Disclaimer: I wish

Warning: Minimal, teensy language. Gets a bit mouthy later on.

Author's Note: So, this is the much-awaited follow-on to Good Samaritan. Have to give thanks to samantha-dean for letting this idea intrude at all into my muse's room in my head. Give credit to her for this story, not me. Or, you could give it to both…

TORTURED SOUL

Chapter 1: Unfinished Business

The night was eerie, hot and humid. The moon was bloated overhead, the only thing visible in the night sky. The motel was silent, far too silent, even for the late time. Nearly midnight, there was only one room visibly busy, its occupants scurrying back and forth between the door and the black Impala backed up close to the wall.

Dean Winchester walked back inside the room and stopped, surveying it with a trained eye, looking for any misplaced belonging he or Sam had dropped. A minute later he nodded, satisfied, and walked from the room, locking the door behind him.

Sam was leaning against the passenger side of the Impala, fiddling with his sunglasses and squinting. Or frowning, Dean could never be sure which. Since Sam had been slowly getting his vision back, the younger hunter would squint often, trying to distinguish the blurry shapes in front of him into recognisable objects. And though Sammy was regaining his sight, the fact that it had taken three weeks for Sam to see colour again had frustrated the younger man, despite any comfort from Dean telling him it was a speedy recovery. Considering only four weeks ago he had been completely blind.

But now, Dean wasn't so sure it was his vision that was twisting his little brother's eyes into the shape they got when he tasted something sour. Judging from the way he was twisting his now unneeded glasses in his hands, something was bothering Sam.

"Sam!" Dean said sharply, bringing said hunter plummeting back down to Earth. Sam jumped, standing upright and dropping his glasses. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Jumpy much?" he asked, moving to the driver's side door.

"Sorry," Sam said as he bent to pick up his glasses. As he stood, the light from the motel sign caught his eyes, and Dean smiled with satisfaction. At least his little brother's eyes had regained their colour. However the smile dropped when Sam offered no explanation for his intense lapse in concentration.

"Well?" Dean asked with a single shake of his head. Still Sam said nothing. "What caused your record making leap?"

Sam frowned, squinting at the same time to bring Dean into focus. Dean stifled a laugh as his little brother reminded him of an old, old man.

"I was just thinking," the younger hunter shrugged.

Dean sighed. So now they had to play twenty questions. "About what?"

Sam shrugged again. "I don't know. Something feels wrong."

Dean nodded once, hiding his slight uneasiness. "Feels wrong as in you ate something that didn't agree, or feels wrong as in your shining is interrupting our getaway?"

Sam shrugged, looking away and giving Dean the answer. Which was the latter. He almost wished it were the sick stomach. Only then they would have had to stay another day because there was no way Dean was letting someone in the car when they were nauseous. The upholstery, man.

"Is it the job?" Dean asked next, keeping his gaze on his very uncomfortable little brother. "We did destroy that spirit, right?"

Sam groaned. "I don't know. Yes. Maybe. Yes, we did. I'm pretty sure we did."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the indecision, but the younger hunter was still talking.

"It's something else, I think. Something else in town." He suddenly shivered. "It's something evil."

"Something that needs us," Dean assumed. Sam shrugged, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing. The older man felt the first flutters of unease in his stomach and began to move towards his little brother.

"Yeah, I-… damn, I think it does," Sam told him, eyes closed and pain making his voice coarse. He didn't even notice Dean coming around the front of the car. "I don't know what it is, but -."

Sam didn't get to finish. Just as Dean reached his side of the car, he cried out in pain, collapsing. He would have fallen to the ground if it weren't for Dean's jerk forward, catching his little brother in his arms. And then he could only wait as Sam continued holding onto his head, could only wait for the vision to pass.

Only this vision was different to any Dean had seen before. Not that he had seen any since… God, when was the last time Sam had had a vision. He wasn't sure, but this time Sam kept on moaning, kept on twitching harshly under Dean's strong grip on his arms. It was a stronger vision than any Dean had seen before.

Then suddenly Sam pitched forward, losing his balance and causing Dean to fall back. They fell in a heap, and Dean gave a disgruntled grunt as he pushed his little brother off of him.

Sam didn't go far, but used the momentum of Dean's push to fall back against the Impala's front wheel. As Dean sat up he barely noticed the dirt he was sitting in, not when Sam's pale face and trembling body was right there in front of him.

"What happened?" Dean asked, his voice hiding any sign of fear, or frustration he may have felt. While Sam's other psychic abilities were beginning to come in handy, these visions were just a pain in the ass, causing his baby brother to be hurt, emotionally and physically.

"I had a vision," Sam explained softly, his own voice betraying only the slightest bit of discomfort. Then his face fell in horror.

"Get in the car, Dean!" he cried as the vision resurfaced above the echoing pain. "Get in, we have to go, right now!"

The younger hunter stood, swaying slightly as vertigo hit him. Dean followed more slowly, not as keen to follow Sam blindly in to whatever the vision had shown. But Sam was already half way into the car, having groped for the door handle with only a little difficulty. He saw Dean standing there stubbornly.

"Dean, come on! We have to go, right away. Get in!"

The vehement pressure in his little brother's voice pushed Dean from where he was glued to the ground. After all, he always had had trouble denying Sam anything, especially when he was so obviously troubled.

"So what is it?" Dean asked, giving Sam a bare look as he stumbled with his seat belt. He turned the key in the ignition and five seconds later the wheels were spinning out of the motel. Sam still hadn't answered.

Dean gave the younger man another worried glance. "Sam, what did you see?" he asked as gently but as forcefully as he dared. Sam shook his head.

"The house where we destroyed the spirit. Something else must have been attracted to the fight, or something… It's something evil." He gave a shudder, remembering the despair he had felt as he had watched the evil being. It had been like he was rooted to the floor, unable to do anything, so petrified he trembled even at the memory. He noticed Dean give him a worried glance.

"What is it?" Dean asked again, though Sam knew he meant something else to what he had asked not a moment ago. He shook his head again.

"A demon. That's all I know. That, and it's evil. One of the most evil beings I've ever known." He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. "I watched it kill the family in that house. It executed them, Dean. Lined them up and killed them. They screamed, and screamed, and he laughed. He laughed."

He, Dean noticed. Not it. He decided not to mention the sudden change. "What did it look like?" he asked. He had to know so he could figure out how to kill it. They had to be able to kill it. And he had a feeling silver bullets weren't going to work on this thing. Not judging by Sam's pale, almost terrified face.

Sam shrugged. "It was in shadow. I couldn't see it, not properly. Tall, skinny. It's eyes glinted. That's all I can tell you."

"Any ideas on how to waste it?" Dean asked, refusing to let any of his own sudden panic show. He suddenly realized he was pressing the accelerator down to the floor, and was thankful there weren't any cops around. Still, he didn't slow, and the tyres squealed as they spun around a corner.

"I'm not sure. Spells, of some kind, maybe. Salt, holy water, the usual. Not silver. But I couldn't tell if he was possessing someone or not. If he is, an exorcism should work. I know of one in dad's journal." Getting down to business, Sam's face was losing some of that so obvious fear. "If he isn't, we need to bind it, and then send him back to hell some other way."

He looked across at Dean and noticed the white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel. He doubted if Dean did though. The older man's face was still. Far too still.

He looked down and grabbed the journal, flipping through the pages. "Whatever he is, it's not going to be easy. This thing is powerful." He shook his head, sudden doubt making him feel queasy. "Maybe too powerful."

Dean's jaw dropped for the barest instant before he slammed it firmly back into place. "Nothing is too powerful for us," he said in a harsh voice, surprising Sam with the hard tone. Dean slammed on the brakes as the Impala approached the house where they had destroyed a spirit not three hours earlier. Then he turned to Sam. "Hear me. Nothing!"

Sam could only nod in the wake of his older brother's intensity. But the confidence spread, and he too felt the doubt disappear. Any Dean had felt had fled when the anger approached.

They both jumped from the car at the same time. Sam traced his fingers along the car as he made his way to the trunk. By the time he got there, Dean already had it open and was handing him a shotgun filled with salt.

"Shoot first?" Dean asked to be sure. Sam nodded.

"I'm sure salt will do something," the younger man assured. "Enough to give us the chance to do what we have to do." He looked up at the quiet house grimly. Nothing could be heard form it. The house didn't even creak. The wind was still. Sam felt a pit forming in his stomach as he watched it. He shivered and followed Dean up to the house.

Dean couldn't help but slow as he approached the front door. You didn't have to be psychic to get that feeling of looming disaster. He swallowed, wondering why he was suddenly so nervous. Maybe Sam's anxiety was catching; he was fully aware that Sam was having doubts. But they were Winchesters. They protected everyone and everything they could from the evil forces of the paranormal. But is it no matter if we die trying?

That thought struck Dean into stillness, a bare foot from the door. Sam, oblivious to Dean's distracting thoughts, pushed past him and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, a matter of instant consternation for the two hunters, who shared a look. But Sam pushed over the threshold nonetheless, and his movement pulled Dean with him. They were both ignoring that pit in their stomachs, the sure sign of bad things to come. After so long practically coasting – yes, despite Sam's blindness – they had become complacent. Besides, there were people who needed protecting.

The house was just as silent inside as the world had been outside. Sam shivered as he pulled the shotgun up, closing his eyes and letting his mind cross outside of its physical boundaries. He slowed down as he spread himself through the house.

"We should split up," Dean suddenly whispered, breaking Sam's concentration. He withdrew, frowning slightly, but turned to his older brother with a calm face.

"No, we should stick together," Sam disagreed. He turned and began walking towards the lounge. Dean followed. They still moved slowly, almost afraid to move faster or talk louder than at a soft hush.

"Is it here, Sammy?" Dean asked, looking around. Sam frowned as he concentrated for a bare moment. Then he shook his head.

"I can't tell. But where are the Clarkes?" Sam responded, referring to the family who had been hounded by the spirit Sam and Dean had destroyed earlier. "They should have heard the door open. And it should have been locked."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Something's not right here," he said, summing up everything the two brothers felt.

The dark lounge was far too normal for the otherwise eerie night. The two hunters moved through it, guns up, nerves on edge, ready for anything.

The stairs loomed ahead of them as they moved towards the kitchen. Dean went to move up them, sure that was where the family would be.

Sam stopped, one foot resting on the stairs. He could feel something, right in the edge of his subconsciousness. He paused, going so still he wasn't sure he was even breathing. What was it? He pushed towards it with his mind, curious.

Suddenly it encompassed him, and he gasped painfully, feeling a terrible evil consume his very soul. It was an evil so strong that he had to take a step back, putting hand on his chest as abrupt fear petrified his heart. He gasped again, feeling horrified beyond any human comprehension. Sam himself couldn't understand it, only knowing that something monstrous was coming.

"We have to leave," Sam spat firmly, looking up at a very worried Dean, who had stopped on the fifth step to look down on his pale and shaking brother. "We have to go now."

Dean frowned, but stepped down the stairs at Sam's insistency. "But what about the Clarkes?" he asked, coming to stand beside his little brother.

Sam shook his head. "We're too late." How could anyone survive the evil in this house? "We have…" he groaned as that feeling of evil began to thump, like a heart beat, inside his mind. "We have…" He clutched once more at his chest, bending over and digging his nails painfully into the skin.

"Sam?" Dean questioned frantically, placing a hand on his little brother's back. "What's going on?"

"Demon… leave… powerful… evil." The younger hunter didn't seem to be able to say more than one word without groaning with pain. "Now."

But before either of them could do or say anything about leaving the premises, Sam fell to his knees, moaning more loudly now. Dean went to kneel beside him.

"No!" Sam suddenly screamed, feeling Death pervade the home, or something so very similar to how he was sure Death should feel. And it had come for them.

Only it was too late a warning. Even as he screamed Dean suddenly flew backwards, giving a shocked yelp before he hit the wall hard enough to crash through it. Sam could just make out, out of the corner of his eye, how the misshapen shape that was his brother fell and didn't get back up.

Oooo, so what's coming? Tune in tomorrow night, or tomorrow to find out. Thanks for reading!