Thank you so much Gredelina1 for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me hammer out the details.

Chapter Five

It had been a week, more than two years of Hell time, and Dean and Castiel were no closer to finding Sam than they had been the moment Dean heard he was gone.

They had been looking, searching everywhere for information and signs of Amara, but there was nothing. There was nothing of use in the Bunker, so Dean had locked it up and taken to the road. He thought because he had sensed Amara once, perhaps he could again if he could just get close enough to her. He drove until his eyes burned and he couldn't see the road clearly and then he crashed in the closest motel he could find.

Castiel was on the road, too, and though they'd spent the week on opposing sides of the country, they arranged to come together in Oklahoma to talk face to face. Dean used the time off the road to get food that wasn't served passed through a window and took it back to his room.

He had just finished his last tasteless mouthful when there was a knock on the door. He got to his feet to open it and then stepped back to let the angel enter.

"You look terrible," Castiel said in lieu of a conventional greeting.

Dean shrugged. It wasn't like he didn't already know that. He'd seen himself in the mirror after all. His chin was rough with stubble and his eyes dark with shadows. He was fit and able to look though, and it didn't impede his search, so he didn't see the problem. "Haven't been keeping up with my beauty regimen lately," he said. "You tend to let things go when your brother's trapped in Hell."

Castiel winced and nodded. "You do." He drew a breath and looked at Dean. "I have news."

"Amara?" Dean asked hopefully.

"No. It's about the angels that made an attempt on her life."

"Every angel in creation, you mean?"

"It wasn't every angel in creation," Castiel said. "I was not a part of it and there were others that refused to join Lanius in his mission, others that had no faith that it would be successful."

Dean dropped back into his chair and raked a hand over his face. "Honest, Cas, I wouldn't care about the feathered rat pack at the best of times, but now I truly don't give a shit."

Castiel spoke harshly. "As their mission was to destroy what could be our one hope to free Sam, I would think you would be a little more interested."

"It didn't work," Dean said tiredly.

"And how do you know that?"

Dean pointed at the black screen of the television. "Been looking. Michael and Lucifer were supposed to destroy half the world with their fight. A host of angels taking out God's sister would have some pretty huge consequences, too, but all that's being reported is the usual murder and mayhem. It didn't work."

"No, it didn't," Castiel admitted. "Though I believe the attempt came at a terrible cost."

"Yeah?" He truly didn't care. They'd already established that angels couldn't get Sam out, so he had no use for them. That was all he cared about now, getting Sam out. Anything else was background noise to him.

"I believe they've perished," Castiel said, his voice steeped with sadness. "There is usually a cacophony of voices on angel radio at all times, now it is the barest whisper. The rest have gone."

Dean yawned.

"My family," Castiel said angrily, "is dead."

"Not all of it," Dean said bitterly. "And they're dead. They've blinked out, or moved on, or whatever it is happens to dead angels. It's over for them. My family is in Hell with Lucifer. Which of us do you think is hurting more right now, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head. "I wasn't aware it was a competition, and you aren't the only one, Dean. You know I care for Sam, too."

Dean knew that. Castiel cared. But Sam wasn't his brother. His brothers were the ones Amara had snuffed out like a candle. And Dean didn't care. Brothers was just a word to Castiel. They didn't have what him and Sam had. They never had and never would. Castiel had lost a lot, sure, but he hadn't lost what Dean had, and he hadn't lost it to hell. It wasn't a competition, but Dean won.

There was once a huge network of hunters that Dean could have called on in an emergency, not that he ever really did. He'd always had his dad and Sam. But they'd been there. Harvelle's Roadhouse would be full of them and that was one bar in one state. There was not so many anymore.

Hunting had always been a dangerous vocation, and then the Devil's Gate opened and demons spilled out, then there was the apocalypse, then Eve's monsters and Leviathans. Hunters were wiped off the board like captured chess pieces, killed, traumatized or permanently injured so badly they couldn't work anymore. There weren't many left that Dean could go to for help, but every single one that he could was on alert for signs of soulless people running amok. That and mass murder of the religious were the only clues Dean had to where to find Amara.

"Anything?" Dean asked hopefully into the receiver. On the line was Rick, one of the remaining hunters and one of the few that had thrown himself into the Amara hunt for Dean.

"Thought I had one," he said, "but it turned out that it was just a particularly rebellious teenager. I don't know what to tell you Winchester. There's no sign of this broad I can see."

