And prepare for the angst XD Thanks to everyone who has been enjoying this so far!
Chapter Two
It was dark. Not like the night was dark, but like a black hole. Not just the absence of light, but the absence of…everything.
Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position slowly, trying to figure out what had happened. He pressed a hand to his chest. The last thing he remembered was a searing, numbing pain and then nothing. It had all happened so fast…
Was…was he dead?
He looked around the complete void, confused. What was this? It definitely wasn't Heaven, and he was pretty sure it wasn't Hell. Not Purgatory either, then what…
"Hello, Moose. Good to see you again."
It was surreal. Dean wasn't even entirely sure he believed what he was looking at. At Sam—no, Sam's body—lying on his bed in the suite they shared in Hell.
And it wasn't like they hadn't been here before. Dean still shuddered at the thought of how Sam must have felt when he had carried Dean's body into his room after Metatron stabbed him through the chest. He still remembered that first time in Cold Oak. It never got easier, or less painful, but they weren't entirely human anymore. They were stronger, less mortal, this wasn't supposed to happen.
Dean finally looked up from his brother's body, suddenly unable to stare at the pale, too still, bloodstained features for another second. He blinked, took a deep breath and turned to Cas and Wheatly who were standing silently to one side.
"There's gotta be something…I mean, he can't just…" Dean's hands clenched into fists and he shifted restlessly as he tried to get his thoughts together.
Juliet was lying on the bed at her master's feet, head lowered onto her paws as she whined. The sound nearly broke something new apart inside Dean, what little he had left that hadn't already been shattered.
He spun around and turned to Wheatly. "Look, you can deal with me, right? Or one of the crossroads demons can? We can make the contract anything we want."
"Dean," Cas said softly, before biting his lower lip.
"Master Winchester," Wheatly said quietly. "It doesn't work like that. Your position…you're not entirely human, and demons can only deal with humans."
Dean clenched his fists so hard that his fingernails bit into his palms, drawing hot blood, but he welcomed the pain to focus himself. "Then what?!" he shouted, jabbing a finger toward the bed. "Because I sure as hell am not going to leave my brother lying there!"
Cas sighed, running a hand wearily over his face. "Dean, the only thing I can think of is if we can find his soul. Then we might be able to bring him back."
"Then do it," Dean snarled.
"My lord," Wheatly stepped in. "I don't mean to be indelicate, but…Hell needs a ruler. This situation…it's balancing on the edge of a knife."
"Then let it burn! Let it all burn down!" Dean shouted at the little demon. "You think I give a damn right now?"
"No, but Sam would," Cas cut in firmly. "And you know that. Do not waste what you and your brother built."
"Sam's dead!" Dean snapped.
"Dean, think for a moment!" Cas snapped, and Dean met his eyes, shocked into listening. "Think about this whole situation! No one outside of Hell knew where we would be. So, unless we've had someone following us, or Asmodeus got lucky with a tip, someone here let out the information that we would be in Vegas this weekend. And whoever that is could have Asmodeus coming here now, and this time he'll know what to expect, and he'll be ready."
Dean clenched his jaw, torn. He knew Cas was right, and he knew he had duties, and yet…
He glanced back over at Sam's body, hands folded over the bloodstained shirt, hiding the bullet hole. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to scream and tear up Heaven and Hell looking for his brother's soul…but Cas and Wheatly were right. He had a duty. Not just to Sam and Hell, but to himself. If he broke now, he would never recover.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing in deeply, before he managed to steady himself a little, loosening his fists.
"Alright. The court needs to be addressed. Gather them, Wheatly. I'm gonna go clean up."
He still had Sam's blood all over him, and he needed to get it off. He needed to look the part of the new ruler—the temporary one, he told himself. He sure as hell was not gonna leave Sam dead for long. With all the resources they had been given, there had to be something in the archives or elsewhere that could bring Sam back.
He turned to his room and stripped out of his clothes, throwing them onto the floor of the bathroom. He'd have Wheatly throw them into the fires in Tartarus later. He never wanted to see them again.
He bent over the sink, washing Sam's blood from his hands, and watching the rusty streams flow down the drain.
He gave the injuries he had sustained a cursory scrub, knowing they would be mostly gone by tomorrow, and finally chanced to look at himself in the mirror.
He wished he hadn't. He looked tired, broken, not at all fit to address the court.
So, he took a deep breath, straightened, put his shoulders back, and flicked his eyes to black. It gave him a steely determination that was much better than the alternative.
"I swear, Sammy, I'll get the bastard who did this," he said.
He hurried out to his room and opened his closet. His eyes scanned his suit, but that was Sam's signature. He was still the Knight of Hell and as long as he was acting in that capacity, he was going to dress like it.
So out came the black jeans and t-shirt. The combat boots and the long black duster that settled over his shoulders like a cloak of darkness. He grabbed his katana and strapped it across his back, then strode out of the room.
Cas and Wheatly were waiting for him and they seemed somewhat relieved to see him put together.
"The court is awaiting your address, Your Ma—"
"Don't," Dean snapped at the steward. "Not yet."
Wheatly nodded respectfully and Dean shouldered past them to the throne room.
The demons were crowded into the open area, as Dean descended the stairs and stood in front of the throne, Cas and Wheatly at his back.
"I know you're all here looking for answers and I'm gonna give them to you," Dean said. "You probably have heard the rumors that…that the king is dead." He tried not to let his voice waver, and put every ounce of strength and anger into his next words that he could muster. "Well, it's true. So now, I'm in charge. And I also know that someone here betrayed us to Asmodeus." He scanned the room, eyes piercing. "And I am going to make it my personal duty to find out who did that. That's a promise."
The demons shifted uncomfortably in the room, but didn't say anything. Dean tried to spot any particular body language that could indicate betrayal, but saw none. He nodded once. "That's all for now."
He stepped down and into the antechamber to the throne room where Winston and several guards were waiting.
"Winston, I want you to find any demons who were not accounted for during the time between when we left Hell and when the hit went down and bring them to the dungeons," Dean said. "Especially any who's loyalty is already under suspicion. Those who joined on with Asmodeus when he was here last time."
"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas asked wearily.
"I'm finding out who did this," Dean snapped. "Look, see what you can do about Sam. I can't just sit around and stare at a corpse all day. See if you can find out what happened to his soul."
Cas' face showed pity as well as his own grief as he said, "You know I'll do everything in my power."
"Then do it!" Dean snapped. He turned back to Winston. "Come on, you're with me."
He strode off down the hall toward the prisons, Winston and several guards on his heels. Dean flicked his eyes black without even thinking about it, and along with the ominous flapping of his leather coat, he seemed more like an omen of death than a Knight of Hell.
Castiel stood by Sam's bedside and felt like part of his heart had been carved out of his chest. Memories of Sam lying near death due to the Shedim poison filtered in, when Castiel had first discovered that he couldn't heal the Winchesters any longer due to their demonic condition. He knew it wasn't his fault, really, but he was still furious with himself. If he'd been able to heal them, he might have been able to save Sam back at the hotel.
But then again, perhaps he had already been too far gone, there had been so much blood.
Castiel looked down and realized that Sam was still covered in blood. He bit his lip, but decided it would be better for all of them if he cleaned Sam up. He certainly didn't want Dean to be the one to have to do it.
He took a deep breath and reached down to gently grip Sam's wrists, pushing his arms to his sides. Just the touch of a body so familiar to him that no longer had a soul, no warmth, was enough to make him sick. The familiar features with no life behind them…
He bowed his head, overcome with emotion. His hands shook as he tried to fortify himself enough to undo the buttons on Sam's shirt.
A careful hand descended on his arm. "Allow me, angel."
Castiel turned with surprise to see Wheatly standing there. The steward must have come in without him knowing, a testament to his current state.
"It's fine," he managed, even though it wasn't at all fine. "I'll do it…"
Wheatly gave him a look, but it was only full of sympathy and understanding. "Please, this is my duty as steward. It is the least I can do for my king."
Gratefully, Castiel ducked his head and stepped to one side as Wheatly efficiently took over, taking out a pair of scissors to more easily undress Sam.
Castiel swallowed hard as the bullet wound in the center of his friend's chest was revealed, and turned aside, hesitantly scratching the distraught Juliet on the head before he went into the bathroom to grab a cloth and water to clean Sam up.
When he got back, he frowned as he saw Wheatly with the first aid kit open, a pair of tweezers in his hand as he dug the bullet out.
"Didn't think there was a point leaving it in," Wheatly said quietly, setting it aside on a swatch of gauze on the bedside table.
Castiel picked up the bullet, instantly recognizing the material.
"This was forged out of angelic steel," he said in a hushed voice.
"Yes," Wheatly said grimly. "A normal bullet wouldn't do much to the Winchesters now." He took the bowl and cloths from Castiel. "You don't have to stay for this, angel. Go see what you can find in Heaven."
Castiel pressed his lips together, but was again grateful to the steward. "Thank you." He was about to leave before he turned back around. "Wheatly…just…look after Dean. Make sure he doesn't do anything he's going to regret."
The demon met his eyes and inhaled deeply. "I will do my best."
Castiel nodded and left the room, hurrying out, feeling his chest unlock a little now that he was actively doing something. Like Dean, the one thing he hated more than anything was sitting around not being able to do anything.
He just hoped his efforts wouldn't be in vain.
He drove to the portal to Heaven and was somewhat surprised to find that no one was guarding it. Although, from what he understood they were rather short staffed, and with Naomi no longer in charge, some things had probably changed.
He walked through the deserted playground and stepped up to the sandbox. At least the sigil was still there, so the gate must be open.
"Hello?" he called, hoping someone above would hear. "This is Castiel. I need to speak with someone." He paused a moment, swallowing hard before he added, "It's urgent."
It occurred to him in the silence that they might know Sam's soul was in Heaven already, and if they did… well, they probably would have guessed that was why Castiel was there. And in that case, it was possible they wouldn't let him in at all. One less Winchester on the earth was a good day for Heaven.
Castiel clenched his hands into fists. "Please! I just need to talk!"
To his surprise, the gate opened with a shimmery light, and the angel Duma stood in the middle of the sandbox, arms crossed over her chest.
"Castiel," she said, her voice cold and unwelcoming.
"Duma," Castiel said, likewise. "I need information. I was hoping you could help me. If you could just let me in—"
Duma let her hands fall to her sides as if making it easier for her to reach for a blade. "If you think I'm going to just let you walk into Heaven, after everything you did…" She shook her head.
Castiel narrowed his eyes. "To be fair, Naomi was the one who decided it was a good idea to work with demons. And if you recall, she did have me chained up and tortured."
Duma scoffed. "And who is currently living, and serving, in Hell?"
Castiel sighed. He didn't have time for this. He took a step forward and Duma reached into her coat, pulling out a blade before Castiel stopped, holding his hands out in a non-threatening manner. "Duma, I did not come to fight. You have my word. I just need one thing and then I will be gone."
Duma eyed him suspiciously. "And what might that be?"
Castiel took a small, shuddering breath. "Sam Winchester's soul."
Duma actually looked surprised, which was not the reaction Castiel had been expecting. A smirk, maybe a high and mighty attitude, but not this. For some reason, he liked this reaction even less.
"And what makes you think we have his soul?" she demanded.
"Because he's dead, Duma," Castiel spat, quickly losing his patience.
Duma raised her eyebrows at this. "Well, he's not here."
Castiel took another step toward her with a growl. "Forgive me, but I think I would prefer to see for myself. I am not leaving here without him.
Duma had her blade held ready, but didn't make a move to attack. She stared at Castiel for a long moment, then finally sighed. "You won't leave until I show you, will you?"
"No," Castiel growled.
Duma rolled her eyes and finally stepped back so Castiel could join her in the middle of the sigil, but kept her blade at the ready. "Fine. But if you try anything, I will kill you."
"Likewise," Castiel returned, before he stepped into the sigil and they were both transported to Heaven.
Duma led Castiel toward the section where the human souls had their personal heavens. Castiel ignored the stares from the other angels they passed, some looking confused, or furious at his appearance, but he simply passed them, his new black coat, flaring out behind him, looking stark and out of place in the white-washed, muted colors of Heaven.
When they finally reached the proper area, Castiel hurried past the doors until he found the right space. There was one for both John and Mary Winchester, even Henry and his wife, but no more than that. Sam was not there.
Confused, and growing more desperate by the minute, Castiel spun around, causing Duma to raise her blade defensively.
"What have you done with him?" he demanded.
"I told you he wasn't here!" Duma snapped. "Trust me, Castiel. If a Winchester was here I'd gladly let you have him."
"Then where is he?"
Duma gave him a look. "Don't you think Hell would collect their own?"
Castiel frowned, then realized that might very well be the case. With the Winchesters' newly demonic nature, it might be impossible for them to get into Heaven at all now—a fact that hurt Castiel greatly, but they would have time to think about that more later. He was already heading back to the entrance of Heaven. At least it would make things easier if all he had to do was pluck Sam from the influx of souls that Hell was taking in.
Somehow, though, he worried it wasn't going to be that easy.
The demon trembled, whimpering as the blade sliced through his flesh. Some blood dripped to the floor in a slow patter and the metallic scent filled Dean's nostrils so that he could almost taste it on the back of his tongue.
"I told you to tell me who betrayed us," he said in a low growl.
"I d-don't know…gah!" the demon stuttered before crying out as Dean lashed out and grabbed him around the throat, squeezing threateningly.
"You were one of the first to turn last time Asmodeus came here. I've questioned your known compatriots and they haven't told me anything either. Someone is gonna talk eventually, or I promise I will personally carve apart every one of you sons of bitches until I get the answer I'm looking for."
"I d-didn't, honest," the demon choked out.
"Then tell me who did!" Dean snapped, raising the demon knife again and pressing it against his captive's heaving ribs. "You have to have some clue. I know you demons all talk. So talk!"
He began to carve a deep line across the demon's ribs and got a strangled scream for his trouble.
"Please, I'm telling you!" the demon screamed, struggling against the manacles that held him to the rack.
Dean snarled and slammed his fist into the demon's face. "My brother is dead and you're begging me?"
"N-no, I…I would tell you if I could, honest!"
Dean gritted his teeth, and finally turned toward the door to the cell and hammered on it, alerting the guard outside.
"Get rid of him," Dean commanded. "Throw him in with the others and bring me the next one."
The guard did as he was told silently and Dean turned around, leaning a bloody hand against the wall as he took a breather. He was getting nowhere. None of the demons seemed to know anything, or at least didn't seem willing to tell him. Maybe he wasn't going hard enough on them.
Maybe you've forgotten what you can really do, a whisper spoke in the back of his mind.
Dean's stomach twisted slightly at the echo of Alastair's words in his head. It wasn't that he wanted to do this. It was just…Sammy.
The door opened and he pulled himself upright and flicked his eyes to black again, turning to watch as the guards strapped the next demon to the rack.
"Callum," Dean growled as he saw who it was. "You're already on probation after all the stunts you've pulled over the last couple years. First Kipling, and then Asmodeus," he clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
The demon glowered at him, but glanced sideways, looking slightly wary as the guards left, locking the door behind them.
"That's right," Dean growled, stalking slowly around the rack. "You're locked in here with me. Lucky you."
"I know about you," Callum said, obviously trying to put on a brave front. "Alastair's apprentice. That doesn't scare me; not like the others."
"It doesn't?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow before he turned to his table of instruments, already bloodstained. He picked up his demon knife again. "Maybe it shouldn't. I put that behind me a long time ago. But…" He turned around, his black eyes boring into the demon. "What I've never put behind me, is being a big brother. A protector. That hasn't changed. Not since Sam and I were kids; not even now when he's the king and I'm a Knight of Hell. And when someone hurts my family, I hurt them. Simple as that. So, Callum, this can go two ways. You can help me find out who betrayed us and got my brother killed, or you can sit there and scream. Your choice."
Callum glowered at him, lips pressed tight. Dean shrugged.
"Guess we'll do it the hard way then."
Callum was stoic, Dean would give him that, but the demon blade wasn't much in the scheme of things and the elder Winchester was starting to get desperate.
"You really going to force me to pull out all the stops?" Dean shook his head.
Callum turned to one side and spat out a gob of blood. "Cut the foreplay, Winchester. You might get what you want then."
"Oh, sweetheart, I haven't even started," Dean said flatly as he picked up a syringe and a flask and began to fill it with holy water. He could feel Callum squirming behind him and as he turned the demon was trying hard to hide his fear. Dean pressed the plunger to allow a small stream of holy water to escape the needle, the spray falling on Callum's cheek as he winced.
"Last chance," Dean offered.
Callum shook his head. Dean grabbed his chin and wrenched his head to one side before jabbing the syringe into his neck.
Callum screamed and writhed as the holy water flooded his system. It only took him a couple seconds before he screamed. Dean watched dispassionately as the holy water worked its way out of him and he finally collapsed limply against the rack, panting ragged breaths.
Dean reached out and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head up. "Well?"
"Screw you," Callum spat.
"Fine," Dean said and turned back to the holy water, dipping the syringe into it again.
For a second, he thought Callum would actually let him inject another dose into him, but as he brought the syringe over to him, the demon finally cracked. "All right, all right! Hold on!"
Dean held on, cocking an eyebrow. "You got info?"
"I had nothing to do with it, honest!" Callum stuttered.
"Skip the introduction," Dean snapped.
"Okay, okay, look, it was Dorian, I'm sure of it! He said he had a plan to make you two pay. Some of us were planning on joining up with Asmodeus when he inevitably tried to take over again but Dorian wanted to speed things up a little."
"Where is he now?" Dean demanded.
"He's a crossroads demon, I don't even think he's here right now. He's probably on Earth making the rounds."
Dean growled. Damn those crossroads demons. He didn't regret pissing them off but he was getting really tired of their petty reactions.
He tossed the syringe back on the table and saw Callum's sigh of relief, before he walked to the door and hammered on it again.
The guards unlocked it and he stepped out. "Put him with the others. Winston," Dean called to the Captain who was standing at the end of the hall, discussing something with one of the guards. "We need to put out an APB on Dorian. When you find him, bring him to me!"
"Sir," Winston nodded in confirmation.
Dean went back to the cell and grabbed his katana from where he had hung it up as a reminder to the demons of what would happen if they'd had any active part in this betrayal. He slung it across his back again and the familiar weight was like a promise that he would see justice done for his brother no matter the outcome.
Castiel got back to Hell, heading to their suite first where he found Wheatly seemingly sitting vigil with Juliet at Sam's bedside. The steward had dressed Sam in his black suit, cleaned and brushed his hair, and folded his hands gently over his chest. Castiel's heart squeezed. Without the blood, Sam almost looked like he could be sleeping, but he knew he wasn't.
"I didn't want any of the demons to come in here and try anything," Wheatly told him with a dark edge to his voice.
Castiel felt sickened by the thought, and nodded gratefully. "Where's Dean?"
Wheatly pressed his lips together. "In the dungeons. Interrogating suspects."
Castiel's stomach flipped. In Dean's current state of mind, he was afraid his friend would lose himself. He'd seen what Sam and Dean both had done before without the other to stabilize them. And even though he was a good friend and a brother in his own right, he had never been able to truly fill the space that was lost.
"I take it you didn't find His Majesty's soul in Heaven," Wheatly stated grimly.
Castiel shook his head, shoulders slumping. "No. The angels suggested that he might have ended up here. I was going to tell Dean and then go to the incoming souls. Hopefully find Sam before an enterprising demon does."
Wheatly nodded and stood. "I will help you. I'll set guards I trust here. But…" He nodded to the heartbroken hellhound. "Juliet will not let anyone harm him in the meantime."
Castiel bit his lip and left the suite with the Steward, heading toward the dungeons.
He rounded the corner just as Dean was coming out of a cell and as the elder Winchester caught sight of him, Castiel knew his failure was written on his face as Dean's shut down.
"You didn't find him." It was not a question.
Castiel shook his head and spoke quietly. "No. It's possible he's here. It actually makes more sense. I doubt either of you would be allowed into Heaven after signing the contract."
Dean's jaw tightened and Castiel realized he had blood on his hands and more spattering the leather duster. He pressed his lips together with worry. "Did you…?" he was almost afraid to ask.
Dean finally looked down at his hands as if remembering, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping them as clean as possible. "I have a name. Dorian," he said, ignoring Castiel's question. "I've got Winston and his men out on it, but we can go look for Sam at incoming souls."
He pushed past Castiel and started in that direction. The angel tightened his jaw with worry but followed.
They made it to the Vestibule quickly and Dean stalked right up to the receptionist as Castiel began to scan the seemingly infinite line of souls waiting to be checked in, searching for a familiar glow. He shook his head, not seeing anything resembling Sam.
He turned back to Dean who was leaning threateningly over the demon who was practically trembling in fear.
"It's a simple question, have you seen my brother's soul or not?" Dean demanded.
"I didn't, M-Master Winchester," she stuttered. "I promise I didn't! I would have told you if I did!"
"Was anyone else working here between now and yesterday?" Castiel asked her.
"Yes, um, Devon," she said.
"Call him here," Dean snapped, reaching over and snagging her book as he began to flip through it. "He couldn't have just slipped through the cracks, he's either here in line, or he's already been processed, and I'll find out where the hell someone stashed him if it's the last thing I do."
"I'll check the line again," Castiel assured him, hurrying off down the line of souls, but after searching through the ones even past the time Sam would have ended up there, there was nothing, and the tightness in his chest was beginning to get more painful as his worry increased.
By the time he got back, both Devon and Wheatly had appeared, and the demon was pleading his case with Dean who Castiel could see was quickly about to fly off the handle.
"You're telling me no one would have reason to grab my brother's soul and hide him away," Dean snapped. "Half of you aren't even loyal to him! How do you expect me to believe that!"
"Look, there's only so many places you could hide a soul here," Devon protested. "I promise I'm loyal, Master Winchester. Please, I just do my job!"
Dean jabbed a finger into his chest. "If I find out you're lying, you'll die with that bastard Dorian when I find him too. If Sam has ended up in Tartarus or worse, there will be hell to pay." He turned to Castiel and Wheatly. "Come on, we're going to have to look for him. I'll tear this place apart if I have to."
There was no point in stopping him and Castiel shared a look with Wheatly as they hurried off as well.
They did practically tear Hell apart. They spread out to all the realms, searched every nook and cranny that a soul could have been stashed in, and all the time Castiel began to feel more and more discouraged. Something was eating at the back of his mind. Something he realized he should be considering, but he didn't know what it was.
It was hours before he found Dean again, in a dark hallway outside Tartarus, coming back from searching every bit of it.
His face tore a new hole in Castiel's chest, as well as the half-hopeful look he sent Castiel's way.
"Anything?" he asked.
Castiel shook his head. "No."
Dean roared and slammed his fist into the wall, splitting knuckles. "Someone has him! I swear, Cas, I know one of those bastards has him somewhere. They could be torturing him for all we know. I…" He shook his head, his eyes flicking to black in a way that Castiel didn't like at all. "I'll tear them up. Someone has to know something and I'm gonna find out what it is even if I have to put half of Hell on the rack to do it."
"Dean!" Castiel snapped, grabbing his friend by the arm. "This won't solve anything."
"Let me go," Dean growled, jerking his arm away.
But Castiel stood firmly in front of him. "I will not let you destroy your life. Sam would not want this!"
"Sam's dead!" Dean shouted, pain and fury mixing in a way that nearly choked him.
"Look at you!" Castiel snapped. "I know you're hurting, and so am I! Sam is my brother too, Dean, you think this isn't killing me too? But I'll be damned if I lose both of you!"
"I don't have anything left!" Dean snarled.
"You have me," Castiel told him firmly. "And you have this kingdom that you and Sam built, and loyal followers who genuinely care about you. Do not throw that away with mistrust and grief!"
Dean slammed his hand against the wall again, but this time it was more to steady himself. "I can't…I can't do this without him, Cas," came the strangled voice. "God, I don't know what to do."
Castiel stepped in and grabbed Dean's shoulder, easing his body against the wall as Dean sagged completely, Castiel's grip acting more as a brace than anything.
"He's my little brother," Dean choked out, burying his face in his hands. "I can't…what the hell am I gonna do?"
Castiel grabbed Dean tight as his friend completely collapsed, finally letting out the grief he had been keeping bottled up. Castiel pressed his forehead against Dean's and closed his eyes as wetness seeped from under the lids, feeling Dean's body shudder against him, as his hands tightened in Castiel's coat.
He didn't have the answers because he didn't know what they were going to do either.