A/N: Sorry about yet another late upload. I was going to post this earlier but there was just something about this chapter that was off. I did some revision so hopefully it's better now. It may seem like there's a lot of planning and plotting in the story right now, but I promise things are picking up from here on out. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can. Thank you all for keeping up with the story.


"Rise and shine, Frankie."

From darkness to light, a headache rushed her yet again. They never got easier, and with no way to relieve them, they lingered far longer than any normal one would. Lucifer didn't care if she was in pain. He only cared about what she saw, which at this moment was a spacious display of pale blue and pure white. A monumental mountain range blanketed by snow cut into the canvas of clouds and atmosphere.

"Stunning, isn't it?" Lucifer shouted over strong winds. "Mount Everest. The summit. Only a handful of humans got to see this with their own eyes. I thought you'd appreciate the sight."

Lucifer dragged her eyes along the rocky cliffs of the surrounding peaks. It truly was gorgeous, but she wouldn't admit it. Not to him.

'How'd you figure that?'

"Because we are likeminded individuals, Frankie. Oh, don't try to refute that. I'm in your grapefruit. I know how much you love this planet. Its rolling hills, the breaking water at its shores…" He looked up, pointing their gaze to the broad firmament above them. "And the sky. The very thing that kept your hope alive for so long. Why try to hide that? It's beautiful."

Frankie formed herself to be as resolute as she possibly could with her limited means. 'So, you're just taking a breather from carnage and blood?'

"Oh, all that is well underway. I've done my part. Now it's time to just sit back and let things take their course."

'Must be some plan for you to not do anything.'

Lucifer leaned his elbows on his knees. "All the hard parts are over. Possessing you, taking down Michael, those were the only roadblocks, and with your help, I was able to tackle those with ease. Though, perhaps it's Crowley I should thank. If it wasn't for him, you might not have said yes."

Frankie's resolute façade broke. She slumped against the walls of her body, overcome with grief once more. Yes, there was a strong possibility that Crowley's plan wouldn't work, but she still held out hope that Michael would have killed the Devil. Now because of her and her standing with Heaven, she helped Lucifer get the ending he wanted.

"Relax, Frankie. Now is the time for tranquility." Lucifer lay on his back, resting his hand behind his head and staring at the powder blue sky. "Things are about to get really ugly. Lots of grays and browns. But once the smoke clears, this planet will be back to its rightful state."

'And then what?'

Lucifer's brows cinched. "You're very inquisitive today. Asking a lot of questions."

'It's not like I have anything better to do.'

He chuckled, the sound drowned out by the wind. "That is true. I've got plans. You'll see in time. You will actually have a rather large part to play in them."

'Unless you're giving my body back, I don't really see how much use I'll be to you.'

"Lucifer."

Their rare conversation was severed as a third party dropped in on them. Lucifer sat up and looked over his shoulder. Standing across the peak was a dark-skinned man with closely shaven black hair and piercing brown eyes. His black suit told Frankie that he must be an angel.

"Hello, brother." Once the mild shock passed, Frankie ran deductions. This must be Raphael. Great. She had just about enough of archangels. "Care to join?"

"I have no interest in games."

"You never have," Lucifer sighed. He lifted to his feet and fully faced Raphael.

"What you did to Michael has greatly displeased me," the suited archangel declared in an unsettlingly level voice.

Lucifer snorted. "Welcome the club, brother."

"You know what must be done. You will return Michael's grace, get out of that girl, take Sam Winchester as your vessel, and fight Michael the way our father intended."

Lucifer pursed his lips and nodded. "Those are a lot of demands. How do you plan on enforcing them?"

Raphael reached into his suit's inner pocket and unveiled a pistol. He pointed it at Lucifer.

Lucifer tilted his head as he stared down the barrel. He pointed a finger at the gun. "You know, I just faced several angels that tried to pull that. It didn't end too well for them."

"Yes, but they held a certain reverence for your vessel that I do not share."

"Is that so?"

"I don't care if she lives or dies. In fact, it would be far easier to kill her. And what is the soul without the body?"

Frankie waited with bated breath – even though she didn't have any breath at the moment – for Lucifer's next reply. She didn't like this guy, and she especially didn't like that he didn't like her.

