Welcome to my latest story. The Midseason Finale absolutely wrecked me to the point that I was a still crying mess 12 hours after watching whenever I thought about it. I was talking to Gredelina1 and she told me to do the only thing that works when I am a mess—write it out. She is a genius. I am still a mess, but I have some control over it now.

I don't know how long this will be. I don't know how many chapters. There are at least three, but that could easily become ten or twenty. It depends on how cooperative the characters are and if anyone wants more. I usually write a whole story before I start posting, this time I am posting as I go, so it's going to be a little different for me and you.

Thank you Gredelina1 for the quick beta job.

I'll stop rambling now.

Hope you enjoy xxx

Chapter One

Dean was coasting along at the speed limit on the I-95 heading back to Crowley's place. He was in no real rush to get back to Sam, as he knew when he did the arguments would start. Dean had just seen what had to be a whole legion of angels coming for Amara, and it seemed sensible—to him at least—to see what happened there before trying Sam's damn fool idea to get help from Satan. If the angels pulled it off, there was nothing for them to do. Lucifer could go on rotting, and he and Sam could get back to dealing with the rest of the world's crap like always.

Sam wouldn't see it that way though. He would want to be sure that Amara was dead. He would probably argue that if the angels were capable of doing something, Castiel would have known. He would want his 'God' visions to mean something so he would insist on them doing it all, putting himself in Lucifer's clutches long enough for the devil to throw some spanner into the works. Because there was no way, no way at all, Lucifer would actually help them. The dude that had been planning to bring the world to its knees with Croatoan would probably make a great playmate for The Darkness. They'd both been screwed over by God, and Dean was sure they'd both like to 'talk' to him. He shuddered as he imagined the carnage that would ensue if Lucifer and Amara actually did team up.

No, Sam could shout and stamp all he liked, but Dean was making the decision for them. They weren't going to Lucifer.

He laughed. Like it would be that easy. Sam was as stubborn as their father ever was, maybe even more, and he was so set on this Lucifer thing. You would think after all he'd been through—almost two centuries in the pit and a busted soul—that he would want to steer clear of the cage and Lucifer, even more than Dean. But he didn't. He didn't even seem to take into account how close to death he came the last time he encountered Lucifer, and that was just as a hallucination. Sam's self-sacrifice gene was bigger than most people's.

Dean would find a way to stop him though, even if it meant killing Rowena. They couldn't work the magic on the cage if the witch was dead. And it wasn't like Crowley would mind them taking out his mom. She was a pain in his ass, too.

There would be a way, and Dean would find it.

He had gone another few miles when his phone rang. He checked the screen and sighed. It made sense that Sam was getting twitchy since he'd missed his last call. He would be all too eager to throw himself on the fire.

"Sammy?"

"Afraid not," Crowley drawled. "Sam's a little occupied right now."

"Well, get him unoccupied," Dean said. "I want to talk to him."

"Unoccupied? Is he a restroom stall now?" Crowley chuckled. "Look, I don't even know why I'm bothering to call. I should wait to see the look on your face… But I thought I'd do you a favor and give you the head's up."

"Talk fast or lose a tooth, Crowley," Dean threatened.

"Actually, you know what, screw you. I was doing you a favor, but you can bloody well wait."

"What's happened to my brother, Crowley?" Dean asked in a growl.

"Nope. Not playing. You'll just have to wait and see."

"Why do you have his phone?"

"You could say he willed it to me," Crowley said happily. "It's certainly no good to him where he is now anyway."

"What have you done?" Dean snarled.

"Me? Nothing. This is all down to the moose. I'll see you soon, Dean." There was the beep of a disconnected call and Dean's screen went black. He dropped the phone down to the seat beside him and punched the steering wheel.

"Goddammit!"

Crowley had Sam's phone. That meant he had wrested it from Sam or Sam had given it up willingly. There was no comforting third option of Sam leaving it somewhere and Crowley taking it, because Sam wasn't that stupid. He knew how important it was for them to be able to reach each other when it mattered.

