Act III

Sam leaned down, shining his small penlight on the sliding window of the nearest door. Once he'd figured out where to look for the symbols, the maze had been much easier to navigate. Each door was marked with a small etching of a shape and Roman numeral.

It has taken him a bit of time to find the correct cabinet in the massive file room, but once he located it, it was simple to find Bobby's file. He found himself thanking Crowley for being so meticulous in his record keeping. There had been twenty-five files under the name Robert Steven Singer. Most of them had been bursting with forms and paperwork, but one had been mysteriously thin. When he'd opened it, Sam had found one slip of parchment. On it, in black ink was a diamond and the roman numerals IVI.

Bobby's cell number.

It had to be.

He'd quickly pocketed the parchment and slipped back out of the file room and Crowley's office. The sounds of his brother's chase had died, the hallways eerily silent as he made his way back the way he had come. His heart skipped a beat as the thought of Dean being captured flittered through his head, but he quickly dismissed it, trusting the older man to have the situation under control. He couldn't let fear for Dean distract him from his mission.

Dean would be fine, he told himself. Dean was always fine.

After what seemed like hours of searching, Sam finally came upon a door with the diamond symbol. Following the hallway, he kept watch on the numerals until he was standing in front of the door marked IVI.

Like the rest, there was no handle or knob, so Sam gave it a push, finding it unlocked like the others. As he stepped into the room, the odor sulfur intensified, almost overwhelming him. There was dirty straw on the floor, and the walls were made of stained concrete. His eyes honed in on the figure standing across the room, its back turned, its focus on the sunless, barred window.

"Bobby?"

The figure turned around and Sam's breath caught in his throat. It was Bobby – or at least the embodiment of his soul - complete with leather jacket and trucker cap. The man looked horrible, red rimmed eyes, pale gray complexion, but Sam wasn't surprised. He had been locked away in Hell for more than a year. It wasn't like he was vacationing at Club Med.

The older man took a step toward him and swung, catching him with a firm right hook on his cheek. Sam staggered back, partly because of the blow, partly in shock that it had been thrown at all.

"Get the hell out of here, you black-eyed son-of-a-bitch!" Bobby's eyes were hard, his face showing nothing but contempt.

Rubbing his tender face, Sam held up his other hand to ward off any more oncoming blows. "What? Bobby it's me!"

"Yeah, and I'm Elvis. Move your ass!"

Sam held up both hands in surrender, his voice rising in incredulity. "Bobby –"

"Get!"

"It's me!" he tried again. He straightened and looked at his old friend imploringly. There was no telling what kind of tortures Bobby had been forced to endure all this time. It wasn't much of a stretch to believe that some of that torture had been wearing his face. "Okay, damnit, if it's not Sam, then how do I know about you and Tori Spelling?"

"What?"

That got the old hunter's attention.

"You're a fan," Sam continued hastily. "Yeah, or…or… okay what about your free pedicure at the Mall of America? You made Dean swear to never tell another living soul how it changed your life."

The two men stood silently for a moment, each assessing the other. Sam could see the exact moment Bobby decided he was truly him.

"Sam?"

Bobby lurched forward at the same moment Sam stepped fully into the cell, crushing the younger man in a much welcome bear hug.

"I'm sorry, boy," Bobby gave him a sad smile as he released him and took a small step back. "But you're the 200th Sam I've seen today. That's how they screw with me. Just endless Sams and Deans all wearin' the same black eyes." He paused a moment, frowning in concern. "Wait a minute. What the hell are you doing here? Please don't tell me it's what I think it is."

Sam shook his head quickly. "No! No, Bobby. I'm good. I'm here to get you." He let his head dropped so he could look his friend in the eye. "You don't belong here, Bobby." He pulled out the demon knife and smiled. "We're here to get you out."

Bobby's shoulders lowered in relief, a grin lifting his mouth. He looked around, behind Sam and the grin turned to a frown. "You said 'we'. Where's your brother?"

Sam snorted a laugh. "Running interference with Crowley's welcoming committee." He noticed the apprehension that suddenly appeared on Bobby's face. "Bobby? What?"

The older man shook his head slightly. "I don't know… it's just… a little while ago. A couple of Crowley's thugs came by here draggin' a body. I thought…"

Sam waited a moment before prompting him to continue. "You thought what?"

