Autem Diaboli Mors

….call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name.

Dean was on the Hunt.

He had canvassed most of the Los Angeles suburbs over the space of four days, including some very 'interesting' forays into gang territory that he basically had to bribe his way out of just to leave with his skin intact. He barely had taken the time to eat or sleep. Sam was out there. Or, more accurately, the Devil was out there, and Sam was his hostage.

He glanced down at the pile of wrinkled and disorganized print-outs on the Impala's passenger seat and sighed.

"Well, here goes nothin'" he muttered, pocketing his FBI badge and checking to make sure his gun was clear in it's shoulder holster.

He got out of the car and put on his sunglasses, looking across the street at the small convenience store on the corner sequestered among other shops in a mini-strip mall, cordoned off by police tape with one patrol car still parked outside next to a police forensics van.

According to the police band, there had been a standard robbery during the night, but that something had gone 'sideways' during the incident. Dean had been checking up on literally every out of the ordinary mention - literally anything that could, possibly, maybe be tied to a supernatural event. In Dean's mind, there just wasn't a possible way that Lucifer could be walking around and not letting loose every once in a while. It just wasn't in his nature. No way that he was laying low. No way that he would be able to maintain a low-profile.

Dean had been starting to wonder if he had seriously whiffed on that opinion.

He had found nothing. Some reports of voodoo rituals that turned out to be the standard hucksters and frauds. An incident where someone had reported a haunting, but was so jacked up on Meth, he probably saw floating pink unicorns as well. Several wanna-be witches performing fake occult rituals that they dug out of books of 'witchcraft' that they had found at garage sales...Dean had personally visited over a hundred scenes and had found nothing. Nada.

Zip.

He recognized and the waved at the cop on duty and grimaced to himself. He was becoming a permanent fixture at L.A. crime scenes in the last week. The cops were starting to recognize him as well. Not a good policy for a Hunter. He needed to get a break, or start thinking of another strategy. And fast.

"What's shakin', Mitch?" Dean grunted, inclining his head at the store and police tape.

The officer smiled. "Oh, you'll like this one, 'Mulder'," he answered, the snark evident in his voice. "We even got some weird symbols on the wall in this one...say?If this actually is aliens or something, do you think you can bring Scully in on this one? I love redheads."

"Very funny, jackass..." Dean smiled back. "Keep it up. I'm sure traffic duty for a year is lots of fun."

"Yeah, yeah, no offence, don't get all pushed out of shape, Agent," Mitch smiled, walking over and lifting up the tape for Dean. With a sweep of his arm, he indicated the shattered glass door, which had been literally ripped off of it's hinges. "After you, sir."

Dean muttered a thanks and ducked into the shop, tucking his FBI shield into his belt so that it was visible.

He took off his sunglasses slowly.

The place looked like a bomb had gone off. A bomb filled with blood.

The forensics teams had removed the bodies, but the carnage that had happened here was evident on every wall, every surface, even over all of the merchandise. And, yes, there were even some crudely drawn, but actually authentic, demonic sigils written on the walls in blood, and, Dean noted to his dismay, other fluids that had been forcibly extracted from the victims. A couple of the forensic officers glanced over at him and nodded. Dean noticed that even they looked pale.

"Holy mother..." Dean said, moving slowly inside. He turned slowly, then walked over to one of the forensics team members.

"Camera?" he asked quietly.

"Dead as a doornail," the officer replied. "The tape was ...I dunno...wiped or something."

Dean frowned and looked around, then walked to the store's facade and out across the street.

"And the traffic cam? What about the Shell station across the street?" he asked, pointing at the two spots outside.

The officer frowned. "Nope. Haven't got that far yet. Gimme a sec Agent Van Zant." He walked over to a large briefcase and pulled out a notebook and flipped it open, logging into the police database. "Let's see...Eastlake Avenue and North Broadway...yep, got 'em." Dean leaned in and watched. "Let's see...robbery call came in at 3 am last night...," the officer mumbled, fast forwarding through the playback from the Shell station cam." OK, here we go. Oh...oh holy hell..."

The camera had a clear view of the lit up store. Bodies hit the glass, blood spraying like a fountain. The carnage inside was evident, even from so far away. After a few minutes, a figure came out, covered in blood.

Sam.

"Holy...that's the perp?...That was one guy? One guy did all this...?" the officer whispered in disbelief.

Dean squinted, and nodded. "Yep. One guy."

"Jesus...you...you know this guy? This the one that you've been looking for? The boys in the station said the Feds've been hounding the crime scenes all damned week..."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah." He straightened up away from the laptop and took a deep, steadying breath.

Finally.

"OK...ok, get on the horn to your lieutenant, "Dean barked. "I want traffic footage for a ten mile radius, this guy is on foot. I want to know where the hell he went...and I want it yesterday, understand?"

The officer nodded quickly and picked up his smartphone, dialling quickly as Dean surveyed the scene once again.

Damn.

Why would Lucifer go off like this? he thought. It's like a wild animal got loose in here...

"They're on it, Agent," the officer interrupted. "Also, the Lieutenant requested that you come down and help him coordinate the search web and capture, if that's ok with you guys."

Dean shook his head. "I just need to know one thing..." he fixed the officer with a cool gaze. "Where he is."

The officer looked at him like he had three heads.

"Agent...you can't seriously be considering going after this guy alone, right?" He glanced around the room again. "I mean, look at this place...there had've been five people in here when this went down..."

"Tell your Lieutenant to back off. This is a Federal matter," Dean replied calmly. "Your resources are at our disposal, and we at the FBI appreciate that. Tell him... that if I don't report back within two hours of locating this sonofabitch, then he can send in the cavalry. Got it?"

The officer let out a deep breath. "Sir...this is highly..."

"Got it?" Dean repeated, his voice like steel.

The officer swallowed and nodded, talking quickly into his phone.

I'm coming for you, you bastard...

Crowley, covered and dripping in green slime, burst out of the side-door to the Resistance Headquarters warehouse and shuddered, furiously wiping the residue away from his head. He pulled out a handkerchief and also began scrubbing at the symbols traced onto his hands in charcoal.

Castiel came out of the door a few seconds later and sighed.

"Crowley..."

"I don't want to hear it, Castiel!" Crowley growled. "I think that that witch is just having fun with me..."

"I'm sure that Rowena wouldn't waste her time on..."

"Do you have any idea how much this stuff itches?!" Crowley interrupted. "Of course she's being petty!"

"Crowley..."

Crowley held up a hand. "No, Castiel, that is it...we have been at this for days now, and have found out absolutely nothing as to what Judah did to me and why I have so much power. I say, enough is bloody well enough. I'll be at my record label offices. Drinking. You're welcome to come along."

"I...uh..." Castiel answered , looking back at the Resistance doors.

"Fine," Crowley grunted, closing his eyes, but keeping his hand up. "But you tell her," he hissed, jabbing his finger emphatically at the open door, "that I will only come back when she can prove to me that whatever mumbo-jumbo she is going to conjure up is actually going to get some results...and not burn half of my skin off!" With that, he stalked off to his Ferrari, jammed the keys into the ignition, and sped off, spraying gravel everywhere.

Castiel sighed and lowered his head, going back inside.

Dean got the call back from the LAPD less than thirty minutes later. He had had to argue with the Lieutenant once again for an additional ten minutes before he, grudgingly, agreed to let Dean go after Sam alone.

Venice Beach. Sam had been tracked to Venice Beach. To the scene of the attack from the giant sea-monster a few days back.

There were still lookey-loos camped out all over the beach. Freaks and conspiracy theorists mixed up together, combing the place for magic, supernatural reside or whatever. The military and police had cleared out the actual debris from the fight itself ages ago, but there was still the feeling of 'electricity' in the air from such a bizarre event that drew people to it like flies to honey.

And somewhere in that mass of humanity was Sam.

He found a parking spot a few blocks away and changed his clothes in a public restroom, donning some loose sweats to try to blend in...he couldn't afford to have Lucifer spot him too soon. He slung a small backpack over his shoulder and hiked down to the beach itself, scanning the crowds.

He spent nearly a three hours doing it before he headed away from the beach, shaking his head in disappointment. He had also made damned sure to relay his lack of progress back to the LAPD every hour to keep them from freaking out and storming the place. Still, no sign of Sam. He trudged towards the boulevard, past the restaurants and the panhandlers, some of them bathing in the street fountains.

He froze.

Dean rushed over to one of them and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him out of the water.

"Heeeey!" the man spluttered, howling in protest. "I'm allowed ta wash here...it's the law, man!"

"Where did you get this jacket?!" Dean growled, holding the lapel bunched up in his fist. It was white, with the unmistakable pattern of bloodstains on it, albeit washed out from the exposure to water and soap.

"It's mine!" the man protested, defiantly trying to wrest it from Dean's grasp.

Dean tightened his grip and pulled him closer. "WHERE?!" he yelled.

The man turned pale, eyes going wide. "Hey...hey, chill out man..."

Dean glared.

A couple of police officers had begun walking over to the scene. Dean whipped out his badge with his free hand and held it out, never breaking eye contact with the homeless man.

"Back off..." he warned the officers. He held the man's gaze. "Where...?"

"Down...j...just d...down the alley...behind the stores...he's...man...that dude's nuts, though...you don't wanna mess with him..."

Dean let him go, and the man, off-balance, fell back ungracefully into the fountain. "Yeah, well, so am I..." Dean muttered, heading off to where the man had pointed, glaring at the two beat cops as he passed them. To their credit, they were smart enough to realize that it would be much better immediately finding something better to do than to get in the way of a pissed-off Federal Agent.

"His eyes, man!" the homeless man called out after Dean. "...there was something wrong with that dude's eyes!"

Dean rounded the corner leading to the aforementioned alleyway, drew his gun, and began slowly moving down it, navigating around piled up trash and discarded, broken restaurant chairs.

He saw a form, crouching over a pile of empty candy wrappers and potato chip bags...'loot' from the convenience store robbery.

The hell...?

He slowly turned his head towards Dean.

Pitch black eyes stared back at him from Sam's bloodstained face, and with a guttural growl, he sprang with preternatural speed at Dean.

Dean fired, hitting Sam in the knee, spinning him out-of-control to the ground. Sam scrambled at the pavement and let out a howl of fury, trying to stand on one leg.

"Lucifer...?" Dean hissed, confused. This looked like an animal..."Sammy...?"

The gunshot brought the two police officers tearing around the corner. They pulled their weapons and began shouting.

"I said to BACK OFF!" Dean screamed at them, holding out his hand at them. He advanced slowly on Sam, who returned Dean's gaze with pure, venomous hatred.

"Sammy?" Dean repeated through dry lips.

The creature threw back his head and laughed - a deep, hollow, cold sound.

"Sam? Sam's not here, Winchester," it hissed. "There is only me now..."

"Lucifer? What the hell happened to you...?"

The black eyes stared back coldly at Dean.

With a howl of rage, it ran towards him, still amazingly fast despite dragging it's ruined leg behind him.

Dean fired again.

The second leg went out from under Sam, and it roared in fury. Windows around them shattered.

"What the hell was that!?" one of the officers screamed in panic.

Dean cocked his head, considering.

"A Demon. Nothing but a stinkin' Demon..." he muttered.

"I am LEGION!" Sam screamed at him, laughing hysterically. "I am the Ruler of Darkness, no mere Demon! I am the Beast! The Triple-Number!"

"Is he on something?!" one of the cops yelled at Dean, but he ignored them.

Dean slowly removed his back pack, eyes fixed on Sam.

"Allright then. Lucky I came prepared..."

He pulled out a leather bound book and a vial of Holy Water.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino... per caelum, caelum antiquos, glori Patri"

The Devil screamed.

Lucifer stood in the back of the alley, watching the scene unfold. He felt the presence beside him and smiled.

"Hello Father."

Judah moved to stand next to Lucifer and nodded to Himself.

"Hello Son."

Lucifer looked over, then back to Dean reading the Rites of Exorcism over his vessel.

"Can he see us?"

Judah shook His head. "Of course not. We are now standing beyond time and space. At the Threshold of Being. At the border of Life and Death. We are merely witnesses to this event."

Lucifer smiled. "So nice of you to let me witness my own death, then. I suppose I should thank you."

Judah smiled thinly. "Oh, not just me, son." His eyes went skyward, and Lucifer followed his gaze.

Dark figures stood all around the rooftops of the alley, like crows. Row upon row of them, hundreds, maybe thousands.

Reapers.

Lucifer scanned around until he saw one of them make his way out to stand in the front of the gathering.

Death himself.

"I didn't figure you'd miss this, either," Lucifer smiled.

"Oh, I wouldn't," Death replied, returning the humorless smile. "Allthough, this isn't the exact occasion that I had hoped for."

Lucifer clapped his hands gently together mockingly, smirking. "Well said."

Judah watched the exchange, then looked back at Dean standing over Lucifer in the alley, squinting.

"Oh, I see. There is only the Demon, now." He cast his gaze down, then looked back at Lucifer. "What a pity, son."

"Well, Father, you always did warn me that the Demonic energy would one day take over completely. Well, that day is here."

"Leaving you all too vulnerable for Dean Winchester to exorcise you," Judah mumbled. " How very clever of you. A favor?"

Lucifer's eyes twinkled. "A gift."

Judah thought about this for a moment then nodded. "You do realize, that once the Demon is exorcised, there is nowhere for it to go. You shall be utterly destroyed. The Vault of Souls in Hell is emptied and I have rendered it unable to receive any more."

Lucifer's eyebrows raised. "That was you?"

"Of course."

"What did you do with them all?"

Judah smiled. "Put them someplace safe."

"And what about the Empty? The Great Void?"

Judah shrugged. "Overrun and now ruled by the Old Ones I'm afraid, whom, I might add, have no love for you - your fault as well, son. There is nowhere left to go."

Lucifer smiled and looked back up at Death, who was regarding him like a vulture circling a corpse. "Oh, so this is a perfect day for you, then, isn't it."

Death's lips spread into a thin, ghastly smile, his eyes turning back to the scene in the alley.

"Today, I reap the Devil Himself," he said, his eyes going back to Lucifer's.

"Time's up."

"...libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!" Dean finished, his hand held out. Great streams of howling, red and black smoke flew out of Sam's mouth, the sound vibrating the very stone underneath their feet, almost like an earthquake. Birds died and fell from the sky all around them, and the air reeked of sulphur and brimstone. Dean gagged and fell back as the smoke funneled away, the air ripping and tearing at the turbulence, until finally, there was stillness. Silence.

The Devil was gone.

The Devil was dead.

Then he heard another sound.

Coughing.

Sam coughing...

"Sam...? Sam?!"

"My...my legs..." Sam grimaced. "Someone shot out..."

"Get an ambulance!" Dean screamed, turning back to the cops, who were standing slack-jawed at the mouth of the alley. "NOW! Move it!" The cops blinked, then began shouting into their radios simultaneously.

Dean turned back to Sam and gathered his shaking form into his arms.

"It's gonna be all right bro, I got ya," he whispered. "I found ya. I got ya."

"So, I've found you at last," a voice said from the stairway leading up into Crowley's loft offices at Hellfire Records. Crowley looked up sharply from his tumbler of whiskey and squinted.

"Who is that?" he asked, confused. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, I may know a trick or two for a locked door," the man replied. Crowley detected a slightly British, almost aristocratic accent. "One of many skills that I hope to put to use. To your benefit, of course."

"You broke in? You broke in here...?" Crowley answered, incredulous. "My dear fellow, you have no idea how unlucky you are. Especially on a day like today...I am in a seriously foul mood..."

"It took my programs a long time to find you, Mr. Crowley," the man said, chuckling. "Ironic, that."

"What is?" Crowley asked, confused.

"Your name, actually. Is it an alias?" He waved his hand in the air, dismissing it. "Never mind. It's only a funny coincidence, to be sure."

"It won''t be so funny a second from now..." Crowley grumbled, standing up.

"Oh, no no, I intend no harm!", the man said, throwing his hands up. "As I said, I am only here to help you...well, maybe we can help each other, actually."

Crowley tilted his head. "Start talking. And I'd advise you to make it good. Very good."

"Well, I saw your exploits on the telly, you see? The ones on the beach, battling the gigantic creature."

Crowley twirled his hand impatiently in the air, sipping his drink.

"That was Cthulhu himself, wasn't it?" Crowley glanced up sharply, and the man waved his hands dismissively. "No, no, don't answer that, actually, I know that it was...the question is...how did you mange to summon him? I mean actually summon him here and let him manifest?"

"Look, maybe this is a good time for you to turn around and walk away..." Crowley said lowly.

"No, please, hear me out. I'm a bit of an expert on these things, you see. The Old Ones? It's my life's work. In the family blood, if you want to put a finer point on it. I can help you...I have knowledge of these creatures that you couldn't possibly have access to..."

"You'd be surprised..." Crowley muttered. He leaned back in his chair. "What did you mean by 'in your family's blood'?"

"Well, you see, my family is, well, always has been, intimately involved with the Old Ones; studying them, cataloging them, and like you, or so I've surmised, stopping them from returning."

Crowley tented his fingers and leaned forward, squinting.

"Who are you, exactly, young man?"

The man's face broke into a huge smile as he rushed forward, extending his hand.

"It's Crowley too, as a matter-of-fact. Aleister Crowley."