Dean hadn't told Rick or the others even half of Amara's story—he'd just said she was incredibly dangerous and they shouldn't try to tangle with her without his backup. It was shady, but he couldn't tell them the Winchesters had let loose another apocalyptic enemy on the world. They knew Sam was in trouble though, and that was motivating them to help. Hunters took care of their own.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks anyway."

They exchanged goodbyes and promises to call if there was any news, and Dean set the phone down on the table beside the laptop. He had set up shop in a motel for a couple hours to scour the news websites for anything that might lead him to Amara. He had done the same thing every day for the past week, ever since he and Castiel had separated again, and he'd found nothing.

The problem was that he wasn't as adept as Sam at the computer thing. He could hack traffic and surveillance cameras easy enough—Frank had taught him—but he couldn't get into police databases to check for anything they were keeping out of the press. Sam had always done that side of things, and Dean hadn't paid much attention when Charlie had talked them through it.

He wanted a drink. He needed a drink. Dammit, he deserved a drink, but he hadn't touched a drop in the two weeks—five years—Sam had been gone. When he started drinking, he would be despairing, and it wasn't time for that yet, not while there was still the chance of Amara helping them.

He snapped the laptop closed and buried his face in his hands. It wasn't time for despair. Not yet.

Dean's heart was hammering against his ribs with anticipation. For the first time in the three weeks since Sam had gone, they had a solid lead. It had been pure, blessed coincidence that they had seen the report coming in as breaking news. A pastor in Nebraska had been murdered in his own church. Castiel had been checking in with Dean. He said it was to exchange information, but since they could do that on the phone and there was none, Dean suspected Castiel just wanted to check in on him in person. They were together though, and Dean was glad, because if this was Amara, he wanted Castiel to come with them when they went to get Sam out. Sam would need them both. Who knew what kind of state he would be in after seven years of Hell?

The church was two hours from where they had been staying when the report came in, and though the cops were still there, the presence of the big guns was over. It made it easy for Dean to lead them away from the guarded front entrance and round the back to find another entryway.

The lock was old and heavy, and though Dean could have picked it given long enough, Castiel bypassed the need by turning the handle hard and breaking the mechanism with a crunch. Dean went ahead inside, listening hard for voices. He was barely a few paces in before Castiel grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to a stop.

"What?" Dean asked, turning to face him.

"There is an angel here." He walked past Dean hurriedly and through an ordinary looking door as if following a scent. Perhaps he was, Dean thought. He'd never really understood how angels sensing each other had worked.

Dean could hear two voices rumbling through an open door to the left, but Castiel led them right and through another door. There was a short hall and a flight of stairs. Castiel began to climb them without hesitation or any attempt to conceal the sound of his footsteps.

"Dammit, Cas, keep it down," Dean hissed. "You want the cops coming after us?"

"I will deal with them should they come," Castiel said simply.

At the top of the stairs was another door that Castiel flung open and marched through. Dean hurried to join him and looked around the room he came to. It was an attic space with sloping ceilings and narrow windows at the end of the eaves. There didn't seem to be anyone there, let alone an angel on parade.

"You can come out," Castiel said calmly.

"Who can?" Dean asked, and then snapped his mouth shut as a man appeared on the other side of the room from behind a stack of packing crates.

"Marius?" Castiel asked in a shocked voice.

"Castiel," the man said in a fear filled voice. "Are you with her now?"

Dean pushed past Castiel. "Her who?"

"The Darkness." The man whispered, as if afraid she would hear and strike him down. "I saw her coming."

"When," Dean asked intensely. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I hid as soon as I saw her approaching the church. She… I think she killed Camael. I heard him scream."

"She did," Castiel said soberly. "But how are you here? I thought you were a part of Lanius' mission to destroy."

"I was. We both were. She spared us, Castiel. All of us. When we laid siege, she just…disappeared. We could not even hurt her an iota. We tried, we all did, but she was immune to us."

"I thought you all perished," Castiel accused.

"We hid. We all did. We stopped talking on the angelic plane and took holy vessels in almost all facets of Christian faith. Camael and I became pastors here. Emilia is preaching from a Baptist tent revival group. All of us have found a place of solace and secrecy."

"Secrecy in the church," Dean said dryly. "Imagine that."

It made sense. Vocational religious would be most likely to grant permission to be vessels and they were the most obvious place to find angels, therefore the last place Amara would look. They were hiding in plain sight. It was a smart move for angels that he dismissed as assholes without independent thought.

