Oh, yeah, everything is unbeta'd. All my mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns all Supernatural characters. I'm only borrowing them.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel - very graphic. This is my second attempt at something like this because this muse wouldn't leave me alone but I'm a slow learner. Please let me know what you think, constructively.
Warnings: Rated M for swearing, graphic sexual content with S and M undertones, implied forced sex and other adult subject matter. May be triggers for some: read with caution.
Now What?
"What the hell?" Dean growled irritably as the old abandoned farmhouse he had been fighting the massive black dog by disappeared from his peripheral vision at the same time as a supernaturally strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. He quickly spun around to face the new attacker only to see stunt demon number one back away with its hands raised in mock surrender. He gripped his shotgun tighter as he swiftly surveyed the area. "Oh, great. Now what?"
"Well, well, if it isn't our very own perfectly coifed, anatomically correct, Ken doll," Crowley commented drily.
"I'm not your anything, asshat," Dean argued adamantly. "What the hell just happened? And, what the . . . Kevin?" He questioned hesitantly as he spotted the battered prophet not far behind Crowley.
"Uh, yeah," Kevin answered hoarsely, in obvious pain. "Hey, Dean. Really, really sorry," he added with enormous shame and embarrassment while he ducked his head and slumped back into the old wooden chair. He had obviously been through the wringer.
"Damn it, Kevin. What the hell? Why . . ." Dean started then trailed off, cursing under his breath with weary resignation. He so didn't need this crap right now. Between Sam and . . . Crap. He really needed to get back to Sam and . . .
"Oh, now, don't get all upset with my prophet or Bobby, Jr. even. After all, you should know by now that the sequels are never as good as the originals. I mean, it takes more than an old torn up trucker's cap and the ability to say, 'Balls!', don't you think? Or was that all that Mr. Grumpy Pants was to you? Apparently I had more respect for the old geezer than his so-called adopted spoiled brats which isn't saying much as you well know."
"In any case, Gumby, the hunter, was unavoidably detained from his search for Mr. 'Advanced Placement' here," Crowley excused nonchalantly. "Inadvertently stumbled on to a demon worshiping cult of all things. What are the odds? After all, you know how often things can go . . . uh, what's the word you yokels use? Er, south? On a hunt, especially when I want it to. See, I needed Kevin here and he needed to get desperate enough to leave his safe, safe house, boat. Some dreamwalking here, some delusions there, voices in his head following him everywhere and here we are. Game in check and minor celebration." Crowley ended as he materialized his favorite drink then saluted then took a sip.
"Of course," Dean scoffed dismissively while he finished scanning the area then he spotted Castiel standing in a ring of fire ten feet away. All of Cas's focus seemed to be directed to the task of making Crowley spontaneously combust. Dean slightly relaxed at the sight of his friend apparently whole and healthy as he mentally adjusted to the new playing field.
"So where's Sam?" Dean barked suddenly, remembering again the hunt he was on previously and how there were actually two massive black dogs.
Crowley arched an eyebrow in response to massively aggressive tone from the cocky hunter but allowed generously, "Well, he could be front and center but I really didn't think you two were that close. Or in to that sort of thing really. Of course, the whole universe believes you are, and where there's all the talk, and where there is all that homoerotic subtext . . ."
"Whoa! Whoa. Whoa. What?" Dean exclaimed in surprise at that very, very hated phrase, "homoerotic". "We're brothers, you sick, arrogant bastard."
"And?" Crowley wondered pointedly, enjoying the heightened color and emotion unintentionally displayed on Dean's cocky, pretty boy face.
"I'm NOT gay, you pompous douchebag!" Dean argued hotly. "Or into incest! Just what the . . . ugh! Know what. Forget it. Just tell me what the hell you want so I can say, 'no', and we can go back to despising and plotting against each other, like regular arch-enemies."
"Oh," Crowley commented with arched eyebrows, showing all the signs of shocked surprise and borderline disappointment. "Not gay, huh? So . . . seriously? Not overcompensating? Are we sure? Well, well, well, that does cause a bit of a problem."
