Thank you so much Jenjoremy for finxing all my boo-boos and making the little changes that make a chapter better. Thank you also Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all your help.

Chapter Thirteen

As soon as he left, Dean wanted to go after Sam, but he knew he needed his space. That didn't mean he wasn't wishing Sam had chosen to stay where he could keep an eye on him. He had a twisting knot in his gut that was telling him Sam needed him, but he was doing his best to ignore it. Sam obviously needed him, he had just had a couple of bombshells dropped on him, but he needed his privacy in that moment, needed to work through things on his own, more that he needed Dean.

Maybe in a few days, when Sam had wrapped his mind around it all, he would want Dean's company to talk it out and to make sense of what happened next. Not yet though. He needed normal now. Dean could deliver that. He could make something for Sam to eat. They could watch a movie. They could just be brothers for a while. That would help him.

His surety lasted all of a few minutes before Castiel's thoughtful eyes widened and he started across the room at a jog.

"What?" Dean asked. "What's going on?"

"I heard something," Castiel answered, and then said one word that made Dean's heart relocate to his throat — "Sam!"

He raced past Castiel, through the war room and up the stairs to the door which he yanked open. He saw exactly what was wrong at once. Sam was barely ten feet from the bunker and he was on the ground seizing. His heels tapped a staccato beat on the ground and his head juddered and thrust side to side on the dirt. His elbows were drawn in close to his body and his back arched. He had a cut on his cheek that was smearing blood over his face.

Dean stopped dead for a moment, long enough for Castiel to squeeze past him and drop to his knees at Sam's side. Dean's inertia broke and he ran forward, shouting at his friend. "Do something, dammit!"

Castiel reached for Sam slowly, carefully, with a glowing hand, and Dean held his breath, wondering if it would work or was a seizure something that the angel couldn't mojo away?

His answer came quickly; as soon as Castiel laid a hand on Sam's forehead, he groaned and stilled, and the cut on his cheek disappeared. He became boneless against the ground and the rigid set of his face relaxed.

"He is resting now," Castiel said.

"Right. Good. Now, what the hell was that?" Dean asked. "What made him do… that? Was he bleeding again?"

"Not in the way you mean, no. There was no injury for me to heal other than the one on his face. Whatever happened, it was not medical."

"Then what the hell was it?" Dean asked, brushing the hair back from Sam's blood smeared face.

Castiel's mouth pressed into a thin line as he considered. "I don't know what happened. We will need to ask him."

Sam felt awareness returning to him with the gentle swipe of a warm cloth against his face. He struggled back to wakefulness, drawn forward by his name being spoken by his brother. As his eyes opened and roved, they landed on Dean beside him, a washcloth in his hand and a concerned look on his face. They were in Sam's bedroom and Castiel was standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression solemn.

Against Dean's weak protests, Sam sat up and shifted back so he could lean against the headboard, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He cleared his throat and asked, "So, what happened?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "You had a seizure."

Sam tried to look as though that revelation didn't horrify him. If the look in Dean's eyes was anything to go by, he failed.

"Was it another bleed?" he asked Castiel.

"No. We don't know what it was."

Which meant it was what Lucifer had done to him manifesting in the physical. He wondered when the hits would stop coming. Just when he thought he had his legs under him again, some revelation came along to sweep them out all over again.

"What happened for you?" Dean asked, his tense tone an indication of just how worried he was.

Sam hesitated for a moment, weighing up the cost of honesty versus protecting Dean from another blow. He came down on the side of honestly. "Lucifer," he said. "He dragged me in again."

"Is that all?" Castiel asked, looking at Sam closely.

Sam ducked his head, unwilling to see their reactions. "He was torturing me."

Dean cursed and Sam heard the scraping of a chair against the floor and then heavy footsteps. He didn't need to look up to know Dean was leaving. But then the footsteps stopped and there was a crash. He glanced up to see Dean extracting his hand from a dent in the wall. Though his knuckles were bleeding, there was no sign of pain in his face. He just looked angry.

"Sorry," Dean said gruffly.

Sam shrugged. He understood the desire. Had he not just suffered through a painful although mental session with Lucifer, he might be punching walls, too.

Dean drew a breath, released it in a gust, and said, "Okay, I've got to do something."

"What?" Sam asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "What are we going to do?"

He felt overwhelmed and afraid. This wasn't just Lucifer talking and taunting as it had been before, it was Lucifer torturing him in his mind and causing him to seize in the real world. He couldn't fight back because that would cause bleeds that could kill him in a second.

Dean flinched. "I don't know yet. But I will. I just need to think. I'll come up with something."

Sam knew he would. He had told Lucifer as much, but that didn't mean he didn't still have doubts. This wasn't something they could fight with a weapon; it was Lucifer. It was what the fight would cost that worried Sam more than his possible fate. There was always a price, and Sam was afraid Dean would be the one to pay it. Again.

In the middle of the night, Dean crept into Sam's room, intending to leave a note explaining where he was going and what he was going to do, but Sam wasn't sleeping. He was awake, sitting up in bed with a book open on his lap, but he wasn't reading it. He wasn't looking at Dean either. He was staring blankly into space. Lucifer was there again.

Dean supposed he should be grateful that Lucifer wasn't torturing Sam to the point of seizing again, but it was a weak comfort.

"Sam, Sammy," he said, shaking his shoulder in hopes of snapping Sam out of it, but there was no response. Lucifer had his claws in deep. The one thing Dean could cling to as a positive was that Sam wasn't shoving Lucifer out and hurting himself more.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed and waited for Sam to come back to himself. It took a few minutes before Sam drew in a deep breath, almost a gasp, and cast his eyes around the room, coming to rest on Dean with a wince.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam pushed his hair back and nodded, still drawing deep, perhaps calming, breaths. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Just wanted to tell you I'm heading out for a while," Dean said. "I think I've come up with a way to help."

Sam looked wary. "What is it?"

"Rowena. I'm thinking she might have a spell that can lock down the cage a little tighter. Or maybe she can do something for you. I don't know exactly what, but I think she's the answer."

"No deals," Sam said quickly.

Dean's lips pressed into a thin line. The idea had occurred to him that Rowena might want something in return or Crowley would try to use the situation to his advantage. He hoped he had a way around that though. He had an ace up his sleeve in the form of Amara.

"Dean," Sam said in a warning tone.

"No deals," he agreed. "I promise, Sam. I'll get it done the old fashioned way. Intimidation."

Sam smiled, looking relieved. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean got to his feet and said, "I better head out. Sooner I get there, sooner we get you fixed up. Try to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, picking up the book and placing it on his bedside table.

Dean made for the door. As he pulled it closed behind him, he heard Sam moan softly. He peered back inside to see he was lying down now, but his eyes were wide and distant again. Lucifer was back already.

The drive to Massachusetts took too long, even though Dean drove until he could barely focus on the road and slept in the car. It was two days after he'd left the bunker that he pulled the Impala to a stop outside the gates of the asylum. He wanted to run in there, to demand to see Rowena, but he refused to give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing his desperation again. He was going to handle it like a Winchester.

He took a few deep, calming breaths, and then climbed out of the car and closed the door gently. He already had the demon knife in his inside pocket, and he tucked his gun into his pants. With measured steps, he walked up the path to the main door and knocked. He had to wait a full minute for someone to answer, but he didn't knock again. They'd heard him the first time; they were just screwing with him by making him wait.

When the door opened, a svelte woman was revealed. She was wearing a black pantsuit with her blonde hair curling around her face. She would have been hot if it wasn't for the black eyes and sneer. "Winchester."

"Demon," he said, pushing past her and walking along the hall toward the throne room.

"Hey, you can't just march in there!" she said, hurrying after him.

Dean stopped and sighed as if anything she said mattered a damn to him. Her strong fingers gripped his shoulder, and he turned quickly, the demon blade gripped in his hand. Before she could do more than say, "To see the King you must—" Dean had the knife pressed against her throat. She froze.

"Now, I'd love to shove this through to bone," he said conversationally, "but my bother has this thing about saving lives, so it's your lucky day, you get to live. Say thank you."

"Thank you," she hissed, her eyes dancing with hatred.

"You're welcome," Dean said. "But you don't just get to live. You get to do a good deed, too. You're going to the nearest hospital and you're going to smoke out of this poor woman and let her go home."