The older man's expression changed to one of despair. "You gotta understand, Sam, they've been using you boys against me every damn day…"

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, fear for his brother trumping his concern for Bobby's condition. "You thought what, Bobby? What did you see? Was it Dean?"

"I didn't know you boys were really here, Sam! I just thought they were messing with me. You know, business as usual!"

Sam could see Bobby was getting agitated, kicking himself for not realizing Dean had been real. He quickly calmed himself. "I know, I know," he intoned, hoping to keep both of them from panic. He'd known all along that Dean being caught was a distinct possibility. Hell, he thought both of them would've been nabbed by now. And he knew exactly what his brother would say – get Bobby the hell out. Complete the trial.

But there was no way Sam was leaving his brother down here. Not this time. Not after Purgatory. Either they both walked out and freed Bobby's soul, or neither of them would.

Swallowing hard, he firmly grasped the knife and straightened his shoulders. "Which direction did they take him?"

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean became aware of an agonizing burn in his shoulders as he slowly stuttered back into consciousness. As his groggy mind filled in the blanks, he realized the ache was a result of his arms being stretched above his head, the weight of his body pulling on the stressed joints. He could still smell the stench of sulfur, and feel the heat pressing down on him, smothering him, his senses reminding him of his current location. He lifted his head, blinking his eyes into focus.

Hell. It was Hell, again. He swallowed thickly.

He was stripped to his t-shirt and jeans, suspended in the center of a room – one that looked frighteningly familiar. Various torture devices littered the large, sweltering space and he shivered, flashes of pain and fear sifting through his mind. He was distressingly familiar with each and every one of the macabre devices, both as a victim and an aggressor. He wasn't sure which one of those descriptions terrified him the most.

"I see you're familiar with your accommodations."

Dean turned his head to the right as Crowley pushed himself off the gated opening to the room and slowly prowled around the hunter. He stopped directly in front of Dean, an innocent grin playing on his features. "I thought you might enjoy seeing the old digs."

Dean didn't trust himself to speak. Just being inside this chamber reminded him of the horrors he had witnessed and experienced at the hands of Hell's most sadistic torturer. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry, the memories threatening to paralyze him. He forced himself to control his breathing, clenching his jaws in an effort to keep himself from gasping in anguish. He settled for sending a murderous glare toward the pompous King of Hell instead.

Crowley wasn't fooled, his delight in Dean's distress palpable. "Of course, I'm sure you remember these delightful toys from your time with Alistair, hmm?"

Tying fervently to ignore Crowley's taunts, Dean focused on the two hulking demons who had entered the gate, walking around on either side of him until they disappeared from his view. His eyes traveled back and forth, his senses on edge not being able to see the goons behind him.

"Dean, Dean, Dean…" Crowley continued as if they were having a drink at the local pub. "How did we end up here? I thought you and I had a productive working relationship. You and your brother go about your business, I go about mine…. You know, an amiable co-existence between professionals."

"Screw you, Crowley."

"Is that all you have, Squirrel?" Crowley laughed, pushing Dean's defenses into high gear. The demon leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I'm rather embarrassed for you, Dean. I've told my friends here what a worthwhile sparring partner you have been. I don't think you're truly selling the act."

Crowley nodded his head at one of the demons standing out of the hunter's line of sight, and the thug delivered a vicious punch to Dean's kidney. The blow forced his body forward, causing him to sway like a punching bag at the end of a tether. He bit back a groan, not allowing himself to give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

"Really?" He grinned, his breath coming in harsh pants as he downplayed the pain. "A punch to the kidney? Don't you think that's a little cliché?"

Crowley shrugged easily. "I was going for effect." He twirled a finger and one of the demons reached out, stopping Dean's body from swinging. "Now that we have the amenities taken care of, we can get down to business." The King of Hell adjusted his tie then placed his hands behind him and squared his shoulders. "Why have you dropped by my little corner of the world?" He raised his rows, as if asking Dean the time of day.

"Would you believe I wanted to see what you've done with the place since my last visit?"

Crowley's smile widened, but his eyes grew colder. "So we're going to play this game, are we? " He shook his head in and took a step closer to the hunter, careful to stay out of range of his feet and legs. "I'm disappointed, Dean. I was hoping we could do this in a more… congenial manner." He nodded again to the demons and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his body tensing in response as blow after blow rained down on his back and sides.

When the punching stopped, a meaty hand in his hair forced his head up and he opened his eyes to see Crowley inches from his face. "What are you doing here? Don't make me ask again."

"Bite me, you limey leprechaun," Dean ground out between clenched teeth. His entire body was on fire, but he would never give Crowley the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

"Dean, you are a witty bastard." Crowley folded his arms across his chest. "I know what you and the moose are up to."

Dean snorted a laugh. "That's a height you'll never reach."

A tight smile appeared on the demon's face. "Amusing." He nodded to the thug behind Dean again and the human grunted when the well placed punch to his ribcage landed.

"I can do this all night," Crowley warned. "You on the other hand…"

Dean gasped in a breath and raised his head. "Trust me. I can take more than you can dish out."

"That's not what I heard." The demon's voice was conspiratorial. "Rumor has it, you fold like a cheap suit after… oh… thirty years?"

"Screw you."

Crowley smiled. "All in due time."

Before Crowley could give the demons another order, a loud explosion rang through the outside corridor, screams and confusion causing all four of the rooms inhabitants to look toward the open gate.

"What now?" Crowley drawled as he rolled his eyes. "Can't they tell I'm in a meeting?" With a flick of his head, he sent the two demons from the room to investigate the disturbance. He followed them to the edge of the room, before turning back to his prisoner with a contrite look on his face. "I must apologize for the rude interruption." He spread his hands and shrugged. "But what can you do? It's turning out to be just one of those days, you know?" He clapped his hands together when Dean simply glared in response. "Right, then. Why don't you just make yourself comfortable while I go see what the ding-dong is all about? Then we can continue our little discussion." With a wave, he sauntered out the gate, leaving Dean alone in the chamber.

He allowed himself a low groan, and slumped in the shackles that held his wrists. His ribs and lower back joined his shoulders in a collective sense of agony, and he squeezed his eyes tightly as he tried to manage the pain.

"Dean!"

He started as he felt the hands on him, fearing one of Crowley's goons had returned. His eyes opened wide in surprise when he recognized the person in who now stood before him.

"Bobby?"

The old hunter gave him a smile in acknowledgement. Dean watched Bobby's face in awe as the older man looked away toward the shackles that held Dean firmly. He looked around, quickly grabbing an old wooden chair from behind the gate and placed it to Dean's side. Stepping up, he made quick work of the latches holding the rusty cuffs closed, and jumped down in a deft maneuver to catch the younger man as Dean's weight suddenly fell onto his tingling legs. His arms were numb from being suspended for so long, and he had little control as they flopped down, landing on Bobby's shoulders. Dean took the opportunity to envelope his friend in an awkward hug.

"It's good to see you, too, kid." Bobby hugged him back in affection. "But we don't have much time."

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked. As feeling returned to his arms and legs, he pushed himself erect and limped over to the corner of the room, a slight groan escaping as he leaned down to retrieve his jacket and shirt.

Bobby frowned, but didn't voice his concerns. "Turning demons into shadows."

Dean gave him a knowing grin as he worked at getting his arms to respond, painfully slipping them into his jacket. "Demon bomb," he recognized. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Bobby couldn't help but return the grin. "Not bad. You boys have been busy since I've been gone."

"You don't know the half of it."

More shouting in the hallway preceded the form of Sam jogging around the corner, one hand on the gate helping to slow his momentum. He quickly looked his brother over, satisfied he was still in one piece and mobile. "Hey," he said in greeting. He locked eyes with Dean, silently asking if he was okay, receiving a quick nod in response.

"That was the last demon bomb," Dean observed, trying not to sound critical. After all, if it hadn't been for Sam's decision to use it as a diversion, he probably would've been the unwilling star of Crowley's Torture Chamber of Horrors reenactment.

Sam just shrugged. "It worked. But it won't for long. We gotta make ourselves scarce."

Bobby waited for Dean to slide past him, then followed the brothers down the hallway.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

"Didn't we just leave this party?" Dean winced, holding his arm close to his side to relieve the stitch that had developed during their dash down a long hallway. Checking down an intersecting corridor, he pulled back quickly when two demons thundered down the passage.

Sam noticed his brother's discomfort, but decided the obligatory questions could wait until they were some place safer than the center of a demonic game of hide-and-seek.

"This is some rescue…'

Dean threw a look of irritation over his shoulder toward the old mechanic. "Shut it, Princess Leia." He turned his attention to Sam, who was grinning at the exchange. He shook his head at what passed for amusement for his geek brother. "Any bright ideas, Einstein?" Dean asked, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

Sam shook his head. "Not unless we come across one of the marks I left. You?"