Like when Sam had tried to reach him before, when Dean had been too distracted by the sense of Amara's proximity…

He cursed. Who knew why Sam had been calling then? Maybe that had been Sam reaching out for help, and he'd ignored it? He hadn't been able to control it though. The feeling of Amara had overpowered sense.

He took a breath and tried to calm himself.

It would be okay. Sam would be fine. Crowley wouldn't want him dead while Amara was still around. It was probably just Crowley's idea of a joke: lock Sam down and wait for Dean to come to the rescue just for shits and giggles. Sam would be beyond pissed about it, but he'd be okay. The worst part was going to be Crowley's delight at screwing with them and Sam's crowing about how Dean should have answered his phone. It would be okay.

He hoped.

His foot pressed down harder on the gas and his fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel. He had somewhere he needed to be.

Dean had the rest of the journey to make him good and mad, so by the time he arrived at the abandoned asylum Crowley had set up shop in, he was furious and wanting nothing more than to shove the demon blade straight through Crowley's neck.

He had barely slammed the Impala to a stop before he was out and stamping up to the door. With a clenched fist, he hammered on in, surprised when it swung open at his touch. Security had been tighter when he'd left the place, there had been a demon just inside, but when he thrust the door open he was alone.

Figuring it was just Crowley's idea of a joke, letting him in feeling confident before revealing Sam bound and trussed—maybe with a knife at his throat—Dean stormed along the hall, the demon knife gripped tight in his hand. He wasn't going for the element of surprise; that wouldn't work given that the game was Crowley's this time. He strode along the hall, shouting, "Sam!"

A door at the very end opened but no one revealed themselves. Dean hurried his pace into what he thought Crowley must call the throne room and what he called a douched out ruin.

Though no one had revealed themselves when the door had opened, there were plenty demons in the room. Dean did a quick headcount as he entered and he came up with a dozen.

"Okay," he said, looking from one set of black eyes to the next and raising the demon knife, "who's first?"

If they made a fight of it, he was going down for sure, but he knew they wouldn't. That wouldn't please Crowley. If he wanted Dean dead, he would do it himself. He didn't want him dead though. Not yet at least.

"We're not here to fight you," one demon said, stepping forward as mouthpiece for the group. "We're here to watch."

"Where's my brother?" Dean asked.

"Not here."

"Then what are you here to watch?"

The demon merely smiled.

"Where the hell is my brother?" Dean asked, moving into the demon's space and pressing the knife to his chest. Things weren't adding up to him. He had expected to be met with Sam in trouble and Crowley. The King of Hell was nowhere to be seen, and neither was his brother.

The demon looked down at the knife, unconcerned. "Not here."

Dean wanted to stab the demon for the sheer satisfaction of seeing it die, but he reminded himself it wasn't just a demon; it was a human, too, and they were supposed to be saving lives. Sam was big on doing good again, and Dean was on board with that, he was, but it was hard to remember that when the black-eyed bastard was smiling smugly at him like that.

He wouldn't kill without more motivation, but he would still do his best to scare. He grabbed the demon's suit lapels, brought the blade to its throat, and pressed in so it nicked the skin. There was a flicker of light and the demon hissed.

"Where is Sam?"

"I can't tell you," the demon said.

"Don't know?"

"Oh, I know, I just made a promise to the boss I'd keep quiet."

"Break it," Dean growled. "Tell me where he is and I'll let you die fast. If you know me, you'll know I can make it slow, too."

"Put the demon down, Dean," a dry voice said behind him.

Dean looked over his shoulder to see Crowley and Rowena standing in the doorway. Rowena was appraising him carefully, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed. Crowley merely looked amused.

He turned the demon with the knife still pressed against his throat and glared at Crowley. "What have you done with Sam?"

"Me? Not a thing. He did it all to himself." Crowley sighed and waved a hand. "You may leave us."

