Notes: Yay, much love to firstcatfish, Kyrianae Narii, Hades Lord of the Dead and Falchion for the great reviews! I'm so happy you're all still with me after the long wait 3
Also, because I'll try to get this stack worked off quickly, it might get a bit confusing with all the updating, so I'll put an overview in the header of the last chapter of every chunk I put up one at a time (I only got a few minutes right now sadly, so it'll be only this one right now)
Recent Updates (CET):
Chapter 7 / Week Eight - 31/07, ~2 am
Chapter 8 / Week Nine - 31/07, ~6 pm
WEEK NINE
A few hunts later, with Sam (and Dean)
"Stop being such a dick about this," Sam called after Dean as he followed him back to the Impala after yet another hunt finished, "that demon was going to kill you. I really had no other choice but to –" He hesitated, causing Dean to finish his sentence testily, "...smite it?"
"I didn't really mean to," Sam admitted at last, "I just can't bother with fine-tuning if your life's at stake."
Sighing heavily, the older Winchester just could not let it go. "We should have questioned that bastard," he stressed, "If he dodged getting blasted back to hell, who knows who else did."
And it was a valid objection. The gates of hell were supposed to be shut forever and ever, and yet, the brothers had somehow encountered a demon in the middle of New Orleans. Of course they should have gotten some information out of it, but Sam did not regret his actions. If anything, he wished there was a slow-roasting setting to smiting demons, but at least, Dean had gotten out of it safe and sound. "Listen, this confuses me just as much as you," the younger hunter finally replied and ran a hand through his hair. "But there's no use crying over spilt milk. When – if – another demon makes an appearance, I'll remember to hold back. Until then, though, it's our best bet to ask Kevin on the details. The tablet did vaguely mention my...ascension, so maybe there is some hint on what's happening here, too."
Releasing another sigh, Dean got in the car. Following suit, Sam accepted that was as much closure as the matter would get for the moment.
And yet, as they hit the road home, he could not help wondering. "I should have probably asked this sooner, but I was kind of afraid," he began after a while and trailed off.
Glancing over, Dean still seemed agitated. "Ask what?" he demanded.
Hesitantly, Sam met his eyes. "What happened to Crowley?"
His frown deepened, and Dean stared back on the road. "You cured him, you know, from being a demon," he explained quietly and halted briefly, "from going crazy because of everything he did during that time, though - not so much."
Closing his eyes, Sam pondered that information. "I don't know what I expected," he admitted at last.
"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're asking," Dean went on in light agitation, "even if the bastard's had it coming."
"So?" Sam prompted.
"I couldn't exactly keep him, either," Dean explained, "even though he begged me to. In a world free of demons but full of angels, it's not exactly safe to be the former King of Hell."
"So you dumped him," Sam deduced.
"He's a friggin nutcase, man," Dean insisted, "He can't do that much harm within those padded walls."
Nodding in acknowledgement, Sam released a breath he had not even known he had been holding.
"You think this is somehow his doing?" Dean asked slowly.
Sam looked out of the window. "I think it is worth checking out," he replied quietly.
Later, with Dean and Sam
"I've got news from Kevin," Dean reported as he met Sam in the psychiatry's hallway, "or rather – no news. He went through his notes, but nothing even implies the gates might not have been shut for all eternity."
Sam sighed. They had seen that coming, but he still felt disappointed, "I guess God just didn't bother with the details."
"What about Crowley?" Dean asked and nodded towards the doctor's office, "Found out where they shipped him off to?"
"Well for starters, he wasn't shipped off but rather went on his own free will," Sam began and slapped a file's worth of details into his brother's hands, "Now listen to this. When the local pastor made him confess his sins a couple of weeks ago, Crowley's madness vanished - just like that. Saved by the lord, he went off to join the local community."
Eyes wide, Dean skimmed through the pages as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, and it took him quite a while to even acknowledge it might not be a joke after all. "This has angel dust all over it," he summarized and met Sam's gaze incredulously, "but miraculously recovered Crowley working with them? Seriously?"