"Do you think she has discovered your secret?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know," Marius said. "I hope not. I could hear her with Camael. She knew he was an angel, of course, but she seemed pleased to have found him. She was talking about wanting to speak to God. I thought perhaps she had just happened upon us."

"If you saw her, she must have seen you," Dean said. "So why are you alive?"

"I don't know," Marius said. "She didn't come for me. I waited, but she didn't come. I don't know where she went. She just left."

Dean sighed heavily. That was his hopes dashed. If he just had some clue or even direction she went in, he would have a starting block for searching. He turned away and made for the stairs.

"Dean, where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here," Dean said without stopping. "She's gone. There is nothing for me here. You two hug it out or whatever, and call me when you can help me."

"Dean…"

"No, Cas. There is nothing for me here. You found your family. Mine is still gone."

Dean marched out to the Impala. His hand was on the door when someone grabbed his shoulders and turned him. "Cas?"

"I have tried to understand," Castiel said through his teeth. "I have tried to support you and let you get through this the only way you know how, angrily. But I am sick of you pretending you are the only person with a stake in this, acting as if you're the only one that has lost anything."

Dean stepped forward into Castiel's space. "I have lost my brother!"

"So have I!" Castiel said harshly. "We are family. You told me that once. Did you mean that or were you just saying whatever you could to stop me?"

Dean remembered saying those words through bloody lips, looking up at Castiel from his knees and hoping he would find the right words to break through the hold that Naomi had over his friend. He had said they were family because they were.

"I meant it," he admitted.

"Good. I am family, Sam's family, too. So why do you believe only you are in an pain now? I am doing everything I can to help. I want him back just as much as you. I care, Dean, and I am—"

"I know," Dean said, cutting him off. "I know you care. I'm sorry I'm being a dick."

"You are," Castiel agreed.

Dean almost smiled. "I just…"

"Need him back," Castiel finished for him. "Yes. We both do."

Dean hammered on the asylum door with fists and feet, but no one answered. He'd tried picking the lock and when that failed, he'd trying kicking the door, but it wouldn't budge. Crowley had amped up security since Sam and Dean had broken in.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, trying to beat his way inside, but it was long enough for his fists to bruise and his voice to grow rough with strain. He couldn't leave until he got inside though. There was something in that building that he needed.

"Crowley, you son of a bitch, let me in!" he shouted hoarsely.

He had made the same request in many forms before, sometimes demanding, sometimes cajoling, and even begging once or twice.

"Please!"

There was the grate of metal tumblers turning and then the door was opened by a black-eyed demon in the meat suit of a man probably in his thirties, dark haired and thin. "Winchester," he said grimly. "The king will see you…"

Dean pushed past him and marched along the corridor to the heavy door at the end. He flung it open and entered Crowley's court. The King of Hell was sitting in his throne, smiling superiorly at Dean and turning a glass of whiskey in his hand. Rowena was in a chair beside the throne, dressed in a deep purple evening gown with what looked like the makings of a hex-bag in her lap. The scene seemed too perfect, they looked too relaxed, which made him sure it was all an act. Replace Rowena's hex-bag with knitting and it could be a idyllic scene of family. He didn't believe a detail of it. They were playing the part when they had probably been clawing each other's eyes out a minute before he arrived.

"Dean," Crowley said. "How've you been?"

Dean disregarded the question. He wasn't going to play along with them. He was there for a reason.

"I want to see, Sam."

Rowena clucked her tongue as she looked him up and down. "Of course you do, you poor wee thing. You're a wreck without him."

Dean stared at Crowley who stared back unflinchingly.

"I would…" Crowley said expansively, "if that was what I thought you really wanted. But you and I both know you're not here to see him, as if you even could with Lucifer running the show. You want him out."

"Of course he wants him out," Rowena said, sounding amused. "Anyone would. They're family."

"Oh, I don't know, mother. If you, for example, found yourself trapped in a cage with Satan… well, I'd find the strength to go on without you. I might even find a way to be happy. Or delirious. It's a fine line really."

"I understand, pet," Rowena said. "We MacLeod's are tough. See, if the Dark Prince was to get free and flense the flesh from your bones, I'd find a way to be happy, too."

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but Dean spoke over him. "I just need to see him. I already know you two are useless when it comes down to it. Neither of you have the power needed to actually do something useful like get him out."

