Chapter Three

Sam was just waking up when Crowley returned. Spying him out the corner of his eye, Sam twisted on the couch to follow Crowley's movements as he circled round and sat back down on the coffee table. "Did you go somewhere?" Sam asked amid a large yawn. His tone suggested he didn't suspect Crowley of anything, which put the demon at his ease.

"Yes. I did," Crowley replied. Sam, rubbing his left eye groggily, looked at him expectantly out the open one. "I was looking for something to chain Murron's spirit here. I went to the place where she died - where I'd burned her body. I found nothing, but learned she could be held there, at the site." He paused to swallow slowly. "We need that translation. I don't know how much time she has left without me there. Abaddon could still find her crypt."

"I wish I wasn't holding you back," Sam told him, his gaze lowering in shame. "I seem to be really good at that, though."

Crowley made a face. "Don't be stupid, Sam. You're not holding me back. If we must get into this, I'm the reason she's down there at all."

"But she willingly made the deal to sell her soul," Sam pointed out. "And I bet she doesn't think it was a waste of time. Not from what you've told me." He offered Crowley a half-hearted smile. "We're being pretty pathetic now, aren't we?"

Crowley snorted softly and shook his head. "Self-loathing has always been a strong suit of mine. I just developed ways of hiding it better."

"You have the advantage of time. I'm thinking I'll never get used to it. How did you find out you could chain Murron's spirit to the place of her death?" Sam asked.

"I told you of my association with Kali, yes?"

"Yeah. You said she helped you defeat a fallen angel. Was she there?"

"Yes. I don't know what brought her there, but she was able to tell me something rather interesting. Not just about Murron's spirit, but of how to bring her back to life. I couldn't believe it when she told me, but I think - I think there's one angel left on Earth that hasn't lost their Grace." Crowley paused and looked meaningfully at Sam. It took Sam a moment to catch on; when he did, his eyes doubled in size.

"No way. He died. Lucifer killed him. Gabriel can't be alive. Can he?" Sam ran a hand through his hair, his eyes shifting away from Crowley's. "If Gabriel's alive...oh wow. Is he with Kali or something?"

"That's what I'd gathered," Crowley replied with a shrug. "Regardless, she thinks I might be able to convince him to bring Murron back."

"You don't seem very confident about that," Sam observed. Crowley looked down at his hands. "I think you could do it. You convinced me and I've always been the one trying to kill you more than Dean. Gabriel's not unreasonable. He listened to me once."

Crowley said nothing to that and averted his eyes to stare blankly into the kitchenette. If demons had hated him, angels surely did, doubly so. He knew Gabriel to be a renegade from Heaven, but in the end, he'd still chosen to side with humanity; a demon asking him for a favor this immense would either insult him or be so laughingly impossible, he wouldn't give Crowley the time of day. He frowned. With humanity came doubt and he'd always hated to doubt. Yet, on the other side of that particular coin, with humanity came humility and Crowley felt he would have to shore up all the humility he still possessed to get what he wanted.

The sound of Sam's cellphone vibrating against the coffee table drew Crowley from his thoughts; he picked it up and passed it over to Sam, who answered. He glanced back at Crowley, his eyes revealing the caller's identity: it was Kevin. Sam listened intently, interjecting now and then, before hanging up and casting a relieved smile at Crowley.

"He found something," Sam declared. Crowley leaned in expectantly. "There was a - a kind of postscript on the angel tablet -"

"The angel tablet?" Crowley cut in, incredulous. Sam nodded and continued.

"Yeah, it was in someone else's handwriting . Garth's coming by tonight with it. Only," he added, shifting to sit further up on the couch, "Kevin said he couldn't translate it into English. Apparently, it was written in Enochian; Kevin doesn't speak Enochian so it's all we're getting."

"That's not a problem," Crowley assured him casually. "I can speak and read Enochian fluently."

Sam made his little wondering noise. "Yeah, but what if it isn't a reverse spell and just a message?"

"Let's not worry about that. Obviously, your prophet felt it was significant or else he wouldn't be bringing it over at all."

"I guess you're right. Still, I hope whatever it is can help. I'm getting really tired of being tired. And useless," Sam added quietly. Crowley could only offer the other an uncertain smile as silence fell between them. Presently, Sam said, "You might wanna go back into the room, if only to pretend you're still trapped. Garth might know about our plan to go into Hell, but he doesn't need to know you're out yet. He thinks I'll be doing it after I'm well enough to take you down if you get difficult."

"A fair point. The truth will out itself in due course, but for now, further deception is probably best." Crowley rose from the coffee table and headed for the Trap room. The Trap was, of course, still broken and the wards had long been removed; still, he wasn't keen on going near it again, a reluctance which showed when he paused before the door. He glanced back at Sam, who was staring at him curiously. Crowley gestured towards the room. "Just not keen on the Trap, is all. I'll sit around it." With that self-assurance, he went inside, shutting the door behind him.

