Kairos

"Oh, for the love of – would you settle, Moose?" Leaning against a doorframe, Crowley rolls his eyes and unfolds an arm from where it's been crossing his chest, waves it. "You're making me queasy."

Sam doesn't pause his pacing, but turns his head and answers with a glare.

With a sigh, Crowley tucks the hand back under his armpit. He tilts his head back and points his irritatingly, insultingly bored gaze to the ceiling.

He's disgusted by the look, but Sam still can't help but follow the motion with his own eyes. Dean's only been up there for a few minutes. It's quiet, and he doesn't know how to feel about the silence. They could be talking, Cain could be bargaining, or Dean could already be…

He tears his eyes away, continues pacing the room. Cas stands to the side, shifting his weight as he wanders in a listless circle with his own eyes pointed deliberately at the hay-strewn floor. Waiting. They're all just waiting.

I need you three out here to take out whatever comes out of there. And I'm serious. I mean whatever comes out.

Like a bloodthirsty killer taken over completely by the collective seductive influence of the Mark of Cain and the First Blade.

Or if Cain gets the upper hand…

This time the thought brings Sam to a sudden stop, breath catching and heart thudding wildly in his chest. The weight of the demon-killing knife in the pocket of his jacket suddenly feels like enough to bring him to the ground.

It'll be Dean that comes out. Sam has to believe that. It will be Dean. Just Dean, in one very human piece.

It doesn't feel right, this waiting game. The last time his brother made him promise to stay on the sidelines of the action, he was nearly gutted by a Hellhound. It's not that Dean wasn't right in saying that Sam would be a liability in the ring, and it's not that he isn't capable. It's just that they're better, and stronger, as a team. When they're together.

He doesn't want his brother in this fight on his own, and he doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to just wait here to see if Dean wins. If he survives. Or if they lose everything.

Across the chilly room, Crowley exhales loudly. "God, I wish I had a drink."

Sam whirls on the demon, anger flaring in his chest. "Why are you even here?" A sudden, muted thump overhead causes him to flinch.

"Should we start making wagers?"

"Crowley – " He raises a hand, folds his fingers into a painfully-tight fist. "Shut the hell up. That's my brother up there."

Castiel remains silent, gaze narrowed at the tactless demon.

There's another thump, clearly a body forcefully impacting the hard, unforgiving floor. Sam sucks in a breath, closes his eyes.

Shouts filter through from above, a deep, chilling voice that isn't Dean's. Then a startled yell, and the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

He can't take it anymore. He moves toward the stairs, and Cas stops him with a firm hand against his chest and a sorrowful, apologetic look in his eyes.

Sam steps back and raises his hands, both now balled into frustrated fists. "We can't just stand here while he's – "

"We have to." Cas lowers his hand, but remains standing where he blocks the way to the stairs. "I'm sorry, Sam, but we have to be ready. For whatever comes down from there."

"It'll be Dean," Sam says forcefully.

"There's a reason your brother wanted me here, Sam." Crowley pulls away from the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's because he knows I won't hesitate doing what needs to be done."

"Cas and I can handle it," he snaps back.

"But you won't." Crowley raises his eyebrows, jabs with a finger. "Even if what comes out of there is a rabid, murderous animal, you'll take it home, put it in a cage, and feed it treats until it kills you both."

Sam presses his lips together and exhales roughly through his nose. "I'm only going to say this one time." He looks to Cas, making sure all parties involved are on the same page. "We are not killing Dean. No matter what."

"Suit yourself." Crowley raises his hands, as though absolving himself of any guilt, and walks back to lean once more against the wall.

"Sam." Cas lowers his voice, but he won't meet Sam's eyes. "It might not be – "

"No." He stamps his foot. "No, Cas. It's going to be – "

A vicious shout pierces the air, drawing their attention upward, and then the barn falls ominously silent. Crowley once more straightens, moves to the foot of the stairs. It's quiet for a long moment, and there's no sign of Dean.

Come on, Dean.

Sam's pretty sure Cas has his angel blade in hand as he says, "Sam – "

"Just give him a minute." He scarcely dares to breathe, eyes locked on the landing at the top of the stairs. Come on, Dean.

When he finally appears, Dean's hardly on his feet; that much is obvious. It's also all that is obvious, and Sam tenses, squares up to his brother as he descends the stairs with slow, heavy clomps. His eyes shift from Dean's haunted, faraway gaze to the bloody knife in his left hand, the bloodier First Blade clutched in his equally crimson-stained right.

It goes against all of Sam's instincts, but disarming his brother has to come first. Dean's bruised and bloody and looks absolutely brutalized, with shards of glass jutting from his freaking head, but getting the pointy, lethal weapons out of his hands has to come before anything else. "Dean?" he tries, voice choked with emotion and trepidation.

There's nothing. Dean looks right through him, like he doesn't even recognize his own name.

"Dean, the Blade." Crowley has no such concern in his own voice as he holds out his hand expectantly.

The tension in the air is thick as mud as Dean limps forward and raises the Blade. He turns the weapon in his hand and lowers it hilt-first toward Castiel. Cas takes the Blade and steps back, wide eyes darting to Crowley.

"You lied to me," the demon accuses evenly.

"It's not the first time today." Dean's voice is low, and sandpaper-rough. "Cain's list…you weren't on it."

Crowley disappears in a huff of betrayal and embarrassment, and Dean lifts his eyes to Sam, almost smiles before what pitiful color is in his face drains away and he starts to sag.

"Hey, hey, hey." Sam catches him under the arms, keeps his deadweight, incredibly heavy brother from collapsing to the hard floor. "You did it. Dean, you did it."

There's awe, but also a cautious optimism flooding through Sam. Dean killed Cain, and he saved countless lives by doing so.

His brother releases a shuddering breath but doesn't respond, and makes no immediate move to take back his own weight.

The optimism flutters in Sam's chest as Dean remains limp and cold in his arms.

He did it.

But at what cost?

Author Note: Yeah, yeah. I'm supposed to be prepping for NaNoWriMo, but I couldn't help myself. Props to Nova for helping me out with a perfect title. (The one I had in the draft might have been pretty damn awful.)

Also, this was my first attempt at writing Crowley. And I was honestly a bit intimidated by it.