However, the longer she waited for her host's reply, the more she realized that Raphael's threat mattered more to him than she assumed.

"I'll just heal her."

"Then I'll order in an airstrike to demolish her."

"We need her alive, Raphael."

"You may need her alive, but I do not."

The walls around Frankie's form began to vibrate, first a dull buzz and then a vigorous tremble. Lucifer was anxious, and Frankie didn't like that one bit.

"Brother," Lucifer spoke guardedly, "don't do this."

"The choice is yours, Lucifer. Put things back to the way they're suppose to be," the rival archangel pulled back the pistol's hammer, "or Francine dies."

Lucifer glared at his brother, and as he did, Frankie became aware of a hefty weight in his leftmost sleeve. There was no time to process what was happening or what was about to happen as his waves of sorrow slowly manifested around her form, pushing and prodding against her.

"So be it," Raphael droned. Frankie felt Lucifer ready a comeback on his tongue, but his brother pulled the trigger. Lucifer gasped and jerked to the side.

The bullet sank into his right shoulder, cutting deep into the muscle and tissue. Frankie felt the impact, but the stinging she expected didn't appear, at least at first. A dull burn spread around the wound, and the surrounding area warmed with oozing blood.

An odd thing, she didn't panic. The panic she did feel was Lucifer's in the form of the aggressively vibrating walls. She felt no remorse for her damaged body, but the Devil did.

Another bullet was fired, but this one was dodged fully. Lucifer moved quickly, too quickly Frankie soon found. Her world was blurring again. A few clear images of Raphael from up close to far away to nowhere at all flashed erratically. And yet at the same time grunting, gunshots, and infrasonic whirring was perceived over the strong gusts on Everest's summit.

Frankie sank back against the walls around her, letting the scene play out. This wasn't like Lucifer's fight with Michael. She didn't care who won. If Raphael did, she would be dead. That was fine seeing as she wasn't going to Hell. Her situation would significantly improve. She actually wouldn't mind at all if Raphael killed her. And on the other hand, if Lucifer won, nothing would change. She was completely out of control, though she lowkey rooted for the instigating archangel.

Rip.

Frankie was staring at Raphael's back. His black suit was torn, shredded in one clean swipe of Lucifer's blade. The white button up underneath quickly stained red, and the wound leaked a bright blue light, just like Michael's. The archangel arched his back and gutturally grunted into the thin air. He fell to his knees, dropping the pistol.

Lucifer moved without hesitation. He leaned down and reached over Raphael's shoulder. His arm curled, and he pressed his blade against his brother's throat. Frankie's vision blurred again, but this time with tears.

A single syllable of protest leaked from Raphael's lips before Lucifer yanked back his weapon. This cut was not like the one he afflicted on Michael. This one was deep. Lethal. The blue light that leaked from his throat reflected on the glistening snow. After a lingered wail, Raphael fell face first onto the powder-coated rock. His body illuminated with glaring light, and left behind once it cleared was his imprint of smoldering wings.

Frankie was bombarded by Lucifer's waves of despair yet again, but she didn't need them to tell that he was distraught. His quivering lip and single tear were proof enough of that.

The shoulder flared with a sweltering burn. The sudden distraction lulled the sorrowful waves back into the void, and his trembling lip stilled. Lucifer looked toward the bullet wound and peeled back the yellow flannel, revealing the small hole that continued to leak blood. He stuck his finger into the tight cavity and fished around inside. Frankie felt every movement – the burning, tearing, and scratching of nail – until he retracted the digit with the dislodged bullet. The relief was instant, yet the wound still throbbed with persistent pain.

Lucifer had been closely analyzing the gooey chunk of metal, but his gaze strayed to the back of his hand. Broken skin marred his knuckles and wrist, yet the skin was not damaged by any impact. The hand did not ache or sting, and there was no sign of blunt force trauma.

Frankie recognized this pattern of damage. This was from rot. It was extremely close to the coarse patches on his last vessel's skin near the end of their time together.

Frankie was decaying.

Lucifer growled under his breath and flew away from the mountain. Frankie was thrust into a current akin to a tornado, spinning and dazed sensations, a deafening whir that seemed to be coming from within her opposed to around her. The uncomfortable feeling only lasted a few seconds – a few seconds too long in her opinion. When it finally subsided, they were standing in a new location.