It wasn't until close to midnight when Garth arrived to deliver the Enochian message. Fortunately, the other hunter was in something of a hurry and had only agreed to be the messenger as it was on the way to another job; otherwise, Dean would have had to halt his search for Castiel and delivered it himself. Crowley mutely thanked everything for the stroke of luck. If it had been Dean, it would have been harder to pass off the illusion of still being contained. Garth lacked that degree of suspicion and took it at face value that Crowley remained trapped.

When Garth left, Crowley came out to find Sam squinting at a single leaf of yellow paper. As he approached the couch, he held out of his hand. "Give it here. Won't take me but a moment to translate." Sam passed the sheet to him and waited while Crowley scanned the message. "I'll be damned," he muttered.

"What's it say?"

Crowley lowered the paper, a crooked smile on his face. "It's a spell. You have to do the exact opposite of the trials in order to reverse them."

Sam blinked in confusion. "What, do I have to bring a hellhound back to life and put an innocent soul in Hell?"

"And potentially create a demon, yes," Crowley replied. When Sam continued to look at him, bewildered, Crowley sat down on the coffee table again. "Look, all of this can be done fairly simply. However, it might mean we have to go into Hell before you're ready; are you comfortable with that?"

"Even if I was, how the hell do you make a hellhound? And I could never condemn a soul to Hell and then torture it to make it a demon!" Sam cried. "I just can't do that."

"It's either this or the trials remain in your system," Crowley informed him quietly. "It's your choice, of course. However," he added, leaning in and speaking softly, "you have the distinct advantage in this case: me. I can help you with these things and do what I can to make it less...painful for you. It's the least I could do for your agreeing to help me get Murron out."

Sam seemed to consider this. He was quiet for a long time; then he sighed heavily and turned resigned eyes to Crowley. "How do we make a hellhound?"

Hellhound breeding was a very specialised procedure and required a certain kind of demon to do it. But before they could even begin to create a new hound, the acquisition of a dog's soul must be made. What more, it couldn't just be any dog's soul: it must be one that endured a level of abuse in its lifetime. This twisted the soul as surely as torture did to human souls in Hell. Once the appropriate soul had been acquired - usually through a series of black market dealings with Reapers specific to the collection of animal souls - it was then literally fed to the originator: Cerberus. This in turn allowed for the great three-headed beast to 'birth' a new hellhound that would later be tied to either a pack or a crossroads demon.

In Crowley's case, the soul used to make his own pup had not endured abuse in life, but had come from a household immersed in evil just the same. This particular soul had been chosen for multiple reasons, one of which would allow for it be just as vicious as the rest, but still capable of absolute loyalty to a monster. That last bit was especially important to Crowley as he felt the King of the Crossroads deserved no less. The breeder chosen to create his hound had been killed after to ensure no one else could have one so large. It was a source of pride that his hound should be so massive and imposing. He'd had the pleasure of his hound's company for only a handful of decades before the trials had taken him away. And though he still missed his pup considerably, he refused to let that color his decision to help Sam reverse the trials.

The first step would be to get in touch with a Reaper. This, of course, was easier said than done as many of the rogue Reapers had blacklisted Crowley and the Winchesters from their client lists. Sam refused to kill a dog, bad-tempered or not, just so Crowley could harness its soul and Crowley couldn't do it himself or it wouldn't work. They were left to their own devices as to how to contact a beast Reaper. As they were debating how to do that, an idea came to Crowley, which he presented to Sam.

"I don't think I could go to a kill shelter," Sam remarked, clearly put off by the suggestion. "I love dogs too much."

"Then I'll go. You can't see them, anyway. Reapers, that is. Beast Reapers are less particular than their human counterparts; they won't have crossed me off their list of potentials. Besides, they're accustomed to dealing with demons. I can have the soul in hand in no time and with no emotional damage to you."

"Until we have to take it to Hell, that is," Sam muttered. "And after that? Condeming an innocent to Hell? I almost want to try and fight through the trials."

"You'd never last and you know it, mate," Crowley pointed out. "This is your only real chance. I'd rather not have you risking more than you're already doing by going into Hell still plagued."

"I appreciate the concern, but it's just too awful," Sam said, sinking into the sofa cushions. Crowley pressed his lips together, fighting for patience. His understanding was limited even with his humanity. He would have to prod Sam into action somehow.

"You felt zero regret when you killed my dog," the demon remarked quietly after a moment. Sam's eyes turned quickly to look at Crowley. "It's true. You've killed before; this isn't that different."

"Yeah, but..." Sam began, then sighed, covering his face with both hands. "All right, all right. I'll stomach it, but only because it's a means to an end. I just don't see how we'll be able to stay in Hell long enough to turn someone into a demon, even halfway."

"One step at a time. First, I'll collect the dog's soul and bring it back here. Then we'll go downstairs and pay Mama Cerberus a visit." Crowley rose from the coffee table, glancing back at Sam with a confident smirk. "Don't wait up," he joked, then blinked out of sight.

The shelter was dark and quiet as the employees had left for the day. Crowley walked through the rear kennels, sizing up the dogs in the enclosures as if trying to discern which it would be. He was just passing the last row when a small whine drew his attention. Turning, Crowley's eyes landed on the sad face of a German shepherd. It was standing in its pen, tail wagging, its front paws shifting as it moved about eagerly. Normally dogs disliked demons or anything supernatural; it was only because most of them were asleep that he wasn't currently being bombarded with raucous barking. This particular dog, however, seemed almost happy to see him.

"Hello, boy," Crowley greeted softly, approaching the dog's pen and offering his hand. The shepherd licked Crowley's fingers carefully, then whined again, pawing the ground. "Are you it, I wonder? You don't seem mean enough to be a hellhound." The dog took another few swipes at Crowley's fingers with his tongue and walked into the chainlink door, as if trying to push out of the pen. Crowley snapped the fingers of his free hand and the door opened.

The shepherd trotted out, circled Crowley, then gave a single sharp bark. Crowley stared down at him, puzzled, then noticed the dog was looking beyond him towards the kennel door. Looking up, Crowley saw they were no longer alone. A Beast Reaper stood at the end of the narrow room, eyeing both demon and dog curiously. Beast Reapers were a decidedly more brutish breed than their human Reaper counterparts; this one was no exception. He was large, dressed in normal blue jeans and button-down work shirt with a ball cap slung low over an impressive brow.

"Browsing?" the Beast Reaper inquired gruffly, nodding towards the shepherd. Before Crowley could respond, the other's eyes narrowed considerably. "Ah. I know you. Crowley, the displaced King of Hell. You lonely, is that why you're out here looking for a dog?"

"As a matter of fact, I am looking for a dog, but not because I'm lonely, as you put it," Crowley replied coolly. "I've come to buy a soul."

"That's right. The boy got your hound. My condolences. Looking to make a new one?"

"For the sake of keeping things simple, we'll say yes. I am looking for a replacement. Which is it? Who are you here for?"

The Beast Reaper turned his head and spat briskly into the corner. "That one right there," he replied, jerking his chin towards the shepherd at Crowley's side. Crowley looked down, his brow furrowing. "Don't be decieved. This one's a monster. He's maimed multiple victims, which is why he's here."

"This one?" Crowley repeated, pointing down at the dog. "Be sensible. This one couldn't hurt a fly!"

"And he didn't. He hurt kids. Lots of 'em. Previous owner never kept him on a leash and well, kids are kids and will do dumb shit."

"Are you suggesting he was provoked?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Killler here was teased mercilessly by those kids. You ask me? They got what was coming to them."

Crowley made a curious noise and looked down at the dog again. Perhaps he would have himself a replacement hound after all. He rather liked German shepherds; his own hound had been one and a famous one at that. With the right breeding, this one could easily surpass the original. "How much for this one?" he asked the Reaper. The Beast Reaper shrugged.

"You haven't much to your name now, do you?" the Reaper remarked.

"Regrettably, no. However, that's never stopped me before. Name your price, Reaper, and I will meet it."

"You should know, this one is slated to go to a very specific client."

"Who?"

"Abaddon."

Immediately, Crowley's expression darkened. "Why this one specifically?" he asked in a low voice.

"I don't ask those kind of questions. I just do my job and deliver the goods."

"Well, she can't have him. I want it. Regardless of what has happened recently, I am still King of Hell. I surpass her no matter what she says. Now. Name your price."

The Reaper was silent for a moment. He seemed to be considering his price; his eyes darted around the small room, his mind working. Finally, he looked back up at Crowley. "If I give you this soul and you manage to turn it into a hound, I don't want to be in Abaddon's way when she discovers what I've done. If you can get him past her, then I only ask that you set him on me. I'd rather be torn to shreds by one of my own souls than suffer her wrath."

"Done."

"Then I wish you all the luck in the universe," the Reaper said. "Because you'll need it." He approached the shepherd, stroked the dog's smooth head, then passed his hand over the animal's eyes. In another second, the dog fell to the floor, lifeless. The shining orb of his soul burned in the Reaper's cupped hand, which he presented to Crowley. "Just remember our deal, demon king. Don't leave me to that bitch."

Crowley took the soul from the Reaper's hand, his fist closing around it securely. "You have my word, Reaper. When he becomes my new hound, you'll be his first victim."

The Beast Reaper stepped back with a brisk nod, then vanished. Crowley calmly absorbed the dog's soul into himself and departed the kennel as well.