"Reverse psychology," Crowley said with a nod. "Cute. I'm impressed, Dean. That's more of a Sam move than a Dean move. You must be growing as a person, seeing past your Hulk-like crush/destroy/kill mindset. Well done. The moose would be proud. Afraid the answer's the same though. No. You're not seeing him. I doubt Lucifer would let you anyway. I only get glimpses, and he always blocks me out before the good part."

"You've seen him?" Dean asked.

"You think I would let a treat like Sam Winchester being flayed alive pass me by without witnessing it? Not a chance. Even mother popped in for a peek, didn't you, mother?"

Dean swallowed down nausea at the mental image.

"Ooh, I did. Poor thing." She shuddered. "That Lucifer is an artist."

"Fuck," Dean groaned.

"So… no," Crowley said. "You can't trick us into helping you. You can't see him. You are welcome to stay and chat. We love having company, but I'm thinking you've got more pressing plans. Like drinking, passing out, dreaming of your lost brother, and then starting the cycle over tomorrow. It's the Winchester way, right?"

Dean wasn't aware of moving. One moment he was standing, desolate and agonized, the next he was in Crowley's space, and the King of Hell was holding a hand to his bloody lip. Inexplicably, Crowley smiled, making blood trickle down his chin.

"And here's the Winchester violence. I knew it was coming."

Rowena snorted delicately. "Who didn't?"

"I'm trying to help you, Dean," Crowley said in a defeated voice. "The last thing I need is another catatonic Winchester cluttering up the halls. If you were to see…" He shook his head.

"Another?" Dean asked, his heart contracting painfully. "Sam's…"

"He wishes," Rowena said. "Poor thing could do with the break."

Crowley nodded. "For once, she's not lying, Dean."

Dean turned away, and thumbed at his eyes. He needed to get out of there. He needed a drink. He was going to have one, because now… now he was despairing.

Sam had been in Hell ten years.

"Okay, Dean. Up and at 'em," a loud voice said. "Daylight's wasting."

Dean buried his face in his pillow. "Go away!"

He didn't even know how she had found him. It wasn't like he'd been sending postcards.

It had been a week of drink, despair and searching. He had driven from Crowley's to the nearest liquor store and there he had bought as much whiskey as he could afford and driven to the nearest motel. There he had followed Crowley's prediction. He had drunk. He had passed out. He had dreamed of Sam. The next day he had searched and then started the cycle all over again. It was all he could do to keep going with the search during the day. It was that or lying down and never moving again.

"Not going anywhere," Jody said.

Dean rolled over and opened one eye to look at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought her," Castiel said from by the door. "I thought she could help."

Dean threw the blankets back and swung his legs around to the edge of the bed, not caring that he was only dressed in his shorts. "Help Sam?" he asked blearily, wondering how that was even possible.

"No," Jody said simply. "Help you."

Dean glowered. "I don't know how much Castiel told you, but I'm not the one currently being skinned by Satan."

Jody's eyes widened. "He's what?"

Dean looked at Castiel. "What exactly did you tell her?"

"I told her I needed her to take care of you. I told her about the drinking."

Dean shook his head dolefully. "That's your problem with everything that's going on right now? Me drinking? Seriously, Cas, you're the one that needs help."

"What's happened to Sam?" Jody asked.

Dean drew a deep breath. "Sam is in Hell." It cost him something to say the words aloud.

"He died?" she whispered.

"No," Dean said. "He walked in willingly. There's a big bad in the world right now, again, and he thought the way to get past it was to get some help from an old enemy. The Devil. Only Lucifer tricked him somehow. He's in a cage of sorts, in Hell itself, and Sam somehow ended up there with him again."

"Oh, God."

Dean heard the door click and he raised his eyes from his knees to see Castiel slipping outside and closing it behind him. Coward, Dean thought. He dumped Jody on him and now ran from hearing the truth of the story again.

"And he's hurting," Dean said. "I guess I knew it already, but I spoke to Crowley and he told me… And I feel like… And he's…" He broke off gasping and he looked into Jody's wet eyes, feeling his own tears trailing down his face. "I think I've lost him for real. He's been gone five weeks, twelve years, and I feel like I've lost him."

Jody opened her arms and he fell forward onto her. She held him like Lisa had after Stull, and just like then, Dean cried openly and clung to her like a life raft, as if she could protect him from drowning in the agony of his situation.

