Cht 7
It happened just as Sterling requested. He gave points to Crowley for showing integrity and going with it. That seemed to be something that Crowley prided himself on—his integrity. At the heart, he was a business man. Sterling respected that.
When they first started discussing what might have happened to the blade, Crowley had to go back through the story of the blade, but Nate quickly zeroed in on how he and Dean had found it and who had it when they arrived. Several pertinent questions later, Crowley felt a right idiot and Sterling felt a smug admiration for his friend. It all made sense when he thought about it in retrospect. Cain was the first demon after all. He only had to walk right into hell, as if he owned it. He was the only one who had magic powerful enough to crack open the vault that Crowley had sealed with enchantments, and he was the only one who would be able to waltz right in and take something without any demons telling on him. They would be in mortal fear of Cain, more than they ever would Crowley. It was the only thing that made sense. Crowley's hubris had been to believe that another demon—the chief demon, truth be known—would not do such a thing. Actually, he had not even considered it.
Nate was sure of it, and the more Crowley considered it, the more he was too. After all, Cain wanted Dean to return and kill him; he had even told Squirrel to do it. How better to accomplish this than to steal the blade back, thus ensuring that they all track it and Cain down. Then he would be ready and waiting for Not Moose to return and do what Cain had bid him to in the first place. Bloody hell. But how to get the mark off Dean? How indeed... Crowley's brain kicked into high gear, ticking away at how to unthread this nasty knot. Sterling, keeping a close eye on Crowley's thoughts, pondered it through with him. And together, they hatched a plan to cure the Winchester, slay the demon, and right the colossal wrong that Crowley had unthinkingly wrought.
Dean and Sam did the same thing as always—as soon as they knew where the blade was, they hightailed it and tracked Cain down, right back where he and Dean had met. Sam and Dean rolled up in the Impala, stopping before the white frame farm house and looked around, scanning the yard and bee hives beyond for a trace of the age-old demon. They looked at each other speculatively for a moment, and Dean started to turn away before Sam's strangled cry stopped him. He knew, before he even turned. Cain was right behind him.
"Hello Dean," Cain said in measured tones. "Long time no see, son."
Just as Dean turned to speak, Sam called out his name and it jolted him into a swift lunge, as if he knew what was about to happen. He dropped swiftly enough to dodge the arm that swung up with the blade, slicing through the air in a killing arc. Dean rolled even as Sam crossed the hood of the car to help his brother. Sam swung his own knife at the demon, who appeared several feet closer to where Dean now stood. It may not do much good, Sam reasoned, but it might slow him down.
Dean grabbed Cain's killing arm before he could strike again and grimaced as he willed the mark back onto Cain's arm. He did not have a chance to complete the transfer before Cain wrenched out of his grasp and sliced at Dean again. Dean swung his left arm around the one in which Cain held the blade, pinning him in place, and head-butted the demon in the face. The blade dropped to the ground and Dean swiped it quickly, jabbing the blade into Cain's side. Cain dropped to his knees and looked up at Dean gratefully.
"Thank you," he said, "for a warrior's death. It's all I wanted anymore."
Blood seeped out his mouth and nose, a clear sign of internal injuries. The demon was dying. Dean grimly grabbed Cain's arm again, and this time he transferred the mark back, curing himself. Cain merely nodded in understanding and took one last gasping breath before he dropped, eyes vacant and staring. The first demon was dead, and Dean Winchester was clean of the mark.
Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as his elder brother rose from his knees.
"Come on, man," Sam urged. "Let's blow this joint."
"He died a warrior's death, Sammy," Dean said shaking his head, "he needs a warrior's funeral too."
Besides, Dean reasoned, best to make sure the demon couldn't come back. They would take the precautions they should have taken with Abbadon, and salt and burn the bones.
Hours later, when the flames had died down, he and Sam drove through darkened night, the blade in a locked and warded box in the trunk, destined for their father's old storage room where it could be kept safe.
