"Where is he?" Sam asked. His vengeful shouting stopped short. Suddenly, his voice was soft and quiet, purely confused. It was scarier that way – not that Sam intended it to be, but he did appreciate the way it made Crowley jump.
"That is a very good question," Crowley agreed, taking the opportunity to put some distance between himself and Sam.
The bed was empty. The First Blade was gone. The bedclothes were disturbed as if Dean had sat up and moved around on his bed, but Dean himself was nowhere to be seen. The room was otherwise undisturbed and exactly as Sam had left it when he laid his dead brother down.
"Where is my brother, Crowley?" Sam asked. "Where is Dean? What happened to him?"
"I don't know!" Crowley shouted. "I don't, honest. How could I?"
"Well, you're gonna find him," Sam said.
"I am?"
"Yes, you are. You're going to go and search the globe for him with your demon abilities and bring him back here. Alive. Good as new."
"Sam, I don't know if I can do that," Crowley said, taking a step back. "He died, Sam. He was killed. If you don't want to make a deal and he's not even here, I don't know what I can do for you," Crowley reasoned, aiming for calm but missing the mark. "I really wouldn't know where to start. Now, if you were willing to make a deal, then maybe I could snap my fingers and potentially – potentially! – fix everything, but since you're not, I'm practically powerless." The demon wasn't trying to trick Sam into making a deal, only reason with him. Sam recognized that and back-pedaled just a bit. Still, this was Crowley; he couldn't be just reasoning. He had to have an endgame.
"I thought you were the great King of Hell, Crowley. Now you're telling me you're powerless?" Sam asked. He didn't mean it mockingly, but it came out that way anyway.
"I must admit that my addiction to humanity destroyed me more than I thought it did. Although I'm clean now, I still, ah, feel some of its, its, effects. Besides, as everyone is so keen to point out, I don't have any subjects anymore and, therefore, less power," Crowley explained bitterly. Sam narrowed his eyes in disbelief. Crowley would never admit so much fault if he didn't have leverage to manipulate. He definitely knew something. "I'm practically a regular crossroads demon again. It's disgusting."
"Well, boohoo for you," Sam sneered. "You know something."
"What?" Crowley exclaimed too quickly. "No, I don't!"
"Yes, you do," Sam stated, stepping toward Crowley.
"What could I possibly know?" Crowley sputtered, retreating.
"I don't know that yet," Sam said, advancing on Crowley still. "I don't care what it means you have to do, Crowley," Sam backed the demon into the bed table, "but you're going to d-"
Raucous, obnoxious, insistent knocking at the bunker door interrupted Sam. Crowley swore, looking petrified, but before Sam could ask again what he knew, a piercing mechanical screeching filled the bunker.
Sam dropped to the bed with his hands over his ears. His eyes flicked up to Crowley's, then to the door, and then back to Crowley. Crowley was standing stock-still, glancing between Sam and the door of Dean's room.
"Don't look at me, moose," Crowley said when he noticed Sam's searching gaze. "This is your secret clubhouse. I didn't invite anyone."
Sam rolled his eyes and increased the pressure on his ears as the shrill noise intensified. With much effort, he made his way to the doorframe and leaned against it as he glanced down both ends of the hall. No one was present. Nothing stirred. The penetrating noise was the only thing amiss and was beginning to make Sam's ears bleed.
Then, suddenly, there was silence.
Shocked, Sam released his ears but warily kept his hands raised near them. They were still ringing uncomfortably. He wiped the blood from his cheeks and looked to Crowley again for anything.
"Whatever it is, it's definitely outside," Sam thought out loud, his voice a whisper. "Nothing can get in unless we open it for them. The bunker's anti-everything: humans, demons, angels, whatever."
"Well, whoever it is wants to come in," Crowley said unhelpfully at a normal volume. Sam flinched, and Crowley smirked.
"Maybe not," he whispered. He glanced around again. "He's not attacking. He's not even very demanding, just… annoying."
"Samuel Winchester, let me in."
"There goes that," Crowley stated.
The voice sounded all around the bunker, so Sam couldn't pinpoint its origin. It was deep, grated, and incredibly loud. It reverberated off the walls and echoed in Sam's hurt ears. For some reason, he thought he recognized it, but at the same time, it was completely foreign.