She smoothed a hand through his hair and whispered comfort and he closed his eyes and just let himself feel again: feel the pain, the longing, and the powerlessness. That was what hurt him the most. It wasn't only that Sam was gone, it was that he was in Hell and Dean was powerless until he found Amara. And even then, she might not help. It might really be the end for him.

Jody stayed with him all that day. She walked him into the bathroom and threw clean clothes at him. When he came out, showered and dressed, she sent him back inside to shave. Then she walked him along the street to a diner and watched him eat every bite of a massive breakfast. She didn't tell him to stop drinking, but she made him promise to control just how much he did before she left.

A week passed, a week of showering and shaving every morning, eating proper meals, and limiting his liquor intake to evenings and a couple glasses only. It wasn't that he was despairing less, it was that—like she said just before she left—he had to make sure Sam was coming out to the strongest version of his brother he could be, because Sam would need him that way.

Castiel stayed with Dean now, and though they didn't talk about it, Dean knew it was because he wanted to be close in case Dean started slipping back again.

They were in Iowa, talking to a witness to an accident that Dean thought may be connected to Amara. The woman had been part of a church congregation who had been hurt and killed when their bus drove off the road into a gas station. It took only a few minutes of conversation for Dean to ascertain that the crash was less to do with Amara than it was a soused bus driver.

They made their excuses and left, Dean's heart sinking.

"Just because this time it wasn't Amara, it doesn't mean it never will be," Castiel said when they were both settled in the Impala.

Dean sighed. "Even if it had been, Cas, what could we do. The crash was three days ago. Even three seconds would have been enough for Amara to be on the other side of the world. We're chasing her trail, and we're not even doing that very well."

"Do not give up," Castiel said harshly.

"I'm not," Dean growled. As if he ever could. "But I don't think chasing these trails is going to be the way to find her."

"Then how do you suggest we do it?"

Dean shrugged. "I have no idea." He thought if she knew he was in trouble, she would come to him, according to her they had a connection, but how could he make sure she knew? He was all out of ideas. He had to come up with something fast though. His brother's soul depended on it.

He had been in hell fifteen years.

"This is Katie Callahan of PDA News. We're following the breaking story of the sudden deaths of thirteen Catholic priests on pilgrimage to the Vatican. According to reports they were found dead at dawn in St Peter's square. The Italian police have not yet released a statement, but people in the area interviewed by our reporters are saying the scene was something out of a horror movie. We will bring you more information as it comes in…"

Dean turned to Castiel. "Angels?"

Castiel nodded, his expression sad. "I heard their death cries. They begged for help."

"Cas, man, I'm sorry." The words felt awkward and stilted, though they were sincere.

"I know," Castiel said.

"You think it was Amara?"

"I am certain of it."

Dean sighed. "She's in Italy now. Awesome. We barely had a chance of finding her before, now she's gone international we're really screwed."

"I don't think so," Castiel said. "I think we will find her in time. Winchesters always find a way eventually."

Dean bowed his head. "We do. But how long's it going to take? He's been gone a long time now, Cas." He drew a breath. "How much of him will be left?"

Castiel didn't answer.

Sam had been in Hell seventeen years.

The summer Sam was ten, John had brought them all to Massachusetts for a hunt and they'd stayed a month. It had been great. The cabin they appropriated was on the edge of a lake and he and Sam had spent their days swimming, diving, and laying in the shallows cooling off. For once John hadn't given them crap about training, and they'd been kids for a while.

Sam had loved it.

Dean had always had a place in his heart for that summer, and when he and Castiel came back to the area following a lead on Amara, Dean had gone for a drive with the vague idea he might be able to find the place again. He thought maybe he could find that place and sit and immerse himself in memories of Sam for a while.

The bunker may have worked for the same goal, but it would have brought to mind memories of Sam as an adult, Sam damaged and tired, sometimes sick, always fighting. It was the innocent child Dean wished to connect with now. The child who had his whole life ahead of him. The child without a flayed soul.

He didn't find any cabin, let alone the one they'd used, but he found a lake to enjoy. He sat down at the water's edge and began to throw a handful of stones that he'd collected into the water, a pastime Sam had always enjoyed. He had got to the last of his handful when he felt someone step up behind him. His heart raced. He could feel her, he was sure.

He turned slowly, praying silently that he was right.

She stood behind him, unchanged from the last time he had seen her.

"Amara," he breathed.

"Hello, Dean."

So… Everyone loves a good cliff-hanger ending, right? No? Oops.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx