When Juliet comes barging into a meeting, Crowley knows something has gone wrong with his perfect plan. He turns to his three underlings and says, "Thank you; we'll resume this later." They all nod and hurry out. He glances towards his assistant. "Melanie, be a dear and fetch the hound keepers."
"Of course, sir," she chirps, immediately taking her leave.
Juliet remains by the door, tense. "Sweetheart," Crowley croons, going to her and caressing her ears. "Lead me to our guest."
She rubs her flank against his legs, circling him completely, before setting off at a lope; Crowley hurries after her. He whistles sharply, which should summon every hound in the complex. Within moments, Delilah, Cally, and Helen are there, keeping pace with Juliet. Toby, Crowley's largest hound and Helen's mate, arrives just as Crowley turns the corner to see Frank's dead meatsuit on the floor of the hall and the door of Dean Winchester's cage wide open.
There was no way for a human, even a Winchester, out of those chains or that room. Not unless Crowley's girls turned on him. But why would either of them do that?
Toby rumbles at Crowley's shoulder; he scratches under Toby's chin, mind racing through contingencies. Winchester was wounded, weaponless, and can't possibly know his way around the complex. There are hellhound patrols and two dozen demons; any leverage Winchester could provide is void, as Crowley already has him. Of course, if permanent harm comes to him… well, his brother killed Lilith. But can he take on Crowley's entire army?
Only Crowley's best and brightest are at the complex. Sam Winchester is far more palatable than Lucifer or Alistair. It's in Crowley's best interest to keep Dean Winchester alive, if not unharmed. Surely Azazel's brat will understand if his intractable brother has a few minor cuts and bruises. Maybe a torn shoulder and broken bones. It's not like the man won't heal.
Crowley sighs in disgust, kicking the meatsuit. "Hunt," he orders his girls. "Bring me the human alive." Patting Toby's head, he says, "Stay with me." To his underlings, he commands, "There's a Winchester loose in the complex. Bring him to me alive." The girls take off and Crowley shakes his head in disappointment. "It seems Milly and Daisy have betrayed me, boy," he tells Toby, spinning on his heel. "Who should I replace them with? Victoria and Rochelle are lovely, aren't they?"
Toby doesn't answer, of course, but Crowley starts listing all available hounds and musing on their merits, keeping his focus on Toby's body language as they pass rooms and go down hallways. It's a maze, this place. Crowley's minions keep getting lost, so there's no way a human could navigate it without help. The fact that the man hasn't been located yet just provides further proof that two of Crowley's best girls have chosen a new master.
How? Milly was the one who caught the bastard, for fuck's sake. Besides that, they'd only seen him trussed up like a pig being slaughtered. They'd gone to claim him when his deal came due. They returned that night, tails between their legs, ears drooping, ashamed of themselves for failing. They'd been salivating for a chance to redeem themselves! How could his precious girls betray him for a mewling infant Winchester?
Toby suddenly lunges forward with a snarl, barreling around a corner. Crowley rushes after him and then stops immediately because there's a Devil's Trap drawn in blood on both walls, Daisy is in the process of killing Keith, and Milly is crouched between Toby and Dean, growling.
"Bad girls!" Crowley shouts.
Daisy saunters, the bitch, over to Dean's side.
"Sic 'em, Toby!" Crowley orders.
It isn't until Toby remains still that Crowley remembers Daisy whelped him. Bloody fucking hell.
.
So, it turns out that having two hellhounds on your side is very helpful when trying to escape from a demonic maze full of demons. Guns are useless, and so are knives—except for that knife they got from Ruby, which Dean is clutching in his one good hand while trailing Daisy through endless halls.
There's gotta be an exit somewhere, but Dean's so turned around he couldn't even find his way back to the armory. He'd stocked up after reclaiming his own weapons, but he can't even move his right arm anymore. If he doesn't get medical attention soon, it'll be bad.
Milly and Daisy have dealt with five demons, while Dean just trudges behind them, doing his best to stay on his feet. A sixth comes out of nowhere while both girls are busy and Dean barely dodges in time; when he overbalances, Dean shoves the demon-killing knife into the meatsuit's neck. He then sags against the wall to catch his breath, until Milly comes to nose his hand.
"Alright, girl," he says. "Let's keep goin'."
Daisy scouts ahead while Milly stays beside him, and he's able to walk (albeit so slowly it's a fucking nightmare) with only occasionally leaning on her. When Daisy starts barking, Milly shoots forward and by the time Dean gets there, two more demons are down. But Milly angles herself between Dean and the corridor, ruff up and teeth bared, and that can only mean bad things.
"Okay, I got an idea," Dean mutters. Both meatsuits are dead so he uses the knife to slice up one of their arms and then painstakingly draws Devil's Traps on the walls, lining them up as precisely as he can. He has zero idea if it'll work or not, because any demons coming won't actually be istanding/i in or underneath them, but it's the best he can do. There's black creeping in the edge of his vision and he knows he won't be able to stand for much longer.
He has to figure what's warding this place and break it. It's the only way out.
A gigantic hellhound tears around the corner, snarls echoing off the walls, and behind it is the smarmy British ass, who shouts, "Bad girls! Sic 'em, Toby!" But it doesn't. It just growls at Milly without moving.
Crowley looks surprised for a second before scowling. He doesn't step forward, so the Traps must work.
"You said I'm your leverage," Dean says, subtly leaning into Daisy. "How about you let me out of this place and I'll tell Sam not to turn you into a smudge on the floor?"
"Interesting proposition," Crowley returns. "How about you go back into your cage, stop playing with sharp things, and wait like a good boy until your betters are done negotiating?" He smirks with all of his teeth and Dean can't even muster up the proper amount of rage. It's all he can do to stay upright.
Crowley is frightened of Sam. Dean knows it's the only reason he's still alive and in one piece.
"They'll have to be destroyed, you know," Crowley says, looking at Milly and then Daisy. "Unfaithful hounds are useless."
There's the rage, welling up like a tide. Dean steps forward, and while Toby growls, he cedes ground as Milly and Daisy keep pace with Dean, still in-between him and the hound.
Crowley tilts his head inquisitively. "What are you doing, you little brute?" he asks. "None of your weapons will work on me, and though you seem to be controlling the girls somehow, they won't attack me."
He's standing right at the edge of the trap, less than fifty feet away. Dean forces himself to keep going. Toby steps back and back and back, until he's through the Traps, beside Crowley. Daisy stops just inside the edge of them, out of Crowley's reach because of the Traps' power. With Milly's help, Dean finally reaches that spot, too.
"You're the kind of arrogant bastard who'd power your wards with your own power, right?" Dean says. He's banking everything on that assumption.
Crowley narrows his eyes. "What does that matter?" He rakes his gaze down Dean's body. "You're barely standing, you idiot. If you'd get back in your cage, I could have a doctor look over you. You're no good to me dead."
Dean smiles because his assumption is right, and then he throws everything he has into lunging forward, knife ready—
He plows into Crowley, all three hounds snarling or howling, and with his weight behind it, and gravity, the knife goes all the way in, and the last thing he sees before mercifully blacking out is the shock in Crowley's eyes and the lightning that crackles through him.
.
Sam is sitting on the Impala's hood, eyes closed, reaching as far and as deep as he can when Dean blinks back into his awareness.
He shoots to his feet, fists clenched, and then with everything he has, he blasts his way through crumbling wards to see Dean's prone body collapsed on Crowley and two hellhounds battling while a third is licking at Dean's face.
Ignoring the two fighting, Sam rushes to Dean; he's ready to kill the hound but it backs away, ears lowered and tail between its legs. "Oh, fuck, Dean," he whispers as he gently turns Dean over. There's something wrong with the way his right arm is hanging and there's nothing visible to explain why he's unconscious, but Sam knows intimately what demons and angels can do that doesn't leave marks.
His senses are on high alert, so he can feel the demons approaching, dozens of them.
One of the hellhounds that was fighting slinks over and settles beside the one that was licking Dean. It goes against everything he knows about them but he could swear they're both concerned.
It's that impossible thought that saves them.
He keeps his hands on Dean but grabs the hounds with two tendrils of grace, and as he flies them all away, he pours all of his rage and hate and fear into a burst of grace that will spread through the building and then keep going until it runs out, killing every demonic thing it touches.
There'll be fallout, he knows. He doesn't care.
He lands in the panic room with Dean and two whining hellhounds, and he doesn't have the first clue how to help his brother. A doctor? A hospital? Kidnap an angel?
Angels can heal, he knows that. Gabriel might do it, but Sam knows he'll destroy anything that touches Dean right now.
Angels can heal. Sam looks down at his hand. He has Lucifer's grace but he doesn't know how to use it in ways that don't harm. He hasn't slept in days, hasn't eaten, has used his powers far more than he ever has before, and he doesn't even know what all is wrong with Dean.
"For Dean," he murmurs, because what's the point of what Dean calls his fuck-off powers if he can't use them to help his brother?
He gently rests his palm on Dean's chest, right over his heart.
Angels can heal. Sam's no angel but he's sure as fuck something, and it's all about intent, isn't it? Will.
"Please," he says.
Warmth pools under his hand and sinks into Dean. Sam will never know how long he kneels there, warm light surrounding them both, but as he falls across Dean's chest, limp and exhausted, he hears, "Sammy!" and it's all worth it.
.
The first thing Dean notices is warmth racing through his body, his aches fading; his shoulder stops throbbing, his muscles stop shuddering, and he feels like he's slept for a week, like he's eaten three full meals, like he's never been thirsty.
It's all centered on a hand on his chest, so he opens his eyes—just in time to watch Sam topple over. "Sammy!" he shouts, bringing his arms up to catch Sam. "Sam, fuck, what did you do."
There's no answer, of course. Just an unconscious little brother and two worried hellhounds. "Shit," he mutters, carefully sliding Sam off him and arranging him so he'll be more comfortable. He does a quick injury check but Sam seems fine. Just unconscious. And Dean is better than fine, so he figures Sam wore himself out. How long has it been since Crowley grabbed him?
"Okay, so blankets first," Dean says, rolling to his feet. There's a pile in the corner, so he digs the thickest, fluffiest comforter out and then tucks it around Sam. "Next, I should see what supplies we've got." If they don't have food—well, he can't go out and get any, not until Sam's up, so he'll just have to make do. Nothing he hasn't done before. "And wash some clothes," he continues, "since we've both been wearin' these since, well, I don't know when. Been awhile." He looks down at his blood- and sweat-stained shirt. "Clothes before food," he decides, since he's not hungry and Sam's sleeping.
Milly and Daisy have been sitting quietly, but both perk up when he turns to look at them. "What do hellhounds even eat?" he asks helplessly.
.
After showing Milly and Daisy where the yard is and telling them not to cross the wards, Dean untucks Sam and strips all his clothes off, then puts a pair of clean boxers on him and tucks him back under the comforter. There's a pile of dirty clothes in front of the washing machine, so he shoves it all in and then strips his own off. Once it's going, he takes a brief shower.
He's never felt more physically fit in his life. Whatever Sammy did, it cleared up all of his chronic pains. He wouldn't even be surprised if all his bones no longer showed signs of ever being broken. He stretches the shoulder Crowley had hurt but there's no lingering stiffness. His left knee doesn't have that old pull in it, those two poorly-healed fingers aren't crooked anymore. The only evidence left of all the crap he's survived are the scars.
Shaking off the maudlin turn his thoughts have taken, Dean steps out of the shower and pulls on a pair of boxers and a shirt that's too big—must be Sam's—and goes to the kitchen to see what supplies they have left. Whenever Sam wakes up, he'll probably be hungry.
.
There's leftovers in the fridge that are about to start growing mold; he tosses them out. He finds some chicken in the freezer and decides to make smothered chicken with mashed potatoes: it'll be easy on Sam's stomach, just in case, and it's also one of his favorites.
Once the chicken's in the oven, he steps outside to check on the hounds. It's only now, after everything's quieted down, that he wonders why he can see them.
Sam killed Lilith, who Ruby claimed held his contract; the hellhounds came for him, and Sam ordered them away. But was his deal ever actually closed? He can still see the hounds, and only people close to the Veil can, according to Bobby. Sam can see them, too, that night and on the road when Milly grabbed him. It's either the grace or the demon blood, maybe both.
Milly bounds over, looking more like a happy Labrador than a fearsome hound of Hell. There's a rabbit in her mouth, which she drops at his feet before flopping down to start tearing it apart.
"The pair'a you are gonna chase away all the natives, aren't you?" he laughs. Daisy comes tearing out of the woods with some bird in her mouth, so Dean just shakes his head and goes back inside.
.
Since the chicken's still cooking, Dean goes on a cleaning spree. Every five minutes, he checks on Sam, so the cleaning is slow going. He pulls the chicken out and checks on the hounds, who are curled up together on the grass. It should be nowhere near as adorable as it is.
There's nothing left of their catch except blood on the grass. They even ate the bones, which is convenient.
After checking on Sam again, Dean joins them in the yard. "I figure it's time we talk," he says, sitting in front of them. They both raise their heads to look at him. "Y'all clearly understand me when I talk. Is there any way y'all can communicate with me?" Remembering when Milly told him her name, "How about one bark for yes, two for no?"
They both bark once.
"Huh," he says. "Okay. So, y'all chose me over Crowley?"
Milly barks once.
"I really wish I could ask why," Dean mutters. "So. Are y'all still invisible to people who haven't sold their souls?"
Daisy barks, this time.
"Will y'all be happy to stay here?" he asks.
Again, they bark in unison. Daisy's is slightly deeper, just like she's slightly bigger. Milly belly-crawls over, tail wagging, and slides across Dean's lap, just like any other dog he's ever met. She should smell like ash, should be shedding soot all over him, but she's not. She feels a bit warm but it's fur under his hand, not fire and smoke. His eyes and his hand are receiving entirely different information and it's possibly the most disturbing thing he's ever experienced.
"I don't know how Sam'll react when he wakes up," Dean tells them, scratching Milly under her chin. "But can y'all look after him the way you have me?"
Daisy barks softly.
"If… if he doesn't want y'all around," Dean says. "Don't fight, okay? Just go. I can't pick you over him." He hesitates, fingers tangling in Milly's fur. "I won't."
Milly whines, but they both bark once.
He stays with them for as long as he can stand it, and then he goes to check on Sam again.
.
Sam doesn't wake until the morning. Dean picked the food up at sunset, and didn't bother eating any himself. He then slipped in beside Sam, untucking him enough that he could fit, and tried to cradle his baby brother like he did when his brother was actually a baby. He doesn't expect to sleep, but he wakes when Sam does, and then he nearly cries in relief.
"Dean?" Sam mumbles, batting at him lightly with a trembling hand. "Why'm I s'weak?"
"I don't have a fucking clue, Sam," Dean replies, sitting up and petting his little brother's hair. "But did you eat while that fucker had me? Did you sleep or bathe or take care of any basic fucking necessities?"
Sam's tries those fucking puppy dog eyes, but Dean won't crumble. He won't.
"How long, Sam?" he asks calmly. He doesn't stop petting Sam's greasy hair because he knows it's helping keep Sam focused. It isn't the first time Sam forgot the basic fucking necessities.
"Four days," Sam mutters petulantly. He stares up at Dean. "Couldn't find you."
"I know, Sammy," Dean says. He extricates himself from the blanket and then his little brother-turned-octopus. "C'mon, you're gonna eat somethin', you're gonna shower, and you're gonna sleep some more." He grabs Sam's wrists and tugs. "Up and at 'em, Sammy. Clearly, someone's gotta look after you."
Once he's standing and steady on his feet, Sam wraps his octopus arms around Dean. "Couldn't find you," he says again, face buried in the join of Dean's neck and shoulder.
"You got me out," Dean says, squeezing Sam as tight as he can. "And then you nearly killed yourself healin' me. But we're both safe. We're both here."
He waits until Sam begins to pull away before letting his arms drop.
"I'm hungry, Dean," Sam admits, in that same small voice he used when that damned rabbit foot made him lose his shoe.
"Well, I may have stress cooked last night," Dean says. "There's gotta be something in there you'll like."
Sam's a bit sluggish, but that's fine. That's what Dean is for: to make sure Sam eats and sleeps and bathes and is safe and has fun. Since Dad shoved Sam into his arms and told him to not look back. Sam literally saved the world and then traveled back in time, so it's not like Dean has any complaints here.
He manages to get Sam to eat half a plain chicken breast and some broth, then he has to help Sam shower because he can't trust that Sam'll be able to stand that long on his own and Sam's entirely too big for the bathtub (not that he'd trust Sam to take a bath without drowning).
Once Sam's dressed in boxers and a loose shirt, Dean asks, "You wanna sleep in a bed or back in the panic room?"
"In our room," Sam says, listing into Dean. "'m'tired."
"Alright, let's get you down, then," Dean says, guiding and half-carrying Sam down the stairs. It's a process.
"C'you tell the story 'bout the prince'n'the dragon?" Sam asks as he mostly falls onto the pallet and nearly drags Dean with him. He's barely awake, and it's probably mostly just his stubborn ass being stubborn.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean says. He arranges the pillows and blankets for Sam's optimal comfort and then settles beside him. "There was a prince," Dean begins. "The youngest son of a mighty king." He reaches out to gently tug at a lock of Sam's hair. "He always had questions for their tutors that none of his brothers ever considered."
Sam's asleep in minutes. Nearly an hour passes before Dean can bring himself to go back upstairs and see to the hounds.
.
In Hell, Alastair celebrates Crowley's death by breaking 666 souls. While the method of Crowley's death is worrisome, Alastair will worry about it once his celebration is complete.
When Alastair declares himself King of Hell, no one dares deny him.
"Now," he says to the Keepers of the Hounds, "have your pets scour Earth because I want those brothers found. Kill the older. Bring the younger to me." He grins. "In pieces, if need be."
.
In Heaven, Bartholomew, Inias, and Hannah are sent to investigate the massive surge of grace that destroyed 50 square miles in Massachusetts (not that many angels know or care what Massachusetts is) and there would be no interest in the site, save for the grace. Thousands of humans perished, though the investigation reveals that the target was what seemed to be a demon's court. Michael and Raphael listen to the report, dismiss the seraphs, and then Raphael turns to Michael and says in bewildered horror, "The amount of grace—it could only have been an archangel, Brother."
Michael sighs. "Lucifer is yet caged. I do not believe it was Gabriel, but we must find him, if only to be sure."
.
On Earth, Sam Winchester dreams of falling through a void on fire while an ancient voice murmurs, You are such an entertaining thing, small one. He wakes huddled against his brother, tears on his face, and he doesn't remember why he's so frightened.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispers. He doesn't know why it makes Sam cry when he adds, "I'm right here. I'm not gonna leave you." He just holds on until Sam finally slips into an exhausted slumber.
Nearly a week has passed, and Sam's strength is slowly returning. He has an uneasy truce with the hounds, though he did warm up after Dean told him the whole story.
Because his senses are still slightly dulled, he doesn't realize for most of a day that one of the wards has crumpled just enough for the most powerful archangel to notice. He rebuilds it the moment he realizes, but doesn't know it's too late.