"Sam!"

He turned to Gene and met the eyes looking at him over the long barrel of the shotgun. There was determination, anger, and a little fear and hesitation in them. Unfortunately, there really was only a little of the last.

Sam knew exactly what was coming next, and he also knew he was too far away to get to Gene before he just had to pull the trigger. Even so, he took a small step forward and raised his hand before there was the click of the trigger and then a deafening shot that reverberated not only through the cabin but surely for miles through the woods around it.

The first thing he felt was the impact. It was as if someone had thrown a handful of pebbles at him, which bounced off his chest and sent him reeling backwards with its force at the same time.

Then a great pain exploded in his chest, gripping his entire body, biting into his ribs and tearing his lungs apart with a fiery hand. Through all the pain he felt himself falling, and ironically, almost more strongly than the blow to his chest, he felt the top of his head hit the old floorboards.

He tried to catch his breath. He couldn't. There probably wasn't enough left of his lungs to use them. All his attempt to breathe achieved was a stream of frothing, hot blood coming out of his mouth.

He blinked and looked up at the ceiling, which leaned towards him like a darkening roof.

He literally had a few dozen seconds to live, and the last thing he had to look at was the huge curtain of cobwebs that was wrapped around a cheap chandelier with a dingy yellow shade.

He heard shuffling footsteps, and Gene's scruffy face, framed by his overgrown, greasy hair, leaned over him. In truth, the chandelier was a much nicer sight than the hunter who'd just shot him in the chest.

Fortunately, the edges of Sam's vision slowly began to fade into shadows. A slowly spreading darkness that consumed everything he saw, bit by nice bit, until the world around him disappeared completely.

He blinked again.

Suddenly he was no longer in the old forest cabin, but on a dusty, gray plain that stretched as far as the eye could see, merging with black clouds on the horizon. They swirled and shifted like the worst storm Sam could have imagined. Even a hurricane was nothing compared to this, especially since they weren't just dark clouds. No, they were mixed with fire and burning lightning.

"Well, well, what does my eye see? A tiny, rogue soul," came a raspy voice behind him, sending an unpleasant chill down his spine.

He tensed and automatically reached for his waistband, where he usually kept his gun, only his hand only touched the frosty belt.

Shit!

He didn't have his guns, and whoever or whatever the heavy footsteps coming towards him belonged to, he definitely needed his guns now. An angel blade at best. Only he had nothing. Only his bare hands, which he already feared wouldn't be enough.

He turned very slowly to face a man at least ten feet tall... well, he was probably a man in principle. He had two arms and two legs, a body and a head that had what looked like a face on it, with only half of his nose - the other half had been torn off so that the cartilage and part of the exposed skull could be seen. He also had only one eye, demonically black as all get out. There was no sign of the other in the eye socket. It had been replaced by a hook, which was caught on the lower orbital arch, like a fish's hook is caught in its mouth. The demon didn't even have lips, just bared, pointed teeth, between which saliva seeped, dripping onto the dusty ground and turning into puffs of sulphurous smoke with a hiss.

Most of his absurdly muscular body was exposed. And covered in greyish skin, full of unbleeding wounds and adorned with various pieces of metal, hooks and blades that seemed to grow out of the demon's flesh. The few shrouded areas of his body were covered by bits of skin that Sam was pretty sure were human. But he wasn't going to get close enough to check.

In fact, just the opposite, he began to slowly back away as he darted his gaze around trying to find a weapon. There was nothing around but dust, the occasional small rock, and something that looked suspiciously like fragments of various kinds of human bones at first glance.

Nothing he could use to defend himself against the huge demon that was coming towards him, dragging a woman behind him. Probably. She had no hair and no skin, certainly no clothes but the two bloody lumps on her chest suggested she might have been a woman earlier. The demon wrapped barbed wire around her neck before tying a chain to it and dragging her through the black desert and sharp bone fragments.

"You can't escape me, goodie," the demon thundered, and what had been a mouth spread into something like a smile.

"What do you think you're doing, dog?" Came a soft female voice from the right.

Sam glanced in that direction out of the corner of his eye so as not to lose sight of the approaching monster and found a very petite brunette in an expensive black suit and pale pink silk blouse walking quickly towards them. Though she was indeed small, Sam would have to bend down properly to get a good look at her, so the giant demon froze in mid-motion and the menacing smile disappeared completely from its toothy maw.

"Don't you know who that is?" he asked sharply as he stood less than a foot away from Sam. "He's king's wife, you imbecile."

"I'm not Crowley's... wife!" He protested immediately. He hated it when demons called him that. He hated being called that by Crowley himself, though... maybe it was a little better than being called 'Queen of Hell', a title he certainly didn't crave. Not that there was perhaps much point in protesting either title. Especially now. Neither of the demons paid him any attention.

The giant one let the hand he'd been using to reach for Sam slowly drop, half-turning to the demoness like a clumsy mountain.

"I'm just doing here..."

"Shut up, get on your knees and kiss his boots," the demoness interrupted him with an order.

"I don't... think that's going to be... necessary," he tried to prevent the lipless demon from kissing his shoes, or anyone or anything in Hell from kissing his shoes, after all. Or touching him at all. Especially since, purely empirically speaking, he had no shoes here. Sure, if he looked down, he'd see his pleasantly scuffed up army boots, the ones he took to hunt the monsters that lived anywhere outside the city. He was also wearing his old jeans, gray t-shirt, and flannel, only none of it was real. Here... in Hell... he was just a naked soul who had created his metaphysical form based on how he remembered himself from life. He was stripped down to his very core here, and he really didn't like the idea of touching anyone or anything.

Of course, his opinion didn't particularly matter to the demons.

"I said on knees!" The demoness yelled, still in that soft, feminine voice, but at the same time in a tone that was no match for the roughest, most violent drunk in the cheapest bondage.

The big demon was a little slow even for a demon (probably why he was in Hell and not on Earth), because he blinked his single eye slowly, as if he didn't understand what the demoness wanted him to do at all. She, in turn, didn't have much patience for a change, which was something most demons didn't exactly abound in, after all.

She raised her hand and with a single snap, she tripped the huge demon's legs. It didn't even blink again, just dropped to its knees, accompanied by a noise similar to a bag of rocks being thrown on dry dirt. And a huge cloud of black dust hit Sam's nose and mouth, making him cough. He started choking on something that he was now realizing was probably charred human bones, if he was where he thought he was. The ashes of the undead. Just perfect.

"Okay... ohm... no... uhm... this really isn't... ohm... necessary," he let out through a cough as he saw the huge demon finally figure out what was wanted of him and start to crawl obediently on his knees towards him, head bowed as he was ready to kiss his feet.

Sam backed away from him again. Just in time to avoid the hand that was kneading his ankles and was big enough to literally hug his entire calf.

"No. Don't... ohrm... touch me!" he commanded emphatically with a bit of panic at the edge of his voice, and strangely it worked. The demon stopped and slowly turned his head towards the demoness.

"Good," sighed the demoness. "Then let's end the fun and get to the pleasantries," she said to herself, then turned to Sam and continued in the bored formal voice of a receptionist, all she would have needed to do was hand him an extra form to fill out. "My name is Ella, and it is my dear duty to inform you that you have just died... again," she did not forgive herself the ironic remark, "and have made your way here to us. Welcome to Hell, Mr. Winchester. Now, please follow me, His Highness is expecting you," she added, stepping aside a little and beckoning him with her hand, at the same time as she herself turned and strode off in the direction from which she had come.

Still coughing a little, Sam carefully avoided the outstretched hand of the kneeling demon and followed her. They had only walked a few steps when the front door materialized out of thin air in front of them. It even had a small peephole. The only thing that made it different from a regular one was that it was painted black.

Ella took their handle and opened them, revealing the familiar hallway of the part of Hell that Crowley called the 'Guest Lounge'. When he walked through the door the demoness had held for him a moment later, he found it to be just as grimly luxurious as he remembered. Underfoot was a thick carpet of deep red. The matte black walls were divided into alcoves framed by heavy, black velvet curtains, and in each alcove was either a door or a pedestal on which stood a vase of red roses or some work of art covered by a glass screen that protected it from the ever-present sulfur odor. Though in this particular corner of Hell, the smell was much weaker than it had been on the plain just moments before. In fact, it was almost imperceptible, so that it only took a few breaths for him to stop almost noticing the sulfur.

"I must apologize for Bart," came the voice of the demoness walking slowly at his side. "He didn't recognize you and was just doing his job. His job is to track and catch souls that get lost..."

"...in Black Desert of Damnation," he finished for her.

Ella looked up at him in surprise.

"You're the first person to know that."

"To be honest, this is far from my first time here. Actually... I've spent quite a bit of time here," he pointed out, his gaze sliding to the vase they had just passed; it bore the image of the ancient Medusa, who was not only watching him with her human eyes, all of her snakes were watching him as well, slowly turning in the direction they were going. He preferred to look back at the demoness: "And in that time I've learned a little about the geography of Hell, so I know that the Black Desert of Damnation is bordered on one side by the Eternal Storm, on the other by the Forest of Curses and Screams, and separated from the City of Bones by the newly constructed riverbed of the River Styx."

"I'm impressed. Even most of us don't know Hell that well."

"I guess that's because most demons aren't exactly... the brightest. No offense," he added quickly, raising his hand apologetically.

The demoness just grinned.

"That's true. Almost all of them are imbeciles, like Bart, but that still doesn't excuse him," he said, stopping in front of one of the doors. "He's been an asshole, and his work performance is also horribly... horribly... boring," she snorted, making a disgusted face as she did so. "You see, he's a traditionalist. Hot chains, dragging behind the wagon, pulling on the squeaker... But there's more modern fun to be had," she said, leaning a little flirtatiously towards Sam, which of course was spoiled by the fact that she had to tilt her head properly to look him in the eye. "If you're interested, I'll take you on a tour, now that the sight of the real Hell won't make your eyeballs explode."

He pulled away to a polite but mostly safe distance, a rather wry smile slipping onto his face.

"I... don't... think I'll be around long enough to... properly appreciate the tour," he forced out through stiffening lips.

The demoness blinked in displeasure, but pulled away.

"Hmm. I hear you Winchesters are here a lot, but you don't stay much," she commented before turning to the door and tapping her knuckles three times on the black painted wood.

"Come in!"

As a familiar voice with a strong accent reached his ears, his wry smile quickly turned genuine. It had been so long since he had even spoken to Crowley. Literally weeks. And even longer since he'd seen him. If it weren't for the devil emotes and bored faces that usually came into his chat room around three or four in the morning, he would have started to worry about Crowley. Actually, he was a little worried about him anyway, even though it was perfectly normal for endless barrages of texts full of impertinent remarks and sexual innuendo to alternate with long days or even weeks of silence, usually ending with some sort of gift appearing at the entrance to the Bunker. Most recently it was a cursed teddy bear that had come to life in the middle of the night, picked up a kitchen knife and stabbed - thankfully - Case. In Crowley's defense, it was all Dean's fault. He took off the bear's shackles and planted it in Sam's bed before he'd read the cover letter and instructions. So, yeah, all the bear problems were Dean's fault.

Not that Sam understood the purpose of a cursed teddy bear designed to kill people in their sleep, but in a way it was... kind of... a nice gesture. Very Crowley-esque, to be exact.

The demoness opened the door and stood in the doorway, hands folded behind her back.

"My lord. Your guest is here."

"Send him in and close the door behind you."

"Certainly, my lord," she replied, backing up a little, then clearing a passage for Sam.

"Thank you." He nodded at her as he walked past her into the study.

Nothing had changed here either since he'd last been here. The walls were as black as the hallway, and the entire room was illuminated by that ghostly light from somewhere in the ceiling that never managed to truly illuminate it, so everything was bathed in a slight gloom. There were more heavy curtains on the walls, this time in blood red, hanging as if to cover the windows, which of course weren't there. There was a leather sofa to the right, a bar counter to the left, and an antique table made of heavy dark wood at the head of the room. Empty, of course. There wasn't a single paper on it, and certainly not something as modern as a computer.

In fact, the only purpose the desk probably served was for Crowley to lean against it, one hand shoved icily in his pocket and the other gripping the dark edge of the desk. When their gazes finally met, one corner of Crowley's mouth lifted slightly in a crooked smile, and chocolate brown eyes squinted as he slid a meaningful glance over Sam. Handsome from head to toe and back again before his gaze lingered on his face once more.

"Hello, pet," he greeted him in a low, challenging tone.

Sam waited until he heard the click of the door closing behind him, then his face lit up with a smile and he stepped toward Crowley.

"Good to see you," he said before taking the demon's face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss.

Immediately, he felt a hand low on his back, stronger than human, pull him into Crowley's arms.

He let one palm rest on the rough stubble of Crowley's cheek, but slid the other down his neck, over the perfectly starched collar of his shirt and silk tie to the broad shoulders of his expensive wool suit, and then further down his back.

He pressed even closer, allowing himself a moment to savor the taste of the very expensive whiskey he felt on his tongue as he slid it into Crowley's willing mouth. And also the smell of equally expensive cologne, slightly tinged with the unmistakable smell of sulfur that was instead of sweat, coming from all the people, or mere bodies, possessed by demons.

Unfortunately, they didn't have as much time as he would have liked. Maybe fifteen, twenty hellish minutes before he'd have to go back upstairs again. So, with a sigh, he pulled away from Crowley and straightened up to get his lips out of Crowley's reach.

A red smoky shadow flickered briefly behind the doll brown eyes that looked up at him. The only indication that Crowley wasn't too happy about the interruption of their kiss. Otherwise, his face remained otherwise serene as he pulled away a little further and tilted his head to the side a little.

"We haven't spoken in a long time. I was beginning to worry if something had happened. I'm glad to see you're okay," Sam confessed both to his fears and to the fact that he was actually relieved to finally see Crowley again, running his thumb over the softness of his cheek a few times as he spoke half-heartedly.

"You know. Works," Crowley replied casually, ducking away from Sam's gentle touch on his cheek and nimbly, as only he could, wriggling out of the embrace as well.

Sam turned and followed his gaze to the small bar as he listened to him continue talking.

"Being King of Hell isn't all unbridled torture, it's also a lot of paperwork and dealing with boring personnel issues. For example," he selected one of the bottles, opened it and began pouring the amber liquid into a prepared glass, "imagine what these idiots have come up with this time. You won't believe it when you hear it. They wanted to form a union. A union!" He repeated louder, and turned to Sam with a look of utter disbelief, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his drink. "Do you get it!"

"Demon unions? Yeah, that sounds pretty crazy," he admitted. "Hell is... Hell, not a car assembly plant or anything."

"Exactly my point!", Crowley shook his head and sipped. "But try explaining it to them the easy way. It just didn't work. I had to come back here to duly remind them that once in Hell, anyone who falls into it is doomed to suffer or slave in it for the rest of eternity. With particular emphasis on the 'until the end of time' and 'slavery'." He paused suddenly and quickly slid his gaze from his glass to Sam and back again. "Oh, sorry not to offer, love, but in your condition...you see..."

"Never mind." He shook his head in understanding and a small smile crept onto his face. "I know how I am now, and that I can't eat or drink anything, at least nothing earthly."

"And hellish treats aren't good for the soul," Crowley added with a gleeful twinkle in his eyes before slowly walking over to the couch and sitting down on it. He leaned back comfortably, throwing one leg over the other and folding the hand that held his glass on the armrest.

"But enough about me," Crowley said. "Have a nice seat here, pet, and tell me how you died?" He asked, patting the sofa at his side.

With a long, loud sigh, Sam flopped down into the offered seat and also leaned back into the soft cushions, stretching his legs.

"I got shot," he replied simply, to which Crowley responded with an impatient raised eyebrow, so he elaborated a little, "One shotgun blast right through the chest. Medium scatter. Lungs took the brunt of it. I suffocated in less than half a minute."

"That sounds a little uncomfortable," Crowley pointed out, taking another sip.

"It hurt, but it was pretty quick," he replied truthfully. He could certainly imagine, as well as experience, far worse ways to die. A slow and painful death after failing to complete the tests needed to permanently close the Hellmouth and then a very unpleasant death in which he literally vomited chunks of his insides into his own bed were so far at the top of his list of deaths he didn't want to experience again. Being shot with a shotgun was... bearable.

"And... who killed you this time, if I may know?" Crowley asked casually. "Just please don't tell me it was a random shooting or a gas station robbery. That would be really embarrassing. You can die with more aplomb," he continued in a conversational tone, as if it was no big deal at all, but Sam knew him too well to fall for it.

He knew Crowley was trying to find out who shot him so he could then find him and probably dismember him alive, so telling him names was the last thing Sam would do. Gene and Aurgus deserved to get their asses kicked, but if anyone was going to do it, it was Sam himself. He didn't need, or want, anyone to help him stamp his boot on the background of two mediocre Hunters.

"Hunters," he replied simply then; no names or details.

"Are they still after you for me?" Crowley feigned astonishment. "Haven't they gotten over it after you took out... how many? Fifteen? Twenty?"

"Six," he corrected him. "And no, they still haven't given up. There's a bounty on my head that's high enough for most Hunters from all over the States to join, and even a few from Europe."

"You know what your problem is?" Crowley raised a finger emphatically. "You're keeping them alive!" He tapped his finger on Sam's shoulder. "If you at least killed a few of them, or better yet made an example of them, the others would eventually give you a break. Trust me, sweetheart, I know what I'm talking about. You have to show strength to earn respect."

He gave Crowley an eloquent look.

"You know very well that I don't kill people unless it's absolutely necessary, and I'm certainly not going to kill other Hunters."

"Oh yes, I know," he sighed theatrically, taking another small sip of his drink. "That's your humanity. The emotions and feelings. Compassion," he spat out the word as the greatest insult of all insults, adding a contemptuous smirk.

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are you really the one complaining about my humanity and compassion? After all, it was my compassion that saved your ass several times."

"Oh! Don't be ridiculous," Crowley snorted. "I can't recall a single occasion when my ass was in danger and it was your... humanity that saved it," the last two words with genuine disgust in his voice.

"A few times, yes. For example... remember our first date?" he reminded significantly, of course alluding to the fact that it had ended the moment he had pulled the Angel Dagger on Crowley at the end of the evening.

"You really wanted to kill me just for trying to kiss you?!" Crowley asked in shock.

"Of course," he replied with a shake of his head. "What did you think I was planning when I put the angel blade under your ribs? Tickle you?"

"I don't know... That you're trying to flirt with me a little clumsily? Maybe..." he replied, managing to make a really incredibly hurt face as he did so. "Now that I know you really and truly wanted to kill me, I..." he sighed dramatically and shook his head. "You hurt my feelings deeply, do you realize that? I've literally done everything I can to win your favor. I didn't rule the world, even when I had the opportunity to do so. I only tried to kill Squirrel and your feathered friend a few times, and when I tortured you, I always did it gently and lovingly. And now... now, after all we've been through together, I find out you really wanted to kill me? Even on our first date? I'm saddened, moose!"

"You really are unreal, Crowley. You know that?" he said with a laugh he couldn't hold back anymore. Crowley's indignant speech was almost believable if it weren't for the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"And that's why you love me so much," he growled in return, leaning a little closer.

"Yeah, that might be true," he admitted half-loudly, grabbing the silk tie and pulling the demon close.

Crowley immediately slipped his hand into his hair, gripping a handful of strands until it hurt slightly, and brought their lips together in another kiss. Harsher than the first. With a bit of teeth and a force that crushed Sam's lips to the edge of pain and coaxed a rough and slightly desperate sound from his throat. A sound that turned into a low moan when Crowley broke the kiss, but only to run his lips and teeth over his jaw, lapping at the sensitive spot where Sam's neck met his jaw.

Closing his eyes, he tucked both hands into the silk shirt and let his head fall back against the back of the chair with a sigh to give Crowley a little more space. He did it, even though he knew they wouldn't be able to follow through, because no matter how fast time went in Hell, they didn't have enough of him for this. Somewhere up there, his still warm body was in the hands of two experienced hunters and that meant one thing; he would end up salted and burned very soon.

The thought flashed through his mind and quickly brought him back to his senses.

"Stop it, Crowley," he said, his voice thick with the excitement that had been coursing through his blood only moments ago. And he pushed into the demon's chest, forcing him to back off a little.

"Hmm, I don't think I want to stop," Crowley growled right in his ear, his hand still firmly tangled in Sam's hair, but at least he'd stopped chewing on that sensitive spot.

"Not enough time for this," he pointed out with a sigh with which he also pulled away enough for them to look at each other.

Another smoky shadow flickered somewhere in the depths of Crowley's eyes, but like the first time, he didn't lose his composure, just wrinkled his nose in annoyance.

"I think we have more than enough time here. In fact... we have all the time we could wish for."

"You know I have to get back upstairs."

"Do I know?" Crowley asked, feigning surprised confusion.

"Crowley..." he let his name trail off with due emphasis. "I want to get back before my body gets salted and burned and I have nowhere to go."

"Actually, that's not as much of a problem as you Hunters like to think," Crowley retorted, as if perhaps that was an argument for Sam staying a little longer. Only he couldn't be. The demon sighed. "All right," he finally conceded defeat, untangling his fingers from Sam's hair and lifting his hand, ready to snap his fingers back into his body.

"Wait a minute," he restrained him by wrapping his fingers around his wrist. "When are we going to see each other again? I mean..." he shook his head, "in the real world. We haven't been anywhere together at... I don't even know, at least two months. I miss you and... seeing you only when I die isn't exactly... you know."

"Okay. Let me check the calendar," Crowley said, shifting his glass to his other hand and reaching into his pocket where he pulled out his cell phone. He dipped into it for a moment, frowning as he checked his appointments before turning to Sam again, "I should be free this Saturday afternoon, after four or so. What do you say?"

"I should be able to make it back to the Bunker," Sam said half to himself as he calculated in his head how long it would take him to get home. "Where are we going?"

"I suggest a nice little restaurant in the south of France. It overlooks the vineyards and the cooking is really good."

Sam smiled.

"Sounds good. At least I'll practice my French."

"Great. I'll pick you up at the usual place," Crowley said before tapping to reserve Saturday afternoons and evenings on his calendar for Sam and then putting his phone back in his pocket. "Ready to come back?"

"Absolutely." He nodded with a smile.

"Good luck love and hopefully I won't see you here until Saturday," he noted before raising his hand again and snapping.

With an intermittent gasp, Sam opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a dirty, yellow lampshade.

END