The demons filed from the room, leaving Dean alone with Crowley, Rowena and the still held demon foot soldier.

"Let him go," Crowley said. "Or stab him. I'm good with either." When Dean did neither he went on tiredly, "Dean, I am doing you a favor here. Trying to give you some privacy to feel your feels."

Dean looked at him and he felt a flicker of fear. "Where's Sam?" he asked, cursing the waver in his voice.

"Oh, look at the poor, wee lamb," Rowena said. "He doesn't even know and he looks like that."

"Know what?" Dean released the demon and walked toward Crowley, the blade held up. "Tell me what's going on!"

The demon Dean had been holding slipped out of the door unnoticed as Dean stalked toward Crowley. Looking supremely unconcerned, Crowley walked away and took his seat on the throne. When he had settled himself comfortably he said, "You see, Dean, you weren't here, and the moose had to do what he had to do, and—"

"Your brother's in Hell," Rowena said.

"He's what?" Dean shouted as Crowley said, "Mother! I was going to tell him."

"You were taking too long," she replied.

Crowley sighed heavily and addressed Dean who stood, numb, in front of him, the demon blade held loosely at his side. "She found the spell we needed, so we went ahead and did it without you. The moose was talking to Lucifer, and the next thing we know he's in the cage with him."

"He's in the…" Dean swallowed hard.

"The cage, yes," Rowena said. "Strangest thing. One moment they were just talking through the bars and the next, poof, Sam's inside."

"Technically, it's not the cage," Crowley added. "It's just a cage with Lucifer in it. Which I suppose makes it the same thing, just with one archangel playing dodge ball with Sam as the ball instead of two. Count your blessings."

It wasn't possible. He couldn't be… There. Not again. Dean wavered.

"Maybe you should get him a chair, Fergus. It looks like he's about to drop."

"He won't. Winchesters are too stubborn for that."

Their voices seemed to come to him at the bottom of a well. Dean couldn't think or speak. He didn't even feel like he was breathing. This couldn't be happening again. They'd got him out. Castiel, Death, Dean, between them they'd got him out and he was broken, so broken it almost destroyed him, but he was out. He couldn't be back in there.

"What do I do?" Dean whispered, not speaking to either of them but receiving an answer nonetheless.

"Not a thing you can do," Crowley said, satisfied. "You can't go poking at the lock without releasing Lucifer. None of us want that. I think you have to chalk it up to fate and let it be this time, Dean."

Rowena scoffed. "He cannot do that, Fergus. It's his brother."

"What do you know about family?" Crowley asked bitterly.

"I am a mother!"

"You are a malignancy."

"Fine, I'm a bad mother, but that doesn't mean I don't understand family. I saw the trouble Sam stirred up getting rid of the mark for Dean. Do you really think this one won't do the same? I know I didn't exactly attend to your schooling when you were a wee lad, but you're not stupid enough to believe that."

She was right. Dean wasn't letting Sam stay there. Never again. He was getting him out and if that came with Lucifer riding shotgun, so be it.

"I need to see him," Dean said.

Crowley chuckled. "Course you do. And let me guess, you plan on bringing a crowbar with you? Nice try, Dean, but it won't work. This is still Hell and it's still a cage. There's no popping him out of this box."

"Then it doesn't matter if I see him, does it?" Dean said, fighting down his panic.

"He has a point," Rowena said. "Maybe it's the merciful thing to do, letting them say goodbye. It's not like he can pick the lock."

Crowley threw his arms up. "Fine. Let him see. I don't care either way."

Rowena clapped her hands together. "Lovely. Let's get to it."

Dean was very aware that he was back in Hell. The smells and sounds were the same. The only difference was that there were no souls on racks or demons other than Crowley. He had always thought that if he was back here, even for a moment, it would break him. But he was already broken. The terror of his location was nothing compared to the terror of what awaited him at the end of this journey—Sam in the cage.