Though the scene was different, it was nothing novel. It was still an abandoned building in decrepit shape, only this time there was someone else standing there with them. Their black eyes clued Frankie in on what Lucifer already knew. He made long strides toward the demon and swung his blade wide. Frankie was shocked at the quick action, but the real fright came when Lucifer gripped the demon's hair, pulled its head back, and drank the blood that gushed from its slit neck.

Lucifer drank like he had been trudging through a desert. Large gulps of blood filled every crevasse in his mouth – under his tongue, between his teeth. It was swallowed hastily, so fast that Frankie felt when it hit stomach. Her gag reflex did not work anymore, but it was likely to have not had a say in the matter if she wasn't possessed.

She had been micro-dosing the stuff for the last several weeks. Her tolerance for it had been alarming, but the worry was often extinguished by the onslaught of muddled euphoria that trailed close behind. This sheer amount of demon blood that Lucifer was consuming did nauseate her, but she knew the consequential pleasure that was about to come would ease the feeling.

'Seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven…'

She counted just as she always had, waiting for the effect to appear.

'Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen…'

Her counting slowed, then stopped. It never took this long. Maybe it was the type of demon. Crowley was King of the Crossroads. Maybe his was more potent.

The flow of the blood slackened, and before Lucifer fully drained the demon, he tossed it onto the floor where it remained, lifeless. He lightly panted, standing above the body. Frankie vicariously felt a surge of pride. He really did get off on carnage and death.

Lucifer licked the blood around his mouth and swallowed the remains as he lifted his hand in front of his face. He again observed his skin.

It was unchanged. The rotted flesh hadn't faded, not even a little. His brows furrowed. Frankie felt that pride morph into confusion, and for a brief moment, the walls began to quake.


Sam and Dean simultaneously shut the doors to the Impala and walked across Bobby's grass- and gravel-covered lawn. Sam rubbed his aching neck and Dean brushed dirt and grime from his jacket as they headed toward the porch's stairs. However, a sudden sound off to the side drew their attention away from the house. They gravitated to the sound of clanking metal in the garage.

Bobby was sitting on a metal folding chair and tinkering with the rusted tire rim of an elevated old Mustang. His gray shirt was stained from the usual juices that flowed through a vehicle, and he reeked of gasoline.

Dean approached him with his arms spread and his brows narrowed. "I'm sorry, was working on Death's coordinates getting too boring for you?"

"Hit a roadblock. Wasn't about to sit around with my thumbs up my ass."

Sam softly snorted and rounded the car, idly observing Bobby's work of removing its rust. "Find anything useful?"

"Some leads. Nothin' concrete." He wiped his oily forehead with his shirt's sleeve. "Could really use some help from our new archangel colleague."

"Yeah? Where the hell is he?" Dean asked, messing with some instruments in Bobby's toolbox.

"Out looking for Lucifer with Cas."

"What?" he exclaimed, snapping his head toward the older man. "We're not ready!"

"Cool your jets, boy. They're just tracking and reporting. Wanna make quick work once we find the rings. If we're gunna save Frankie, we need to know roughly where to find her." He fetched a dirty cloth from his worktable and eyed Sam and Dean dubiously as he scrubbed his hands. "By the way… how's the plan for that coming along?"

The brothers shared a look with each other, and Bobby watched them closely. Sam nodded his head and took a deep, hesitant breath. "It's coming."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "You ain't got a clue, do you?"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "We could use some input," he grumbled with another wide-armed gesture.

Getting the Horsemen's rings started to seem like a more feasible mission than getting Frankie to spit out the Devil. Sam and Dean were adamant that there was a way, but what that way was and what the inevitable plan's consequences would entail, that was yet to be solved.

Bobby sat back in his chair, the metal squeaking softly, and crossed his arms. "I don't know, boys. If Gabriel's words are worth their salt, it sounds like Lucifer's gunna take her down with him. Seems to reason that either we find something he wants more than a literal piece of God," he shook his head and shrugged, "or come to terms with the fact that we've lost her for good."

Dean refused to acknowledge the comment. He turned to face out toward the lawn, keeping his eyes on Baby. He propped his hands against his hips and heaved a quiet sigh. Frankie had to be saved. They had to save her. Yes, he knew that ending Lucifer took priority, but he couldn't live with himself if he let Frankie go to Hell again. Whatever happened to her wouldn't be nearly as painful as the guilt that would infect him in knowing that he was responsible for her continued torment. How much pain did she have to go through because of them?

"Maybe we do have something he wants more."

Dean's brows furrowed, and he pivoted halfway to glance at Sam. His brother looked at both men with his arms crossed and face set in a serious tone.

"Me." Dean's expression darkened as he finished the turn. Sam sighed and lolled his head in his brother's direction. "Please don't say what I know you're gonna say. It's the same situation as when we tried to stop this from happening. Look, I let him out. I put everyone in harm's way, so… I gotta put him back in."

Bobby switched his gaze from Dean's faintly fuming face to Sam. "I don't know, Sam. Are you worth more than God?"

"The last time we saw the Devil, he was decaying inside and out. The same thing is bound to happen with Frankie. He'll need me."

Sam actively avoided Dean's face. The older Winchester shuffled his feet and rubbed his mouth as he made a half-assed attempt at reeling in his anger.

Bobby propped his elbow on his worktable and massaged his forehead, wearily soothing a brewing headache. "So, that's your plan? Trade you for Frankie… and push you into Hell?"

He shrugged.

Dean quickly turned and approached his brother with his hand set in a firm, flat gesture. "Sam, no."

"Dean-"

"That wasn't the deal."

"And killing me along with Lucifer was much better?"

"Yes! I'm not letting you go to Hell, too! Your trip will make ours look like Graceland!"

Sam averted his eyes and softly rolled his shoulders, obviously discomforted with the idea of going to the pit. However, he sighed long and deep and returned his rigid gaze to Dean. "We can't afford to save us both. At least I won't know what to expect."

Dean's lips twitched with a premature protest, but he stopped the words from forming. He turned and paced to the other side of the garage with his hands on his hips. A dry – and almost sad sounding – chuckle escaped from his tightening throat. He looked to the sky and shook his head. "Don't make me choose."

Sam's heart fractured at the wounded tinge in his brother's voice. He kept up his stern demeanor and forced his own voice to stand strong against the lump in his throat. "I won't. I'm choosing. This is my choice, Dean." His head drooped along with his shoulders. "It's the best plan we got."

"And what a plan it is."

Sam, Dean, and Bobby flinched at a sudden fourth voice. They whipped their heads to the left side of the Mustang. Crowley stood with his hands in his pocket and a smug grin on his face.

"Hello, boys."

Sam reached into his jacket and clutched the demon knife. He growled and lunged for Crowley, swinging the blade wide. The demon disappeared. Sam stumbled across the spot he should have been bleeding on.

"Talk about a tonality change," Crowley quipped from his new spot beside Bobby. Sam didn't waste a moment in launching for him again and getting the same result. Crowley huffed irritably just outside the garage and scowled at Dean. "Call off your dog, please."

Sam gripped the knife tighter as he panted at the demon. "You've got some balls showing your face after what you did to us!"

"I do! And they're lovely."

"We lost people on that mission. Good people!"

"And one of those people came back! So, stop on gnawing at that old bone!" The three men were slightly taken aback by the raw-throated yell that screeched from Crowley. It was a far cry from the refined, pompous persona he favored flaunting. The demon huffed and started again. "Look. I thought the Colt would work. An honest mistake. So, bygones, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam grunted. He flung the knife like a tomahawk, the blade blurring as it flew through the air toward Crowley. Just as before, the demon disappeared and reappeared with a continuously darkening glower. The knife speared the ground just behind where he had been standing.

"Sam!" Dean snapped. He aggravatedly eyed his brother, silently communicating to stand down. He stepped over to the knife and tugged it from the ground before facing its target. "What do you want?"

"To keep my suit intact, for starters," Crowley harrumphed, preening his jacket. "But as for the reason behind my coming here, to help." He was met with skeptical glares and a humorless snort from Sam. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands back into his pockets. "The situation hasn't changed. I still want the Devil dead. Well… some things have changed. Now he knows I want him dead, he's won the war against Michael, and he's possessing my property. Though that last bit is the only shining beacon."

"You sonnuva bitch," Sam growled through clenched teeth. He unveiled his Taurus pistol and fired at Crowley to which the demon manifested three feet away from the bullet.