The demons looked furious, but also afraid. Dean shoved her away from him and she skittered down the hall and through the front door. Smiling grimly, Dean carried on down the hall to the room at the end. He flung open the doors and walked into what looked like a briefing. There were three demons standing in front of Crowley who had a clipboard in his hand and was reading out names and numbers while others lined the walls.

"Be with you in a sec, Squirrel," he said. "Just got some business of state to deal with."

"No problem," Dean said calmly. "It's your mom I came to speak to anyway."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and turned to one of the demons standing before him. "Go fetch mother."

The demon scurried from the room and Crowley waved an airy hand and addressed the others in the room, "You may leave us."

The remaining demons followed their fellow out and Dean and Crowley were alone.

Dean raised an eyebrow and lifted the demon knife he had held at his side. "Not the smartest thing you ever did, Crowley. What if this was an assassination attempt?"

"It would depend who you're planning to assassinate. If you're here to kill my mother, I'll throw you a party. If you're here to kill me, I'll enjoy seeing you pinned to the wall for the next week."

There was the click of heels against the stone floor and Rowena came into the room, her hips wiggling within the constraints of her gown. "Dean!" she said happily. "So good to see you again. How's that handsome brother of yours?" Dean wondered at her cordial greeting until he caught her eyes darting around the room, searching for something or someone. "Alone… are you?"

Dean snorted. "You mean did I bring Amara?"

"Yes."

"No, she's busy today," Dean said. "I'm sure she'll come by to see you another day though. Especially if I send her."

Rowena's flushed cheeks paled. "And why would you be wanting to do that?"

Dean shrugged. "Fun? It all depends on what happens next, I guess. See, I didn't come for a social. You're going to help me."

Crowley leaned back in his throne. "And why would she do that?"

"Because if she doesn't, I will have Amara come visit. And she won't come for a social either. She'd probably enjoy wiping you out like a bug."

"You have our attention," Crowley said. "What can the old hag do for you?"

Dean drew a breath. "We've got a… problem. I need her to seal the cracks in the cage that are letting Lucifer reach out."

Crowley frowned. "He's still getting out?"

"He's reaching Sam." Dean said.

Crowley smiled slightly and then quickly covered it with a hand. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, you're scared of Amara," Dean corrected. "There's a difference."

"True." He turned to Rowena. "Mother, do your worst. Grab the Spackle, seal the cage and Dean can be on his merry way."

"Of course, son," Rowena said. "It was created by God and broken by The Darkness, but I should have no problem sealing the cracks. Give me five minutes and I'll have a spell ready to go." She rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

Crowley scowled at her. "Did you miss the part about The Darkness coming for us?"

She smiled sweetly. "For you, dear. I don't think he said anything about me."

"My mistake," Dean said. "I'm sure she'll be happy to take you both out."

Rowena drew a shaky breath. "I… I can't do it."

"Mother!" Crowley growled. "You will do whatever he damn well wants. Understand?"

Rowena turned to him and sneered. "I said can't, you moronic monarch. Did you not hear what I said about God? I may be a wonder of a witch with prodigious skills at my command and a pretty face to boot, but I don't have the power to do something like that!"

"There's got to be something else," Dean said. "Some way to block him from Sam."

"There isn't," Rowena said. "There is no spell I know with enough power to combat the Dark Prince."

"You can't help?" Dean asked, cursing the weakness in his voice.

"I really can't."

"She's not lying, Dean," Crowley said. "She is a pain in the arse and a liar, but she's got more self preservation skills than a cockroach. She's piss scared and still saying no. I believe her."

Dean turned away, the demon blade gripped in his hand. It took everything he had not to sink the blade in her chest and end the useless bitch once and for all. He wanted to for sheer annoyance, but something held him back. Sam's voice seemed to whisper to him: 'She might be able to help later. Don't destroy a potential weapon because you're pissed.'

He made for the door without a word. Rowena and Crowley both called after him, pleading for him to wait and reconsider their promised deaths, but he paid them no attention. They could live in fearful anticipation for a while. It would do them good to be afraid. They should be afraid. Dean was.

So… That happened. I make no apologies.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx