A/N: Chapter revamped 2017-08-25. If you have any feedback/suggestions/comments/critiques/whatever, I'd love to hear them. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.

It had become known to the angels that Malphas, the Prince of Hell, had located a very powerful weapon, one that threatened all of creation. A task force had been created to deal with the threat, and Castiel, given his unique set of experience, had been asked to head the charge. For him, it was more than just a mission, more than just his duty. It was a form of repentance, and maybe, just maybe a way to earn the angels' forgiveness and be truly welcome back in Heaven.

It wasn't easy for the angel. There was so much history, and so much to be forgiven for. Then there was his relationship with the Winchesters, something the other angels would never understand. So when Dean had prayed to him, Castiel had stolen away with the hopes that no one would notice his absence, and no one did.

Now though, Castiel felt conflicted. He had gone because it was Dean, and only because it was Dean. Had it been anyone else, he would simply have ignored the call and remained focused on the mission. Even though he had gone to his friend, he just couldn't help him, not now, and there was a terrible feeling of guilt eating away at his gut. there was just too much at stake.

Only all of creation...

His eyebrows furrowed, leaving deep creases across his forehead. The mission, it was paramount. If Malphas truly had possession of the weapon, he had to be stopped, and it had to be found and destroyed before it could fall into the hands of anyone else. There was nothing of greater importance at the moment. Yet Dean had needed him. Dean who was his friend, perhaps his only true friend. And he had failed him.

"Castiel?" It was Hannah's voice that brought him back to the present.

"What is it?" Castiel croaked as he lifted his head. The strategy board across from where he was sitting came back into focus, then her face staring quizzically at him, framed by that straight chestnut hair.

"You were just… staring," Hannah observed. Her eyebrows drew together in concern and her body leaned in as if she wanted to go to him, but something held her back.

Castiel glanced around the room. All of the angels in his team were busy analyzing leads and pouring over data. The room practically hummed with activity. "I was… thinking," he replied slowly.

"About the mission?" Hannah asked, perkily.

"Yes," Castiel croaked, his throat feeling strangely dry and he tried to force out the lie. Hannah cocked her head to the side and eyed him suspiciously. "Have the angels made any progress locating Malphas and the... weapon?" Castiel asked in an attempt to divert her attention from him and back to the mission at hand.

Hannah frowned and glanced over her shoulder at a large map of the earth where various locations were being pinned. "Two of his demons were found dead at a motel near Gem, Kansas," she informed him. "Another one was spotted at the scene shortly after."

Gem, Kansas… That town rang a bell. Castiel stood up and strolled over to the map, his eyes squinting as he scrutinized the area. Hannah followed. Gem was only a couple of towns over from Selden, which is where he had met with Dean behind that bar. Where Dean had called to him asking for his help.

"I see," Castiel responded nodding mechanically, his eyes still focused on the map. "Any luck picking up the demon?"

Hannah shifted her weight from one foot to the other, standing to the right and slightly behind Castiel. "No, not yet," Hannah admitted. "But our best are working on it at we speak," she added reassuringly.

Castiel barely heard her. Once again his thoughts were with Dean.

After being abducted from the motel parking lot by the King of Hell, Jenna found herself in a world that kept getting more and more complicated. There were so many questions spinning around in her head: what role did she have in the demons' war; what wasn't Crowley telling her; how long was he going to keep her locked up here in his mansion, guarded by his demons; what would he do to her when he realized she wasn't whatever he thought she was. He'll kill me, that's what, Jenna thought and she exhaled a long, low sigh and let her shoulders slump.

Jenna's limbs felt too heavy to move, like they were made of lead, but she could not just sit here, alone, in Crowley's study indefinitely. After a good fifteen minutes she finally managed to muster the courage and the energy to move. When she opened the door and peered out of the study she found there was an expansive foyer on the other side. It was beautiful, with vaulted ceilings, stone pillars, and an intricate stone-work floor. The demon had expensive taste.

There were three demon guards patrolling the mansion, but none were in sight. Though Crowley had tried to sell them as her bodyguards, Jenna knew they were nothing more than her jailers. Boris was a large, muscled and tattooed man with a thick Russian accent. AJ was a young, dark and brooding African-American. The third was named Bennet: an older, unassuming gentleman, with fine lines surrounding his eyes. Yet despite appearances, they were all three demons.

His most trusted and loyal... Somehow Jenna doubted loyalty and trustworthiness were qualities one could attribute to a demon.

With no sign of her demon guards, Jenna took one tentative step into the foyer, then another. The front door stood unguarded, taunting her. On the other side, would be her freedom, at least that's what she hoped. Approaching the door cautiously, there was a nagging thought at the back of her head that this was all just too easy. Glancing around nervously one last time, Jenna reached out and tried the handle. It wasn't locked, but the door would not budge. As she struggled with the door, Jenna noticed a few faint glowing strands shimmering between the door and the frame. They reminded her of the demon wards when she had touched them back at the motel. More magic, she sighed then she turned around, leaned her back against the door and slid down to the floor where she cradled her head in her hands.

"There's no point," Bennet's broke through the silence, causing Jenna to startle, jerking her head upwards. The demon stood at the top of a long wooden stairway, a neutral expression on his face. His hand rested on the carved and polished handrail, in sharp contrast with his wrinkled and age-spotted skin. "You can not leave," he said, echoing the words expressed by Crowley back in the study. With his wispy grey hair and medium brown eyes, one could easily have been fooled into thinking him a harmless old man, but Jenna could see into him. She could see the blackness which swirled through his core.

"Where did you come from?" Jenna demanded, though her feigned irritation was not enough to mask the embarrassment at being caught trying to escape that was creeping onto her cheeks. In her head she wondered if he was just sneaky or if the other demons could teleport too. Crowley could, but he was the King of Hell. Something told her that was different.

"You'll find your room upstairs, first door on the left," Bennet said, ignoring her question. The demon stepped aside when he reached the bottom of the stairs and gestured for her to pass. That would put her room directly above the study, she realized.

Jenna clambered to her feet and stalked miserably past Bennet as she made her way up the stairs. At the end of the hall she caught sight of AJ just standing there watching. The demon did not hide his black eyes, and the way he stared silently at her as she moved made Jenna uneasy. She hurried into her room, and once she was through the door she shut it tightly. Leaning back against it she closed her eyes and exhaled a heavy breath. Realistically, she knew the door would do nothing to stop the demon, but having that barrier there, not being able to see those jet black eyes staring back at her, made her feel just a tiny bit better.

Then Jenna recalled what Sam had told her back in the motel when she had asked about the lines of salt that Dean had been pouring in front of the doors and windows. Perhaps that would stop them. If it did, then she could at least have one safe place in this prison disguised as a mansion. Later, when she had a chance, she would have to check the kitchen and see if there was any there.

With another heavy sigh, Jenna pushed herself away from the door and wandered into the room. It was big. That was her first thought. It was also nice. Much nicer than she would have expected for a demon's safe house. Everything was clean, spotless even, she realized, running her finger along the top of the solid cherry wood dresser. The bed was piled high with big fluffy pillows and a cream-colored down comforter. That's when she noticed something laid out on the bed. As she looked closer, she realized it was a stylish red dress. There was a note attached.

Thought you might like to freshen up.

There are clean towels in your ensuite.

-Crowley

The thought crossed her mind that the demon was just playing her, just trying to manipulate her and it very well may have been true. It was probably true. Okay, it most definitely was true. She knew that. As loathe as she was to play into Crowley's games and do as he wanted, the idea of a nice hot shower and some clean clothes was very enticing. After all, it was a luxury hardly afforded to her living on the streets. She supposed it couldn't hurt, not this once.

Without help in their search for the woman Crowley had kidnapped Sam and Dean returned to the motel in Gem to follow their only lead. As they had sat in The Roadside Bar outside of Selden, Sam had caught sight of a demon on the evening news stalking around the crime scene at the motel. It was, without a doubt, one of Malphas', probably following up when the two that attacked them had failed to report back. Perhaps since the Prince of Hell was also looking for Jenna, it might lead the Winchesters to her. It wasn't much, but it was all they had to go on.

Sam watched with tightly pursed lips as his brother walked back towards him from the sheriff's squad car. "Any luck with the names and addresses of those witnesses?" Sam asked as soon Dean got close enough and he was sure that they were out of earshot of the police officers. His older brother beamed, and Sam knew before Dean even held out the piece of paper, waving it in front of his face.

"All right here," Dead stated triumphantly.

"That's great," Sam replied with a smile and a half-nod. Then he paused, and scratched his chin. It was rough from just the bit of stubble that had grown over the last couple days. "Do you think our guy might actually be on there?," He asked, squinting and looking at his brother. "I mean, why would a demon actually talk to the police?"

The smile faded from Dean's face. "There's only one way to find out. It's the only lead we've got," he said, and Sam knew he was right. They had nothing else.

"Alright," Sam said. "Lets do this."

The two brothers fell in line, and walked side by side back towards the Impala that was parked across the street from the motel. They passed the squad cars, and Sam did a double take over his shoulder. Nudging Dean with his elbow he gestured with his head toward Sheriff Cochran. There was a deep frown marring the sheriff's face as he spoke into the radio.

"Think we should go check it out?" Sam asked. If there had been any new developments they really ought to find out. Every scrap of information was vital at this stage.

The sheriff rubbed repeatedly at his face and brow. "Something's definitely wrong," Dean observed. "Yeah, lets go."

Sheriff Cochran looked up as the two brothers approached and quickly wiped his hands on his pant legs. Hurriedly he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry agent Hetfield, agent Hammett, I'm afraid if you have any more questions you will have to come by the station tomorrow," he told them.

Dean put on his best serious face. "Is there a problem?" he asked. Sam couldn't help but notice how well his brother could pull off the FBI routine nowadays. It wasn't like when they were younger, practically kids barely out of high school, and Dean would get all these raised eyebrows and questioning looks. No one told him aren't you a little young anymore. No, they just bought it.

The sheriff's body slumped and he shook his head slowly from side to side, as if he couldn't quite believe the night he was having. Sam supposed that maybe he couldn't. After all, not much happened in these small towns. Not the sort of things where three bodies show up in one night, one of them with their throat slit and their blood drained.

"There's an incident in progress at a bar in Selden," Sheriff Cochran explained. "I don't have all the details yet, but it sounds bad. Dispatch has a car on the way, but they have contacted me to send backup."

A lump formed in the pit of Sam's stomach. They had just left Selden, not even an hour ago.

"It wouldn't happen to be The Roadside, would it?" Dean asked, voicing the same question that was nagging at Sam.

Sheriff Cochran nodded his grey eyes widening slightly in surprise. "How did you know?" he asked.

"Call it a hunch," Dean muttered. When he turned to Sam, there was so much said unspoken. They were brothers. They'd grown up together in this life, and at times it was like they could just read each other without saying so much as a word. They had to go. Now.

As they hurried back to the Impala, Sam glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot. "Do you think it's our demon?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Dean's face was set in a hard line. "I know it is," he replied.

Neither brother said a word as Dean raced the Impala back towards Selden. There was nothing either could say that the other wasn't already thinking. When they'd stopped at The Roadside Bar it had been to rest and regroup. Never had it occurred to them that they might be putting the staff or patrons in danger, yet it seemed that was exactly what they had done. Death had a way of following them around, and touching anyone who got near them. Sometimes they both wondered if what they did was worth it, if they actually saved more people than they harmed.

Sam's heart sank as Dean skidded the Impala to a sliding stop in the gravel parking lot at the bar. Closing his eyes he exhaled the breath he had been holding. Any hope he had been hanging on to evaporated the second he laid eyes on the scene. There was one police car on scene, presumably the first responder that had called to dispatch for back up. It's lights were still flashing red and blue, but everything else outside the bar was still and silent. The officers, dead.

One of the officers, a slightly overweight man in his mid forties with a receding hairline, lay dead on the ground about five yards in front of the squad car. All of his limbs were facing in the wrong directions like a Mr. Potato Head toy that was put together wrong. The other officer, a brunette woman who appeared to have been in her late twenties, hung limply over the open door of their car. She had been eviscerated and her intestines dangled grotesquely from her body, pooling onto the ground. There was so much blood.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed hardly waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before he threw himself out the door. No sooner did his feet hit the ground and he launched himself towards the front door of the bar.

Sam popped the trunk and quickly grabbed some supplies: holy water, the demon cuffs with the devil's trap carved into them, an angel blade. Then he turned and booked it across the parking lot to the front door where Dean was waiting for him, his face contorted in anguish. When he got a bit closer he understood why. From inside he could hear the blood-curdling screams of torment followed by choked sobs as the victim begged and pleaded for mercy. The voice seemed familiar. Oh God. "Clayton?" Sam mouthed silently at his brother, who gave a curt nod. Sam's face twitched. He'd spent time in the cage with Lucifer, he knew all about torture, and his stomach churned knowing what that demon was doing to the bartender. At least, he thought, he was still alive.

"You ready to do this?" Dean growled his voice low so that the demon inside would not hear and know they were there.

Sam glanced down and saw the demon blade gripped tightly in Dean's hand. "Remember, we need to take it alive, it's all we've got" he reminded his brother.

"I know, Sammy," Dean said, giving him that look. It was the same look he always gave Dean whenever he was treating him like a baby.

"Okay," Sam said with a nod. In the next moment the two of them burst through the door in unison, like you'd see in the action movies.

On the other side they were met by a gruesome scene. Everyone was dead, their bodies strewn about the room. Some sat slumped in their chairs, their throats slit. Others, lay disemboweled on the floor, which was slick with their blood. Worse yet, there were limbs and heads, and bits and pieces everywhere. It would take a forensic team a month to piece everything back together and figure out what went with who, if they could even sort it all out.

Except for Clayton. The bartender was still alive, but by the sight of him, he probably wished he wasn't. The demon had him strung up by his wrists from a beam in the ceiling. His clothes had all been removed, and his body was covered in bruises, welts, and lacerations. His face was unrecognizable from the swelling, and he definitely had a broken nose. Sam doubted that was the only broken bone in his body. The demon had really done a number on him even in the short time he had been there.

"Ah, Sam and Dean Winchester," the demon hissed, one hand still on Clayton, the other holding the blade he had been using to carve him up. "Just who I was looking for."

Dean stared past the creature at the battered bartender. "Hang in there Clayton. We're going to get you out of here," he assured him.

"It'll be hard to do that when you're dead," the demon snickered.

"You musn't have heard the stories," Dean retorted as he turned the demon blade over in his hand, making sure that the demon saw it and understood what it was.

"Oh, I have heard all about you," the demon assured him, releasing Clayton from his grip and taking a step towards the brothers. "There's going to be a big promotion for me when I'm the one to take down Sam and Dean Winchester. First though, we have some business to attend to."

"Blah, blah, blah," Dean mocked, rolling his eyes and making a yapping motion with his hands. "Do you ever shut up?"

The demon's eyes turned a solid black and it cracked its neck as it advanced further towards them. Sam gulped nervously. His brother was just egging the thing on.

Dean charged in the demon blade gripped tightly in his hand and all all of his body weight leaning forward, though Sam noticed that he made no attempt to stick the demon with it and he understood it was just for appearances. For appearances, or in case they got themselves into trouble and needed an out. The demon stepped aside and grabbed Dean, tossing him like a rag doll. Over and over and over again.

"You don't live up to your reputation, do you?" The demon gloated. "And your brother? More pathetic than a wet rag."

Sam pursed his lips and swallowed hard. It wasn't easy standing by and watching Dean be hurt by the demon. On any other day he would have just killed it. It would have been easy. But he understood what Dean was doing, as he tried to keep the demon distracted, fighting him, while Sam waited for an opportunity.

The demon tossed Dean once more and slammed his back hard into a wall. With the wind knocked out of him, Dean collapsed to his knee. Confidently, the demon walked over, leaned down and wrapped a fist around Dean's neck. Squeezing tight enough to make Dean's eyes bulge, it lifted him off the ground and held him pressed against the wall.

"Oh yes," it hissed. "I am going to enjoy this."

Sam lurched forwards, unable to continue to watch his brother be beaten by this black-eyed freak, but the demon reached back and struck him square in the gut with super-human force. Sam doubled over and felt like he was going to vomit from the impact.

"I hope you don't tell me where the woman is," the demon told Dean. "Not right away at least because I want to savor making you scream."

Dean was still in the demon's grasp, his feet dangling against the wall. "A little help here, Sammy," he choked out.

Still hunched over, Sam unscrewed the lid on the holy water. Pretending to stumble in pain so he would appear nonthreatening, he managed to edge a little closer to the demon. In one fluid motion he stood to his full height and doused the creature with the holy water. It hissed and writhed, dropping Dean, as the liquid burned its skin leaving lesions and blisters in its wake. It was all the opportunity that Dean needed. He charged, tackling the demon to the ground.

"Now!" he shouted at his brother.

With cat-like speed and agility, Sam leaped in and snapped the handcuffs around the demon's wrists. There was an audible click and both him and Dean looked at each other and exhaled a sigh of relief.

"What have you done?" The demon snarled. Neither brother bothered to honor it with a response. In those handcuffs it was trapped and its powers were useless. There would be no smoking out. No escaping. He was their prisoner now.

Dean clambered back to his feet and began to dust himself off. "Took you long enough," Dean muttered to Sam.

Sam exhaled sharply, making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. He shook his head at Dean. "Dude, you didn't make it easy. It's not like we could just kill it," he told him. "Now come on, help me get Clayton down. We need to get him to a hospital."

Dean glanced back at the bartender and shuddered. A hospital would fix up his broken bones and stitch his wounds, but he'd spent his time in Hell, and he knew that not all of the scars that poor kid would be left with would be physical. Sam knew too, there were some things that just couldn't be fixed and stayed with you for the rest of your life.

He turned and gave a scathing look at the demon who had moments earlier gleefully been torturing the young man. "As soon as we get Clayton to a hospital, we're taking this sack of shit back to the bunker and I'm going to have a little chat with it, one on one," Dean told Sam. "And I'm going to enjoy every freakin' minute of it. Payback's a bitch." The demon, who had been struggling futilely with the cuffs, paused for just a moment and both brothers knew that it was fear it felt. And it should.

Back in his safe house, Crowley stood silently in the entrance way to the kitchen watching his newest acquisition, who was oblivious to his presence. There was a swelling hope inside his chest that she was what the rumors said she was. If it was true, she would make a powerful ally and an indispensable asset. Only time would tell.

The woman stood at the granite counter eating the Chinese food that he had left for her in the fridge, fumbling uncoordinatedly with the chopsticks that had come in the bag. Cleaned up, she hardly resembled the woman he had kidnapped from the motel. Her straight red hair, no longer dirty and matted, was pulled back into a loose ponytail. It glistened a silky copper under the overhead lighting. Her pale skin, cleaned of all the dirt and grime, was dotted with freckles, especially over the bridge of her nose. She was short, maybe 5'3" if she was lucky, and small-framed but not too skinny.

The red dress that Crowley had left out for her, fit her perfectly. The sleeves, sitting slightly off the shoulder, exposed her delicate collar bones. She wasn't large-chested, but the style accentuated her natural curves. It was tastefully long, ending just below her knobby knees. Though she wasn't Crowley's type, she didn't have the long legs and the big breasts of a porn-star, or the face of a model, she wasn't unattractive.

He watched her for a while. Everything about her was so very human. She was awkward, and uncertain, and fearful. Hardly what he would have expected considering what she was supposed to be. Yet, when he had told her she was different he had seen it in her eyes. She was, and she knew it. Maybe she didn't know how or why, but she knew that there was something different about her.

"Finding everything you need, Red?" Crowley asked. The woman jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped her chopsticks on the floor, and he chuckled in amusement.

"Everything, except my freedom," she retorted. He supposed she had meant to sound tough and defiant, but her voice trembled and her eyes flitted away for the briefest moment. Her eyes, which were a pale blue, the same color that ice turned when put under enough pressure. If everything else about her was simply average, those eyes were incredible he realized, and for a strange moment he found himself lost in them.

Regaining his composure, Crowley grinned and cocked his head to the side. "Freedom is over-rated," he told her. "Free gets you dead, and we don't want that do we now, Red?"

The woman gave him her best, though thoroughly unconvincing, glare in response. "My name's Jenna," she told him.

Crowley ignored her objection. "Look, I know that you aren't exactly pleased with our little arrangement, but believe me, I am trying to help you," heexplained. "I rescued you from Malphas' demons. I think a thank you is in order, don't you?" It wasn't exactly a lie. He did want to keep her safe, even if it was only for his benefit.

Jenna scoffed. "I didn't need your help. Sam and Dean…"

"Got you into that mess in the first place!" Crowley cut across her. "If those two useless lumps of sod had half a brain between them, they never would have let you out of their sight. I can protect you. I can keep you safe."

The woman stared back at him, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head slowly from side to side. "Why?" she asked, and it was a good question. After all, he was a demon.

"All in due time, love," Crowley told her. "All in due time." He wasn't ready to share his secrets yet. Not until he knew for sure if she was what he hoped she was.

The woman exhaled heavily and slumped her shoulders. "So you're just going to keep me locked up here?" she asked.

"I could arrange a cage for you, if you'd prefer," Crowley offered, arching an eyebrow slightly. "I'm trying to be accommodating here, Red. The least you could do is meet me in the middle." Of course, that would be more what she would expect from a demon, but he was only teasing. Well, mostly. The idea of her being his pet, locked in a cage, was somewhat appealing. However, it would not be good business strategy, not at this point in time. No, he wanted her to be comfortable. He wanted to win her over.

Jenna sighed. "Fine," she relented, as she let he head drop in defeat. It wasn't like she really had any choice in the matter anyways.

Crowley reached out and took her chin in his hand, tilting her head back up to face him. Her skin was so soft. "Don't be so glum," he told her. "It really isn't all that bad. Whatever you need, just ask, and it's yours."

"My freedom," the woman tried again, and Crowley had to give her points for perseverance.

"Anything except for that," he corrected himself.

"Actually," Jenna said hesitantly, twirling her foot on the ground. "I wouldn't mind being able to cook."

Crowley tilted his head to the side. "Did you not like the food?" he asked. "Perhaps you would prefer something else. Whatever you want, it's yours."

"The food was fine," Jenna answered hurriedly. "It's just, I like to cook but the kitchen is empty. Once, a long, long time ago, I actually wanted to own my own restaurant some day," she divulged and Crowley wondered why she was telling him this. "It would give me something to do, since I'm stuck here. Something to keep my mind off..." she let her words trail, but Crowley knew what she meant. It would help distract her from the fear being the King of Hell's prisoner. He sighed, he didn't want her to fear him.

"Consider it done," Crowley told her. How did the saying go, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

By the time that the angels had tracked the demon down and Castiel had followed up ending up once again at The Roadside Bar, he knew that he was too late. He did not have to search the premises to know that Malphas' demon was already gone: he was able to sense the absence of the demon's presence. All Castiel was left with were questions. Coincidence wasn't something he believed in. So why did the demon go to the same bar where he had met earlier with Dean? Where was the demon now? And what did any of this have to do with Malphas' war with Crowley? If only he had some answers.