"Listen, Ferrigno, you lot need a miracle to come out on top here, and that's my area of expertise."

"We don't need your help!"

"Yes, because you've been doing swimmingly so far," the demon remarked with a mocking wiggle of his head. The younger Winchester readied another insult, but was stopped by Dean's gruff voice.

"Sam."

Sam incredulously glared at Dean while he kept his gun tethered to Crowley. "You're actually listening to this crap?!"

Dean crossed his arms and shrugged with a staid face. "Strange times, Sam. If we're getting help from an archangel, why not a demon?"

"Because he's a demon! We can't trust him anymore than Ruby or Meg!"

"I'm not saying trust. Just," he calmly gestured to their foe, "hear him out." Sam faintly shook his head at his brother, silently asking what the hell he was thinking.

"I did not expect you to be the brains of this operation," Crowley remarked.

"Can it," Dean snapped. He shared one last look with Sam and Bobby. The older man viewed him with more suspicion than Sam. Dean ignored the glimpse and focused on the King of the Crossroads. "How can you help us?"

A corner of Crowley's mouth curled upwards. "I can ensure that Lucifer will be weak enough to push into the pit."

Dean recoiled. He slightly tilted his head as more of his glare bled onto his face. "How do you know about that?"

"It is baffling, the things I know," Crowley regarded to the room with a wide grin.

"You've been spying on us," Sam spat.

Crowley's face promptly dropped to a scowl. "Gathering intel. Point is the biggest kink in your chain is the inevitable rendezvous where you'll open the cage. You can't just shove him and expect him to fold. But my contribution," he placed a hand on his chest, his smirk resurfacing, "will leave him crawling on all fours just to put up a tough front."

The tension in Dean's brows slowly eased. Of course, he was never one to trust a demon's words, but in times like these, it was anything goes. He was right about one thing: they didn't have a plan for how to get Lucifer in the cage. If he was truly selling something legitimate, Dean was all ears. "That's quite the pitch. How?"

"Crowley!"

The demon whipped his head to the right just in time to greet the infuriated angel head on. His lapels were crushed in Cas' fists, and he was lifted and slammed against the garage's metallic wall, denting it. Castiel pinned Crowley there with both his grip and his wrathful glower.

"You should have kept your distance, you little bastard."

Crowley grasped Castiel's wrists and frantically looked toward Sam, Dean, and Bobby. "Oy! You mind muzzling your mutt?!"

"Cas!" Dean snapped. "Back off."

"Why should I?"

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, "He's trying to help," not believing his own words.

Castiel's fists constricted around Crowley's suit, and he jostled him against the wall. "So, you want to help us. Like you helped Frankie?"

"She's getting her soul back thanks to me."

"At the cost of possession!"

Dean blinked to attention. He and Sam locked eyes, the same intensity of exasperation within them. "Woah, woah. What the hell does that mean?" Dean grunted.

"Crowley was the one who convinced Frankie to say 'yes'."

Crowley tried to hide his swallow.

Dean stepped heavily toward the pinned demon. "You sleazy sonnuva bitch."

"Now, hold it. There's a reason for all this-"

"Go on and kill him, Cas," Sam scoffed.

"Do it slow."

Crowley tried to wrench Cas' hands more vigorously. "Kill me now, and you'll never stop Lucifer!"

Dean nodded and crossed his arms. "We'll take our chances."

"You'll never get her out of the cage without me!"

Sam snorted and stood behind Dean. "Nice try. She's not going to the cage."

"Right. Your brilliant plan to swap places. Just proves you won't win without me. You don't even know about the spell."

"We'll keep that in mind."

Cas shot a hand to Crowley's throat and squeezed. His eyes illuminated a bright blue, one that was made more menacing by his bared-teeth snarl.

"Wait."

Sam, Dean, and the demon flicked their gazes to Bobby. Cas was barely containing the final blow. He kept his burning eyes tethered to Crowley's faintly panicked expression, but the demon himself narrowed his relieved gape onto the older man.

"Thank you, Robert."

"Yeah, sure. What spell?" Bobby spat tetchily.

"First: my feet on the ground."

"No," Dean snapped.

Sam nodded toward Bobby without taking his eyes off Crowley. "He's just trying to save his skin."

