Chapter Seven

"Forged in the fiery pit of the underworld, a luminary is bent, broken, until their God is no more."

Rustling of papers echoed throughout the batcave. Sam's ragged choking-fits interrupted every few minutes. No amount of research could distract him from the tightening knot in his gut, or the tiny devils trying to break through his skull. Since the last hunt, the hunter had sworn he was having a near-miracle recovery, but today's relapse made him feel like death.

Slamming an ancient copy of the King James, he pulled another tome forwards. This one had two entwined serpents, forming an 'S', emblazoned on the front. Confused, the man didn't remember this one, but the he did recognise the symbol. Putting the strange feeling down to his sickness, Sam began to flick through, for any information of the prophecy. It was nothing to do with angels, but he continued, knowing nothing was as it seemed, and everything was fair game.

Just off in the doorway, Dean silently watched his baby brother struggle. Maybe now wasn't the right time, this could wait, couldn't it? Sighing, the hunter dropped his head. Demons had the monopoly of eternity, humans weren't that lucky.

Picking his head up, Dean hid his doubts behind a facade as he strode through the main chamber. "So, Sammy, we're outta beers and pie. I'm just gonna, y'know..." The older man shook the Impala keys to say the rest.

Frowning, Sam never looked from the book, "'Kay, please don't forget toilet paper."

Pouting, Dean was shaken by how easy that was as he headed out. Slamming the bunker door shut behind him, the humid air instantly made his skin sticky. Slowly walking towards his Baby, the hunter's mind flicked through the plan. Hell... He was going to Hell with its king.

Suddenly, Crowley cut across his path with a hessian sack slung over his shoulder. "Moose is clueless?" To the nodded response, the King of Hell continued, "Good, he's not well, knowing about this would probably make it worse." Opening the trunk, the shorter man carefully placed the bag in. This was going to work.

Both were quiet as they made their way out of town, Baby's purrs filling the silence between them. Both knew this war was gonna end bloody, they could feel it in their bones. For every war they ended, a deadlier one always took its place. The apocalypse, the angelic civil war, Leviathans, and all the other crap that had infected their lives, it felt like it was never gonna end.

Sighing, Crowley could see the human's cogs turning. "You're doing that annoying, 'I'm deep and conflicted again, hug me Sammy.' Look. What's wrong?" Although Dean wanted to punch the demon for the awful impression, he found himself smiling. Okay, Crowley wasn't that bad. His rudeness was actually amusing after a while.

Shrugging, the hunter shifted in his seat, "We're goin' back to Hell, man. No one does that on purpose."

"Orpheus and Aeneas did. Not forgetting Sammy's little escapade."

"Exactly, only heroes do."

Raising an eyebrow, the King of Hell tentatively placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. Receiving a glare, he swiftly removed it. "We'll do this. Your track record proves that." It also proved that the chances of Crowley dying was high, but that didn't mean this wasn't worth the risk. Only Crowley knew the full effects of an Archdemon. Only Crowley was alive to remember.

- Forged in the fiery pit of the underworld, a luminary is bent, broken, until their God is no more. Until they are nothing, ready to be filled with the daemonic taint of Thanatos. Breaking from its cursed chains, the Beast will walk free, corrupting mankind and bringing Hell to Earth. -

Reaching an abandoned farm, out of town, the two men stepped from the car. Sniffing the air, Crowley nodded. "The storm is close." Licking his finger, he lifted it into the air. "We have five minutes." Pulling out a stick of chalk, the man ordered Dean to get the sack from the trunk.

Watching the King of Hell begin counting his paces, Dean pulled out the hessian bag and carried it over. As the demon sketched a giant symbol on the crumbling concrete, the hunter placed thirteen candles strategically over each point.

Once the sigil had been drawn, Crowley pulled out a silver chalice and placed it upon the sun sketch in the centre. Slowly, he poured in various ingredients. Glancing over to the other man, Dean noticed the King of Hell slice through his own palm, allowing the ruby droplets drip into the bowl. God he hated witchcraft.

Standing, Crowley beckoned the hunter over. Rain slowly began to mist around them, cutting through the humid air. "Stand here," Gripping the human by his shoulders, the demon positioned them opposite each other, Dean on Scorpio, Crowley on Taurus.

The first rumbles of thunder shook the air around the men. "Mitte nos in domum, ad terram inferiorem." Hovering his hand above the chalice, Crowley shut his eyes. "Terra regnabat in terra timet." Suddenly, flames burst forward, surrounding them. Gripping onto Dean's shoulders, the demon's incantation grew fiercer. "Da nobis tenebrae nostrae, sed sinit!"

Whipping around them, the fire grew. The ground beneath them shook. With a giant crack they were falling. Before he knew it, as if he had never moved, Dean was on his feet, swaying, dizzy and nauseous. Gripping his gut, the man scanned the area. Darkness tinted red.

Brushing himself off, Crowley glanced around and hooked his arm under Deans, trying to support him. "We're close." Once his eyes had adjusted, Dean could see he was in a giant chamber, the walls moving, twisting, groaning. "The Hall of the Damned, filled with the souls of traitors."

- Human flesh. Soft. Sweet. Warm. Let us taste it. Tear it. Take it. Devour it. -

Hollow whispers echoed around them. As the two of them stepped forth, ancient torches flickered into life. The groaning grew.

Heart racing, Dean shrugged off Crowley's grip, hand grabbing for his gun. A cold hand ran down his spine.

Spinning around, gun drawn, the man saw nothing but mist. Stepping backwards, toward the exit, cold hands gripped at his ankles. Kicking them off, the hunter shot through the mist. No bullet hit. Breathing becoming heavy, Dean realised this had been a mistake. He could feel nails dragging across his chest, marking him.

- Warm. Sweet. Human flesh. Let us taste it. Let us destroy it. -

Clasping hold of the human's arms, Crowley forced him towards the giant gated exit. Each step grew heavier, as if they were being dragged down, the hands fierce and strong. Eyes darkening, Crowley released Dean and threw his hands into the shadow. He wrestled with it, flames whipping through the mist.

Suddenly, yelling erupted throughout the room, the King being pierced through the heart, being impaled by a pike of shadow.

- Let us skin your demon bones, too, Demon-Lord. We answer to none. -

The mist tore around them, laughing. Using his weakening powers, Crowley dispelled the pike. Black blood gushing from him, he pulled out an angel blade, and thrust it into the mist, which did nothing. "Bastards." Spat the demon, as he tried to beat and slash at the evil creatures, holding his heart.

Shooting with one hand, and slicing with the Ruby's knife, Dean spun around. Panicking, the man felt a hand grip his throat. Lifting him, a form separated from the mist, and solidified with fire blazing in otherwise empty eye sockets.

- Your ours. Let us taste it. Tear it. Devour it all. -

"Now!" Cried the man as the monster's hand began to boil hot, burning the hunter's skin.

Swinging around, Crowley thrust the blade into the creature's back. Wailing, the form dropped Dean, frantically twisting and clawing at itself. As it clasped at its face, it was reclaimed by the mist.

Taking this opportunity, Crowley grabbed Dean and ran from the chamber. Gates slamming behind them, the two men panted. "What. Were. They?" Panted the hunter as he rubbed the hand-shaped burn on his neck.

Hand pressed against his heart, Crowley began re-meshing his vessel's flesh. "Those were Shadows, the twisted- ah, reflections of traitors after a century's punishment." Fully healed, he re-sheathed the angel blade. "Once made, nothing can control them but Erebus, so they are locked away in the Hall of the Damned." But even Erebus could not kill them, that was a gift only allowed for luminaries or Fae.

Licking his lips, Dean was still reeling from the attack. He had never seen this part of Hell, and just thinking about his family having to come here struck him. "Do you think... Would we... Adam?" Although a disjointed request, the hunter could see the understanding in Crowley's eyes.

Shaking his head, the King of Hell claimed they couldn't save him, and left it at that. Pointing down the corridor, he then quietly stated they were close to the torture chambers. Before moving on, he warned Dean that there were other dark things lurking these halls, things that could make a pious man kill his own god.

The two men slowly navigated through Hell, weapons drawn. Bone-shattering screams ripped through the place, growing louder with each step. Soon, they found themselves in a long corridor, a monstrous bolted door at the end. They knew they had reached the place.

Heart thudding against his chest, Dean forced the fear back down, tightening his grip on both Ruby's blade and his gun. Mouth dry, the man pressed forwards, images of Alistair invading his mind. Hooks, chains, blood and blades. He remembered it all. Each step weighed heavily on his chest, as if he was being crushed.

Chewing his bottom lip, the man sought comfort in Crowley's presence. At least with the King of Hell by his side he didn't have to worry about being flayed alive; he had some supporters out there. The demon's level breath and echoing footsteps reminded the hunter that he wasn't alone, but he would've much preferred a friends' company. Like Sammy or Cas.

As the two men moved forwards, Dean could feel the ground beneath him shake. Every step he took, the doors grew further away. The screams continued, intensified, but no matter how fast he walked, he moved nowhere.

Suddenly, the scream's voice changed. It was recognisable, deep, interrupted with swear words and the cried name of someone. "Sammy!" Blood frozen, Dean stopped. It was his voice. His scream. His time in Hell.

Something touched his arm, but nothing could break through the hunter's daze. Blood, chains, hooks. The year before his rescue.

"Fight it, Dean."

His time in Hell broke him. Every day a new form of torture, breaking him. Dean knew he was becoming tainted, demonic.

"Step forwards, Dean."

Something nagged at him. Maybe he had been right before, maybe he didn't deserve to be saved.

"One step at a time. Slowly."

Tightening gripped his chest. No, he had done good. Hell, he was the best damn hunter in the world. He had stopped the Apocalypse, beaten Leviathans and gathered the best team, no... family, anyone could ask for.

"Continue to think positively, Dean. You can do it."

A gruff sound chipped at the hunter's subconscious. Something that linked to Hell through him. Light began to fill the dark corridor, a piercing ring. Stepping forwards, he reached out.

"You can beat it, Righteous One."

With each step, Dean's heart began to lighten. His mind became his own again. He began to run. All doubt had left and he could see everything for what it was. Crowley was running beside him, both so close to the doors.

Reaching the entrance, they left the glow. Spinning around, Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel's sad smile, before the phantom turned and faded away.

Watching the hunter turn back around, Crowley gave him a slight nod. He didn't want to know what Dean had seen, it was too personal. Too deep. The demon knew that, whatever Dean saw here, he had probably buried it long ago. All that mattered was that he had found something to hold onto, to beat the corridor's grip on them.

Clearing his throat, Crowley placed both hands on the giant doors and pushed. Where they touched, the dark wood burned and crumbled away revealing blackness comparable to nothing on earth.

Tentatively stepping forth, the two prepared for resistance, for demons to pour forwards. Nothing. The further they walked into the dread place, the more they could feel it, hear it. Crying, screaming.

Flicking his hand, Crowley lit the room. Above them was a never ending shadow, full of the damned, pierced and suspended on hooks like meat. Rows upon rows of chained doors lined either side of the room, behind each a different torture, a different evil. It made Dean's skin crawl knowing what was happening to the poor souls. He had endured each pain; Alistair had been thorough.

However, the pièce de résistance in this level of Hell was the creature at the end of it. Bound in chains, as if crucified, a young woman hung, head lulled to one side. Giant matted wings, pierced with hooks, were spread the breadth of the evil chamber. Porcelain skin scarred and bloody, there was no way the poor creature could be alive.

Swallowing back his fury, Dean forced himself to look away. It was only Crowley's certainty that pushed him forwards. "She's- it's alive, don't worry about that." The King of Hell continued towards the angel and began to issue orders to the chains, which fell away with each word.

As the poor creature fell from her bindings, Dean just managed to catch her. Kneeling on the floor, the hunter lay her down and checked for a pulse... Or whatever an angel had. It was weak, but there. Brushing her matted dark hair from her face, the man could see the scars from her time here, the horrific trauma on an otherwise beautiful being.

Glancing around, Crowley frowned; this had all been too easy. Helping Dean lift the creature, the King of Hell could hear something other than screaming. Pulling a small ring from his pocket, the demon put it on. If the angels knew he had this... It didn't bear thinking about.

"How do we get out? I'm guessing it's not the same as the way in." The human struggled under the giant wings. Why could he see them now, anyway?

Growls grew from the shadows. Holding his breath, Crowley gripped the ring. "You have to go without me." The hounds were not the only things guarding this place, and he would be damned if he let all of their efforts go to waste. Abbadon didn't have that much power over Hell, did she?

There was no way Dean was gonna let Crowley be broken again. Using his free arm, the hunter grabbed the King of Hell's. "I ain't lettin' Sammy's hard work get wasted. Now, how're we getting out?" This angel was getting pretty heavy.

Sighing, the demon nodded. Dean had no idea what monster guarded this place, or what this ring could do. Taking a deep breath, Crowley pulled out a small flower which began to burn. "Retro unde venerant ad nos, et ad terram viventium." As it burned, the room filled with a thick grey smoke.

In the distance, the growls became louder. Not removing his hand from Crowley's arm, Dean stepped closer to the King of Hell. "Get us out of here, man."

Gripping the ring, Crowley spoke again. "Ego eieci Salomon omnia dæmonia, tolle est terra hominem!" Suddenly, an eruption of light blinded them and sent them flying across the chamber.

Coughing, Dean rolled onto his side and wiped his eyes, letting them adjust to this new place. Clambering off of the wet concrete, the hunter gripped his ribs. They were back in Kansas, at the farm. Limping over to the angel, he carefully lifted her from the ground and placed her into the Impala.

Surprised he had not heard Crowley's complaints, Dean glanced towards the demon. He lay frozen, still gripping the ring. Hurrying over to him, the hunter knelt down. The demon was burning hot and still alive. "What the..." Lifting the demon over his shoulder, he placed him in the passenger seat. This was gonna be Hell to explain away to Sammy.

Arriving back at the batcave, Dean struggled in with the angel, leaving Crowley in the car. It wasn't that the hunter didn't like the demon, now, but angels would always come first, dicks or not.

As he reached the main room, Dean spotted his brother drinking a coffee, still trailing over the books. "Yo, Sammy, can you... Uh, help?" The sudden appearance of his brother startled the younger man, who spilt his coffee over half the books.

"Crap!" Hurriedly wiping up the mess, the giant glanced over. "Please tell me a spell backfired and now Crowley is a chick with wings." Sam knew that it wasn't totally impossible, and it was better than thinking about what Dean may've actually done. Like, running off to Hell and breaking an angel out.

Shaking his head, Dean limped off to find the girl a bedroom. Returning without the angel, the hunter raised his hands in surrender, "Yeah yeah, Sam. Can we have this out later? I've got a paralysed Crowley ridin' shotgun at the moment."

Putting his disappointment aside, Sam cleaned up the angel. As he bathed the poor girl's wounds, the giant hunter forgot about his illness and focussed on hers. Each wound he bathed reminded him about his time with Lucifer, and how Adam was still suffering.

Slowly, the angel's eyelids fluttered open and gazed up at the man. "You came for me." Raising her thin hand, the angel placed it upon Sam's face. A slight glow wrapped the hunter, warmth filling him.

Swallowing, he removed her hand from his face, "Sorry, but my brother saved you, not me." He would've tried, though, if Dean had asked. Now they had an injured angel and paralyzed demon.

Softly smiling, the girl nodded, "But still, thank you." Clasping hold of the man's giant hand, the woman winced. "I'm Nuriel…" Although the small room was lit by only a small lamp, it still overwhelmed her. All she could remember from before was falling.

Gently dabbing her face with the cloth, Sam remembered their role in her fate. If they hadn't messed with the angels, demons would never have touched her. Now this girl was broken, vessel and angel, regardless of how you saw it.

"I'm dying." Nuriel's soft English accent broke the silence. Struggling, she pushed herself up and rested on the headboard. "If I don't from my wounds, it'll be by my own hand." There can be no exception. An angel shall never be allowed to turn, and she could already feel the corruption boil in her.

Shaking his head, Sam looked into her dark brown eyes. "I'm not gonna let you do that." Too many people had died because of them, he wasn't going to just sit and watch an angel take her own life out of pride, or whatever.

Humanity's stubbornness had always been both a gift and a curse to its people. It was what many of her brothers and sisters admired. How the human race could refuse to save themselves for the sake of belief. It was both beautiful and disgusting. "Then you or your brother must. You have no idea what evils I will commit if I'm allowed to live."

She couldn't be an Archdemon already, could she? "Please, let us try to help. Let me help. Give me a day."

Softly smiling, the angel bit her lip. She did not reply, allowing the man to continue working on her wounds. As he moved onto her wings, Sam noted their underlying beauty, like an eagle's. It broke the man's heart to think back to how he once loved the idea of angels, to see broken ones bought him unspeakable pain.

Coughing, the hunter was suddenly dropped back into reality. Copper tainted his mouth as he swallowed back more choking. Glancing at the young woman, he noticed her concerned expression. Giving her his brightest smile, Sam tapped her shoulder. "It's just a cold." Nuriel could see straight past the lie, but said nothing.

Leaning against the wall in Crowley's room, Dean faced the bed, the demon's frozen form still in that strange position, holding a ring. Curious, the hunter stepped forwards and tried to remove the trinket. It was easier than expected, and soon he was researching its meanings.

The thing was a small golden signet ring, a familiar design engraved on it. Now sat in the main chamber of the batcave, the man flicked through papers. Dean couldn't put his finger on what was nagging at him.

"Hey." Standing beside him, Sam was going to tell him off for going to Hell, but the jewel distracted him. Picking it up, he examined it. "Star of David… Where'd you get this?"

Glancing up, Dean snatched it back to examine further. Great, now he felt like an idiot. "I got it off Crowley. He was holdin' it when he froze." Continuing to flick through the books, the older Winchester passed his brother one. At least with Sammy helping there was a chance of finding out what it was.

As the two read, Sam stumbled upon something. The Seal of Solomon, only useable by the king himself, could control and trap demons at will. Why did Crowley have the King of Jerusalem's ring?

As the two men discussed it between themselves, something struck them. Dean began rolling off his theories. "If it's the ring that froze old red-eyes, and Solomon is the only one who can use it-"

"-Yeah, it means Crowley is probably King Solomon." It felt strange to Sam saying it, and opened up questions about Fergus. But demons lie, and with Cas' help, Crowley was capable of anything back then. Even humans can fake a past life.

The main question they both wanted to ask was how such a holy man had become a demon. But before they could, they would have to unfreeze him.

Checking the time, Sam stood and excused himself. Heading over to Nuriel's room, the giant tried to think of a way to prove she wasn't corrupted. Slowly opening the door, the hunter set eyes upon the angel, who was clasping her throat. Unsure of what he was seeing, Sam stepped forwards.

Suddenly the picture became all too clear. Dark red liquid poured between her fingers as she gripped her throat. Diving forwards, Sam helped hold her wound. "H-Had to." Was all Nuriel could gurgle, before her body fell limp into the pillows.

Welling up with tears, Sam released her neck and cradled her body. "Dean!" The man cried out, trying to get his brother's attention.

Skidding through the door, Dean saw his blood soaked brother cradling the angel. Shaking his head, the older hunter glanced around for something to wipe the blood up. What he found, however, was better than that. Picking up a small glowing vile and paper, he passed them to Sam and carried Nuriel away to the morgue.

Wiping away his tears, the giant hunter read the note.

- I know who you are, Sam, and I must thank you for all your sacrifices.

You and your brother are an example of why humanity should not be underestimated. Thank Dean for me, and that other man, whoever he may be, but I could not be saved, not truly. Please tell Castiel that I forgive him, but the three free archangels will not. They are all that's left and one has already begun the prophecy. Protect my brother.

I chose to die this way to go back home and leave you a gift. In the vile is my grace, weak but pure. Sam Winchester, drink it. Let it heal you. Allow me to do this for you and your brother, for saving me and protecting Castiel.

Your ever thankful Nuriel. -

Speechless, Sam folded the note and examined the vile. It felt wrong profiting from someone else's death, but she would've done it anyway. Nausea swept over him again, as if answering his doubts. Unable to fight it, he popped the cork off of the vile and drank the grace. It felt wrong, an evil thing to do, but the glowing heat that ran through his veins felt right.

Every old scar burned and disappeared. Every painful memory tinted gold. It was as if he had taken a miracle cure. Yes, he still needed to cough, but his nagging headache was fading and he felt he could run a marathon. He hadn't felt this good since he had drank a demon's blood from the source. Nothing had compared, until this.

Letting his head drop back, the hunter began to remember why he had stopped. Drinking an angel's grace was worse than drinking a demon's blood. Clenching his eyes shut, the man thought of how Castiel would feel if he found out.

Showering, Sam rinsed off the blood and gathered his thoughts. It didn't matter; Dean and Crowley had stopped the creation of an Archdemon, and found a way to cure him. All they had to think about was waking Crowley up, Crowley who happened to be King Solomon.

Stepping from the shower's heat, Sam wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door, revealing a frowning Dean waiting in the corridor. "You gonna tell me what happened, or are we gonna ignore it?"

Shaking his head, the taller man began to make his way down the corridor, brother in tow. "Nuriel killed herself by cutting out her grace. Why?"

"Anna didn't die from it. Cas didn't."

"Cas was healed and Anna was in Heaven at the time. Besides, Nuriel wanted to die human." Turning to face his older brother, Sam shrugged. "She was afraid of what she might do if she turned."

Licking his lips, Dean glanced at the floor. "Where's her grace now?"

Shaking his head, Sam grabbed the note from within his armful of clothes. As Dean read it, the younger hunter tried to keep his breath level.

Emotionless, Dean folded the letter and passed it back. "Did'ya drink it, Sammy?" The sharp nod in reply forced the older hunter rub his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me about this? How do we know it isn't addictive, Sam?"

Shrugging, the taller man failed to reply. Dean had kept his Homeric mission secret, why didn't Sam keep this from him? No, an eye for an eye never works.

Shaking his head, Dean copied his brother's shrug. "I guess… What's done is done, man. Let's hope this don't bite us on the ass. But I trust you."

That night, Sam dreamed of Nuriel in Heaven beside Gabriel, Balthazar and even Samandriel. It was a beautiful dream that felt so real he knew it would break his heart to wake up.