"Always happy to hinder in any way possible," Dean snarked readily, trying to enjoy Crowley's disappointment, but it all felt too off for him to really allow himself the pleasure. He sensed that he really wouldn't like where this meeting was going. Hell, he already didn't like where it had been. But then again, when did he ever like it if Crowley was involved?
Crowley glanced at him in exaggerated surprise before he smirked mockingly and pointed out, "Oh, that doesn't hinder me in any way whatsoever. But, Cassie, here . . . he would have probably preferred it because of that, you know, 'bond' thing and all that I keep hearing about. Oh, well. No worries, mate. Later . . ."
"Whoa! Wait! Wait just a minute," Dean argued immediately as he saw Crowley raise his hand to snap his fingers. "What about Cas? Cas?" Cas didn't acknowledge his presence in any manner whatsoever. In fact, the angel hadn't moved a single muscle since he arrived. "What the hell have you done to him, you bastard?"
"What do you care?" Crowley countered tauntingly. "After all, you're not gay and you love your brother more than, well, anyone, or anything else, so all I have to do is threaten Sam and you'll drop featherbrains here like a hot potato."
Suddenly, Sam appeared on the other side of Castiel, about ten feet from him, with a bloody knife in hand. He was gasping hard like he'd just finished fighting, probably one of the black dogs. He paused and glanced around while his stunt demon backed away in a similar fashion to Dean's earlier.
"Now that we are all here, as requested," Crowley started authoritatively.
"You okay, Sammy?" Dean interrupted quickly, ignoring the self-proclaimed King of Hell.
"Yeah," Sam huffed out while he tried to process what was going on. "You?"
"Just peachy," Dean returned automatically. "You get Cujo?"
"Yep. One down. Yours?" Sam answered easily while his eyes swept the scene.
"Not yet," Dean replied with disgust. "Got interrupted during the kill shot."
Crowley eyed the two irritably before confirming, "Do you two need to hug and kiss, too? After all, it's been all of five minutes since you've seen each other last. Or can we get on with this? Not gay, bullocks."
"Watch it, you giant bag of dicks," Dean growled menacingly.
"Dean?" Sam checked cautiously.
"Oh, just shut it, the both of you, stupid cave dwelling Neanderthals," Crowley ordered harshly while stealing their voices at the same time to make it happen. "I don't know why I don't just kill you both."
"Better than you have tried," Dean strangled out painfully, even though it was barely a whisper, only to start choking harshly as Crowley tightened his hand even more.
"In any case," Crowley restarted in a louder voice. "I have it on good authority, Kevin, that you two denim-clad buffoons are going through the trials to close the gates to my home territory which I happen to find highly offensive personally but that's neither here or there at the present. As I am the one with the prophet, and the Angel tablet."
He held up the stone tablet for all to see before he placed it on the table in front of Kevin. He paused for a moment while the significance of that statement sunk in. He grinned manically while Dean and Sam exchanged meaningful glances. Castiel, on the other hand, once again remained motionless.
"That's right, boys. Check. And mate," Crowley crowed proudly before continuing, "but, as you know, these things take time to decipher. The angels' ancient old windbag of a parental figure did so love the monotone droning of his own voice. Apparently went on and on. Tolkien was positively closed mouth, comparatively. However, we have encountered some interesting tangents bringing us back to the mate thing, and the reason for this . . . intervention?"
Dean glanced over at Sam and saw that Sam was just as lost as he was. He checked Kevin's face but Kevin wouldn't meet his searching gaze. All Dean could see in the prophet's face was deep, sincere apology mixed with weary pain. He refocused on Crowley about the time Crowley was winding down. He automatically voiced his question with hesitant confusion, very surprised to hear himself talking again, "What 'mate thing'?"
"So glad you asked, KD," Crowley continued smoothly. "See, the next trial is something of a . . . we don't know yet as my half and the other half of the tablet left various crumblings, and words, probably, here and there, and, well, everywhere."
"Why would you need to know that any way?" Sam countered abruptly. "It's not like you're going to help out on it."
"No, but he will stop us," Dean finished automatically.