Sam aimed an unamused look at Crowley, and asked pointedly, "Why didn't that sound hurt you?"
"I'm a demon. I'm not fragile like you. Angels' voices hurt our ears, but only one won't make us bleed."
"Angels?" Sam asked, latching onto the first helpful thing Crowley had said all day.
"What, you don't recognize the true voice of your brother-in-law?" Crowley quipped.
"Castiel?" Sam exclaimed.
"Let me in!" the voice thundered.
Sam made to run for the door, and Crowley's words stopped him in the hall.
"At least, I think it's Castiel. If not and you let him in, you're screwed."
"Only I'm screwed?"
"You're even stupider than I gave you credit for if you think I'm sticking around to party with whoever it is."
Sam groaned in frustration and dragged Crowley to the main room. There was pounding on the door again, as if the person outside sensed they were close. With a withering look and silent order to Crowley to stay, Sam climbed the staircase and slowly unlocked the heavy door. Before he admitted the angel inside, however, Sam stopped to think.
"Hey," Sam asked loudly. He nodded at Crowley to play along. The demon stared at him like he was insane. "Do your prefer Star Trek or Star Wars?"
The demon's jaw practically dropped. "Are you really asking me that right now?" Crowley hissed. Sam rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and motioned to Crowley to act like he didn't know. "Did your brother's death unhinge you, moose? Here I thought you'd gotten used to him dying." Sam glared at Crowley.
"He won't answer because the two are apparently incomparable; though I think I would prefer Star Trek because the ordering of the Star Wars movies seems illogical and pretentious. Why would they produce the last three movies before the first three if they always planned to produce the first three eventually?" the voice called annoyed yet thoughtful. "And if you are trying to bait me into revealing my identity, you could have simply asked," the voice boomed, angrily. "Sam, it is Castiel. Now let me in!"
Sam tugged open the heavy bunker door, and admitted a haggard-looking Castiel. His clothes were dirty, his face was covered in blood, and his knees were knocking together as if they could no longer support the rest of his body. Sam caught him before he hit the ground and half-dragged, half-carried him to a chair below. When the angel was settled, Sam eyed Crowley distrustfully but left him with Castiel so he could fetch water and a first aid kit. While the human was gone, the demon and angel stared at each other distrustfully and uncomfortably.
"Been a long time," Crowley commented conversationally.
"Not long enough," Castiel answered curtly.
"Well, aren't you still a shiny ball of grace," Crowley remarked with a scoff. He moved away to examine the map-table in the middle of the room.
"Sam, you know that you do not need to patch me up as you do your brother or yourself after hunts," Castiel argued when he saw the items in the younger Winchester's hands as he returned. He batted Sam's hands away and sat forward in the chair.
"I don't know, Cas," Sam replied, biting his lip and hovering like a concerned mother. "You don't look so good. Why haven't you healed yourself yet?"
"The journey here took more energy than I expected it to; granted my unusually rapid flight speed was especially taxing. I am not accustomed to flying so fast for so long," he answered.
"So, what," Sam asked, "you don't have the juice to heal yourself?"
"If you would like to phrase it that way, yes."
"Cas, this looks a lot like the first time you, uh, fell for... us," Sam points out sheepishly.
Castiel scrutinized Sam through narrowed eyes and a head-tilt. "Well, it's not my doing this time. The grace I'm using is not my own, and I'm slowly burning it out."
"And you flew all the way here, practically diminishing this grace, for Dean – I'm only guessing?" Crowley snarked, returning his attention to the other men in the room.
Castiel looked at him intently. "Yes, of course," he said. "Where is he? I might be able to save him," the angel told Sam, sitting forward.
"Save him?" he and Crowley exclaimed at the same time. Whereas Sam was shocked and hopeful, Crowley was anxious and disappointed.
"Yes," Castiel said, looking between Sam and Crowley, "maybe. I'm not sure. It will destroy all of my remaining stolen grace, but it is worth a try."
"Whoa, whoa, Cas," Sam cautioned, "you need the grace you have. You can't waste it all on Dean. Isn't there any other angel who can do it?"
"I do not think there are any other angels strong enough," Castiel said.
"Castiel," Crowley said slowly, looking nervously at Sam, "I know that you're a big name in Heaven now, but if you're running on stolen grace, are you strong enough to do whatever it is?" He honestly sounded concerned, not as if he was playing to an endgame. For a moment, Sam forgot about his suspicions.
Castiel glared at Crowley. "I have to try."
"Well, Cas, what exactly is it that you are going to do?" Sam pressed.
Castiel stated as if it was obvious, "Heal him."
"But Cas, he died," Sam swallowed past a lump in his throat. "You can't just heal a dead person."
"Angels can in special circumstances," Castiel insisted. "Now, let me see him," he demanded, pushing his chair back to stand up but almost falling over without its support.
Sam quickly grabbed him again before he went down and held him up for a second to examine him. "That's it," he said, "I'm cleaning you up."
He motioned for Crowley to grab the water and first kit and again half-dragged Castiel, this time en route to Dean's room. Castiel fell heavily onto the bed, looking like he would pass out at any moment. Sam took the medical supplies and water from Crowley, who was rolling his eyes and huffing at the activity, and made Castiel drink while he opened the first-aid kit. Then, he knelt on the floor in front of Castiel to minister to him, using a wet cloth to clean Castiel's face first and treating the individual cuts next. As soon as he was unneeded again, Crowley moved toward the door.
"Well, if you're just playing house now, I'll be off," Crowley announced.
But Sam called him back, "Don't you dare go anywhere yet. When Cas gets back on his feet, you're going to help him heal Dean."
"Is it National Impossible Requests Day?" Crowley quipped. "I can't do that either!"
"You will find a way," Sam growled, looking fully at Crowley to increase his words' impact.
The demon rolled his eyes again and held his hands up in surrender. As Sam finished helping the angel, the demon sulked in a corner.
"Here, Cas," Sam offered gently when he finished, "drink again." He handed him the glass of water. The angel obliged by sipping at it with a look of distaste. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, immediately worrying the water was bad. It wouldn't surprise him; after all, when one thing went bad for Winchesters, everything that possibly could followed.
"You were right before," Castiel stated lethargically, taking a longer drink. "I'm practically fallen again. I feel human."
"I'm sorry, man," Sam said, otherwise at a loss for words.
"Although I do not need your pity, I thank you for your sympathy," Castiel said, forcing his words to carry some power. "When may I see Dean?"
"You should rest, Cas," Sam said awkwardly.
"I will not try anything. I only wish to see him."
"No, Cas. You can't even stand on your own. I'm not letting you walk around the bunker with grand ideas until you rest first."
Castiel narrowed his eyes again. "Sam, where is your brother?"
"Cas, I told you–"
"Yes, and I heard you the first time," Castiel snapped. "Tell me where your brother is. This is obviously his room; and yet, he is not here. I would have thought that since you now have a home, of sorts, you would have laid him here until you figured out how to bring him back, so why is he not here?"
"Well, uh," Sam began. "It's a funny story."
"Sam," Castiel asked very slowly, "did you lose your brother's body?"
Sam stammered embarrassed, and Crowley was quick to rub it in.
"Yeah, he did," the demon stated from his corner. "That's why I'm here. To find him."
"Samuel Winchester!" Castiel bellowed. "You insolent–" Castiel cut off as if the shouting took too much effort. He coughed a few times and hung his head in his hands. "How could you possibly–" He cut off again and took a deep breath. "Where was he last?"
"Uh, in here," Sam said, looking around and anywhere but at Castiel.
"Who else was in here last?"
"Myself?" Sam said, feeling worse with each question. "Cas, you know that no one else is ever in the bunker."
"Do you suggest that he stood up and walked away on his own then?" Castiel deadpanned.
"Well," Crowley muttered with an ambiguous gesture.
"What?" Sam demanded. "Dammit, Crowley, what do you know?"
"Not know," he refuted petulantly, "just think."
"Well, would you like to share your thoughts, then?" Castiel suggested, barely holding in his temper.
"Not particularly," Crowley said, suddenly very interested in the few things hanging on Dean's walls.
"Talk, Crowley," Sam barked.
"Fine! Your boy's a demon!" Crowley exclaimed. "Rather, he might be. I don't actually know. I haven't seen him yet, so I can't tell you." The lie came easily since it was so much simpler than he expected to concoct.
