"And that's pretty much what happened." Crowley finished, smug self-satisfied smile plastered on his face. "My narrative flourishes really helped set the scene, don't you think?"

Sam had a multitude of questions, and he wrestled to organise them. "What did Azazel need the Colt for?" He asked, settling on what he thought would be the most innocuous.

"He needed it to set Lilith free. To open the Gates of Hell." It was Dean who'd answered, voice sounding tired despite the angry spark behind his eyes when he turned to address Crowley. "You said he made a deal for Sam and his family's safety? So why the hell were Jess and Kyle taken? I thought you guys never broke your deals?"

Rather than replying, Crowley simply turned to Sam, as if waiting for him to respond.

"Because the contract got broken," Sam said after a beat.

"Yahtzee." Crowley said.

"What?" Dean demanded. "How?"

"It's in the finer details," Crowley elaborated. "The terms would stay binding and in effect as long as both parties held up their end. Old man Winchester would stay in hell as long as Sam and his brood were safe. Sam and his brood would stay safe…"

"As long as Dad was in hell," Sam finished.

"Well, I can see who got the brains in the family," Crowley crooned. "You and your family would have been in the clear if some numbskull hadn't broken John out." He turned towards Dean. "Not to point fingers or anything."

In that moment, Dean looked utterly defeated. His shoulders sagged and he shook his head absently.

"None of this would've happened if I hadn't gotten Dad out," he said breathlessly.

"Again, not to point fingers," Crowley interjected. "But none of this would have happened if John hadn't summoned Azazel in the first place."

"Except Sam would have died of cancer if he hadn't," Dean surmised despondently. "Or gone crazy with the demon blood."

A laugh escaped Crowley at that and it rose the hackles in Dean. "You think that's funny?" he snapped.

"I think it's amusing you think Moose here was infused with demon blood."

"Isn't that the deal Dad made? Ensuring Sam's safety?"

Crowley looked back and forth between the brothers, a disdainful expression worn openly on his face.

"Don't they teach kids anything in Sunday school anymore?" he waited a moment more before sighing in exasperation.

"One of the many perks of being demonised," he expanded. "Is that you don't keel over with a case of the sniffles. Ever. The fact you were cancerous proves your disease-ridden blood was utterly human and all your own. Besides," he shrugged, flicking at an errant piece of fluff from off his shoulder. "Azazel was as surprised as anyone to know of your existence. Your father's existence as well, for that matter. From what I gathered, John should have been dead long before either of you could have ever been conceived. Kind of ironic though, don't you think? John's very act of trying to save you, of trying to protect you, is what brought you to Azazel's attention. Daddy dearest thought he was saving you from being part of the plan, when in fact all he succeeded in doing was point you out to Azazel. As it happens, the deal bought your safety, for a spell, but not in the way John thought. It wasn't demon blood he cured you of, it was the cancer. Again, irony. If he'd just let nature take its course you would have quietly died and Azazel would have been none the wiser. Instead, John only succeeded in plonking you centre stage and turning on the spotlight."

"You expect us to believe that?" Dean shot. "That Azazel didn't know, that he wasn't behind everything? He killed our mom! Our Dad saw him that night, Azazel was there right from the start, he knew all about Sam."

"I don't think he did Dean," Sam said, brow furrowing as he tried to piece together all the sudden revelations. "It doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't have to make sense, it's the way it went down." Dean retorted angrily.

"Well maybe it doesn't make sense to you," Crowley countered. "But in the grand scheme of things of course it makes sense. I don't know why little Sammy Weechester here wasn't one of Azazel's special brood, or why Azazel thought John shouldn't be alive. And maybe he did kill Mary, just for the fun of it, he killed a lot of people in his time. But the fact is if it hadn't been your dad who brought your brother's existence to Azazel's attention, I'm sure something else would have done. Ha! If nothing else, I'm sure you would have tried to bring your brother back once he died, reckless imbecile that you are. Whatever the case, Lilith would have found out about him eventually."

"Why?"

"Because it's fate Dean. Que sera et cetera. You," he pointed his finger at Dean. "Are meant to be Michael. And you," he pointed at Sam. "Are meant to be Lucifer. It's why Lilith wants you. Brother against brother. Jake Talley is a poor substitute for what's been written in the stars since the dawn of time. The Winchester-Campbell birth right is stuff of legend. Surely Heaven must've told you by now. Or are the Angels keeping secrets?"

"Well if it wasn't Azazel, then who killed our mom?" Dean demanded, not rising to Crowley's bait. "Who was in Sam's nursery that night?"

"How the bloody hell should I know?!" Crowley snapped. He and Dean glared at each other for a moment before Crowley narrowed his eyes. "You know it occurs to me Dean, that perhaps you're the one who's outlived his usefulness. I find it concerning how little you seem to know about what's going on. And as far as I can tell, Lilith is down to the last Seal, and yet here you are, talking to me about ancient history, rather than out there, stopping her."

"Maybe if you told me where she was, I could do it." Dean shot back.

"I would if I knew!"

"Why don't you know?" Sam asked. "You said earlier that Lilith had closed ranks. Why?"

Crowley glared at Dean a moment longer before shifting back to Sam. "Because," he sighed. "Apparently there's dissention in the ranks. Rumour has it Jake and Ruby have switched sides and are planning to take Lilith down. Understandably it's made her somewhat antsy and paranoid. Mutiny will do that. Makes me wonder if perhaps I backed the wrong pony. At least Jake's getting things done. With only one demon on his side, while you've got, remind me Dean, how many angels? I don't see them getting their wings muddied down here in the trenches."

"You want them here? I'll call Cas back if you like."

"What I want is for you to stop the bitch. What I want is for things to go back to the way they were; angels in heaven, devils in hell, people making deals, demons reaping souls. The good old days. Without any bloody talk of Apocalypses."

"Then tell me where Lilith is hiding! Tell me how to make the bullets."

"All in good time. And as for Lilith, I told you, I don't know."

"Then what use are you Crowley!?"

"More than you, it seems!" Again the two glared at each other, before Crowley sighed in exasperation. "I may not know where Lilith is right now, but I'm working on finding out. Plus, I know a lot more about what's going on than you realise Dean. For example, your finding out about John being in Hell; you think that was by accident?"

"What're you talking about?"

"Azazel may have found out about Sam, but he couldn't touch him, not with the deal intact. In order to break John's deal and make Sam fair game, someone needed to break John out of Hell. Who better than his son? And since Sam was untouchable courtesy of the deal, that left you. All that was needed was for you to be nudged. I heard a rumour that those demons you trapped to get at the truth were fed those nuggets of info so that you'd find out. And you reacted exactly how you were supposed to. Self-righteous, indignant. Hell bent on revenge, justice and the American Way."

"You're full of crap Crowley!"

"Even if I were, so what? Doesn't change what happened. And besides, haven't you figured it out yet Dean? Everyone's playing everyone else on this board, Angels included. Everyone's playing to win. Which is why I've backed you up until now. You better make it worth my while."

Dean looked sickened to his core, and for a moment Sam thought his brother was going to keel over.

"Can you get a track on Lilith or not?" Dean growled finally, voice barely a whisper as he gritted his teeth.

"I'm working on it."

"Work harder. Coz if I find her without you, next time we meet you'll be the one in the trap." Dean threatened. "And I'll smoke your sorry ass back to hell before the paint's even dry. Bullets or no bullets."

"Next time?" Sam queried before Crowley could respond. "He's a demon. You're not gonna just let him go, are you?" He was incredulous at the notion but Dean didn't falter. "Dean?" Sam pressed.

"Oh your brother won't kill me." Crowley supplied, rocking on his heels self-assuredly. "He and I have a history. We're practically in bed together. Couldn't you tell by the way we bicker? Like an old married couple." He smiled smugly for a moment before continuing. "I'll send you the recipe for the bullets Dean, when the time is right. Just make sure you don't miss when I point you towards Lilith."

He disappeared before either brother could say anything more.

"How could you just let him go?" Sam riled, turning to face his brother, expecting some sort of reaction. But Dean looked unconcerned.

"Doesn't matter," he responded flatly.

"Doesn't matter? He's a demon!"

"He can find Lilith."

"We don't need him for that! She's gonna tell me where to meet her! And since when do we work with demons? We kill them, remember?"

"We? There is no we here! Not since you walked out. You don't get to tell me how to do my job."

"This isn't the job! The job doesn't involve letting demons walk away! I may have left but I'd never work with a demon! Never. My god Dean! How far off the reservation are you that you can't see how wrong this is?!"

"You don't get to lecture me Sam! You're the one who wants to believe that everything Lilith has told you is true, you're the one who's waiting for her call, so don't act like you're so high and mighty. You're just as willing to bend the rules when it suits you. Only difference between us is I don't lie to myself about where the line is."

"No Dean the only difference between us is I wouldn't cross it."

"Well that's a luxury you can afford seeing as you're not a hunter anymore."

The two glared at each other and Sam couldn't believe how much he wanted to punch his brother right then. He couldn't understand how the argument had started or why even, except that everything Dean said seemed intentionally confrontational. He'd thought their face-off in the field on the drive back to the Roadhouse may have fixed something but as Dean stalked his way back to the Impala, Sam realised it was wishful thinking, as he'd known it would be. Whatever was bothering Dean, whatever was causing him to behave this way, it was still very much in effect and it was leaving Sam with no choice.

"What happened to you in Hell Dean?" Sam asked before either one could get into the car.

"Don't start this crap again. There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is. Tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened," Dean said resolutely. "I was there, then I was out. End of."

The two stared at each other for a moment, a standoff from which neither seemed willing to back down. Sam finally sighed, shaking his head. He hadn't wanted it to come down to this, and he hadn't wanted it to happen here, but his brother had left him no choice. He pulled out a large, folded envelope from his inside coat pocket, then proceeded to retrieve the contents, ones that he'd spent the better half of the past 24 hours collecting and putting together.

"You know," he began, taking out what looked like a small handmade candle and placing it on the Impala's hood, steadying it so as to prevent it from toppling. "I've had time to do a lot of research while I've been at the Roadhouse."

Dean narrowed his eyes, the change in direction catching him off guard, yet raising his defences even more because of it.

Sam seemed unconcerned at this and once satisfied with the candle's stability, went back to carefully and precisely retrieving more objects from the envelope. A piece of bark. Some dried leaves. A small, roughly tied, fabric pouch. Then he paused, hand still in the envelope.

"You know Bobby's got some amazing books? I mean, how'd he even get some of that stuff?"

He waited a minute, knowing full well that he would get no response, before continuing with his retrieval process.

"Anyways, there was this one volume. You've probably seen it," he pulled out a piece of hide, unfolding it enough to make the markings visible. "A book of spells. I'm talking hard core, King Solomon, Evil Dead level spells. Makes Crisis Angel look like a douchebag."

"Crisis Angel is a douchebag." Dean snapped, cutting in, unable to hold back any longer. "You got about ten seconds to get that crap off my car."

"All this?" Sam asked, sounding beatifically innocent, ignoring his brother's tone as he arranged the items carefully onto the cloth. "Not yet. I haven't done the spell yet," he answered finally, once he was satisfied with the arrangement of materials.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What spell?"

"This one," Sam replied, pulling out a piece of paper, unfolding it and letting Dean see. "Had to put it through three different translations before it started making any sense. But I got it in the end."

Dean glanced at the paper briefly.

"Since when do you practice magic?" he scowled.

"Since when do you work with demons?" Sam shot back. He gave his brother a look and Dean glared at him, not responding. Not biting.

"This spell in particular," Sam continued. "Pretty damned powerful. I had to raid Bobby's stash for most of the ingredients, but this last one," he retrieved another item and placed it on the cloth. "Angel feathers aren't so easy to come by."

Dean stared at the feather, not saying a word as his jaw clenched up.

"And before you go accusing Cas of anything," Sam supplied. "Don't bother. He didn't know what I needed it for. And he's not in on this. Neither is Bobby. No one is. Except for me. And now, you."

"In on what?" Dean demanded, patience finally worn. "What's the spell for?"

"It's the truth spell," Sam said.

The colour drained from Dean's face. "A truth spell." He repeated slowly.

Sam nodded. "All I do is place a few things, burn a few things, read this incantation," he waved the page briefly. "And the next question I ask, you'll be compelled to spill your guts."

Dean stared at him, shocked. Angered. Horrified.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"Oh I would. And after you played etch-a-sketch on my ribs? I figure I'm owed one. So it's your call Dean. You either tell me what happened to you in Hell on your own terms, or," he glanced down at the page. "I make you. But either way, you're telling me what happened. You're telling me today. Whether you like it or not."

Dean's jaw was clenched so tight Sam thought the stress would fracture his skull. Then Dean shrugged.

"You can stay here and do whatever the hell you like. I'm leaving."

He made a move towards the door when Sam spoke again.

"The spell works wherever you go Dean. Next time I see you, all I do is ask. You really wanna risk being in the Roadhouse when you spill your guts to me? In front of everyone?"

Dean stared at him and Sam saw each and every emotion that coursed through him. He would have thought anger would have been the emotion to win out, but was shocked to see that it was a look of sheer terror that lingered on his brother's face.

"Don't." Dean whispered.

"Then tell me."

"Nothing to tell."

"Suit yourself." Sam shrugged. He tipped the envelope over and the last item fell into his palm.

It was a pack of matches.


still tbc!

I probably won't update till next week, apologies for that. As always though, stay safe and well, and thank you for reading :-)