"Maybe so, but what if he ain't? Why come here in the first place if this," he nodded to Cas, "was a big possibility?"

Sam and Dean shared a look. Bobby did have a good point, but Crowley was known to be devious and crafty, and he seemed the sort to go poking at a hornet's nest just for a little after dinner entertainment. However, even they knew he couldn't be on Lucifer's good side. Maybe it was worth taking a chance.

Dean irritably sighed. "Cas," he grunted. The angel tightened his grip on Crowley's coat, popping some of the stitching, before he released him. Crowley dropped back onto his feet and immediately disappeared. Sam and Dean recoiled with matching scowls, readying I-told-you-so's on their tongues.

"Growing soft on me, Bobby?" the demon remarked from his new spot next to the older man. Sam and Dean begrudgingly swallowed their words.

"Cut the gibe and spill it."

"Not until we set some boundaries." Crowley straightened the wrinkles on his suit as he glared at Cas. "No touching the merchandise. I'm here to stop Lucifer, same as you. We're fighting the same war. So, enemy of my enemy…"

Sam rolled his eyes hard. "Fine. So, what's this spell?"

"Let me preface by saying, yes, I did approach you sister with the suggestion to become Lucifer's vessel."

"There was no suggestion. You forced her," Cas growled.

"Alright, yes. I made her agree because I still own her soul!" Crowley briefly glanced at Sam and Dean. "Fine print, loophole, etcetera, etcetera. I told her that I'd release her if she said 'yes'. She was at my disposal and a resource I could use."

Cas heavily stepped forward, speaking until he reached the demon. "And look what happened. Your plan failed. Michael and his garrison lost, and she's still trapped."

Crowley's head was slightly tilted back to look the angel in the eye, but his face lacked any trace of the fear it had before. "Ah, yes, of course. The egg would be on my face if that happened to be the actual scheme." When Cas' angered expression wavered with confusion, Crowley's face split into an impish grin. "It was a decoy, ducky. Fancy words to fool Francine."

"Decoy?" Cas echoed.

"Exactly. That 'plan' would never work. Fighting Lucifer without fighting Lucifer? I'm surprised she fell for it." He stepped passed Cas, barely brushing his shoulder, and paced around the garage, particularly regarding Sam and Dean. "But she was so desperate for a solution to her brothers' mess that she agreed without much resistance. Really, I only had to push just slightly."

"I'm not hearin' anything about a spell," Bobby spat with a raised voice.

Crowley lazily waved in his direction. "Right, right. The real plan came in two stages. First, I carve a tiny sigil in her body, one that locks whatever possessing entity foolish enough to dive headfirst inside her indefinitely without ability to escape."

Crowley peeked over his shoulder at the garage's other inhabitants. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, a knowing and awaiting glint. An eruption was building up in the tense air, and he held his tongue to wait for it. Whether it was for dramatic effect or assurance that they understood him completely couldn't be determined.

"What?" Dean growled, his voice no more than a whisper.

"The real trick was making sure no demon possessed her before her date with Lucy."

Sam's heavy breathing hissed through clenched teeth. "You fucking bastard! You trapped her permanently inside the Devil?!"

"Can I kill him now?" Cas snarled, balling his hands into fists.

"You can kill me after we win this bloody war!" Crowley shouted, his voice rattling the tin walls of the garage. He fully turned to face them. "You lot weren't coming up with any ingenious ideas to put back the very monster you unleashed, so I made up my own! The goal here is to cage Lucifer, not to rescue one measly human, and with my plan we will succeed! Now friend or fiend, that plan is in motion. You can kill me now, but that won't change the fact that the Devil is stuck inside your sister. Honestly, you've done enough grieving over this girl, you should be numb to this news. There was never any chance of saving her."

Crowley's words stirred up more wrath and frustration in the humans and angel, but they also birthed sorrow. It was well known that saving Frankie was nearly impossible. Now they knew it was reality. If Crowley was telling the truth and if his sigil worked properly, Lucifer wasn't leaving Frankie anytime soon.

Sam hid his wilt well.

Crowley gazed at the pitiful sight of the Winchesters, their paternal drunkard, and their pet angel. In times as dire as the Apocalypse, there was no time for pouting and sulking. And yet even he could offer words of "encouragement" to get their heads back in the game. With an exaggerated sigh, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and offered a level expression.

