Sam knew he'd been pushing Dean as much as Dean had been riling him. Still, he felt he'd done an admirable job of keeping his mouth shut in front of Bobby during the discussion, at least where certain facts were concerned. Not once had he let slip, for example, that John had most likely made a deal to save him from imminent death at the hands of Leukaemia. Nor had he given away even the slightest hint that John had ended up in Hell for his efforts. And he most certainly hadn't mentioned that in all the time in which Dean had been absent and Bobby had feared him dead, Dean had actually been dead and in Hell too, trying to rescue their father. He'd even kept his mouth shut about Castiel having pulled Dean out from Hell, because it stood to reason that if Bobby didn't know where Dean had been all those months he'd been missing, then why (in the hell) would Bobby know that Castiel had pulled him out (from said hell)?

But still, when they exited the room to give Dean space to make his call, and Bobby halted Sam before he'd barely taken a few steps, Sam assumed he was probably in line for some type of reprimand from the older hunter for all the questions he'd demanded of his brother.

"Look Bobby," he began before the older hunter could speak. "I know you said I shouldn't push Dean, that I should give him time–"

"To hell with that!" Bobby cut in pulling Sam up short.

"What?"

"We ain't got time. You heard him in there, reckless as a headless chicken. If you got a way to get him to open up, do it. Have that talk, force him to share."

"I err… Okay." Sam responded haltingly, still startled.

"I know it's not fair. Not on you. Not on him. But…," Bobby sighed wearily, his eyes softening. "I'm worried about him Sam. Something's got to give. And with your son's life on the line, we need him clear headed and fully focused. I'm sorry to put this on you Sam, but–"

Before Bobby could continue, Dean stepped out from the room, startled to be greeted by his brother and Bobby just steps from the doorway. Mistakenly, he assumed they had been trying to listen in to his phone call and bristled at the mistaken assumption.

"I've left a message," he said gruffly. "Not that I need to explain my every move."

He stormed off leaving Sam and Bobby to share a rueful glance in his wake.

"Like I was saying," Bobby finished. "If he needs a push, push."

It took around a day or so of waiting before Dean received a response from this mysterious 'guy he knew'. That waiting period gave Sam time. Not time or space to approach him, since Dean made that impossible, and besides, the Roadhouse was far too conspicuous for any type of secretive, probably explosive, confrontation. But it gave him time to put his mind to work, so that by the time Dean made a move to leave, Sam was ready. While Bobby griped that he'd had enough of Dean's charming demeanour and had better things to do than follow his sorry ass around, Sam in contrast made his move to accompany Dean. And when Dean opened his mouth to object, all it took was one threat from Sam, one softly spoken reminder that Sam might feel the need to unburden his conscience to Bobby in Dean's absence, for Dean to clamp his mouth shut, leaving him with no recourse other than silent petulance in the face of Sam's blatant winning hand.

One of the things people with secrets always forgot, Sam thought to himself as Dean drove him and Castiel to wherever this illicit rendezvous was taking place, was that their duplicity made them prime targets for blackmail. He knew he had enough on Dean to put the pressure on. What surprised him however, was how clean his own conscience felt at using such a low tactic against his brother.

Dean was still in a foul mood and sitting beside him, Sam could feel that frustration and anger emanating from him in waves, like cold dark clouds rolling off a mountain, full of bluster and thunder. Dean had even turned his irritation towards Cas, snapping at the angel, saying something about there being a more important errand that Cas had to run that surely took precedence over his sitting in on their current recon mission. Sam wasn't sure what Dean had been alluding to, but Cas seemed to be well aware. He'd simply tilted his head in response, meeting Dean's eyes in the rear-view mirror, and Sam would swear the two of them were having some sort of silent conversation. A small measure of the jealousy Sam had felt when he'd spied his brother and the angel from the Roadhouse window returned to him then, before his shame and regret forced him to stamp out the petty sentiment and focus instead on the road ahead.

They drove through the darkness along the back roads for a short while before Dean pulled off onto a 'would-have-missed-it -if-you-hadn't-known-it-was-there' dirt track, following it till it ended in the field of an abandoned farmstead. The derelict barn near which Dean parked was the only structure still standing and even then barely so.

Emerging from the car Sam scanned the landscape, suspicions mounting as the barn loomed before them like the long dead carcass of a gutted behemoth. There were no other vehicles in the vicinity, so presumably they were early, but still he felt apprehensive, given the contacts Dean kept. Dean for his part was all business, but the instant he retrieved a spray can from the Impala and began a gruff march towards the barn, Sam knew his concerns had been warranted.

"Who exactly are we meeting?" he pressed, following in Dean's wake but suspecting that 'what are we meeting' would have been the more pertinent interrogative.

Either Dean didn't hear him or else he chose ignorance, getting busy skilfully and quickly creating a Devils Trap on the barn floor.

"Get in," was the only thing he said as he finished, typing a text as he did so.

He'd barely discarded the spray-can and out away his phone when a cold wind rose through the absent barn doors, carrying a suspicion of sulphur wafting through the air. Sam scarcely had time to identify the odour before a voice emanated from behind them.

"Hello… boys."

The owner of the somewhat amused, somewhat unimpressed, British accent was a dark haired man in a dark suit and overcoat, a maroon silk tie the only colour in his outfit, the slash of red cutting over his shirted torso like remnants of an evisceration. He stood well beyond the edge of the drying paint, hands in his pockets and an indecipherable smirk on his face as he glanced at Sam. The expression changed however when he spied Castiel beyond Dean's shoulder.

"What the Hell is that doing here?!" he demanded, fear clearly evident despite his attempt at bravado.

In the same instant Castiel took a step forward, a ferocious looking silver blade the likes of which Sam had never seen manifesting in Cas' grip seemingly from nowhere, before Dean held up a hand, halting the angel's progress.

"Dean," the angel growled, his tone carrying an unspoken warning. "Tell me you're not still consorting with it?"

"We need info, we'll get info," Dean responded, voice low, addressing his friend but eyes never leaving the suited figure.

"You'll get nothing," the British man spat. "Till you put a leash on your steroid infused cherub."

Cas bared his teeth and Dean finally turned slightly to face him, hand pressing gently on his friends chest.

"Cas," he cautioned. "Don't."

The angel seemed to almost snarl at the Brit before meeting Dean's eyes.

"We spoke about this Dean. This is not the way," he intoned, his gravelly voice lowering an octave as he spoke, grip tightening around the weapon still in his hand.

"It's okay." Dean urged, not breaking eye contact. "You got things to do, remember? I got this."

The two stared at each other, something passing tacitly between them, before Cas clenched his jaw, relenting, and the tension ebbed. A different expression passed over the angel's features then and if Sam, who was watching the exchange intently, hadn't known any better he would have said the angel looked anxious, almost desperate.

"I am not a Cherubim Dean," he said defensively, seeking the hunters eyes for belief. "They are a lower order of angel. Completely different. I am–"

"Cas," Dean cut in, then shook his head. "I know. It's fine. Go."

Cas searched Dean's eyes for a moment more before being satisfied. He turned his gaze back to the man in the suit, sneer returning briefly.

"I wear clothes," he growled, somehow making the nonsensical remark seem like a threat, before disappearing.

"And we're all eternally grateful," the man muttered to the now empty space where seconds ago Cas had been. Then he turned his attention towards Dean. "Next time you pull a stunt like that–"

"When I want you dead Crowley, I'll do it myself." Dean spat, making no attempt to hide his contempt.

Crowley stared at him for a beat.

"Well," he said finally, seemingly unaffected by Dean's threat. "How very intimate of you." He took a few steps, giving the trap a perfunctory glance, eyes flashing red briefly as he did so. "And yet… Where's the love Dean? Where's the trust?"

"A demon?" Sam whispered. "Seriously Dean? After everything?"

Before Dean could respond to Sam, Crowley turned towards him.

"Yes, how standards have slipped. Look at me, King of the Crossroads, consorting with a hunter. A Winchester, no less! Whatever will the neighbours think?" He narrowed his eyes, head tilting to the side and tongue flicking briefly to his top lip. "You must be the other Hardy boy."

"Cut the crap Crowley." Dean snapped.

"You called me, remember?" Crowley retaliated, returning his attention to Dean. "A little courtesy wouldn't go amiss."

"I won't gut you, how's that for courtesy?"

"Charming as ever I see."

"You got something or not?"

"That depends. What exactly is it that you want?"

"Tell me what Lilith's up to."

"Prison break from Hell etc. etc. Same old story."

"What's that got to do with his son?" Dean demanded, gesturing towards Sam with a jerk of his head.

Crowley blinked, gaze shifting towards Sam and in that instant, Sam got a read on him.

"He doesn't know," he said to his brother. "Damn it Dean."

"That true?" Dean demanded.

Crowley opened his mouth to respond, before closing it wordlessly and shrugging. He tried again this time managing to speak.

"I may not know everything she's been doing of late." He admitted. "She's closed ranks since… well, since things have gotten somewhat complicated."

"So basically you're no longer relevant." Dean stated.

Crowley eyed him for a moment, leer worn openly. "Well how relevant are you Dean? I don't see you having brought anything to the table of late. Or don't we share a mutual goal anymore? Have you suddenly decided to let Lucifer come out to play?"

"What I've decided is that you've got nothing left to offer."

"Think you can take me Dean?" Crowley smirked. "Without Clarence on your shoulder?"

Dean pulled a long barrelled gun from the folds of his jacket, Sam noting that it was not the usual piece his brother favoured.

"I don't need anyone's help to take care of you." Dean said darkly.

Crowley glanced at the weapon warily, then smirked. "I wondered how long before you flashed it in my face."

"You remember the Colt?" Dean queried but didn't bother wait for a response. "Good." He cocked the trigger. "Then you remember what it does."

"Oh I remember a lot more than that." Crowley said. He chewed the inside of his cheek as though weighing something up. "In fact, I remember the day your old man traded it over to Azazel. Along with his soul of course. Did I ever tell you that story?"

"What?" Sam blurted before Dean had responded and Crowley smiled.

"You didn't know? His last day on Earth. Must be, what? Two? Three years ago, now. Seems like only yesterday Daddy Dearest was consorting with Hells finest."

"What do you know about it?" Dean growled.

"I know the apples didn't fall far, given this current situation. And I know that thing is just a useless hunk of metal without the bullets to go with it. Which I'm guessing you've used up or you would have tried it on Lilith already. Now, I could give you the recipe to make more, just like I could tell you what happened to Winchester senior. But you'll get nothing from me long as you're waving that thing around."

"You really wanna bet I didn't save a couple bullets for you?" Dean countered, gun held firm, muzzle unflinching.

Crowley's eyes narrowed as if assessing the validity of the threat, but he betrayed nothing else. Sam knew the standoff was likely to end bloody, and while he had no problems with Dean putting an end to some demon, he couldn't stem his desire to know the truth, his desperation right then dulling what he knew was his better judgement. He turned towards Dean, voice lowered.

"Would he know? About what happened with Dad?"

"Of course I'd know." Crowley cut in indignantly before Dean had a chance to respond. "Who do you think brokered the deal? Like I said, King of the Crossroads."

The brother's exchanged a glance, Dean finally lowering the gun and Crowley smirked.

"Oh look. I've become useful again," he said glibly. "And as much as I love seeing you handle your impotent weapon, put it away darling, it's quite distracting."

For a split second it seemed as though Dean would raise the gun right back up and shoot Crowley where he stood but Sam read his instinctive anger and placed a calming hand on his arm. Dean hesitated a moment more before finally relenting to his brother's touch, begrudgingly returning the gun to the inner folds of his jacket.

"You wrote the contract?" Sam queried, trying to steer the conversation.

Crowley snapped his fingers and a roll of parchment appeared in his other hand. He threw it towards Sam.

"And I made copies," he grinned proudly. "Some of my finest work."

Sam unfurled the document revealing the tiny cursive scrawl.

"You said you were there." Sam pressed, looking up briefly before retuning his gaze to scan the contract.

"Well," Crowley took a few steps again. "I wasn't there for everything, you understand. But I can tell you how it all happened, including what occurred in absentia, as it were."

"Fine." Dean said through gritted teeth. "Talk."

Crowley grinned.

"Are we standing comfortably?" he crooned smugly, eyes flashing red briefly. "Then I'll begin…"


tbc

Thank you for reading. Short chapter this one, but plenty of juicy stuff to come!

Shazza - I'm a Dean girl too :-) Not at the expense of Sam, but I've always preferred Dean. I think that's why I felt sorry for Sam in the last chapter; imagine feeling you were no longer Dean's favourite! Gah! :-( As always, thank you and take care :-)