The thought of what he was facing ahead stole the air from his lungs and the power from his heart. His vision wavered and he felt sure he would lose himself, but he didn't. Some inner reserve of strength in him kept him putting one foot in front of the other and kept his body working, living, hurting, burning like a man aflame.

Crowley and Rowena were bickering as they walked, but Dean tuned them out. He thought only of his brother and what he needed from Dean, and that was his freedom.

What felt like a heartbeat later and lifetime combined Crowley caught Dean's arm and stopped him. "We're almost there."

Dean looked around. "I don't see anything."

"I said almost, you tool. I am just checking because I don't want to carry back a blubbering mess because you don't like what you're about to see."

"Have faith, Fergus. He can handle it, can't you, dear?"

Could he? He wasn't sure. He knew he had to see it through, though. He had to face what had happened.

"Come on then," Crowley sighed. "Let's get it over with." He tugged on Dean's arm.

Dean allowed himself to be tugged along the passage to a huge cavern with glistening walls. Dean looked down at the floor, watching his feet as he walked on, led by Crowley, until they came to a stop.

"There it is," Crowley said.

Dean dragged his eyes upward and saw it, the cage. It was tall with thick iron bars, but he couldn't see through them. It was as if the contents were shielded by thick smoke. It wasn't demons. It was white smoke, but it moved in the same ebbing, flowing way. Dean stared into it, trying to see through to his brother. There was no possibility though; it was too dense

"That's new," Crowley said. "Hmm…guess Lucifer wanted a little quiet time." He sounded amused, unconcerned.

A wonderful idea occurred to Dean. He sounded amused. Was it possible this was all some kind of joke on Crowley's part? Sam could be pinned down somewhere else. That wasn't good, but it was better than the absolute horror that was Sam with Lucifer again.

"He's in there is he?" he asked, rounding on Crowley.

Crowley nodded, a gleeful smile on his face.

"And this isn't some trick to screw with me?"

"It could be," Rowena said thoughtfully. "I mean, I saw it, but I wouldn't put it past him so I am sure you wouldn't either, but even my boy has limits to his capabilities, and he cannot do that…" She pointed at the cage.

Dean turned slowly, scared of what he would see, and his heart sank. There was a hand held out through the bars. The splayed, searching fingers were crooked and the knuckles scarred from fights, and there was another scar, a deeper one, on the palm that Dean knew. He remembered sewing the gash closed and he remembered pressing down on the wound shortly after to hurt his brother, to reach him through the delusion that had him thinking he was Lucifer. It was Sam's hand.

"Oh, God," he gasped, rushing forward and grabbing at the hand, gripping it, forging a connection. Sam's fingers gripped him back tightly and Dean felt warmth sliding down his face. "Sammy," he said desperately. The fingers clenched in return. "Sammy, I'm so sorry."

"Truly touching," Crowley said behind him.

"Hush, Fergus," Rowena said. "Can you not see they're having a moment?"

Dean heard their words but he didn't absorb them. They meant nothing to him. All that mattered was the hand in his.

Then, in a rough movement, the hand was gone, ripped from his grip and pulled back through the bars into the smoke.

"Huh, guess Lucifer isn't too keen on broments, either," Crowley said. "You think he of all people would understand."

Dean cried out and reached for the cage, determined to reach right through and drag his brother back, to stay there to the end of time, to hold him, but it was as if the smoke was solid. He couldn't move past the bars. He gripped them and pulled, as if they would break. There was not one iota of give in them.

"Sam!" he said desperately. "Don't worry. I'll get you out."

There was no sound in response, not a whisper, but in Dean's head, he heard the echo of a scream and laughter. He rested his forehead against the bars and whispered his brother's name again and again, feeling the warm wetness painting his face.

So… What did you think? I am aware that this chapter didn't ease the hurt in the slightest, but we need Dean to know what's happened before he can fix it, right?

Hope to see you next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx