Chapter title is from song by Ted Nugent.
6
Stanglehold – Ted Nugent
"Really, Dean. I expected more of you. More mayhem! More chaos!"
Crowley caught up with him at the Montana border. The King of Hell was standing just outside the demon's trap he had drawn around himself in the abandoned cabin, as far out into the sticks as he could get without going to Canada.
"Crowley."
"That's Sire to you, Laverne. Lose your Moose?"
He didn't bother replying.
Crowley kicked a scratch through the outermost circle of the trap. Instantly, the feeling of being tethered to the earth lifted and he had to stop himself from involuntarily shaking off the invisible shackles. Crowley made an odd gravelly cluck like a chain smoking mother hen. "Where's your sense of fun? After all, you didn't forget to bring your favorite chew toy."
Dean barely stopped his hand from twitching towards the First Blade sitting just inside the outer edge of the trap. He turned his back on Crowley and stayed resolutely in place.
"I've got a job for you."
"Like Hell."
"That's the spirit. A little demon's nest in need of kicking over. A couple of stragglers who haven't seen the Return of the King."
Silence.
"You're itching to do it, Dean."
He turned on Crowley then, the Blade coming to hand with a blur of speed that was dizzying, crossing the space between them in two strides until the tip of the jawbone was inches from Crowley's throat. He grunted with effort, straining against the command that locked his muscles against his will as rigidly as the rigor of death. He scowled balefully at Crowley's patiently waiting expression.
"Now, now. It's just the one little job. You know what will happen if you don't take care of things soon."
"You said Cain was able to bear the Mark because he was a demon." Dean accused.
"Technicalities. The Mark wouldn't have killed him. He was already dead. I didn't say he didn't feel crap. Man's had a few thousand years to learn to deal with it."
He lunged for Crowley's throat again without success.
Crowley's voice was soft with his next words.
"You don't want to wait until you don't have control over what you kill, Squirrel."
He looked at Crowley. A cold, flat stare that made Crowley turn up both hands in a "backing off now" gesture. Dean wasn't angry about being double double crossed. Or the lies. Or the evasion. That was normal. He was angry about this, this illusion of caring.
"Fine." He spat. "Show me where."
"Sam."
Cas sounded like crap. Sam sat up hurriedly, bringing the phone to his ear.
"Cas. Where are you?"
"Outside."
"Oh. Okay, yeah. Hang on."
He took the steps in two, and unlocked the bunker's doors to find that Cas looked as ragged as he sounded. Dark shadows were under Cas' eyes, and he walked slowly down the stairs as though he didn't entirely trust his legs to obey, then sat down in the first chair he came to.
"Cas, you okay?"
"No."
"What happened?"
Castiel heaved a sigh.
"They asked me to leave."
"Leave? Leave where?"
"Heaven."
Sam eyed him and waited for further explanation. Cas turned to him, an unexpected humanity to his expression, and made an aborted gesture of futility.
"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."
Great. It was going to be one of Cas' cryptic days.
"Maybe I was just fooling myself. I just wanted to be useful again. To make things right."
"Cas." He began, not really knowing where to start with the angel counseling. That was usually Dean's department.
"Telling myself that the ends would justify the means. Instead, heaven is locked and my brethren cannot even bear to look at me. They see…"
And here Castiel stopped, choked up. It was freaky to watch. Even when Cas had been human, he'd not been so… emo. Sam tried to remember where the Kleenex was, if they had any, but Cas straightened, squaring his shoulders with more resolution than heart.
"I'm sorry. Theo can be very…emotional."
Sam raised his eyebrows, because, no kidding.
Cas looked tired as he continued.
"It doesn't change the fact I am an abomination. A disgrace."
"Cas."
"I stole another angel's grace, Sam. I used one of my own, as a power-up."
"They would have done the same, or worse, to you." He pointed out. "Both Bartholomew and Malakai would have killed you without thinking twice, Cas, and you know it. You had to do something."
The answering laughter was bitter. "Yes. And look where it got us. Angels still killing angels, bickering endlessly about which angels are good enough to bring back to heaven. Souls stuck in the veil, denied their rest and reward."
"So that's still going on?"
"I am afraid so. Metatron's spell remains in effect for them." Pause. "I couldn't find Dean's soul in the Veil."
Sam nodded. He wanted to be surprised, but he wasn't. Not really.
"There's more. There's a legend that when Lucifer made the deal with Cain to trade his soul in Heaven for Abel's soul in Hell, the will of Cain's soul was so strong that Lucifer was afraid killing Abel wouldn't be enough. To make sure Cain's soul would fall down into Hell, Lucifer branded Cain with the Mark, to stake his claim."
"Cas-what do you mean?"
"The Mark is Lucifer's brand, Sam. It's a claim of ownership. When Cain gave it to Dean, he made him one of them. A Knight of Hell. You didn't make Dean a demon. Cain did."
Sam's jaw dropped. That was why Crowley had been so careful with his wording. There had never been a deal, because Crowley had done nothing.
He turned abruptly on his heel and headed down to the storage room to summon the King of Hell. Again.
"Castiel. You look…unwell." Crowley gave Cas a keen once over. "Your attachment to … the boys is legendary, but shouldn't you be helping your crew with…the other thing?"
Cas stared Crowley down.
"You led Dean to Cain."
"I arranged things." Crowley said carefully. "Like a blind date. Tinder. Dean accepted the Mark of his own free will."
Sam scoffed and reached for the jug of holy oil on the table.
"Now let's not be hasty, Moose. Be honest—it felt good for a moment there finally to be able to make the grand noble sacrifice for your brother, didn't it? A little? No?"
With great deliberation, Sam curled his fingers around the neck of the jug.
"Tell us how to undo it."
"Can't, mate. I really do mean it's not my doing. Take it up with the original owner of the Mark if you must. "
"Then tell us how to find him."
Crowley shook his head.
"Not an experience I recommend. The Father of Murder? The spell to find the First Blade won't work since he's lost the hot tat. Plus, not exactly someone you pay an afternoon call on for the fun of it." He slid a sly look at Castiel. "In your current state, you'll be fish fry before you could say boo. Demons are one thing, but fallen angels? That man can hold a grudge."
Cas' attention sharpened. "Cain is still a man, then?"
Crowley smiled thinly. "Still looking for that sliver of hope, Castiel? Tell you what. I'm feeling generous. I'll make you a deal."
"As if I would fall for that again."
"Well. Can't blame a fellow for trying. Enemy of my enemy is my friend and all."
"We'll never be friends, Crowley."
"So say you now, Shirley. You may look down on us, but your lot will come around soon enough once they finally realize what all they're up against."
Sam stared, and finally loosened his grip on the earthenware jug. "What are you talking about?"
"The 24/7 angel melee? No? Really ought to poke your head up out of this hole now and again, Moose. That world you boys keep trying to save might not be there when you finally do."