Dean snorted a laugh. "Kinda got distracted," he admitted. Slowly he raised his head at the sounds of shouting in the hallway they had just come from. "Sounds like Crowley is pissed." He pushed himself off the wall and ducked his head around the corner, nodding to his brother that the coast was clear. "Anyone have a preference?"

"I vote for the opposite direction of our black-eyed associates."

Dean looked to Sam, who nodded in approval with Bobby's assessment.

"Okay," Dean agreed. "Let's -"

Before they could move, a yell rang out from the other end of the hallway. All three turned in unison to see two of Crowley's henchmen start rumbling in their direction.

"I guess we go that way," Bobby concluded, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder. He took off, closely followed by the younger hunters. Sam quickly took the lead, turning randomly, trying to keep the pursuing demons from gaining ground. After a few turns, they were still hopelessly lost, but the sounds of pursuit had faded, letting them stop and drag in some much needed, sulfur infused air.

"At least the damn maze is good for something," Sam mused as he leaned back against the wall and coughed quietly.

Dean chuckled breathlessly in response.

"Balls!"

The brothers cocked their heads toward the end of the hallway where Bobby was peering around the next corner.

'More?"

The older man leaned back against the wall and shook his head. "We ran out of real estate."

"Huh?" Dean was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, trying to look like he wasn't about to keel over at any second. His ribs ached and the tight knot in his lower back was starting to throb in time with his heartbeat. He could tell his brother wasn't exactly feeling 100% either, Sam still not completely recovered from whatever the first trial had taken out of him. But it wasn't like either of them could stop and get a good rest until they had Bobby's soul out of this freaking maze and back on the up escalator where it belonged. Then maybe they could take a day or two and get back into fighting shape. Well, at least he could. Whatever the first trial had done to his brother, Dean feared the second would only get worse.

It wasn't a comforting thought.

"Dead end," Bobby explained. He tilted his head to the blind corner. "A bricked up wall. Looks like we hit the end of the trail."

"Awesome," Dean groaned as he pushed himself up and limped over to check it out for himself. He felt his brother step up beside him and took as deep a breath as his bruised ribs would allow. "I hate this place."

Sam snorted in agreement, then took a step closer, holding a hand out toward the dark wall. The bricks were oddly shaped stones of various colors and textures like an old chimney you'd see on houses from a century before. The stones were held together by a faded mortar that was flaking off in places, leaving a spattering of shavings scattered around the base. Sam ran a hand over the mortar, causing more to drift down to the floor.

He pulled his knife from his belt and chipped at the substance, grunting in pleasure when the knife dislodged a large chuck of the mortar, leaving a small hole between two of the stones.

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean said in awe. "Good work, Comstock." He pulled his own knife and began to help his brother clear the aged mortar from the stones. They worked in tandem, neither slowing as they felt the center stones loosening, knowing they were running out of time. They had just managed to clear the mortar from around the largest stone when Bobby stepped in behind them.

"Incoming," he said simply.

The brothers exchanged a look, and in perfect unison, turned and rammed two very broad shoulders into the loose stone. The wall gave way and they both tumbled forward, landing in a tangle of limbs on the opposite side of the wall. Bobby followed quickly, his eyes watching as the wall suddenly rebuilt itself, fading into the natural looking rock surface as if it was never there.

"What the hell…."

"Not Hell."

Bobby turned to see Sam rising, looking around the barren, gray landscape. The trees were close together, shadows playing between them like living entities. He watched as Sam turned to Dean, a frown appearing on his face. "What?" he asked, his voice hushed, his eyes swiveling to take in the unnaturally colorless terrain.

"It's not Hell," Dean repeated. The older brother was tense, his hand gripping his knife as if his life depended on it, his body crouched as if awaiting imminent attack. Sam had only seen his brother act like this when they were tracking something or when Dean's instincts told him there was something tracking them. Right now, he was inclined to trust his brother's intuition and turned his own knife in his hand.

"Dean?" Sam stepped closer, his own body tensing as he looked at a very tightly coiled Dean. "What is it? Where are we?"

Dean shook his head as if he could barely bring himself to respond. When he did, his voice was a low, feral growl. "Welcome to Purgatory, Sammy."

TBC