"What?" Sam squawked.
Crowley sighed heavily and cursed himself under his breath. "Angel lover boy here will smell it on him anyway," he sighed. "Dean is a demon. The mark turned him into one. I didn't know it would happen, I swear, I didn't, but it did. God, don't you two smell the sulfur?" he asked with exasperation. "Even I'm choking on it."
"I thought that was just you," Sam commented snidely.
"What?" Crowley gasped. "I don't have an odor! I hate those demons that you can smell a mile away. Unsanitary and disloyal! No, that sulfur is Dean. You see, when a demon is born there's this… well, it's practically an explosion of sulfur."
"And you didn't think to tell us this earlier?" Sam asked. "Maybe before you took Dean to get the Blade in the first place?"
"I didn't know it would happen! I didn't expect him to die! I had a thought it would, but I didn't know for sure."
"You still could have warned us!"
"I'm a demon, Sam! Stop expecting the best from everyone all the time and start realizing who certain people are," Crowley snapped.
Calmly from his seat on the bed, Castiel spoke softly, "It does not matter who knew what when. What matters now is fixing it. Sam, do you still remember the ritual to save a demon?"
"Um, yeah, of course," Sam said confused. "It's pretty simple. I mean, takes a lot of blood, but since this isn't for a trial, it probably doesn't have to be mine, so we could jus–"
"Good," Castiel interrupted him wearily. "After we track him down, we will convert him back to humanity."
"Do you think that will save him completely?" Sam asked thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?" Castiel asked.
"Well, in the Men of Letters' tapes, the demon they converted stayed alive after the whole ritual-thing. Do you think Dean will stay alive after, too?"
"Was the demon dead before the ritual?" Castiel asked.
"Doesn't a person have to be dead to be a true demon? I mean, if it was just possession, you can just exorcize the damn thing and leave the person well – or at least as well as the bastard demon left them, but a hospital is pretty much good enough after that."
"I'm standing right here," Crowley drawled.
"Yeah, so give us some answers," Sam retorted.
Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, for a demon to be born the person has to die and go through Hell."
"So, what does that mean?" Sam asked impatiently.
"I would think that, yes, the ritual saves the meatsuit," Crowley said, and Sam's face lit up hopefully. "As long," Crowley continued in a demoralizing tone, "as long as the meatsuit does not have any fatal wounds that will kill it instantly after the change back."
"In order to die doesn't a person have to have a fatal wound?" Castiel retorted.
"Well, the person could've died from loss of blood," Crowley remarked innocently, "or cancer or something, I don't know."
"Fatal wounds," Sam repeated hollowly. "Like the knife wound through Dean's gut."
"Precisely," Crowley agreed cheerfully.
"But, Castiel, you can heal that, can't you? It'd just be like a regular healing," Sam insisted. "You wouldn't have to use so much grace as to bring him back from the dead. We'll knock him out after we find him, you'd heal the wound, and then I'd convert him back to humanity, and it'll all be okay!"
"For a man who is surrounded by death, killing, and failure, you are very optimistic at the smallest of chances," Castiel stated.
"Thanks?" Sam replied.
"I, for one," Crowley offered, "am not enthusiastic about this plan. It's full of thoughts and possibilities and maybes…" His list trailed off with vague hand gestures.
"It's the best we've got though," Sam contended. "It's worth a try! You know, Crowley, you sound like you want him to remain a demon."
Crowley gasped in shock. "Oh, do I?" he asked mockingly. "Gee, a Winchester as a demon? Someone who's sort of an ally to me and feared by every other supernatural creature in the world thanks to his résumé, kill-first-ask-later reputation, and no-one-gets-a-pass attitude? No, that would be ridiculous. Why ever would I hope for that?"
"You're… ridiculous," Sam came back weakly. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, too tired to argue. Crowley barely mattered at this point. What mattered was Dean.
Castiel thought for a long time, looking intently at both Sam and Crowley in turn. Finally, he said, "Although Crowley is right that there is much uncertainty and many fallible factors to this plan, it may work. It will be extremely difficult, but if we work together, it may be done."
"Does that include me?" Crowley sighed dramatically.
"Yes," Sam snapped.
"Bugger."