"You didn't fail. I just," he shrugged, "succeeded."

The attempt was effective enough. Their woeful, poignant faces hardened to frowns of pure hatred. Much easier on the eyes.

"What's the second part?"

Crowley flicked his gaze to Bobby. The older man sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. The demon narrowed his eyes, a gesture of inquiry.

Bobby arched his brows impatiently. "Of your plan?"

Crowley turned back to Sam and Dean and pointed a thumbed toward Bobby. "You can learn something from this one. Head over heart." He returned to the older man. "You'd make a good demon."

Without looking away from Crowley, Bobby reached behind his worktable and grabbed a shotgun. He dropped it in his lap without a word. Crowley got the message clear and lazily rolled his eyes.

"Right. The second part. I made her drink my blood. Yes, I know." He held up a hand to Sam, stopping the words freshly conjured behind his lips. "Save all outbursts until the end. I know my way around a spell book, and I put my studies to use. I enchanted a vial of my blood. Once she drank it, only mine gives her strength. All other demons' turns to ash in her mouth."

Dean was finding it agonizingly difficult to contain the fury boiling his innards. This fucking miserable maggot thought he could force his sister to ingest his blood? ''Resource he could use' my ass,' he thought. If this matter wasn't of life, death, and the fate of the entire planet, he would jab the demon blade so far up his ass he could dig out tonsil stones.

But this was a matter of Earth's fate, and he had to work with the creature that fed Frankie demon blood.

He shut his eyes when he spoke – the only way he could manage the task. "And what was the point for that?"

"Picture this: Lucifer is stuck inside an already weak vessel. Michael's grace will burn out, and when it does, her body will start to thin. Without proper blood from the right demon…"

Sam was so overcome with fury that it numbed his senses. His skin crawled, rushing blood throbbed his ears, and the muscles of his jaw twitched as they constricted. Drinking demon blood was Sam's all time low. It changed him, caused him to do unimaginable things. It got them into this mess in the first place. And the demon in front of him tossed his little sister down the same rabbit hole. Sam nearly couldn't see straight, he was so furious.

But he had to force himself to tackle one problem at a time. Lucifer took priority.

Lucifer took priority.

"He'll fade fast," he answered, voice slightly restrained.

Crowley half-nodded. "It'll get to the point when he can't even tap dance without exploding. That point just before going nuclear is the time to strike." He walked forward, moving to the entrance of the garage. He turned, addressing the group with a mollified smirk. "So. We all clear on the plan?"

Dean was facing forward, but his eyes were set to the ground. Conflict ate away at him. He wore doubt like a tunic. Sam refused to look in Crowley's direction. His arms were crossed, and he gripped his pistol tighter in his hand. Cas was the only one who gave Crowley his undivided attention, but it was not a friendly face in the slightest. He held back every urge to turn the demon into a stain on the concrete floor.

Bobby observed the three from his chair. The fact that Frankie wouldn't be coming back after all took a good chunk out of them, and as much as he hated to do it, Bobby needed to help rush them along with their grief. Like he said, there wasn't much hope to begin with. Maybe it wasn't Frankie's fault that she said "yes," but she still said it. She made her choice, and now it was up to her to ride through the consequences, just like it was Sam and Dean's turn to face the product of their mistakes.

They still had a job to do, and time was running out.

"Sit back and let the Devil decay. Wait for the moment to strike," he answered. His hardened voice gathered the attention of Sam and Dean. One glance at his stern scowl gave them just enough of a push in the right direction.

"Track him down and push him in the pit." Sam swallowed. His free hand balled into a tight fist. "Along with Frankie."

Dean snapped his glare onto Crowley and nodded once. "You snag her soul from the cage and send it to Heaven like you promised."

"Of course. I stay true to my word." Crowley's eyes briefly flicked over to Cas. "More or less. But before we can worry ourselves over the fate of her soul, we need to find Death. I can help with that, too."

Dean rounded the Mustang and dropped onto a wooden bench, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "Think we've had enough of your help."

"You won't be saying that when you're face-to-face with the Pale Rider. Now, does anyone have a pen?" Crowley exclaimed as he dusted off his sleeves.