Chuck or no Chuck, the universe was definitely against them.

Dean repeated himself. "Son of a bitch."

They had been so close, so fucking close, and then Rowena, the only one of them who knew the spell they needed, got fucking kidnapped. Just their luck.

And this demon, whoever he was, wanted the key to Death's Library. That couldn't mean anything good.

Any other time, for anyone else, Dean would try to find another way. Try to save them without risking the safety of the rest of the world. But with Cas, there wasn't another way. It had taken them far too long to find this lead, and it was the only one they had. And there was no way Dean was just going to leave him in the Empty. Cas had to come home. Cas had to live.

He tore out of his room, phone still in hand. As he walked past Jack's room, he rapped on the door. "Library, kid. Now."

He didn't stop to see if Jack was coming; instead, he called Sam and kept heading for the library.

Sam picked up right away, out of breath. "Yeah?"

"We've got a problem," Dean said. "Get back to the bunker."

"I'm on my way. What kind of problem?"

"Rowena."

"Shit. I'll be there in, like, ten minutes."

"Dean?"

Dean turned around to see Jack had come into the room. He put Sam on speaker. "Some demon kidnapped Rowena."

Jack's face scrunched up a bit as he squinted in confusion. "What?"

Dean froze.

In that moment, he had looked so much like Cas. Of course, it was always obvious that Jack was Cas' son. It was the little things; the way he was a little awkward around people or how he brushed his teeth by putting the toothpaste directly in his mouth. How much he cared about everyone and everything. He was Cas' kid, through and through, and he always had been. But sometimes, the resemblance was so striking and sudden that Dean didn't know what to do with it. Especially now.

The hollow spot in his chest flared painfully.

If Cas were here….

Jack was still looking at him, waiting patiently for an explanation.

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Yeah. She was overpowered by a bunch of demons. They're holding her hostage, I guess. They want Death's key."

"Death's key? To Billie's library?" Sam asked.

"That's the one."

"There's no Death, though," Jack said. "Billie— Dean and Cas took care of her. So why would they need her library?"

"The books," Dean said. "Without a Death, there's no one to stop them from flipping through everyone's futures."

If demons got their hands on any of the books, it wouldn't be good. Dean wasn't entirely sure what they would do with that kind of information, but it wouldn't be anything benevolent. He didn't doubt that they would try to manipulate the future, or use it to get an advantage.

"We can't let them get those," Sam said.

"I dunno, Sam," Dean said. "We might have to."

Sam sighed. "Dean, I know getting Cas back is important to you— god knows I'd do the same thing if it was Eileen— but we can't just let a bunch of demons have that key."

"I don't like the sound of them having it either, but…." He trailed off. "Look, we need Rowena for the spell. And I'm not just giving up on Cas. I don't care what it takes, I'm bringing him home. This demon, whoever he is, wants me to meet him tomorrow. Didn't say I had to come alone."

"You think we should set a trap," Jack said.

"Exactly," Dean said. "Figure out how to get the key back before they can use it. Or—" He hesitated. "We've always been enough. Usually when we save each other, we end up making some mess that comes back to bite us in the ass, and then we deal with it. Could always just… deal with it later."

"Dean, when has leaving loose ends ever worked out for us? Because I'm pretty sure half the time we have those, we start an apocalypse," Sam said, serious.

"So we can handle it," Dean pointed out.

The last thing he wanted to deal with was an impending apocalypse, but he had meant what he said— no matter the cost, he was saving Cas. If that meant the world almost ending again… so be it.

"You want to set a trap, then I'm in," Sam said after a moment, "but we're not starting another apocalypse. We can't just let them have the key."

"If it's them getting that fucking key or us getting Cas back, then yeah, we are," Dean snapped.

Sam sighed. Evidently, he knew arguing was pointless, because he asked, trying to mask his frustration, "Where's the meetup?"

Dean huffed. "Dunno. Said he'd send me an address, but I haven't seen anything yet."

"Well, we can't plan anything if we don't know where we're supposed to be," Sam said.

Dean buried his head in his hands. "So what do we do now?" He dreaded the answer.

"Wait."

He was so tired.

So incredibly tired of feeling useless.

It was all Dean did, and he hated it.

Every hour that passed without an address or communication put him more on edge, made him even feel even worse.

Dammit, it was his fault Cas was gone, and he couldn't do a think about it. All he could do was sit there, knowing that Cas was locked in the Empty. He'd thought about it time and time again, but it was worse, with nothing to do but wait. There was no research to do. No leads to follow up on. Just the waiting.

Dean glanced at the clock they had hung in the kitchen, watching as the minute hand crept forward a notch, barely moving. His right hand came up and brushed lightly against his shoulder, where the raised skin under his flannel prickled ever so slightly.

I'm coming. I swear I'm coming, Cas, I'm coming. M'not giving up on you. Never.

The clock's hands continued to creep, and Dean continued to wait.

Like always, the words were distorted.

Coming

Swear I'm coming

Giving up

You

Never

Another not-Dean's voice could be heard in the distance.

All of it was an illusion. Just a ploy by the Empty to torture him.

He couldn't take it anymore.

"Fine," Cas bit out. "You win."

The not-Dean's voice cut out suddenly, and the Empty was silent.

"I win?"

Cas turned.

The Empty, now in the demon Meg's body, was grinning grotesquely.

"I'll sleep," Cas said, hating himself, but he couldn't do this anymore. "Then you can sleep. Everyone is happy."

It smirked. "I knew I'd wear you down. Smart decision, Castiel."

Cas' expression was stony.

The Empty winked at him. "Sweet dreams." It dissolved.

There was a lack of feeling in his feet, rising up his legs. Cas looked down, watching as the inky tendrils of the Empty began to wrap around him.

"I'm sorry," Cas whispered.

The nothingness enveloped him like a shell, and he sank into the ground.

Cas dreamed.

This time, the words that accompanied the light flare in his shoulder were I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Cas's voice said softly, only once, and then it was quiet.

Dean didn't hear anything else.

Part of him was glad; hearing Cas in his head, wondering if it was really him— it hurt, and Dean wanted it to stop. Now it had, but…

Usually, the words, whenever they came, seemingly at random, echoed. They repeated, replaying for hours. This time, they had just cut off. One moment, Cas' voice was there, and then it wasn't.

It wasn't really him, Dean told himself. It couldn't've been.

If it was, though—

He couldn't help wondering if something had happened. Something didn't feel right. Since Cas had died, Dean had felt empty. Alone. Numb. But after he'd realized there was hope, it had faded slightly. He still felt empty, but it wasn't crippling. Now suddenly, the emptiness was gaping, expanding, and there was an absence inside him that seemed more profound than before.

Dean took a breath.

Cas was going to be okay, he was going to be okay—

Dean's phone buzzed.

His gaze snapped to the kitchen table, and he pushed the silence in his head away. He would deal with that later.

The message was from Rowena's phone. An address.

8151 Rickert Drive, Iola, KS

Dean scrambled up from his seat and tore out of the kitchen.

The phone buzzed again.

By midnight

"I've got it," Dean announced as he came into the library. "It's in Iola. That's about a five hour drive."

Sam stared at him. "Iola?"

"We have to go— now."

"And you just got this?" Sam said incredulously. "Midnight is in less than twelve hours."

"Yeah. Probably didn't want us planning anything." Dean spoke quickly. "You get the key, I'll grab Jack. We'll plan while we drive."

"Where is it?" Sam asked.

Dean stopped. He couldn't face Sam. "The, uh… the dungeon. Got left in there."

"Oh," Sam said quietly. "Is that where…?" He trailed off.

"Yeah."

"You changed me, Dean."

This can't be what he thinks it is. It can't be. He can't lose him. Not him.

"Why does this sound like a goodbye?"

A wet laugh. "Because it is." A beat, and a widening, gummy smile. "I love you."

Shock. Angels don't feel like that. They can't. But his eyes say it all. Cas loves him, he loves him, but—

"Don't do this, Cas." Don't do this to me. Not now. Don't leave.

A noise from behind. Inky tendrils emerging from the wall, reaching out.

A door slamming open.

Tears. Happiness. Despair. Then—

"Goodbye, Dean."

No. Nonononono—

"Cas—!"

Dean cleared his throat loudly. "Meet you in the Impala," he said, hoping Sam would ignore how his voice wavered.

Sam didn't say anything as he left.

Jack wasn't in his room when Dean checked there. He hadn't been in the library.

Dean wasn't disappointed when he checked the kitchen, where Jack was rummaging through the cabinets.

Jack turned when he heard Dean come in and looked at him hopefully.

"We're leaving," Dean said. "Gotta be in Iola in a few hours. You coming?"

Jack nodded hurriedly. "Of course."

"Good. C'mon, Sammy's grabbing the key and we'll meet him at the Impala." He pivoted, Jack following him to the garage.

They had been waiting in the already-running Impala for only a few minutes when Sam turned up, holding a small, wooden box in his hand. He ducked into the passenger seat, and Dean tore out of the bunker.

"We didn't need the box," Dean said, glancing away from the road to look at it. It had been darkly varnished, and there was on ornate, blood-red skull carved into the top of it. Inside, he knew, there would be an old key, its handle twisted into another skull.

It had been tucked into the pocket of his jacket after he and Cas had used it to get inside. He had never taken it out. He had carried it with him, heavy and reminding, until he had gotten back to the bunker after meeting up with Sam and Jack, when he pulled off his jacket and threw it in the dungeon. The key, the bloodstained handprint Cas had left— he couldn't, so he locked it away where he'd never see it. Where it all took place.

Sam gave him a look, and Dean knew he had recognized the jacket. He didn't mention it, though. "The box could work as a decoy," he said instead.

Dean snorted. "I doubt they'll fall for that."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"I could try to fly in," Jack suggested from the backseat. "I can grab Rowena and get out right away. Then we never have to give them the key or try to trick them."

"It's probably warded," Dean said. "Don't think that'll work."

"So we need another option," Sam said.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, silent except for the rumble of Baby's engine and the chorus of Smells Like Teen Spirit.

"Anything?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "Nope."

Jack offered helpfully, "We have about six hours before midnight."

"This plan is going to be shit," Dean declared.

No one argued.

Their plan was shit.

At just past eleven, they were pulling up to the old warehouse that was 8151 Rickert Drive in Iola, Kansas. They didn't even have a solid plan. Just a general itinerary. Granted, they'd gone into worse with less, but somehow, Dean wasn't reassured. Maybe because this time, he really had something to lose.

"Remember," Sam said, "keep him talking for as long as you can. Make sure he stays—"

"Inside the warehouse, I know."

Sam held the box out to him.

Dean grabbed it, flinching almost imperceptibly at the familiarity of the wood. He tried to ignore it, tucking the box into the inside pocket of the jacket he was wearing. "See you later." He opened the Impala door and ducked outside.

As he made his way to the warehouse, he took inventory of what he had. An angel blade tucked next to the box with the key. His pocket knife in his boot. Tucked into the back of his pants, a gun filled with bullets, all engraved with a devil's trap. Unless the demon turned out to be something other than a demon, he should be prepared.

He didn't see any demons when he slipped inside, the rusted hinges of the door creaking shrilly.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Storage crates were stacked high against the walls, as well as in neat columns, the exception being the middle of the room. There, there was a metal chair. Its occupant was facing away from him, head lolled to the side, but he didn't doubt that it was Rowena.

Dean took a few cautious steps forward, fingers twitching towards his inside pocket. Nothing jumped out at him until he was mere yards from Rowena.

"Don't worry, she's alive. Just drugged by yours truly. I'm glad you could make it." The voice's owner stepped out from between some storage crates.

Dean whirled around, clenching his fists in an effort to keep them from instinctively grabbing a weapon. "So," he said, "you're Mr. Lowly-demon-with-something-I-need."

"Indeed." The demon's eyes flashed black, then resumed the auburn shade of its host.

Good. It was a demon, which meant Dean was prepared. If things went badly, which they probably would, at least he had the right weapons.

"Shall we talk business?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Sure."

The demon grinned at him wryly. "Excellent. Now, to the best of my understanding, you need Rowena McLeod. Correct?"

"Unfortunately."

"I need the key to Death's Library."

"Why is that?" Dean said.

The demon hummed. "Well… that's my business. But…." He paused. "I might be willing to trade for that information."

"Yeah? What do you want."

"Besides the obvious of keeping Hell under control… what exactly is it that you need Rowena for?" He looked at Dean, eyes glimmering challengingly. "Tell me that, and I'll tell you why I want to get into Death's Library."

Dean inhaled sharply.

The demon seemed to take pleasure at his discomfort. "Do we have a deal?"

"Fine. But," Dean said, voice hard, "I want you to throw in a name."

"Deal." The demon raised his eyebrows. "You first."

"There's a spell," Dean said, choosing his words carefully. "If you do it right, it can send humans to the Empty. Rowena there—" He jerked his thumb towards the chair. "—is going to help me out and get me a first class ticket."

"And why do you need to get to the Empty?"

Dean could tell that the demon was toying with him. He had heard Dean snap at Rowena about having to help Cas, and unless the demon had been living under a rock for the past decade, he would know that "Cas" was the angel Castiel.

Dean shook his head. "You first. Name and what you want the key for."

"You can call me Darius. The rest you get after you answer my question," the demon said.

Dean scowled at him. "Look, buddy, I'm pretty sure—"

"You don't have the upper hand here," Darius interrupted. "I have over a dozen demons outside. If you kill me, they'll come. I suspect you didn't come alone. Even if your brother is out there with your boyfriend angel, you would be hard pressed to kill all of them." Something knowing flashed in his eyes. "Unless, of course, your angel isn't here, in which case you wouldn't even have a chance."

Dean surged forward and pinned Darius against one of the metal storage crates with a loud clang. He pulled the angel blade from his jacket, swiftly raising it up against the demon's neck. "Listen up, jackass. I have no qualms about killing you, bodyguards or not."

Darius wasn't even phased. "I take it Castiel is dead then?"

Dean pressed the blade even harder against his throat. "I'd shut up if I were you."

Darius glanced down at where the knife was biting into his skin. A small trickle of blood dripped down from where it was held.

"Any deeper and you'll really feel it," Dean assured him. "Maybe it'll even kill you. Your demons won't be able to get to you in time, and I know you're all self-preserving bastards. So, your choice, Darius. You willing to cooperate?"

He didn't look happy, but Darius huffed and said, "Fine. Let me down."

After a moment of hesitation, Dean lowered his blade and stepped back. "Talk. Now."

"We're looking for the books," Darius said.

"Wow. Never would have figured that out on my own," Dean snarked.

Darius shot him a glare. "Careful, Winchester. We want a sales projection."

Whatever apocalyptic plot he was expecting, that wasn't it.

"A sales— what?"

"A sales projection. Be able to look through the books and find out how many deals are made and cashed in," Darius explained sharply. "The books would be a simple business tool."

"Then why the hell would you have to kidnap Rowena? She's the Queen. If that was what you wanted, she would have just taken it from us," Dean said.

"We made a formal request weeks ago," Darius said. "She never said anything about it. I doubt she even read it. She was too busy interrogating Eudaemon."

"Eudaemon?"

"One of the least cooperative and oldest demons still around. He doesn't play well with others." Darius bristled. "He thinks that just because he was treated like a god by the Greeks means that he's better than the rest of us—"

Because their plans never worked, that was the moment the warehouse door slammed open.

Two demons were dragging the unconscious forms of Sam and Jack inside, both looking varying degrees of disgruntled and pissed.

"These two went after Abrina and Edgar," the demon carrying Jack scowled. "We got the jump on them before they could kill anyone else."

"This one is a goddamn sasquatch," the one carrying Sam grumbled.

"Hey!" Dean complained. "Only I get to call him that!"

Darius turned his attention from the other demons back to Dean. There was a hard line to his mouth that hadn't been there before.

In hindsight, maybe it hadn't been such a great idea to draw attention to himself.

"The way I see it," Darius said lowly, "is you have two options. One, you turn over the key and we complete our transaction. I'll even be generous and let those two go with you. Or two, we deal with you all accordingly."

Dean didn't have any doubt as to what dealing with them would entail.

He raised his hands slowly. When the demons didn't react, he reached carefully into his coat pocket and pulled out the wooden box.

The demons took in the box with interest, a fierce sort of hunger burning in their eyes. Dean didn't trust it, or them, but he handed the box over to Darius, nonetheless.

Darius unlatched the lid and opened it carefully, peeking inside before snapping it shut again. He smiled, eyes flashing black. "A pleasure doing business with you."

"Bite me," Dean said.

Darius looked him over. "Not my type."

The demons holding Sam and Jack dropped them to the ground.

As one, the three retreated.

"In fifteen minutes, you're free to take off her bonds. Gag included. Any sooner than that, we will kill you," Darius called over his shoulder.

"Dammit," Dean muttered when they were gone and the warehouse door had snapped shut behind them.

This was his fault. This all could have been avoided if they hadn't gone to Rowena for help. She would have been able to deal with the demons, and he wouldn't be standing in an abandoned warehouse, his brother and kid unconscious on the floor, and the Queen of Hell tied up behind him.

Better yet, this all could have been avoided if he hadn't gone after Billie. If he hadn't gone after Billie, Cas wouldn't have come with him, they wouldn't have been cornered, Cas would be alive. Then he wouldn't have had to ask Rowena for help in the first place. And most importantly, Cas would be alive.

Why did Dean screw up everything he touched? Why was he cursed? Why was he made of poison? He broke everything, and then he tried to fix it, and instead made everything worse. Now, a bunch of demons had the key to Death's Library. Sam and Jack were out cold. Rowena had been held hostage. Cas was dead. And all of it was his fault.

And it hurt. All of it. He hated hurting them, hated hurting his family. But if this worked, if Cas got back and still wanted him, Dean would break everything apart again in a heartbeat if someone told him he could redo it.

There was a groan from the floor.

Dean looked down.

Sam was blinking, unfocused, as he came to.

Dean crouched down next to him. "Sammy? You alright?"

Sam grunted in response. "Yeah, m'fine." He winced as he sat up. "Head hurts, though."

"You must've shrunk if those demons were able to hit you in the head," Dean said, forcing humor into his tone, though there wasn't much, if any, to be found.

Sam huffed a short laugh. "What happened?"

"They have the key," Dean said.

Sam's eyes focused on him, slightly more aware. "What? We talked about this, Dean—"

"I know," Dean cut him off. "But I have a name. And we have Rowena, and you and Jack are alright. It's just— it's what had to be done, okay? You've gotta trust me on that."

"Did you figure out what they wanted it for?"

"Apparently," Dean said, unconvinced, "they wanted to use the books for a sales projection."

Sam nodded, then winced again. "So, as a way to figure out deals?"

"Yeah. Dunno if I believe that."

"It makes sense. If it was a grab for power, they would have taken the key and then killed Rowena. Not sure what else they would do with the books," Sam said.

"I don't trust them," Dean said.

"I'm not saying we let them keep the key," Sam said. "I'm just saying that we put getting it back on the back burner. Worry about it later."

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "For once, I'd love being able to do something without starting an apocalypse."

"Yeah, well, at this point, I'm pretty sure there's always going to be some sort of impending doom. Whether we start it or not."

"Wish someone else would. That would be nice for a change."

"Yeah."

They were quiet.

Sam glanced at Jack. "How long was I out?"

"Just a few minutes," Dean said. "Nothing from the kid yet. They drugged Rowena, so she's out of it, too."

"We should load everyone in the car," Sam suggested. "Get out of here."

"Can't. We're stuck here for the next—" Dean tried to figure out how long they had left. "—eight, nine minutes? They said they'd kill us if we tried to leave before then. They're probably already gone, but I'm not taking any more chances."

"I hate demons," Sam said.

"Me too."

They sat, and Dean counted down the minutes.