Sam didn't know what to say. Henry's logic held—there was no denying it. Jake had been about to kill him, and if they let him go, there was every chance he'd try again.
Then—
"Sam!"
Dean's voice cut through the trees, sharp and urgent. Branches snapped as he pushed through at speed, Bobby right behind him.
Dean didn't slow. He reached Sam in two strides and pulled him in, one arm tight around his shoulders, the other gripping the back of his jacket like he needed to feel something solid.
"You're good, right?" Dean said, pulling back just enough to look him over, hands still on him, checking for blood, for anything worse. "You're not—"
"I'm okay," Sam cut in, a little breathless. "Just got knocked around."
Dean held his gaze for a second, making sure, then finally let go.
His eyes shifted.
Jake's body.
Dean's expression changed immediately. He stepped closer, looking down at the body, then back at Sam, then briefly at Henry.
"What the hell happened here?" Dean asked, voice low, sharp, eyes still on the body before snapping back to Sam.
Sam exhaled, running a hand over his face before answering. "It's the yellow-eyed demon," he said, steadying his voice. "He's behind all of it. The kids… the ones like me—he brought us here."
Dean's expression hardened. "Brought you here for what?"
"To make us fight," Sam replied. "Not just fight… kill each other."
Bobby frowned, stepping closer, eyes narrowing as he processed it. "That son of a bitch's been planning this since those kids were babies," he muttered. "But what the hell's the endgame here? Some kind of demon battle royale?"
Sam shook his head slightly. "Not just that," he said. "He told me—he wants a general. For his army."
Dean let out a short, humorless breath. "An army," he repeated. "Of what—psychic kids turned into killers?"
Sam nodded. "He doesn't want all of us," he continued. "He wants one. The one who survives. The strongest."
Bobby's jaw tightened. "So he lines you all up, lets you tear each other apart, and whoever's left standing… that's his guy."
"Yeah," Sam said quietly.
Dean glanced back at Jake's body, then at Sam again, something shifting behind his eyes.
"And you were supposed to be one of the last ones standing," he said.
Sam didn't answer right away.
"So can we leave?" Henry said, eyes moving through the trees instead of looking at them. "Something's off. Feels like we're being watched."
Dean didn't brush it off. He turned slightly, scanning the dark between the trunks. "Yeah… I don't like it either."
Sam nodded, already shifting his stance despite the hits he'd taken. "We should move. There are demons around this place."
Henry gave a short nod. "Yeah. Already ran into one on the way."
Bobby tightened his grip on his gun. "Then standing here's a bad idea."
Dean looked between them once, then jerked his head. "Let's go. Stay sharp."
As they left Cold Oak behind, the clearing settled into silence, broken only by the wind brushing through the trees. For a few seconds, nothing moved.
Then yellow smoke curled into existence beside Jake's body.
It thickened, twisting upward until it took shape, forming into Azazel. He stood still for a moment, looking down at the corpse with a measured expression, as if weighing something that had already lost its value.
"I thought you might make it," he said, almost casually, his tone carrying mild disappointment rather than anger. "Had some fight in you."
He shifted his gaze toward the direction Sam had gone, a faint smile returning.
"My favorite's still standing," he added, a faint smile forming. "That works too."
He stepped forward, slow, unhurried, his thoughts already moving ahead of the moment.
"Problem is…" he continued, glancing around the empty clearing and the abandoned structures nearby, "I still need someone to open the gate."
Jake wasn't an option anymore.
That left him with fewer choices, but not none.
Azazel stilled.
A faint sound reached him—weak, uneven.
Coughing.
His head turned toward one of the buildings, attention sharpening as the sound came again, quieter this time but unmistakable.
"Well now," he murmured, the smile returning, more certain.
The smoke rose again, wrapping around him before pulling inward, carrying him into the structure in an instant. He reappeared inside a dim room where the air felt stale and heavy.
Ava lay slumped against the wall, a knife still lodged in her side. Blood had dried along her clothes, but her chest still rose in shallow breaths. She hadn't died.
Not yet.
Azazel looked down at her, taking in the state she was in, the injury, the weakness, and the fact that she had somehow held on this long.
"You're still alive," he said, sounding faintly impressed. "Didn't expect that."
Ava tried to move, but the pain locked her in place. Her eyes flickered open, unfocused at first, then settling on him.
Recognition came with fear.
Azazel crouched slightly, not close enough to help, just close enough to study.
"Didn't win," he went on, almost conversational. "Didn't even come close."
He tilted his head, considering her again, then gave a small nod as if confirming a thought.
"But that doesn't really matter now."
His hand reached out, gripping her chin just enough to keep her from turning away. Her strength wasn't enough to resist.
"I need a door opened," he said, voice calm, controlled. "And you're going to do it."
Ava's breathing hitched, her body tensing despite the pain.
Azazel stood again, already finished deciding.
"You should feel honored," he added, the faint smile returning as his eyes burned yellow. "You get to be useful after all."
The room fell quiet again, but the air felt heavier now, like something had already been set in motion and wasn't going to stop.
*****
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