"You said he was broken before," Sam objected, just as uncertain what to think of this, "He's probably grasping at straws like we all do."
"I don't know, man," Dean began as he handed the looking-glass over, "They all look like a bunch of happy churchgoers to me."
Parking a safe distance away, they were surveying an outdoor gathering of the community harbouring one Father Charles, who had allegedly cured Crowley, nowadays knows as Jim Bucklesby, from something not quite curable.
"There's three angels even at first glance," Sam supplied as he was squinting into the looking-glass before lowering it again, "but no demons, and no sign of Crowley, either."
"We should have tried his home address right away," Dean grumbled and started the engine.
"Just don't make me jump him in his sleep," Sam joked good-naturedly, "it was creepy enough when – " He paused abruptly when he finally saw the stony expression on Dean's face and quickly turned to find out just what his brother was glaring at.
His eyes widened.
"Why, moose, while I am highly tempted by that offer, I fear I have to decline," Crowley chatted as he approached the car from behind and came to a halt directly next to Sam's open window. "I don't particularly mind the bestiality part," he went on and leant very close to Sam's ear, his voice growing darker, "but I do hold a grudge against men who break my heart."
Both Winchesters barely had the time to stomach their old enemy's appearance when he got down to business already. "That being said," he went on, his voice suddenly jovial again, "Do I need to introduce you to my new winged friends or do you come with an actually non-murderous intention?" Stepping back from the car, he motioned towards a set of wooden picnic tables close by.
With Dean huffing and Sam uneasy, both Winchesters exited the car and claimed seats at the table. "All right, we're not here for small talk," Dean began bluntly, "So how did you do it?"
Arching an eyebrow, Crowley leant back. "It was really just my smooth tongue," he explained and licked his lips demonstratively, "and of course, the fact that both sides would benefit greatly from a cooperation. I do believe you understood that concept that one point in time." He tilted his head. "Nowadays, I'm not so sure."
"I don't see how any angel would want to cooperate with you on reopening hell," Dean retorted.
Crowley furrowed his brows in disbelief. "Why would I want that?" he asked heatedly and threw his hands in the air, "I taught my demons to skin any human alive who messes with hell's affairs – and thanks to you, I belong into that category now." He glared at the brothers for stress and let his words sink in before releasing his fury with an angry sigh. "I have come to terms with the fact that earth will have to suffice." His lips curled into a cruel smirk as he intertwined his fingers. "But if your question is any indication, I take it someone else it trying to break the barrier?"
"Apparently," Dean offered gruffly, "You know anything about it?"
"Well, I know that shouldn't be my problem," Crowley replied leisurely, leant back smugly and let his gaze wander to meet Sam's, "...but yours."
Frowning deeply, Sam failed to follow. "What are you implying?" he demanded.
"Please, moose, haven't you figured it out yet?" Crowley sighed and turned his head, a playful twinkle in his eye, "Why you're still alive – and even more so?"
"How do you – ," Sam began, but Crowley cut him off.
"I was there when you broke your antlers and strapped on a pair of wings," the former demon explained and arched an eyebrow, "You'd have to be pretty dense not to recognize that kind of light show."
"You should have told me," Dean grunted angrily.
"You should have been nicer to me," Crowley countered with narrowed eyes.
"So what are you saying?" Sam interrupted the banter with a troubled expression, "that I became this so I can make sure the barrier stands for all eternity?"
"Who knows?" Crowley replied with a shrug, "But I do know that angels are typically assigned a task upon creation."
Puffing his breath out, Sam leant back slightly. "What kind of task?" he asked.
But Crowley only shrugged innocently. "How would I know?" he countered, "Then again, you are the one who shut the gates, so it would only be logical for you to be the one to keep them shut."
Sam furrowed his brows. "I don't even –," he began, but he trailed off, lost in thought. He had no idea where to even start looking for information on that. Even if it was true, how do you keep something shut if you can't find the leak?
Meanwhile, Crowley continued his small speech. "Of course, this is only a wild guess, albeit a rather probable one," he chirped playfully, "Either way, even if whoever's supposed to instruct you has long gone, I suggest you wrap your mind around your new duties quickly." He met Sam's eyes, and in that moment, he seemed to be enjoying his advising position a tad too much, "Because you might as well be the only one who can even do them now."
A day later, with the bunker crew.
"We're facing two big problems here – getting the angels back and making sure the demons stay out," Dean ground out and sighed deeply as he flung himself into his customary chair in the bunker's study, "It's a two-front war all over again."
"Maybe it'd be easier to just, you know, cooperate with the angels down here," Sam, already seated, suggested quietly.
Nearly choking on his beer, Dean stared at his brother as if he'd grown another head. "How would that go, exactly?" he asked, "Heya, I'm the new boss in the house but trust me, that was an accident?" Gulping down another mouthful, he shook his head. "We've had this conversation before, man. They're so not gonna buy that."
"Still, we're working towards the same goal," Sam insisted, "Getting them back to heaven. Crowley even offered doing the introductions...whatever that means."
"Since when were you willing to trust Crowley, exactly?" Dean prompted angrily, "or his nameless angel friends, or angels in general?"
Sam rolled his eyes, "Since I became one, maybe?"
"They would most likely use you to get to Metatron," Castiel intercepted gravely, "which, then again, would be in our interest, too. But we should not alert anyone as long as we do not have a plan."
Grimacing, Sam rested his chin on his palms, "I rather like the plan of getting you back in the game before anything else, Cas," he pointed out flatly.
The former angel opened his mouth in protest, but Sam simply went on. "Look, I am fairly powerful by now," he pointed out, "There's got to be a way of just, I don't know, splitting that power between us, right?"
Castiel stared back in confusion. "You cannot share a Grace, Sam," he stated matter-of-factly, causing Sam to slump his shoulders with a sigh.
"So what about just facing Metatron directly?" the younger hunter suggested, "I'm as prepared as I can get, and we can't just keep waiting for Kevin's translations."
"Oh, I think we can," Dean countered and offered Sam a freshly opened bottle of beer – which was rejected unceremoniously – before drinking it himself, "Both angels and demons got nothing on us, and so far they're keeping a low profile, too."
"But this isn't just about earth, Dean," Sam replied with a frown, "As far as I'm concerned, there might be demons spawning in heaven as we speak."
Dean arched a lazy eyebrow, but Castiel looked outright scandalized. "You've encountered demons in heaven?" he repeated in alarm, "Why didn't you tell me this?"
Blinking, Sam frowned back at his friend. "It was only one, really, when I had just, you know, ascended," he explained, "But I never encountered another one when I went up to visit Bobby after that." He shrugged. "Considering I had a half-responsive Dean running around with me at the time, I figured it must have been part of my identity crisis, too." Hesitating, he sought Cas' gaze. "It must have, right?"
Inhaling deeply, the former angel stared back gravely. "Even hallucinations of monsters and demons are not allowed in heaven," he explained, "However, every once within a couple of centuries, the walls of heaven are weakened. If a creature from outside chooses to attack at that time, it creates a small crack in the fabric of reality that can be used as a portal by all kinds of abominations. There is a special garrison assigned to mending the walls on those rare occasions, but now..." He trailed off, but the remaining message was clear anyway.
There was no one left to protect heaven.
Eyes wide, Sam just stared back. "So how do I close it?"
"You don't," Castiel replied simply, a grave decision made within a heartbeat, "Not before sending an army of angels through it so they can reclaim heaven." With that, he stood.
"Sam, you need to find that crack and where it leads," he announced, "Dean and I will convince my brothers of our mission."
- Week Nine: End -
Notes: Again, thank you all for reading, and please keep the feedback coming! :)
