died and fell to the ground alongside his men.

"Well that was... fast." Sam muttered as he stared at the dead men on the floor.

"Sam..." Dean whispered. "Mia."

Sam looked down at the floor next to the table. Mia was on the floor as if she had simply collapsed. "Mia! Mia!"

"Can you reach her?" Dean asked quietly.

"No," Sam groaned. "I can't feel my arm!"

"Ok, that's ok." Dean soothed. "We'll figure it out. It's going to be fine."

"Dean, tell me how it's going to be ok!" Sam yelled. "I'm bleeding out and we're both strapped down to tables! How can we possi-"

"Sam!" Dean stopped him.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Listen!" Dean ordered sharply.

The two sat there silently for a moment, listening as quietly as possible.

"Dean, I don't think..." Sam began, but was cut off by a voice yelling his name from far away. Sam's brow wrinkled. "Was that..."

"Bobby!" Dean yelled. "Bobby we're here!"

"Wait, Bobby? When did Bobby get here?" Sam asked.

"Oh, uh, I guess I didn't get a chance to tell you." Dean laughed softly. "You disappeared, and I didn't have any signs to where you are. So,"

Bobby ran into the room, looking breathless.

"I called in reinforcements." Dean looked proud of himself.

"What did you two idjits do? There are people lying dead all over the place. I was trying to sneak in, and I got spotted, but just as they were closing in on me they all just dropped. So what the happened?" Bobby asked as he tried to catch his breath.

He just then looked around the room. "What the hell happened in here?"