Sam crept just ahead of him, the dim light of the low-wattage flashlight illuminating the knee high grass as they waded through it. Dean kept an eye out for any guards Crowley might have posted around the church, but they were alone. Well, I'll be, he thought. Maybe the demon they had summoned hadn't been yanking their chain, after all. Whatever Crowley was up to, he didn't want the paper-pushers to know about it.

Sam started up the church steps, but Dean caught him by the arm, gesturing at the side of the building.

"What?"

"There's no way the Crimson King doesn't know we're coming," Dean whispered. "That way's probably booby-trapped."

Sam looked disbelieving. "Kinda hard to booby trap a door that rotten."

"Nikki still needs a way in that's out of Crowley's sight," Dean insisted, as they walked around the back.

"So it's cool for her to get caught in the booby trap?"

"She won't, Sam. She's not an idiot."

"I'm not saying she is-"

Dean thought he heard something move and he froze, lowering the flashlights. But it was just an animal; he could hear it moving off to their right. He kept walking.

"A rigged door is an easy roadblock to get past," he said. "She'll be able to do it by herself, and without making too much noise. Any other way in's gonna be a pain in the ass. You want to make her crawl in through the basement?"

Sam nodded ahead of them, waving the flashlight. "That's our job."

He shined the light on a small grate off to their left, only a few feet from the church's eastern wall. It was slightly overgrown, but still looked like they'd be able to move it.

"Think he's got the tunnel blocked off with some kind of mojo?"

"Doubt it," Sam whispered, reaching for the grate. He tugged at it a few times before it came loose with a heavy concrete scrape, and he set it on the ground beside the hole. "We usually come busting right in, Blazing Saddles. Might not expect this MI-6 stuff."

Dean looked doubtful.

"It's this or the front door. What's it gonna be?"


They were getting way too fucking old for this.

Dean spit out a mouthful of muddy water. Sam stood a few feet away from him, grinning.

"Laugh it up, Sam."

"What's the matter, shortstop?" he whispered, helping Dean the rest of the way to his feet. "Monkey bars too high?"

He looked up at the hole they'd climbed down through. It was five feet above the top of Sam's head, and they'd had to drop down into this tunnel. Dean was eternally grateful this place hadn't been occupied after plumbing was widespread; this tunnel would have made a handy sewer, and the situation could have been a lot worse.

"C'mon," he said, wiping his hands on his pants.

The grate hadn't been far from the building when they were topside, but as the tunnel sloped sharply downward now, it seemed a lot further. Dean checked his compass to make sure they hadn't set off in the wrong direction, but they hadn't. So they continued, feeling their way along the muddy walls and trying not to trip on the wet, uneven ground.

The hairs on the back of Dean's neck began to prickle, and he found himself looking over his shoulder often. There was nobody there – at least as far as he could see – but he thought he heard something. It was fleeting and almost felt rather than heard, like heavy bass from the speakers of a passing car, and damned if it wasn't familiar…

The third time he looked, Sam noticed.

"Something wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Just a feeling."

They pressed on further, and Dean began to sweat, despite the cool temperature, and he suddenly couldn't shake the sense that something was terribly wrong. Before he could tell Sam, they reached the end of the tunnel. Dean was immensely grateful; it felt like they'd walked miles, and he was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. He swallowed and started testing the wall for weaknesses.

"You okay?"

"I fine," he replied, his voice shaky. He really needed to calm down; he felt like a toddler on a tilt-a-whirl. "Just tired from all the walking."

"What walking?"

"From the hole," Dean said. "Appearances are pretty damn deceiving around here. We're been creeping down here just short of forever."

One of the bricks fell loose, and Dean moved it aside. "And shit! How long have we been down here? Nikki's gonna come before we do." Dean dislodged some more bricks while Sam stood and watched. "Wanna help me out here?"

Sam took the bricks Dean handed him. "It's only been three minutes since we left the car, man."

"What?"

Sam laughed, holding up his phone to Dean's face.

"That…that can't be right," Dean said, looking at his own phone. "We've been walking for at least ten minutes. The tunnel…"

But when he looked back the way they'd come, he could see roots hanging from the hole they dropped in from.

It wasn't more than twenty feet behind them.

More sweat gathered on Dean's brow and he turned back to the wall in front of him. Relax, he said to himself. It's just nerves.

"Well, it felt like a while," he said.

He took away two more bricks, stacking them on top of the others. The blueprints told them they could get into the basement this way. Tunnel access had been sealed off in the nineteen forties after some fifty people had been murdered under here; apparently Lucifer's crypts were more than just a U-Store-It for his old Nintendo games. But those thoughts only made him more anxious, so he shoved them out of his mind.

"Are you-"

"Let's just get this done, okay? We don't know what the hell Crowley's got up his sleeve, and if we want time to figure it out, we got to stop this. So don't start."

Five more bricks fell to the floor. Sam picked them up wordlessly, and soon, they'd cleared enough space for them to fit through. They stepped into the space beyond the threshold.

Sam scanned his flashlight around, holding up his rifle along with it.

It was a great wooden room, roughly circular, and painted white glyphs Dean didn't recognize covered the walls. There were shelves too numerous to count, but they were all empty, and there were no cobwebs.

"Looks like Crowley cleaned the place out," Sam muttered.

"No surprise there. Where is he, though? There's no way he's not here."

"Think they demon lied about him breaking the seal here? It's possible."

"Nah, I don't think so. It feels right, but there's something going on here, Sam…"

Sam's light found him. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know, I just-"

A slow clap started in the corner, and they whirled to face the sound, shining their flashlights toward the voice. There was nothing there, and they scanned the room fruitlessly, but came up empty.

"Playing hide and seek, huh?" Dean wandered in a small circle in the middle of the room, still searching. He aimed his gun and took a random shot at a corner and Crowley laughed, the sound echoing in the round space.

Invisible fingers snapped and torches caught fire around the room, bathing them all in firelight.

"Can's say this is a surprise," the demon said from off to their right. "But honestly, the secret tunnel? What is this, Merlin?"

Dean raised the gun again. "I don't know what you're doing, but you're not gonna get away with it, you fucking snake."

"Who spit in his bean curd?"

Sam pressed his back against Dean's. "Why are you breaking seals, Crowley?"

Dean could almost see the smug look on his face.

"Need a little insurance, and I'm afraid Lloyd's of London won't do in this case."

"Insurance for what?" Dean spat, shaking his head to clear his vision. He was sweating profusely again, and there was a sound, something barely audible that was raising gooseflesh on his arms…

"You two, of course," he said. He was suddenly in front of them, and waved his hand. A cigar appeared, which he lit with one of the torches. "Dunno why you can't just leave me be."

Sam piped up beside Dean. "The gates are closing. And there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it. We're ending this once and for all."

Crowley blew a smoke ring at Dean. "You ever get tired of his sanctimonious prattling?" he asked. "I tell you, I can't believe he's the duchess in the tower again,the key to saving the world, blah, blah, blah. Always a bridesmaid, eh Dean?"

Dean's head had cleared a bit and he took aim once more. "Where are the vics, you bug-eyed prick?"

"Dead."

Sam frowned. "Don't lie. The spell can't be cast until midnight-"

Crowley clicked his teeth. "Sharp as ever, I see. The ritual is performed in the middle of the night. Sun rises and sets early this time of year, ducky. I'm afraid the final seal is broken."

Dean prepared to fire, but the gun flew from his grasp before he could pull the trigger. He and Sam watched in disbelief as Crowley turned it over in hands. "Ingenious, these bullets you mooks have made. The redhead was impressed, too."

Dean shook his head and looked at Sam, who shrugged. "Son of a bitch."

"We're all sons of bitches, yeah?"

"If you knew we'd be too late, why'd you even bother to wait for us? Just wanted to rub it in our faces?"

"Of course," he conceded, "but I also wanted to have little chat. We've tread some high water together, you and I, so I figured I ought to do you a courtesy. You can still quit while you're ahead. The Winchesters have made enough sacrifices for the world, wouldn't you say?"

"We'll never quit, Crowley." Dean made sure his considerable anxiety didn't creep into his voice. "So you enjoy your throne room while you still got it. Because we'll be seeing you again. Real soon."

Crowley nodded. "I don't doubt it. But it's just as well. And nobody can say I didn't try."

Crowley whistled a tune Dean didn't recognize.

Then, he grinned.

It took Dean a moment to recognize the sound, but when he did, his blood ran cold.

Sam reacted first, firing a salt round in the direction of the growl and striking the hellhound. Its blood dripped onto the dirt floor, black as pitch. Two more hounds snarled, and Dean could feel them moving toward him, but he couldn't seem to move from where he stood…

"Dean!"

He could hear Sam screaming and shooting beside him, but the sound was muffled, like there was cotton in his ears.

"Dean, get-"


"-down!"

Benny swung the blade and struck the hound, lopping its head off and send its body flailing against a tree. Dean rolled to his right and got to his feet, cutting down another two hounds with his double-edged spear. They took off through the trees, Benny hauling the rougarou carcass over his shoulder.

The hellhounds howled as they tracked his and Benny's scent through the woods. They didn't stop, leaping over fallen logs and narrowly avoiding traps set by other monsters. They raced toward Black River, so named for the blood with which it often ran thick. If they could get there, the water and the blood would mask their scent. Hellhounds – even the dead ones in Purgatory – were blind.

They were really going to make it this time, it seemed. Usually, stealing a meal from a pack was suicide, but this time, they'd caught the hunters away from the rest of the pack and took them down before their cronies would join them. Dean leaped another log and there the river was in front of them.

Benny jumped in without hesitation, but Dean could never manage that; he had to psych himself up to jump into water so cold. He took a deep breath and went for it, surprised to find that the water wasn't as icy as it usually was. Benny was by his side in a flash, the rougarou floating beside his head.

"I can't believe we got away with that," Dean said, coughing with a grin on his face.

"You learn a thing or two after you been here a while," Benny said. "That angel of yours oughta have some good campfire stories when we catch him up."

Dean was grateful that Benny had finally agreed to find Cas before they hightailed it out this hellhole. It would have been damn near impossible to keep the faith without a partner.

"How long before we head back to shore?"

"Depends," Benny said. "How fast they gonna get bored?"

He caught hold of a rock and rested against it, tired of treading water. "On Earth? They never got tired. Chased you down until you died."

"You speaking from experience?"

"Wish I wasn't."

"How'd you shake 'em?"

"I didn't. They dragged me down the pit."

Benny looked surprised. "You talk about going to hell like it ain't nothing. Is it that common?"

"As a June bug in July, at least for me and Sam."

"You're getting rusty. That's one of mine."

Dean chuckled. "You're growing on me."

The hellhounds were lining up on the bank now, invisible even in death, seeking their scent. Dean was glad he couldn't see them. After everything he'd seen in this place, he'd probably have lost his marbles completely if he'd been forced to look one of those things in the face.

The sun came out above them, and even in the cold water of that river of blood, Dean could stop and appreciate it. He wondered then just what sun it was that shone on them, and if the warmth it brought was real, or some inconceivable magic.

Even the water around him began to warm up, and though Benny was talking beside him, Dean couldn't hear him, as he slipped beneath the surface of the now-heated river and-


-his face and neck were wet, but the heat in the room was oppressive, and Dean blinked, blinded by the sudden brightness. Sam's face was inches from his, and behind him, orange-yellow flames licked the walls of the room, climbing onto the ceiling. Nikki stood beside Sam holding and empty water bottle and yanking at his arm.

"We've gotta go!"

He let her lead him across the room and up a narrow flight of stairs, barely aware of what was happening. How had a fire started? They'd been talking to Crowley, and then there were the hounds, and then-

He tripped over a loose board and fell, choking on the smoky air around him. Sam came from behind him and dragged him to his feet, and Nikki yelled something again, tugging him by the wrist. He couldn't see jack shit, so he followed her lead, and soon they were tumbling down the church steps into the clean night air, smoke billowing like a dispossessed demon behind them.

They got a good distance from the building and collapsed into the grass, coughing and sputtering. They lay on their backs and watched the flames engulf the building.

Dean recovered first, sitting up. "We gotta get out of here," he said. "Fire department."

They stumbled to their feet, heading back toward the car. As they rolled back down the path that brought them in, Dean wracked his brains, trying to recall what had happened. What the hell was that? For the first time since he'd gotten back from Purgatory, he was well and truly frightened, and he didn't care for the feeling one bit.

"What happened back there?" He turned onto the state highway, keeping an eye out for cops. Least I can still drive right. "Somebody knock over a candle?"

His gaze was fixed on the road, but he could feel Sam staring.

"The hounds came for us," he said quietly. "I tagged them all, but Crowley summoned more. He just stood there grinning like the Mad Hatter while they closed in. We would have been done for if Nikki hadn't come in…"

She jumped in upon hearing her name. "I was in the church, looking for the vics, but I couldn't find any. There was blood in the baptizing pool, though. That must be where he did the deed."

"No bodies?"

She shook her head. "Just some bloody water. But I heard the hellhounds growling. I couldn't believe it – I've only read about those things, but that growl ain't nothing I've ever heard before. So I went down the stairs and saw you all down there, and Crowley had his back to me, so…"

Dean joined the interstate. "So what?"

"I kind of shot him," she said sheepishly.

Dean looked over his shoulder in disbelief.

She shrugged. "It worked. For a second, anyway. But it was long enough to knock over the torches and send the place up. I know the hounds don't like fire, so I figured they'd cut loose if it got too hot in there. They did, and when I turned back to see if Crowley was there, he was gone."

Their exit was coming up, and Dean took it. Holy shit. He couldn't recall any of that – not even the gunshot. This wasn't good. "Oh. Well…thanks, I guess."

She laughed, looking very pleased with herself. "You don't have to thank me. My ass would have been grass too if I hadn't done it. What I wanna know is, what the hell kind of magic did he lay on you? You were gone. We practically had to drag you out of the frying pan and the fire."

Sam was still looking worriedly at him from the passenger seat.

"I don't know," Dean said finally, shaking his head. "Must have been something nasty, 'cause I don't remember a thing."

"Better figure it out. Otherwise you'll be toast next time for sure."

Dean pulled up in front of the house. "Yeah," he said.


Sam finished painting the last of the demon warding symbols on the windows, setting the brush and the paint can on the sill. Dean was a few feet away at the other window, looking very determined as his brush moved over the glass. They were sitting on buckets Nikki had brought in from the garage, exhausted, but they couldn't afford to sleep before they'd warded the windows and doors. After what Nikki had done to Crowley, he was bound to be pissed, and they weren't taking any chances.

He sighed and looked out the window into the night, remembering what Amelia had said to him before she took off. God knew it wasn't the first time he had heard those words – it seemed like every creature they'd ever put down had tried to get inside their heads that way, trying to shake their resolve. But now, Sam found himself wondering if she wasn't right.

If they hadn't all been right.

It seemed like another world now, but he remembered how he'd felt back when he'd left for Stanford. He was excited, sure, glad to finally have some permanence for once. But hadn't there been something else, too? A sense of escape that had nothing to do with getting away from their dad and The Life?

For all their flaws, Dean and his father were in the game to get rid of evil – there was no doubt about that. But what about him? Why was he there? He certainly didn't love hunting the way his brother did – not by a long shot – but he felt a frightening sort of comfort, being around monsters, even in the beginning. And if he was honest with himself, that was the reason he'd been so desperate to get away.

Yet even so.

Stanford couldn't protect him from what he was running from. He'd tried to deny it, even to the point of ignoring the dream about Jessica, but he knew deep down that college was nothing but calm before a storm, and that his comfort with the dark would eventually drag him back to the blood and bone he'd spent his childhood drowning in. Because it was where he belonged, whether he liked it or not. And after Jessica had died…well, he hadn't put up much of a fight when Dean asked him back.

And ever since then, no matter how hard Dean tried to hold onto him, he slipped into darkness with absurd ease and the best of intentions. First with Yellow Eyes, and then Ruby, and then the goddam devil himself. He'd spent lifetimes in the worst sections of hell, had his soul destroyed – which, let's face it, it wasn't all that pure to begin with – and once he finally pried The Dark Prince off his back, what happened as soon as Dean was gone?

He took up with witches and a demon and rogue angels and banged yet another monster, and though it was true that he wanted to get rid of the Leviathans and get Dean back from Purgatory, it was also true that he felt the most comfortable he had in years, maybe ever. There was no Dean to look with righteous disapproval at him and what he was, nobody to compare himself to and realize that he'd never measure up. They were fallen, just like him. Some had once been human, some hadn't, but they were tainted, marked, forever, and they knew it and made no apologies for it. They simply were what they were, and it had been refreshing.

But of course Dean was back now, and they had a job to do, but once it was done, what then? What was he going to do?

Save people?

Hunt things?

Forever?

Worry about the meaning of life later, he thought, looking over at his brother. Something's wrong with him, and you're kind of on a schedule, here.

Dean hadn't said anything since they'd come back to the house, and as much as Sam wished it was because he was tired, he knew better. As much time had passed since they'd been in this business, Dean was still fundamentally the same, and he wasn't going to talk about what was wrong until Sam dragged it out of him with a rusty pair of pliers.

"Don't just stare at a girl from across the bar, Sam. Say something."

Sam chuckled.

"We gonna talk about happened back there?"

Dean sucked his teeth and started painting another sigil on the window. The amber light from the street lamp made him look tanner than he was. "Just got a little jumpy, is all."

"Is it?"

He didn't answer for several minutes.

"It was the hounds," he said finally. "I…I could hear 'em when we were in the tunnel."

"You think they were in there the whole time?"

He shook his head, shivering slightly. "Hell if I know. But it reminded me…"

He trailed off.

Sam waited, giving him time to get his thoughts together.

"Benny and me, we used to run from the things nonstop. They caught my scent around Foster's Gorge, and we didn't lose 'em for months."

"In Purgatory? There were hellhounds?"

He shrugged. "They bite the dust, too, same as the rest of us."

Sam swallowed. Dean hadn't said much about his time down there, so he knew it had to be terrible. He bit his lip, wishing he'd been faster at opening the portal and getting the news to Dean.

Might have gotten to him before he took up with a vamp, he thought bitterly. He knew his feelings about Benny were unreasonable, but there they were. No use pretending to himself that he loved the guy. And he had little room to talk, as far as shacking up with monsters went.

"We had a hard time getting food for a while," Dean said, clearing his throat. "Every time we'd hunt for …something to eat, the pack would fall in on us. It was rough going. Eventually, Benny figured out how to steal their kills after the main hunters had taken something down."

He tripped over the last few words, and Sam decided it was best not to ask what food they'd subsisted on down there.

"Dean…did you have some kind of flashback?"

"No."

He carefully dipped his brush back into the paint.

"Maybe."

The conversation lapsed again.

It wasn't exactly uncharted territory for Sam; he'd spent a year with Lucifer nagging him everywhere he went. But Dean had known what to do, exactly how to help him, and Sam…well, he'd never been so good at taking care of people, had he?

"You wanna talk about it?"

Dean paused and looked at him for a long moment. His expression was unreadable – unusual for Dean – and Sam couldn't begin to tell what he was thinking.

"Nah," he said, taking a deep breath and looking away. "Let's…let's just sit here for a while."

So they did.


Dean rubbed his eyes and set his elbows on the kitchen table, yawning. He and Sam had eventually fallen asleep in front of the windows, but at least he'd finished the demon warding before they knocked out. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd had any peace and fucking quiet, and even longer since he hand Sam had done anything together outside of hunting. To his surprise, Sam hadn't pestered him to spill his guts about Purgatory, and the silence had been nice while it lasted.

He felt better.

Nikki had woken them the next morning and told them she'd have to go back to work in a week or two, and did they think Crowley would be pissed that she'd shot him, since he was okay and everything? Sam and him had exchanged knowing glances, and the moment had felt so much like the old days he half expected Meg or Yellow Eyes to pop around a corner.

Now, they were sitting at the table, neck deep in paperwork.

"What else can seals do, though?" Nikki asked. She was wearing a very ratty Tennessee State t-shirt and sweatpants. She looked about fifteen. "I mean, do they only open this hell cage or whatever?"

Dean had to smile. "That 'hell cage or whatever' is holding the devil underground," he said. "And we've got the only other key to that hot box, so seals are his only option if he wants to get in there."

"You have the keys to the cage?"

Dean tsk-tsked and smirked. "And here I thought you were a scholar."

Her mouth hung open and she shook her head. "God must really trust you two."

"Something like that." Dean shrugged, grinning. "But yeah, as far as we know, that's all seals are good for."

Sam closed Nikki's seal book, putting it off to the side. "Well, there's got to be more to it, because there's no way Crowley wants to cut Lucifer loose. He wasn't exactly a loyalist."

"Then what? Because there's no other reason to bust that thing open, Sam."

"Wait, didn't Crowley say that he'd broken 'the final seal' while we were down there?"

"I dunno, I was kind of out of it, remember?"

"I'm pretty sure he did. Which means that whatever he's doing is almost done."

"I guess, but-"

"Is there anything else in the cage?"

They both turned to look at her, surprised.

"Seriously," she said. "If it's made to hold the devil, who knows what else people may have thrown in there over the years. There could be a lot of powerful stuff hidden in that box."

"I hadn't thought about that," Sam said. "But I guess it's possible. I mean, it would explain why he's so desperate to get in there."

"Must be some heavy machinery if he gonna risk going in for it."

"He wouldn't do that unless he had no other choice," Sam continued. "Whatever it is, it's gonna put a hitch in our mission, for sure. He knows what we're after, and I wouldn't put anything past him."

"Think there'll be lore on it?"

"Well, Gabriel gave us the keys, so if there is anything written, Metatron would know it."

"Gabriel? As in, the archangel Gabriel?"

Dean nodded. "Yep. He was a bit of a dick in the beginning, but he did us a major solid in the end."

"That's it," she said, getting up from the table. "I'm gonna go take a shower before you tell me Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are your godparents."

"Don't slip!" Dean called after her.

"You're not gonna go join her?"

Dean feigned innocence. "What do you mean?"

"I saw you two at the bar the other night. And you sure didn't sleep on the couch the first night we were here."

Dean's smile slipped a bit. "Yeah, well, I'm a professional. I am capable of keeping it in my pants if I want to."

"Right," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Think it's time to pay the holy court reporter a visit?"

"Yeah. After we grab a demon and cure the thing. Whatever King Candy's up to isn't quite done yet, else he wouldn't have told us to fuck off. We should finish this thing, and then it won't matter at all, cause they'll all be on lockdown." He bent down to tie his shoe. "Then maybe we can go on a good old fashioned salt and burn for a change."

Sam nodded. He couldn't argue with that – closing the gates would solve all their problems.

Wouldn't it?

There had been a few hiccups, and it had taken much longer than they'd wanted, but the plan was on track. They'd knocked out the first two trials, easy as pie, and the third seemed fairly simple – find a priest, confess, then cure the demon. All they had to do was get back to Kansas and the bunker – a four hour drive, tops – and Amelia had given them a two week deadline. Everything seemed to be going their way for once.

Which made Sam uneasy.

But what other option was there?

"Man, I'm hungry," Dean said. "Let's grab a bite after she gets out of the shower. There's no food left in this house."


Dean made a beeline for the cold cuts aisle.

"Where's the fire, Dean?" Nikki trotted to catch up with him, Sam close behind her.

"You're the one who wouldn't let us go to McDonalds," he said, picking over the bacon. "I'm starving."

She grabbed some shredded cheddar and looked askance at him. "You'll live, you baby. And once you've tasted this breakfast you'll be glad you waited."

"I better be," he said, picking up a carton of eggs from the fridge at the end of the aisle. "This is gonna take at least an hour."

"I'll go get the pancake mix," Sam announced before taking off.

"Get vegetable oil, too! I'm out!"

"What brand?" Sam called from the next aisle over.

"Doesn't matter."

Dean went back and got a tube of Jimmy Dean sausage, balancing it in the crook of his elbow.

She laughed. "Sure you got enough meat there, greedy?"

"You wanna take some of the meat?" he muttered, his shoulder brushing hers.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "And I heard you were such a Casanova. I hope you can do better than that."

"You'll find out soon enough."

Sam joined them at the self-check-out, carrying a container of strawberries along with the Bisquick and oil. There was no line, and they were on their way to Nikki's car in no time.

"Not sure all this is gonna fit in this tiny thing," Dean said, looking disdainfully at it.

"Not all of us want to drive segregation-era gas guzzlers," she said, unlocking the doors.

Sam laughed and Dean glared at her.

"My baby had nothing to do with that," he said. "She's from Janesville, Wisconsin. Lincoln slept there."

She grinned at Dean as he crouched into the front seat. She tucked one of her curls behind her ear and laughed.

"And how do you know that?"

"Me and baby go way back," he said. "Way, way back."

Crowley appeared outside her window.

Things seemed to move in slow motion.

She was still laughing, and she said something more, but Dean didn't hear. Crowley waved his wrist, once, twice, three times, but nothing happened, and Dean thanked himself for remembering the ward the car.

He and Crowley locked eyes, and a terrifying smirk appeared on the demon's face.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun.

Nikki had noticed the look on his face and was turning to look behind her.

Dean saw that he was holding a police issue Glock, and he had a moment to wonder where Crowley got it before he opened fire.

Glass exploded inward at them.

Nikki screamed and then suddenly stopped, and Dean could barely concentrate over the noise of the gun –

– the screaming outside –

– Sam banging against the back door because the child lock was on it and he couldn't move –

– Sam crying out as he was struck and Dean felt a bullet whiz past his arm –

– a second one grazed his shoulder –

– Nikki's head bounced against the steering wheel as the bullets kept coming –

– and then it ended, as abruptly as it had begun.

There was silence now, as everyone had moved away from the car, and Crowley stood outside the window, eyes still locked on Dean. He tossed the gun aside.

"It's been a pleasure working with you," he said coldly. All of his usual mirth was gone, and for the first time, Dean was really seeing the monster who had taken over hell in Lucifer's wake. "But I'm afraid our love-hate relationship has passed it expiration date."

He straightened the collar of his coat.

"Party's over, boys."

He vanished.

Nikki's body sagged against the steering wheel.


Sorry for the length of these chapters! It's taking a lot of words to say what I want to say.