"Ah, no 'dunce' cap for you yet," Crowley commended briefly then insulted caustically, "but there's still plenty of time left, especially with your track record, and IQ. Anywho, I'm aware that Moose here is the forerunner for the challenges so it's up to him it seems but then there's all the past weeks of coughing up blood, migraines, muscle spasms . . . by the by, have the Lucinations started back yet, Sammy boy?"
"Migraines? Muscle . . . Luci . . . hell," Dean sputtered softly then demanded firmly. "Something else you neglected to tell me, Sammy? Or are we all the way back to pre-Apocalypse secret time?"
"Dean," Sam started slowly.
"Is it true?" Dean demanded sharply. Sam's lack of answer was the most honest answer Dean was going to get and he knew it. He tried to hold down his anger but he was so tired of this crap. All of the crap. All of the lying. All of the dying. Hell, he'd known all along that this was where it was all leading to and that he would once again be left alone, digging Sam's grave. Alone. Which is why he damn well had wanted to do it himself he remembered irately.
"What's it to you?" Dean countered on Crowley aggressively, turning all of his anger on something well deserving. "Seems to me that you are in a sweet spot right now. Why jinx it?"
Crowley smirked slightly, "What can I say? I love beating you flannel wearing primates. Plus, you two fighting over who gets to be champion and die for the other . . . always thrilling. Four stars, top rating. Red carpet. Oscars all around. That is, if those stuck-up poppycocks would ever stop selling their souls long enough to look at anyone who wasn't already in their club."
"No," Sam argued tautly. "We aren't fighting over anything. I did the first and second trials so it's all me now."
"Of course, it is," Crowley agreed condescendingly. "Because what was it that you told your brother again? He has friends. Right. And, uh, who were they again? Oh, yeah, a born-again vampire who saved his life countless times in the past year but you made him abandon said 'friend' because . . . well, you wanted him to. Had a full out hissy fit over your bro possibly having someone else to lean on, even. Then Dean killed him to save . . . oh, yeah, you. And Dean's other friend? A two-faced, backstabbing douche of an insane, easily mind-controlled angel who he cannot trust any further than he could throw him. But, hey, he has friends. Or was it 'had'?" Crowley ended curiously then shrugged dismissively before continuing on.
"And what else did you mention? What was it? Family? Of course, family . . . which is . . . of course, you. He always has you, right, Sammy? Of course. Or, at least, until you decide to cut him out of your life again for whatever reason you decide that you don't want to be around him anymore because, let's face it, he's an annoying, cocky, ignorant little prat. So you go off and live your 'safe, normal' life with whomever. Or until you died from whatever illness you have right now. Or, you know, when the trials kill you because we all know they will . . ."
"And finally, a light at the end of the tunnel? Sure. If you want a normal life, right, Sammy? And when has Dean ever really wanted that? A life to live on his own, after you succumb to whatever this thing is. But, hey, at least, he'll be alive while he drinks himself into a daily coma. Or kamikazes himself in the first hunt he can. Better you had just killed him out right than make him live another year of that type of Hell so that you can be happy. But whatever. You've never really known him, have you?"
Crowley smirked slightly as he saw the emotions that Dean was trying desperately to hide, knowing his worst fears were coming true. He enjoyed the pain radiating off of the elder Winchester and paused for a moment to breathe it in while making sure that Sam still couldn't talk. He couldn't take the chance that Sam might convince Dean otherwise.
After a few moments, Crowley let out a disgusted sigh. "I cannot believe I'm interfering with this but this form of torture is too mean, even for me," Crowley mumbled to himself then addressed Dean directly. "I'm offering you, you obnoxious denim clad nightmare, a one-time shot at correcting this epic SNAFU. I mean, after all, you've been hunting non-stop in Purgatory for a whole year and Sam's been out of the business for over a year taking it easy and playing house. And, yet, Sam's the one who takes one of my best pups out. Sounds like extremely bad writing to me. Plus, I'm sick of Moose getting all the plot lines so I will offer you one rematch with the exact same weapons as you had that night, that way you'll both be in the running, so to speak. You know, just in case."
"Dean, no," Sam argued hotly, only to have Crowley once again take away his voice.
Dean narrowed his eyes untrustingly and demanded uncertainly, "Oh, yeah. With what strings attached?"
"No strings," Crowley denied innocently. "Nothing up my sleeves. Just a little favor. Service, if you will. Honestly, it will be helping you out more than me."
"What. Favor?" Dean gritted out. Sam tried to talk again and ended up coughing up some blood that he wasn't quick enough to hide. Dean kept his game face on, not letting on that he saw, but seeing it, he knew that he had to do whatever Crowley asked. He didn't want to give in too easily, though.
"First, you have to agree to it," Crowley bargained tersely.
"No dice," Dean argued hotly. "Now tell me." Sam choked again and Dean reached into his jacket then tossed Sam his flask of water. Sam drank it greedily while keeping an eye on Dean and Crowley as Crowley stepped near to talk quietly with Dean who braced himself for attack. Dean could easily tell that irritated Sam even more because he couldn't hear what was going on.
Crowley eyed Dean for a moment then admitted easily, "I really, really do despise you, your brother, and everyone in your lives but you all have your uses, unfortunately. For instance, the favor, I could have any one of a thousand demons do it, or even your brother, but you . . . you doing it . . . yeah. That would be the kicker."
Dean rolled his eyes slightly over the dramatic build up and asserted impatiently, "Just spit it out already. I have a dog to put down." He meant the black dog he was hunting but realized later that it could be interpreted another way. Too late, Crowley took him up on his offer.
Crowley smiled evilly then shot his eyes over to Castiel before he ordered Dean in a very firm but soft voice, "You go over there and 'spoil' that backstabbing, god-wannabe, feathered loony there then I will give you the biggest puppy I own to gut at your leisure."
"'Spoil'?" Dean clarified uncertainly. "I'd have to know what he was into. What is it? Dr. Sexy? Twilight? Walking Dead? The Kardashins?"
"No," Crowley denied and rolled his eyes with exasperation. "'Spoil' as in unmated sex. As in, take his not-so-lily white virginity."
Dean's eyes widened in shock then he shook his head and insisted adamantly, "Told you already, I'm not . . ."
"That's got nothing to do with this," Crowley hissed angrily. "This is about domination. About payback. Torture."
"I know," Dean hissed back irately. "Been there. Done that. On both ends. No way!"
Crowley eyed him curiously for a moment then clarified objectively, "So you'd rather a demon do it instead of you? What if I told you it was part of the challenges?"
"No way . . .," Dean started disbelievingly, only to have Crowley cut him off.
"The worthy will gain the grace of an angel to sustain you through the trials. This is the only way for a human to gain the grace of an angel," Crowley continued convincingly. "I just figured with that 'profound'' bond that you two already share, it might be . . . gentler on him but clearly you aren't the man for the job. Guess you're more the woman of your relationships. Of course, that's nothing new. How many times been too weak? How many times have you let your brother, your father, your whole family and countless friends down now?"
Dean glared at him with ice-hard emeralds. He knew his hatred blazed through loud and clear. He really didn't trust himself to speak at the moment.
"Of course, I could have your little angel soldier who pulled your worthless soul out of Hell 'soil' your brother's semi-virgin ass instead," Crowley ruminated contemplatively. "And you would have to watch it all because . . . well, just because." Crowley smirked evilly.
"Semi . . .?" Dean started then shook his head to clear it from that disturbing detour of images, unable to believe his head had even tried to go there, and snapped irritably, "Enough!" They both knew that Dean, once again, didn't have a choice. Crowley arched his eyebrow in question to which Dean growled very low in his throat, "Winchesters. Don't. Catch."
"Really?" Crowley continued playfully, clearly enjoying Dean's discomfort. "I thought that Winchesters didn't . . . at all. And apparently you never taught Sammy . . ."
"I'll do it! Alright?" Dean barked out loudly to shut out whatever was coming out of Crowley's mouth next. "Just get rid of Sam," he bargained in a softer voice. Unconsciously, his shoulders slumped slightly at that thought of what was about to happen but he really didn't see another way out of this.
"Bossy much?" Crowley observed dryly as he walked beside Dean, leading the way to the circle of holy fire. He caught Dean off guard close to the circle and pushed him right through it then smirked mockingly at the pissed off hunter on the other side who was patting out his slightly flaming pants.
"Watch it, asshat!" Dean grumbled automatically
"Be sure to give it a good show now," Crowley commented cheerfully.
Dean glared at him then glanced over at Sam and motioned to Crowley for him to get on with it. There was no way he was going to do anything in front of Sam. Hell, he really hoped that he wouldn't have to do anything anyway now that he was next to Cas. He believed that they could come up with something to negate all this since they were together.
"Dean, what the hell . . ." Sam started to ask.
"Nothing, Sam,"' Dean interrupted quickly. "I'll be with you in an hour or so. Have to take care of something real quick."
"Dean," Sam warned irritably.
"Oh, for Lucifer's sake, get a freakin' clue, mate," Crowley snapped bitingly. "Dean's obviously rethought his position about doing me a favor since I put your oversized Gigantor butt on the line again, quite literally, in fact. So, of course, Dean's going to do whatever I want to save his baby bro once again since that's his life's mission. Nauseating, I know, but that's your simple minded brother for you. The fact that it will put him ahead in the trials category is added incentive for him, and me, quite honestly."
"What?" Sam snarled irately. "No, Dean, don't do it. You know this won't end well, plus, you promised to trust me." Sam glared at his brother who was studiously ignoring him and instead studying Castiel. "Dean, you know better. What are you giving up this time?"
Dean ignored the others in the room and walked up to the front of Castiel. He stared his friend in the face and noticed that Castiel's eyes only followed Crowley, even though the rest of his body was motionless. He sighed heavily as this was so not looking good for any of them then started hesitantly, "Cas, are you in there, buddy? Because, if you are, I really need some help here or someone is definitely going to get screwed and not in a good way."
Meanwhile, Crowley answered Sam in Dean's stead, "Giving up? Well, nothing more than you want him to. After all, you really don't want him to have friends. Who does? You've made him give up one of the remaining two. I'm simply helping you get rid of the last one. Isn't that right, Deano?"
Dean frowned heavily over the motionless statue that was his friend and demanded irately, "What the hell have you done to him?"
"Oh, apologies," Crowley replied easily. "I mean, it wasn't like he was just going to stand there with bated breath waiting then . . .you know, let . . . it happen. You know how independent the little tool's become. He's definitely no Bella. Of course, you're no Edward, either. Hmm. . . Let's see . . . what was the rest of that . . . oh, yes, thank you, Kevin." Crowley picked a paper out of Kevin's lax, bloody hand and quickly recited the final words of an Enochian spell.
A flash of blue-white light flared within Castiel's eyes as he screamed in pain. He curled in on himself in a bid to control what was happening as a result of the cast spell He felt hands on him and voices from a far. He knew he shouldn't move. He should just embrace the pain as well deserved but the spell made him powerless. He no longer had any control over his vessel or rational mind.
"Cas!" Dean called out frantically as he grabbed at the angel's shoulders, wondering what the hell Crowley had done to his friend. "Cas. Talk to me. What's going on? What'd that son of a bitch do to you?"
In the blink of an eye, their positions were reversed. Dean would never be able to explain how it happened but, somehow, he was now on his knees with Castiel leaning over him, glaring daggers at him. Castiel's hand in his hair held him in position. Dean swallowed thickly at the anger and disappointment blazing from inside those deep blue eyes. "Cas?" he unconsciously begged. The recent beating that Castiel had delivered still fresh in his mind and nightmares.
"Cas!" Sam called out as well but everything that wasn't within that ring of fire seemed very muted to the occupants within.
Castiel leaned in closely and enunciated clearly in a soft but firm voice that sent chills down Dean's spine for several conflicting reasons. "What's going on, Dean? You tell me. Because, apparently, from what I heard of the current conversation, I am once again elected to bleed for your brother to save him from whatever stupidity he's gotten himself into this time. Why is it that every time you have to save his ass it takes part of mine?"
"Know what? Not this time, Dean," Castiel promised solemnly in a very husky voice. "This time my ass will not be on the serving line. Yours is."
Please let me know what you think. Thank you so much for reading!