Here I am proud to present another chapter of Crossroad. Once again I have to say thank you for the likes and kudos. It's very much appreciated. As always I also love reviews and feel so great hearing from you guys. If you have anything to say, anything at all, I adore it when those messages pop up. What can I say? I'm always very eager to hear what my readers are thinking.
In any case, I do so hope that you all enjoy this chapter. After finishing writing it I have to admit I ended up thinking this was easily my favorites to make. Just chock full of plot points and characters that I wanted to get to.
Chapter 16: Highway to Hell
If there was ever anything that could be said about Hell it was there was a certain classic aesthetic to it. The wails of the damned always echoed to the same chorus, no matter what the acoustics of the area was. Crowley knew this for a fact. He'd long since taken advantage of his power over the realm to redecorate and restructure the entire place, and no matter what he did it always sounded the same. Different halls, windows, large empty spaces, voids, it didn't seem to matter. The screams always bounced and faded the exact same way every single time.
He had to wonder if the angels every had this kind of problem.
Ten years to the month topside gave him plenty of time to work on his new realm. Despite the less than fortunate partnership he'd struck up with Castiel, it had not been a total loss. He was no worse off than when he had first grabbed the throne, and aside from a few upstarts causing some problems for him, things hadn't been going too poorly. Besides, troubles were to be solved, and the populace could always use an example or two of what crossing him would cost them. He prided himself in taking every opportunity to his advantage. Sometimes it didn't work out, but he was still in charge, something no other demon in this stinking pit could attest to.
Honestly, he hated the place, but what demon didn't? Everyone clawed at the walls to get to Earth, eager to be away from the filth, the smell, and the pain that beat down everyone. The only way to make the pain cease here was to inflict it on someone else. Souls were always eager to sell each other out, trying to be the one picked to cut into their neighbor for the sweet relief of just making it stop. Numbness was the best any human soul could hope for here, and inflicting agony was the same for any demon in this place. A few, very few, actually could feign being comfortable here and it was only the ones who had a constant supply of people to tear down.
Tidying up had been a project Crowley had taken up, not just to kill time but to bring some damn structure to the place. The screams would never stop, the putrid smell would never fade, the blood would never stop flowing, but order… the king was determined to introduce that to the pit. He'd seen it wasting away for years, filled to the brim with whelps prostrating themselves to the cause of Lucifer. So eager to please and kill, to wash themselves in unholy baptism that they weren't even capable of seeing they were just as hated at the humans in the archangel's eyes. They all would have ended up destroyed if they'd followed everything to the letter of the plan, and most of them were too stupid to even know it.
Crowley didn't need some senseless war on his hands, nor did he even want one. Destroying humanity would just stall business, and he liked to think he was too pragmatic about it. Once you burned down the world, what was there left to enjoy? The shortsightedness of his kind honestly baffled him at times. Too eager to drown themselves in the sensations and pulls of sin they couldn't be pragmatic for a single second of their entire existence.
Not that he couldn't understand the desire for indulgences, just that it was best to be productive about it. He was a good salesmen and he enjoyed his work. He still would head off on occasion to see to a deal or two, leaving his office for a time to make his deals. What could he say? Everyone needed distractions from this place, even him.
"It amazes me sometimes how little humans value their own soul. It really does," he mused as he walked down the hall to his office. Lucifer had never bothered with such furnishings, then again what could be fit in the cage? "A soul given up in ten years, to save a relative from some sickness and they're probably going to die of old age anyway before the decade is even up. You think they'd value the time they could have upstairs more. I'm starting to think I should sweeten the pot for that sort of deal. I almost feel bad, not exactly a fair cop."
"It is their time to spend, sir. It's hardly baffling they don't treasure it. We didn't," Guthrie answered. The face of the old man didn't smile or frown, not a twitch to his expression. He'd always been rather stoic, something Crowley could appreciate. Honesty in demons was a rare thing, something that needed to be treasured and Guthrie merely spoke his mind and didn't mince his words for flattery and sucking up. Just good old honest opinions. "It does cause a problem of suffering nobly though. It makes them harder to break in the long run."
"Well, luckily down here we have nothing but time," the king replied as he turned the corner that his office was at, frowning when he saw another demon pacing in front of it. She looked downright frantic, and was going to ruin the carpet with her pacing.
"Dar," he said as he walked up to her. "What is it?"
The female demon had only been turned recently, a few decades ago, still young for a demon. He had collected her contract himself, drifting in the ocean on a plank of wood as a ship had sunk deep in the ocean, begging and pleading for her life as the Titanic had gone down, their kiss salty and wet before he'd transported her safely to New York to enjoy what she had left of her life. A slip of a girl who'd known enough about the occult to know who to scream for to get help, but not enough to really understand what she'd given up. He'd be lying if he denied that he had a fondness for her. Not many souls he bartered for elected to go into sales as well, usually happy just to be one of the ones who went out to cause general mayhem and destruction. He'd personally trained her after her change and liked the promise she showed. Always eager to go out for a contract, happy to scoop up the desperate, just like she had been all those years ago. Last year she'd complained about odd experience, bad dreams creeping in her mind about how she was human again, old and decrepit with children and grandchildren, and it had left her shaken for a while in disgust. She was looking just as twitchy as she had back then.
"Your Majesty," she said as she indicated to the door. He'd only just now seen it was ajar. "I don't know how she did it. I was answering a summoning and she forced her way in. Strode right past everyone like she owned the place."
"Forced her way in, as in the way you came out of Hell?" he asked. "Who did?"
"She just claimed she wanted an appointment. I tried to get a name out of her but..." Dar drifted off. Demons carried a good bit of pride around with them, and she was no exception, but no one was unflappable. Clearly someone wanted to see him and wasn't taking no for an answer.
"I'll take care of it," he stated. If someone was that eager to do business, who was he to turn it away? Besides, he was curious about who would be so bold as to force themselves into Hell and not the other way around. "Guthrie, why don't you take Dar down to get a refreshment? She looks like she could use it anyway."
"Of course, Sire," he said as he nodded his head and took the other demon by the arm and led her away.
The king went inside to see who had caused all the commotion, only to see a woman leaning back against his desk. A platinum blonde who's hair was so light it looked a bleached white and crimson red tips who had gone a little too into the casual party girl look, hair bundled up in a sloppy ponytail with a white tank-top and cut off jeans for shorts, topped by a long gray cardigan sweater that reached longer than the denim did. He supposed it was intended to be a nonchalant look but strolling your way into the pit of the damned threw that whole purposefully casual gimmick out the proverbial window. The king prided himself in being able to read a situation in order to start working it to his advantage and this was throwing up all sorts of red flags in his mind.
"You know, most people who want to talk to me go through the old fashion way. Drawn out circle, few ingredients burned, sometimes with a trap set up in some self-indulgent way to think they have the edge on me," he stated as he walked into the room and shut the door behind himself. "I'm going to assume that you came here to do business?"
"I did," she replied with a nod of her head. "It didn't seem wise to summon you and risk tipping anyone off to this happening. I wanted to keep this conversation as private as possible, Fergus."
The king had been at his cabinet, pulling out a glass for a drink, when he'd heard his name. Slowly, very slowly he turned to the woman, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. His past was something that he did not appreciate being brought up, and it was one of the few things that could legitimately get under his skin though he tried his best to play it off.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "That was rude of me. I can call you Crowley or anything else you prefer. I just wanted to be sure I had your attention."
"You had my attention when you strolled into my kingdom without a so much as by your leave, Glam," he informed her as he poured himself a drink and then took a sip. It was best to keep himself calm in negotiations. "So, you clearly know who I am. Let me ask, who are you?"
"Well, as cliché as the whole many names speech is, that is a factor," she admitted. "Present, as you would know me. I'm sure you heard the stories and legends about me when you were a child given the time period that you grew up in."
"Present, oh. One of the three sisters of destiny. Yes, it was one of the stories told around the campfire and to little children in their beds," he stated. "Explains why you know who I am. Macha, the middle sister, correct?"
"For where you grew up, yes. I'm going by Clotho at the moment though," she stated. "Though I have a feeling the Glam nickname is going to stay no matter what I say on the matter. One more added to the list hardly matters to me though."
"Well, now that we're on a friendly first name basis, you'll forgive me for repeating myself. Just what are you doing here?" he asked. "No one reaches out to me unless they want something so I'm going to assume that it's the same for you."
"Yes. I've come because I want to strike a deal with you. Well, I should say we want to strike a deal," Clotho explained. "My sisters and I have something we need from you, and I've been sent as the representative on the matter."
"That does make sense. All the rumors about you three does make it clear you're usually of one mind on everything," he said. His mother, bitch that she was, had not neglected his lessons on stories and myths for as long as she'd been around.
"Great. Then we're on the same page," she said. "I didn't want it to seem like I was making promises on their part without them being here to verify what I ended up telling you. You don't strike me as a man who does sloppy business, which is exactly why we've decided that I should talk to you."
"Well, you've certainly gotten my attention. I'm not usually sought by goddesses, their loss of course," he said smoothly with a little smirk. "And what can the King of Hell do for the Fates?"
"It's nothing much, admittedly. You're going to get contacted by the Winchester brothers soon. They plan to summon you in order try and barter with you for a vial of your blood. They need it in a weapon they've learned about from a newly appointed prophet of Yahweh. They plan to forge it to end the threat posed to the planet by the Leviathans," she informed him. "You can expect them to call on you in about an hour."
"And you want me to play nice with them and give them my blood, and in exchange you'll give me some nice little goodies of some divine kind?" he asked with a grin.
"No. You already want them dead and gone. You'll go and do that part on your own. Paying you for that would be ridiculous," she said with a little laugh and shake of her head. "Besides asking you to part willingly with your blood would come with too high a price. No, what we want is something else. Your plan to steal the prophet and use him to translate the Demon Tablet in your possession is the matter at hand here."
Oh, now there was an interesting idea. A good one too, and surely one he was going to have anyway if she was bringing it up.
"Don't do it," Clotho stated. "That's our request. You leave the prophet be. We've already arranged he will be protected by angels, but you're a very clever man and it's not worth tangling with you. A contract that you will never track the boy down, never keep tabs on him, nothing. You keep away, and take your tablet and put it somewhere safe where no one, demon or human, can find it."
"Interesting. You're asking me to give up a lot of power here. I-"
"No I'm not," she cut in. "I'm saving you a very, very big headache down the line. The tablet isn't going to help you and it's not going to grant you power. It's going to end up hurting you, so deeply you'll never be able to recover from it, not completely. That's why we want you to stay away from it."
The demon mused for a bit, sipping down the rest of his liquor as he thought her words over. The Fates weren't really known for lying, manipulating yes, but he'd never heard of them every saying something that wasn't the truth. The incomplete truth, perhaps, but it was never a good idea to try to ignore the words of those that could see into the future. Rare case of that ever working out well for anyone, though he supposed defying destiny on the foretold end of the world had played out well enough all things considered.
"I'm hearing how this will supposedly benefit me, but I'm not quite connecting why this seems to be such a concern for you or your sisters," he noted. "Why so interested in what happens to one demon, either fringe benefits or condemnation?"
"Without getting into too many details?" the goddesses asked. "Honestly, because of what you are."
"And that is?"
"Efficient," she replied simply. "You're good at your job, Crowley. Very good at it, when you can focus on it. Any other demon here would tear this place down in some senseless idea of a war, snatching up souls and cranking out demons to fuel some war on heaven, fodder for the machine that is going to break down. It's a poor way to run the place. On the other hand, you're very business oriented. You don't have any idea for raging against Heaven, don't want to burn Earth, or sound the trumpets for the end of all living beings. All you want is power and a well run kingdom that bows to you alone. We'd like to see that as well, so your interests are our interests. We're prepared to offer you a prophecy, a road map to truly securing eternal power. We'll give it to you after Dick Roman is dead and the prophet is completely safe. Along with that, the occasional hint to help things along if you feel you need an edge on any of your opponents. You're good at making your own plans to do away with obstacles, and we're willing to provide the details when need be on what you need to know. Take the offer and you'll sit on the throne forever. Refuse, and your enemies clambering around you will yank you off of it before the decade is out."
"I admit, it is an interesting offer. I have to wonder why you three are so interested in my reign, but I don't suppose you'd divulge if I asked, would you?" he guessed.
"No, we don't usually do that."
"Well, can't blame a bloke for trying," he chuckled before grinning. "Very well, I would so love to see where this goes."
"There is one other thing," she said, holding up a finger just as he leaned in to take a kiss from her. "Then we can seal the deal. It concerns a soul you're after, one you've wanted very much for a long time, Bobby Singer."
#-#
If there was anything that Dean could say for the 1969 Plymouth Roadrunner it was that for a muscle car, it was a wasn't a bad little model. A good, fast vehicle without too many additions that jacked up the price, it was still a sweet ride that could be a great experience out on the road. The type that teens and young adults hopped in to drive straight into their future and life while still having their fun, equipped with an engine could make the thing purr on down the road. While in the later years he supposed it could be argued that it had been overtaken by later models and companies in the motorized business, hell he himself would slug anyone who dared imply anything was better than the Impala, specifically his Impala, there was a reason it had been considered the car to own right at the time that 70's had started. To this day it could still be a classic worth its weight in gold.
When it was actually properly maintained that is.
When Dean had seen their next car to hotwire and take on the road, he'd been personally offended at the state of the thing. Dusty on the inside and out, didn't look like it had seen a decent coat of paint since it had rolled out of the lot, faded in an ugly reddish orange color, and whined like a beast in pain just waiting to die whenever it was asked to move even so much as five feet, the legal owner had not treated the poor thing with the kindness and devotion it had deserved.
In the hunter's not so humble opinion, he hadn't stolen the Plymouth so much as he'd rescued it from whatever douche bag couldn't be bothered to take care of it properly. It would serve them right for mistreated the poor treasure to never see it again.
Unfortunately in his desire to liberate the car, there was the issue of a car that hadn't even been washed lately also hadn't gotten a proper check up for a while. There was several problems with it that needed to be fixed before they could get back on the road for any reasonable distance.
"I don't know a name of any of these tools," Emma pointed out, looking at the toolbox that was resting on the grass, open with several of them sprawled out in the box. "How am I supposed to know what you're asking for?"
"Don't worry, I'll describe them to you," he assured her as he popped open the trunk and put up the latch so the hood wouldn't come crashing down on his head while he worked. Bobby had made it very clear that he wanted to get a move on with this weapon in order to get at Dick, and Crowley seemed to be the next on the list to get in contact with. He was leaving that little chore up to Sam, willing to pull Emma outside to show her a little bit of car maintenance. Leviathans had already seen her, and now so had the angels. He would be very happy to keep the King of Hell off the list of beings that knew about his illegitimate daughter. "I just plan on working on this myself, but I'll explain everything as I'm working, and I'll go slow so I know you can see everything. Most of this stuff is really simple. It's just replacing parts, tightening up other things, that kind of thing. Cars are like everything else, just needs to be looked after and it'll always be reliable for you."
She looked at him curiously, not seeming to really understand where he was coming from. He supposed it made sense. This was probably just some chore to her, something he had promised to show her, but she might not get why it was so important, how fulfilling it could be to maintain your car. There had been plenty of times that such a thing had given him a good deal of focus.
"This is something I used to do with my dad when I was young," he explained. Sure enough, those were the only words it took from him to get her eyes to light up with excitement, eager to partake in the family tradition. "He taught me everything I know about this kind of stuff. Never know when you need it, so now I'm going to teach it to you."
She was all too happy to hand over tools and learn their names as he taught her on what was needed for what repair. The girl watched like a hawk as he bent over the engine, leaning to the side a bit so he knew that she had a good view of his hands and what they were doing. Her questions were all very basic, beginner level of knowledge not even something she had yet, but he was more than willing to take it step by step with her.
He'd been giving their situation some serious thought. The plan had been until the Leviathans were dead and gone. That had been the deal, but aside from the vague idea of her going somewhere safe and getting herself a life of her own, there had been no details put into the idea. He needed to start considering where she would go, who she would stay with. Looking physically sixteen, she'd never be able to pass for an adult, even with a fake ID. She would need a bit of time to grow up, and since she was a minor she was going to need a guardian. It couldn't be just any hunter. If her secret was found out Dean needed to know it wouldn't lead to her death.
Garth was an option. Though they'd only met him twice before, Dean kind of liked the guy. He seemed the trustworthy type, not one to pull a gun if Emma accidentally displayed a freaky amount of strength in front of him. Would probably have some questions but it wouldn't be the, 'Do I need to grab a knife or fire?' question. On the other hand, hadn't the scrawny hunter once said something about twins? Would there be room for a teenager where he was living?
There was also Jody. As a cop, she'd be able to help with the whole issue of Emma not existing a while ago thing. Damn, he had so much work to do for her. The Amazon would need a birth certificate, social security number, and transcripts for school if she was going to be allowed to enroll anywhere.
Oh, and not to mention records for shots and vaccines. That was kind of important too. Wait, did Emma actually need those shots? Did she have a magic immunity of some kind? How could he have not even thought about that? Had she been given them in training with the others? Would it be okay to ask her about it? His daughter did not talk about her time there, ever, and while she hadn't ever woke up screaming from nightmares, it was also clear she didn't like to think about it. The scar she'd been forced to bear was always covered, either by a jacket, long sleeves or something wrapped around her arm like a handkerchief or sweat band. It was one of the few things on her culture she wasn't eager to share.
He'd talked so much about a life for her, but when it had come to the details, he'd never bothered with it. The whole idea had just been this far off, vague and fuzzy thing. Dean Winchester had little to no experience on how to have a normal life. He should have figured getting one put together for her was going to be more work than he'd been willing to allow himself to think about. The problem was it was now fast approaching and he didn't have a lot of time left to make sure her future was secured.
She was going to need so much, a decent collection of clothes, a decent backstory of who she was, transportation… like a car.
A good car, one that young people had gotten for traveling into their futures, like a quaint but decent little Plymouth. It both excited and scared him to think of keeping it, fixing it up for her, maybe even with her until it would shine so that she could have her own car, a gift from her dad.
"Emma, check the tire pressure," he said suddenly as he grabbed a rag to wipe his hands clean. "Little plastic looking tube over there. You put it to the nozzle on the tire and the air will push out the dial with the number. Just make a note of it."
"Okay, Father," she said, all smiles as she leaned down to get to work. She was taking to it well, but then again she did with most things. That memory thing from her blood was a blessing at least. Give it a year or two, she'd probably be able to blend in with anyone without batting an eye.
And honestly, it was just good to see her happy. He'd been worried about her seeing Hester die. That whole experience had left her quite and subdued for a couple days, but as far as he knew she'd been fine. Shocked, but fine over all. Maybe he'd been worried about her too much. After all, she'd already killed before, and Cas had protected her from the fall out. Then again, there was still a scorch mark of one of the wings from the dead angel on the floor, and he'd noticed she never looked at it, even when walking right past it, giving it wide berth.
This wasn't going to last. It couldn't last. Working on cars, teaching her skills, it was all playing house. Before he knew it, she'd be gone and he'd have to let her go. It bothered him that she'd gone from a scared kid at his hotel room door, begging to die, to a young woman just desperate for a little affection and acceptance from him. When had it happened that she'd stopped being his daughter, someone he'd just contributed some genetic material to make, to his kid? When had he even allowed that to happen, when he'd fought so hard to keep that niggling thought out of his mind?
"I'm heading inside for a second," he told her. "When you're done with that, take a break. Just wait out here for me. I'll be back in a second."
"Okay," she said with a nod, careful with the nozzle so she could get an accurate reading on the pressurized air in the tire.
"How's it going in here?" Dean asked as he walked in before his nose scrunched up from the smell of burning wood. "The hell is that?"
"You just missed the pompous ass," his younger brother explained. "He's agreed to give us his blood, but only last cause he doesn't trust us with it. Also got a lead on an alpha, the vampire one. Last seen in Hoople, North Dakota apparently."
"Well, at least it's not too far away," Dean muttered as he went up to the table, the message burned into it. "Could have written it down though. Well, at least it answered a question for me."
"What question?" Sam asked curiously.
"I think we should swing through South Dakota," he explained. "Emma should meet Jody."
The taller Winchester gave him a strange sort of look for a moment before he nodded his head.
"Figured that's where she's going?" he asked.
"Yeah. Well, the list is short in the first place. Not a lot of hunters we still know well, and a lot of them we don't know if we can trust with that sort of thing. Jody has seen the crap out there, but I think she's the closet we got to normal. She can help with the paperwork to get her all set up and before we know it she'll be like any other snot nosed brat," Dean said with a bit of a chuckle.
"How are you doing on all this then?" Sam inquired. "Are you… good?"
"I kind of have to be, Sam. What am I supposed to do, keep her? Drag her around for the rest of my life in bad hotel rooms and cheap take out on stolen credit cards until she's so old she can't even think about how to get out?" he pointed out.
"I know. It's just, I'm worried about you. Between this and Cas..."
"Yeah, we're not going there," Dean stated firmly. "That whole thing is going to be a big enough of a mess as it is without you getting yourself involved. And really, telling Emma not to say anything? Have you even freaking met her? She couldn't keep her curiosity to herself if her life depended on it."
"Well, seemed better than just telling her that yes, her dad has this big thing going on with an angel he isn't willing to admit to," Sam snorted out.
"Speaking of which, were you ever planning on letting me in on this discovery you'd made about us? Just why keep this to your merry little self?"
"Honestly, I figured if I did mention it, then it would just get you mad. At best you'd ignore it, at worst you'd be livid," he explained. "It didn't seem my business to try and play match maker for you two. I figured you'd get to it on your own someday or you'd just refuse to touch it and it would die."
"Eh, well it's not like you're wrong. I probably would have just tried to ignore it," he admitted before sighing. "I mean… me and Cas? Like that? Who'd even have thought that would have become a thing?"
"I kind of had hope," Sam replied with a sheepish sort of smile and a shrug. "You guys can't be in the same room without being within arm's reach of each other and you lock eyes more than anyone I've ever met. Not to mention all the times he's been there for you."
"Yeah, but he broke you," Dean pointed out. "That should be an issue. That should be a big issue."
"Is it for you?" his brother pressed.
He had to admit, he wasn't sure. He'd been hurt by Cas' betrayal, hurt by losing him, angry and lost and feeling more low than he had in a long time. Seeing him as Emmanuel had been like getting his heart ripped out, but when he'd been Castiel again, the angel had stayed. The angel had tried to make up for what he'd done, and was now suffering more for it.
"Look, I get it. He's not the same Cas as he was before," Sam admitted. "He did a lot of messed up stuff, but which one of us hasn't? Getting on demon blood despite everyone telling me not to? Letting Lucifer out, and then everything that happened when I didn't have a soul? God knows it took you a long time to get over what you did and what happened those four months you were dead, and those are just the big things. We've had weeks were we screw up every day, big and small stuff. Castiel never held any of that over us. Maybe it's time to think about extending him the same courtesy?"
That was easy for Sam to say, and honestly it shouldn't have been. Sam should have been the one livid at him, but he was also right. They'd all made mistakes, done things they'd never be completely okay with. Dean had spent forty years down in Hell. That was longer than he'd even been alive on the earth. It was not something he liked to think about at all.
Cas had saved him from that though, had gotten him out of that pit of pain and horrors. He'd gone from an asshole angel to a treasured friend, and now after several rough patches, maybe something more. Maybe. They still needed to talk, and the angel was not even around, not to mention wasn't thinking clearly. It wasn't really the time for it, but Dean was looking forward to the chance to discuss things, to maybe finally have something for himself that could make the rain clouds go away and let him feel content.
Who knew, maybe even happy. He wasn't holding his breath for that one though. It had been a long time since he'd been able to be truly happy, days of working on cars with his dad and learning his way in the world, confident they were going to make the world a better place and save a lot of people on the way.
To think he'd once laughed and made comments about loving his job. Jeez, he'd been so dumb at twenty-six. Still, he would like to be back to that kind of feeling again, even if only in part. He'd never get that innocence back, but he was determined to have something that could give a bit of it back, even if only a small piece.
"I'll head back out and let her know we need to get going soon," he said. "Car should be ready for a trip in an hour tops. Get anything you think we need for killing vampires."
End of Chapter 16
One thing I can say about Dean. He may be slow on the uptake concerning his feelings. He maybe he stubborn. He may even be a little willfully dumb despite the fact I know for sure he's a bright boy, but he is determined. Once he knows he wants something, he aims to get it. Castiel better prepare to be wooed like no angel has ever been wooed before.
Also, finally we got to Crowely. Damn, been wanting him in for ages. His deals, his smarmy attitude, his everything. I just love him to pieces.