Song Remains the Same

Chapter 41: The Eleventh Hour

"I don't have a choice. But I still choose you."
- The Civil Wars

Several Hours Earlier
East Utah

In the dead end of a filthy alleyway, three men cornered a fourth.

"And you're sure this is where he'll be?" Crowley asked Brady—Pestilence's right-hand man. Well, right-hand demon.

Brady's face had blood streaks down the sides and splatters of the same on his expensive suit. Bright red splotched his nose and across his chin and there was some matted in his blond hair, too. He looked at Crowley with mild contempt, maybe because Crowley was the one who'd beaten the blood out of him. "Yeah. I'm sure Pestilence will be there," he muttered, then glanced over at the brothers who stood a few steps off—Dean, wary; Sam, cold and glaring.

Crowley turned away from the other demon, thoughtfully looking down at the piece of paper that Brady had just handed over. As he swaggered over to Dean, Sam narrowed his eyes at Brady in unadulterated hatred.

"What do you think?" Dean asked Crowley, nodding at the paper.

"It's good." Crowley seemed pleased. He handed Dean the paper with Pestilence's location, turning to send Brady a smirk. "After all, you've got no reason to lie, have you? Like I said before, you're in my boat now."

Brady smiled facetiously. "You've screwed me—for eternity."

Sam felt darkness choking him, white-hot anger bubbling in his veins. At his side, he held the demon blade tighter.

"Nah," Crowley replied apathetically, glancing at Sam who had murder on the mind. "Won't last that long. Trust me."

Earlier that day, Sam's world had been turned upside down. And he'd been waiting for this moment, the moment when he could slit Brady's throat.

Dean dragged in the demon who Crowley had said would lead them to Pestilence. And when they sat him down in a chair, tied him up, then yanked the devil's hex bag off his head... Sam had gone still in shock, recognizing the guy.

"B-Brady?!" Sam stared into the face of a person he'd called a friend in his college years.

"Heya, Sammy!" Brady smiled through bloody teeth even as Sam felt his reality crumbling. "Sorry but... Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh... middle of sophomore year?"

Shock filtered over Sam. Shock and horror when he'd realized that he'd been friends with a demon, good friends for years. And suddenly it clicked into place how Brady had suddenly just dropped out of pre-med in their sophomore year, how he'd gotten into drugs then started taking home a different girl every night. Sam remembered trying so hard to help the guy he thought was his friend get back onto the 'right track.' Brady hadn't just changed—he'd been a different person. He'd been possessed. It was so obvious now, like the demon had been daring him to realize. But Sam never had.

Brady chuckled at Sam's stunned silence. "That's right. You had a devil on your shoulder even back then. All right, now, let it aaaallllll sink in..."

And that's when Sam realized something else and flew into a fit. "You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch!" Dean had to restrain his brother, who was blinded with rage. "You introduced me to Jess!"

"Yessir!" Brady grinned proudly. "That was me!" He laughed cruel delight at Sam's reaction. "Remember when I came back from break all messed up?" he taunted. "Remember how much time you spent trying to get me back on the straight and narrow? You really were a good friend, weren't you Sam. But ol' Yellow Eyes didn't send me back to be your friend. No, we could tell we were starting to lose you. You were becoming a mild-mannered, worthless sack of piss! Now come on. We couldn't have that. You were our favorite, he had plans for you. So I hooked you up with a pure, sweet, innocent piece of tail, watched you fall in love with her... and then I toasted her on the ceiling. That's right—Azazel might've put the hit out on Jessica, but, man, I got to have all the fun!"