Chapter Eight:
Back in the woods, Benny had disappeared, but evidence of his tussle with The Man in Black remained. Prince Chuck, along with The Count and his trusted Royal entourage, had tracked the kidnappers to that very spot.
"After defeating a giant back at the cliff top, there was a hand-to-hand battle right here," said Prince Chuck. He picked up a discarded syringe from the ground and gave it a sniff. "Dead man's blood, just as I suspected! A vampire lost the match and ran off that way." He pointed to the left. "But the victor ran that way."
"Should we track them both, your Highness?" asked The Count.
"The loser is nothing, only Dean matters," he replied, and so the group followed the trail that had been cleared of brush.
Crowley, in his infinite wisdom, decided that he couldn't risk Dean learning the way to the secret gates of Hell in the last leg of their journey, so he blindfolded him. If the hunter managed to escape, perhaps his disorientation would last long enough for him to be recaptured. Not that he intended to let him escape.
They were almost there when Crowley heard the footsteps behind them. He turned and saw The Man in Black heading towards them. "Inconceivable!" he said.
As The Man came nearer, Crowley grabbed Dean and placed a blade to his throat. "Come closer and he dies."
The Man in Black stopped in his tracks. "Kill him and you die today as well."
"But he'll still be dead."
The Man in Black's eyes were alive with malice, but he had no retort.
"I believe we are at an impasse," said Crowley. "You're trying to take what I have rightfully stolen. I'm no match for you physically, and you're no match for my intellect."
"You're that smart, are you?"
"Ever hear of Plato? Aristotle? Socrates? Morons."
"Excellent. Then I suppose you would have no qualms if I challenge you to a battle of wits."
"For the hunter?"
The Man nodded.
"To the death?"
Another nod.
"Marvelous," said Crowley. "What did you have in mind?"
The Man took a seat on the hard ground and gestured at Crowley to join him. The demon sat, pulling Dean down with him as he did so.
"Watch it," growled Dean.
"Shut up or I'll make you," responded Crowley, pressing the blade harder against Dean's throat, though not enough to break skin.
While the two traded threats, The Man reached into the bag that was slung upon his back. He pulled out a vial of powder, a bottle of wine, and two small goblets. He set about pouring the wine into the glasses.
Crowley watched suspiciously. "Having a tea party, are we?"
"It's wine, not tea," said The Man humorlessly. He picked up the mysterious vial of powder and took out the stopper. "And this is our battle of wits." He handed it to Crowley, who took it carefully. "Inhale, but do not touch."
Crowley sniffed the open vial. "I smell nothing."
"What you do not smell is a very special poison, known as The Lance of Michael. It is tasteless, odorless, dissolves instantly in any liquid. And it is deadly to all creatures, be they human, demon, or angel."
"Handy," said Crowley.
"Indeed."
The Man took the two wine goblets and took back the vial, then turned away from Crowley so that he could not see what he was doing. Then he returned the goblets to the ground between them, setting one in front of Crowley and the other directly in front of himself.
"Which goblet holds the poison? The game ends when you decide, we each drink, and we find out who is right…and who is dead."
Crowley grinned. "Oh, this is too simple by far! All I have to do is divine from what I know of you - are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or that of his enemies?"
The Man said nothing.
"Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, knowing only a great fool would reach for what he is given. I am not a great fool, so I clearly cannot choose the wine in front of you."
Crowley hesitated for a moment, watching The Man for any sign that his words were correct. There was not a flicker of any emotion to be found.
"But," he continued, "you would know that I am not a great fool, so clearly I cannot choose the wine in front of me."
"You've made your decision then?" The Man asked.
"Not remotely! Because everyone knows Michael was an archangel, and archangels are used to people not trusting them, as you are not trusted by me, so clearly I cannot choose the wine in front of you."
"You're just stalling," said The Man.
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? You beat my giant, so you must be very strong, and strong men conceitedly think that death will not come for them. You'd likely put the poison in your own goblet, counting on your strength to save you."
Once again, The Man said nothing.
"But you also beat a vampire, so you must have studied your lore, and in studying you would know that all humans are mortal, and put the poison as far away from you as possible."
"You're trying to make me give something away. It won't work."
"You've already given everything away," said Crowley. "I know where the poison is!"
"Then make your choice," said The Man, voice icy as winter.
"I will, and I choose – what in Lucifer's name is that?" Crowley suddenly exclaimed, pointing over The Man in Black's shoulder. The Man looked around, and while his back was turned, Crowley switched the positions of the goblets.
The Man turned around, none the wiser. "I didn't see anything."
"Must have been a trick of the light," said Crowley, trying not to laugh. "Shall we drink? Me from my glass, and you from yours."
The Man nodded. The two picked up their goblets. "Cheers," said The Man in Black. The two bumped glasses and each took a solemn gulp of wine.
"Wrong choice," said The Man calmly.
Crowley began to shake with laughter. "You nitwit. You only think I chose wrong because I switched the goblets when you weren't looking! You should have known better than to challenge me! You may be good, but I'm Crowley!"
Those were his last words before he keeled over, dead.
The Man in Black sighed slightly, repacked his bag, and then turned to Dean. He removed the hunter's blindfold, and they both stood up.
Dean looked at Crowley's body on the ground beside him. "So it was your wine that was poisoned the whole time," he said.
"They were both poisoned," The Man replied. "I've spent several years building an immunity to the Lance of Michael poison."
Dean nodded, as if it was a sensible thing to do. "Thank you for helping me, by the way. I'll make sure the Prince pays you handsomely."
"Who says I'm here to help you," said The Man, and Dean was taken aback by the sudden cold tone. He was even more thrown when The Man grabbed him by the arm and began to drag him along, just as his other captors had done. "I'm taking you to my ship. So this Prince you love so dearly can keep his money."
"I never said I loved him."
That stopped The Man in his tracks. "You admit you do not love your fiancé?"
"He knows I don't."
"Aren't capable of love, most likely."
Dean stared angrily back, rage building in his chest. He pulled at the bonds around his hands, but they didn't give way quite yet. "I have loved more deeply than a demon like you could ever imagine."
"Oh yeah? Another prince? Lazy, dumb, and rich?"
Dean looked away. They were on the ridge of a grassy hill now. The sun was starting to set on the horizon. In another circumstance, Dean may have found it quite beautiful. "No," he said softly. "He was a fallen angel. Poor, but strong and kind. With eyes like the sea before a storm."
He looked back now, his own green eyes blazing. "And you murdered him, didn't you, Cain?" Because who else but Cain was known for his all black attire and mask? Who but the Dread Cain could beat a giant, a vampire, and a demon? Who else could be as wicked?
The Man didn't deny it. "It's possible. I murdered a lot of people in Hell."
"His troop was sent to spy on Hell from within. They were captured and you slaughtered them all."
"Ah yes, I remember him. He was the only human they sent, wasn't he?"
Dean felt as if he had swallowed a hot stone. "No. Heaven's Great Council was supposed to return his angel powers and wings to him before his mission."
"They lied. All the better for me, of course. Angels aren't nearly as fragile. Pain works far better on a man."
Dean was sinking in despair. He had hoped that Castiel had died quickly. That he had not suffered. This monster had ensured that he did.
"He died well though. Even after the torture, there was no begging, no blubbery. He just said - 'Please. Please, I have to live.' It was the please that stood out to me. I asked him what was so important that he had to live for. True love is what he said. And then he spoke of a man of great looks, a skilled hunter, who was loyal to a fault, and the best man he ever knew. I can only assume he meant you. It was kinder for me to kill him before he found out what you really are."
"What am I, really?" snarled Dean.
"He spoke of loyalty, undying loyalty!" Cain raged back. "Tell me, how long after the news of his death did you run off to your Prince? Did you grieve your love before popping the champagne in celebration of your newfound wealth and fame?"
Angry tears filled Dean's eyes. He stood as straight and defiant as he could. "I died when he did," he said. With a great heave, Dean managed to rip free of the rope at last. "And you can die too for all I care." He didn't have a weapon anymore, so he did the next best thing and used his newly free hands to push Cain down the steep ridge.
As Cain tumbled down, he called out to Dean. "As yooouu wish!"
Dean felt shock surge through him, and then panic. What had he just done?
"Cas? Cas!"
Dean tried to run down the hill after him, but soon enough, his own momentum overwhelmed him and he was stumbling and tumbling down, down, down after Castiel.
He hit rocks and brambles as he rolled, his stomach churned, and then after what seemed like ages, the land evened out. He slowed to a stop at the bottom. He was scratched and bruised and aching. He didn't care. He didn't care because Cas was next to him, equally bruised but miraculously alive.
His mask had come off during the fall. He had a short beard that he hadn't had when he left, and he had aged just as Dean had in the last three years. But his eyes - how had Dean not recognized him? His angel had returned.
"Cas."
They reached for each other at the same time, Cas pressing a hand softly to the skin of Dean's cheek. "I told you I would return for you. Why didn't you wait for me?" he asked softly.
"You were dead, Cas."
"Death cannot stop a bond as profound as ours, Dean. I will always return to you."
"I won't doubt you again."
"You won't need to."
They kissed with all the love and passion that had only grown in their three year separation. In that perfect instant, it was as easy and as necessary as breathing.
The moment held, but all too soon Castiel rose to his feet. He helped Dean up as well. "We have to keep moving. Your Prince has just found us, and I can't imagine he'll take too kindly to me."
Dean looked to where Cas was pointing up the hill. He could see four or five people up there, and one did indeed look like Prince Chuck. He had to agree with Cas - Chuck didn't love Dean, but he would not tolerate being humiliated by losing him to another. A fallen angel no less.
"How do we get away?"
They started to move, Dean following Cas at a quick pace. "I know a shortcut to my ship, just up ahead. You're not going to like it though."
Dean felt a sense of foreboding. "Why?"
Cas tried to look casual. "It's through a rift that goes through Purgatory."
Dean grimaced. Purgatory was filled with monsters and peril, beyond that of even Hell. "We'll never survive."
"Dean, you're just saying that because no one ever has before." Cas said.
The two hurried forward. Soon the grassy land gave way to dense trees, and shimmering in front of them - a thin golden line split the air, like a crack in the universe. Which it basically was.
They braced themselves with a simultaneous deep breath. Dean slipped his hand into Cas's, and together, they stepped through the rift and into Purgatory.