Notes: Much love to HolyCowsAndFlyingPigs and Souless666 for the great reviews!
So now, here we are for the next Update :D

Latest Updates:
Week Eight - 07/30, Week Nine - 07/31 (6pm), Week Ten (1) - 08/01 (1am), Week Ten (2) - 08/02 (2 am)

PART THREE

WEEK TEN (2)

With Castiel

As it turns out, Crowley and his angel friends had already been waiting when Castiel and Dean arrived at the small church in the outskirts of Detroit.

While Dean made a beeline for Crowley right away, Cas took a moment to greet brothers and sisters he had not seen in a long time. Frankly, the thought of reuniting with other angels had filled him with a sense of apprehension throughout the drive. Would they blame him for what had happened? Would they pity him for what he had become?

Yet all of those fears were forgotten as he stepped closer and was greeted with a set of smiles, no matter how tiny they were. Recognizing Muriel and Daniel left him with a faint wave of nostalgia that only truly hit when he caught sight of the youthful face of his old friend Inias who was standing behind them.

To him, it felt as if lifetimes had passed since the two of them had fought Heaven's enemies side by side.

"Castiel!" his former comrade-in-arms greeted him with a brotherly hug, "I heard the news." Stepping back, he examined Castiel's appearance thoroughly and gulped. "But I didn't believe it."

Inhaling deeply, Castiel held his friend's gaze evenly. "I am no angel any longer," he confirmed gravely, "Yet I shall still do everything in my might to secure heaven."

The other angels' eyes lit up at that. "So you have found out how to reclaim it?" Muriel prompted eagerly, "The key is Sam Winchester, is he not?" Quickly, she looked around the church, as if she was expecting the one curious angel that still had wings to appear any second.

"He will join us soon enough," Castiel explained, not without a hint of worry in his voice, and turned his head to watch Crowley and Dean conversing over at the altar. "In the meantime, though," he wondered as his gaze returned to his siblings, "Why did you help Crowley of all people? Recovering his sanity must have taken up all your remaining energy."

"Bartholomew and Malachi are gathering forces, readying themselves to take back heaven by force," Inias explained simply, "We, on the other hand, wish to keep God's creations intact rather than destroying them." He hesitated, a fascinated expression on his face as he glanced at Crowley. "And isn't a demon cured one of the greatest miracles of them all?"

Castiel furrowed his brows as he understood the deeper meaning of his old friend's words. "You were waiting here to become the army Sam will need once he goes up against Metatron," he summarized in barely concealed disbelief.

"Sam Winchester may be an infant as an angel," Muriel explained, "Yet he is the only one of us that can enter heaven, is he not? Much like Crowley's cure, his ascension must serve a greater good."

"You have been teaching him our ways, haven't you?" Inias added with an enthusiastic nod, "According to the newspapers, he is learning fast."

Castiel furrowed his brows. He was aware of Sam working hilariously many miracles to mankind lately, but he had not known it had become such public knowledge.

More prominently, though, as he was standing amidst former friends and siblings, he rediscovered something startling.

During those last weeks, while struggling with his own humanity and only surrounded by one other angel that could count as such, he had almost forgotten the one fact that had driven him away from them in the first place.

Angels were meant to follow, not to lead.

Altogether, wasn't that the sole reason he and Dean had come to this church in the first place? To gain the support to start the war?

So why did he suddenly have second thoughts?

It had been as clear as the day earlier – they had to save heaven, and as such, making use of the portal Sam had discovered would be the quickest and most logical means to accomplish that goal.

Asides from the usual risk the Winchester brothers, and in addition Castiel too, took on a daily basis, the plan was as flawless as it could get.

But, as he glanced across the church for the fifth time since entering, a tiny voice in the back of his head told him it might not have been flawless enough.

What was keeping Sam?

A few hours later, with Dean and Crowley

Rolling his eyes, Crowley sat on the front row in the small chapel he had been visiting hilariously often lately. He folded his hands in a mocking gesture.

"Oh Holy Moose in Heaven," he called out, "hear our prayers and come to our aide, for we are your followers." Looking around, waiting, he shrugged and faced a man he would have preferred not to cooperate with again.

Naturally, Dean Winchester was not amused. "There's got to be another way to find him," he insisted gruffly, "It should have taken him less than an hour and he hasn't shown up for almost a day."

Leaning back, Crowley heaved a sigh. "Listen, squirrel, from prayers to summons we've tried basically everything in the book," he summarized, "It looks an awful lot like he's somewhere off-limits."

Dean furrowed his brows. "What are you saying?" he demanded.

"I'm saying that you should put one and one together for once," Crowley replied as he grew increasingly agitated, "And maybe you shouldn't have sent our most resourceful asset on a suicide mission in the first place."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I got that the first time you mentioned it," he snapped, "So if you don't have any new information, how about not wasting my time any longer?"

Their eyes met – one look challenging, the other annoyed. Finally, Dean turned on his heels and stormed towards the exit.

It was only then that Crowley produced a map from his pocket. "I may not know his location," he called through the otherwise empty chapel, "Yet I have found some information on those newly acquired...special skills of his."

Naturally, Dean was back to snatch the map from his grasp at once. "What is this?" he asked as he frowned at a number of dots marked in the middle of Indiana.

"It's an overview on demonic omens and sightings since the gates of hell have been closed," Crowley explained off-handedly, "For three whole weeks, there was absolutely nothing, and then, suddenly, several strays appear close to Layfette, Indiana. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Curling his lips into a grin, Crowley counted the seconds it took for Dean's eyes to widen at last.
Interestingly enough, the hunter was not that dense for once, was he?

Gulping, Dean finally met Crowley's expectant gaze with a troubled one. "That's when and where Sam got cut by an angel blade."

Nodding, Crowley leant back. He had already figured that much. "Ironic, isn't it?" he mused forlornly, "In closing the gates of hell forever, he actually becomes one."

Dean, meanwhile, grew paler and paler.

"He can hear us from heaven, I know he can," the hunter mumbled to himself and took a moment to process the news. "Wait," he suddenly gasped, and his eyes widened in a mixture of anger and worry.

"Are you telling me he might be stuck in hell? Again?"

Sometime, somewhere

With Sam

Sam dreamt of flames, hot and dangerous and scorching, more intense than anything on earth, yet burning even worse than hellfire itself.

Amidst those flames, he recognized the vague outline of a man.

"Oh Holy Moose in Heaven, hear our prayers and come to our aide, for we are your followers."

His breathing, already ragged and pained to begin with, hitched when he recognized the voice at once.

But...

Crowley was supposed to be on earth – he shouldn't be down here; he couldn't have returned to hell. Not yet, maybe never.

The gates of hell had been shut – and they still were. Or, they were again. Even though his body, his vessel, was hurt severely for some reason, Sam's Grace felt intact.

The small cut from weeks ago had healed within an overnight stay at Bobby's, and he was sure there was no way another breach could have taken place.

Now that he had finally found what to look for, he would have known.

So how...?

"Sammy, you okay?"

Now that wasn't Crowley's voice.

Rather than startling him, the mere sound of it made his heart ache with fear and longing.

Dean.

But...he couldn't be here. There was no way.

Forcing himself back to a halfway wakeful state, Sam opened his eyes.

Frankly, he had no idea how he had fallen unconscious in the first place. Heck, he had not even meant to. In the middle of hostile territory, taking a break was as good as surrendering – which, apparently, he had ended up doing nonetheless.

He felt drained.

Yet even though he had been wasting enough energy to light a town for a year during his fight through hordes of demons, the strange feeling of powerlessness had a different reason altogether.

Just as his dreams had helpfully reminded him, he was surrounded by flames. Not the mild kind from Earth. Not even the spiteful kind from hell. Whoever had caught him had done their research – he was surrounded by holy fire. Worse yet, the entire room was warded with a small yet efficient set of anti-angel sigils.

Even only looking around hurt his eyes, but he had to.

Regardless of his situation, he had to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond the fire – of the weak body chained to a pillar mere meters away from him.

"You there, right?" the man with Dean's voice tried again, "Sam, please tell me you're okay." He sounded gruff and exhausted – close to the original in any case. But it could not be him.

Regardless of whether he believed him, though, Sam did not trust his own voice to speak anyway.

"I can get us both out of here," he heard Dean whispering, "As long as you can walk and talk, I'll get us both home, okay?"

Sam forced his eyes shut. It was too much, too convincing. As much as he hated admitting it, storming in with guns blazing like that was Dean's style. He wouldn't put it past his brother to pull a stunt like that, but...

"What are you doing here?" Sam rasped at last, neither friendly nor hostile.

"I'm getting you out, dumbass," Dean shot back.

Sam clenched his teeth. Too close to home. "I'm asking you how you got here," he countered as neutrally as possible.

He heard the Dean wannabe huffing in agitation. "I'm not telling you the plan with every soul in hell listening," he grunted, "You'll have to trust me on this one, man."

Suddenly, Sam heard shackles clattering and clothes rustling. The maybe-but-not-quite-Dean must have freed himself. "Water, water..." he mumbled to himself, scurrying around the spacious, dark hall in search of anything that might help. "Ah, screw it," he grunted and shrugged out of his jacket, "don't need to get rid of all the flames, right?" Decision made, he approached Sam in fast strides and temporarily extinguished a good part of the fiery circle with the leather jacket.

Although still hesitant to trust him, Sam took his alleged brother's hand, stumbled out of the circle and found himself panting heavily. It was a miracle how much easier breathing could become within one single step – and that even though they were technically still in hell.

"Sammy," he heard Dean addressing him, "Are you ready to go?"

Nodding curtly, Sam finally dared looking up to meet his brother's gaze.

But all he could see was the visage of a demon.

Ever so briefly, his eyes widened, and he silently berated himself for hoping. Of course Dean wouldn't be stupid enough to come. Of course the demons would try to get to him the way they knew would work – through his brother.

The question now, though, was – should Sam play along?

Gulping, he regained his composure, hopefully quickly enough. "Show me the way," he spoke, scanning the room once more, only so he did not have to keep looking at the demon that claimed to be his brother.

"It's close to where you...got in," Demon Dean informed him and walked ahead toward the room's far end, "You remember the place, right?"

Inhaling softly, Sam started to see where this was going. Before anything else, they wanted to find the portal, huh? Too bad the bastard Metatron had closed it after him.

Too bad Sam couldn't open a new one – not yet. But it wasn't as if he planned on taking anybody along anyway, so pretending to take the bait was his best bet if he wanted to get away from those annoying sigils. After all, being stuck in hell was one thing he might be able to deal with – being stuck in hell powerless, though, was a situation he intended to get out of as soon as possible.

Thus, he nodded curtly and finally met what he assumed to be Demon Dean's eyes. "Follow me." Passing Dean, he reached the exit before him.

Before he could actually leave the room, though, the door was flung closed right in front of his face. Alarmed, he whirled around – to find Dean threatened by a knife against his throat.

"Son of a bitch!" the older hunter's lookalike cursed angrily as he struggled - and failed - to free himself from the grip of a delicate redhead Sam would have preferred to never meet again.

Abaddon herself had come to greet him.

"Well, well, I can't let you leave without even welcoming you first, now can I?" she asked playfully and pressed the knife further against Dean's throat for good measure, "Don't you have anything to say, Sam?"

Sighing angrily, Sam stepped away from the door and back into the room. As much as he had hoped to meet little resistance, there wouldn't be a solution now - not without a fight...or a good distraction. "Your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired," he offered blankly.

Laughing softly, she kicked a half-eaten plate of chicken wings in his general direction. Recognizing it for what it was, Sam spent a long moment staring at it. They had even bothered feeding false Dean? Did they really expect him to buy that?

Then again, though, they were probably not quite informed about the nature of Sam's ascension, at least not well enough.

For the longest part, the gates had been closed, hadn't they? So not much information could have seeped through anyway.

"Now, boy," Abaddon spoke conversationally, still holding Dean hostage, "Let's talk about the gates of hell."

"What about them?" Sam retorted, both glad and anxious that they were finally getting to the point.

"Don't play dumb on me," she shot back, "We know of two people that went after closing the gates forever, and incidentally – " Running the knife into Dean's skin, she made him cry out sharply, and Sam flinched in sympathy. " – I've got them both right here," she finished.

"Too bad they don't know more than you do, huh?" Sam bluffed in response.

Abaddon laughed with no hint of amusement in her voice. "You want me to kill your brother that badly, Winchester?" she hissed, making Dean cry out once again.

Staring at his alleged brother's demonic appearance once again, Sam averted his eyes at last. At this point, playing along would do him no good, not any longer. "That's not Dean," he stated blankly.

Huffing, Abaddon pushed her Dean-shaped underling away to step towards her actual captive. "And you're not Sam," she countered loftily and narrowed her eyes, "but you can't blame a girl for trying, can you?"

Stalking around him, assessing her prey, she huffed at last. "So that leaves us with some unworthy angel possessing Lucifer's true vessel,." She clicked her tongue. "Now that is rich," she commented heatedly and finally stepped a tad too close for comfort, "Tell me your name."

Glaring at her, he did not bother answering – but he did not bother backing away, either. She may have the upper hand in the situation, but he still had an ace up his sleeve. And, well, his hand-to-hand combat skills weren't that bad, either. All things considered, maybe provoking her wasn't even such a bad idea. "So you don't even know who you're dealing with?" he chuckled haughtily, "Figures." Towering over her, he leant even closer, "Knight of Hell or not, you're still only demonic scum."

Needless to say, she snapped in an instant.

Within a blink, he felt himself getting slammed to the ground by an unseen force, and he cursed inwardly when he realized he still couldn't move afterwards.

So much for hand-to-hand combat.

Even though he had ticked her off, she wasn't as careles as he'd hoped for.

Before he knew it, she was already hovering above him with a cruel grin on her face. "You're in no place to look down on me," she warned and leant close enough to whisper in his ear, "As a matter of fact, you're at my mercy." Her grin widened as she leant back again to pull something out of her jacket.

Sam's eyes widened – he would recognize that silver glint anywhere. Just as he had expected, she held an angel blade, and he seriously hoped his luck would return in the right moment.

"So what do you say, angel boy?" Abaddon purred playfully as she twirled the blade in her fingers, very aware of Sam's eyes following its every movement, "Are you willing to tell me your name and mission or..." Smiling at his glare, she lightly ran the blade across his cheek. With any other object, it would have been nothing but a caress. With a blade like that, though, Sam gasped in pain. "...or do I need to cut the information out of you?" she finished icily.

Trying feebly to suppress a kind of pain far too real for his liking, he narrowed his eyes at her, "Bite me, bitch."

Here it was – the one chance he would get to escape hell.

If he was hurt, then the gates of hell must have been weakened somehow, somewhere close to his own location.

Now if only he could locate the rift – or even shift it.

If only he was not dead set on suppressing the pain rather than understanding it, feeling it, controlling it.

It was only such a shallow cut, and yet it burnt even more menacingly than holy fire itself, angry, loud and screaming. His vision blurred, and he could no longer tell whether he was actually seeing those dark shadows lingering above them or not. He could not bring himself to care, either. Before he knew it, the pain increased tenfold, and he only vaguely noticed the mad glint in Abaddon's eyes as she carved a long line of blood and blinding blue light down his throat and across his chest.

Suddenly, he registered a high-pitched noise that shattered the windows and made Abaddon's eyes widen in alarm.

Distracted by the sheer agony, Sam did not even bother listening. It was probably his own scream anyway.

"Oh Holy Moose in Heaven, your brother asked me to call you every ten minutes, so here I am, talking to a giant plush moose so I don't feel quite as unheard as I probably am."

Sam's eyes widened as Crowley's words awakened him out of his pain-induced shock and brought back to the present. Either he had just been hallucinating or...hearing a prayer.

And, what little his impaired vision told him suggested that most likely, some of the sigils had been broken along with the windows.

"What have you done?" Abaddon demanded furiously, pressing the blade further into his skin, but thankfully not quite into his flesh yet. Clearly, the situation started scaring even her.

Good for her.

Naturally, Sam huffed in response, "Bit rusty in torturing angels, are we?" He was drained of his powers, distracted by pain and still restricted in his movements. Sure enough, though, he could see a brand-new rift in reality forming just above her head.

Only a bit more and...

On cue, his tease got her mad enough to sink the blade deeper. Once again, he felt himself burning in white, hot agony. He heard himself screaming.

At the same time, though, he found himself engulfed by something warm, something welcoming.

He sensed his powers returning.

It felt as if an eternity had passed even though it had only been a second, but suddenly he was strangely awake again.

"My, my, if that isn't a surprise," he heard Crowley again. This time, however, it wasn't just a voice within his head – this time, he was actually hearing him.

Without even realizing it, Sam found himself panting for the untainted air that suddenly surrounded him.

"You've got to be joking," Abaddon hissed through gritted teeth. She was still hovering above him with the angel blade pressed into his skin, but her attention was no longer focused on Sam.

Granted, that didn't change the fact the pain screaming through his very being was still just as real. But he was no longer trapped in a sigil-filled dungeon within the depths of hell.

He was lying in the center of a small chapel in Detroit.

He was back on earth...

His eyes widened.

...and so was Abaddon.

Once again, Sam did not even think about it. If she had not been so distracted by Crowley's mere presence, she would have probably noticed there were no longer any anti-angel sigils protecting her. She would have pushed the blade so far into his chest it would have killed him before he could get dangerous.

As it was, however, Sam had no problem reaching for her face, watching her eyes widen in shock just before they lit up in blinding blue light. Mere seconds later, she slumped to the ground smitten.

Breathing heavily, Sam pushed her incapacitated body off himself and finally managed pulling the blade out of his abdomen. But he did not even have it in him to stand up again. Instead, he simply rolled onto his back and stared at the portal to hell still shining brightly just above him.

Then Crowley appeared in his field of vision. "Closing the gates of hell forever just to rip new holes into its walls," he commented dryly and nodded appreciatively, "Smart move, moose."

Sam simply glared back. Had Crowley known all this time? More importantly, though... "Devil's Trap, right here, right now," he ordered quietly with his eyes still fixed on the rift, "I can't close it."

Crowley arched an eyebrow, but did not comment on it. Instead, he motioned towards the very ground Sam was lying on – and a certain set of red lines painted on it. "Already done," he reported and looked at Abaddon, "though I would advise you to move a bit, unless you want Sleeping Beauty to tear you apart as soon as she's awake again."

Sam understood the reason behind that statement, but he only sighed in response.

With the adrenaline gone, he couldn't move a single muscle.

Thankfully, though, he didn't need to. All of a sudden, he heard a door being slammed open, followed by fast, heavy footfalls.

Funnily enough, Sam recognized the boots before anything else, and he could not help smiling in welcome.

"Sammy!"

He might have ended up ripping open a portal to hell.

He might have gotten nearly killed in the process.

But things would be all right.

Dean had come to get him.

- Week Ten (2): End -

Notes: I'll have to edit/upload from my phone for a few days, so even though I'm trying, the next chapter might take until Monday (depending on whether my moody keyboard and ff-net's editor keep cooperating x-x)

Aaanyway, as always, thank you for reading, and please remember to leave a review :3