The few beers Dean had knocked back during the ride hadn't nearly been enough to prepare him for what he was looking at now.
A large, wide building rose up just beyond the treeline, a stone staircase leading from a curving driveway to the double doors. Cars moved in a steady stream along the entrance, valets in black suits opening doors to reveal finely dressed men and women. Music could be heard echoing from within, as well as titters of laughter. Dean lowered the binoculars, his brows nearly at his hairline. It was like some haunted house for rich, crazy people- and it had Crowley all over it.
"Something, isn't it?" Rufus remarked casually, a beer in hand. He took a healthy swig. "Three years ago this was a landfill, or a cemetery- hell I don't know anymore. But then Crowley came in and turned it into the most happening place anywhere."
Dean peered through the binoculars again. He watched a group of people pass through the doors, his eyes narrowing at seeing the bouncers were demons. They didn't even bother hiding their black eyes. "And you haven't torched this place yet?"
"Ain't that easy, Dean," Rufus answered. "Look, I don't know where those angels were keeping you all this time, but the hunting business changed after the Apocalypse. It's not about killing them anymore. Now we have to deal with them all civil like." Rufus's tone was dismissive.
"What, you mean like protection money?"
"Some parts of the country, yeah. Here it's different. I think we're supposed to take the demons out to dinner."
Dean shook his head and leaned back in the seat. "None of this is right," he stated. "How come the Earth isn't a graveyard? Michael and Lucifer's big duel was supposed to screw us all over. You know, death, destruction, hellfire. Biblical crap."
"I don't know anything about Biblical crap, but I'd say we got screwed by the Apocalypse anyway." The phone in his pocket rang, and Rufus put it to his ear. "Yep. All right. Who me? I'm not going in there. Don't worry, I got a man. He's gonna meet you round the back. What? No, I don't have any potato chips. No, I'm not getting any. Right, see you later." Rufus hung up with a muttered curse. "Damn junkie. I don't know how the hell he hasn't gotten killed yet. All right, listen up," he said, turning to Dean. "Garth is waiting for you by the back door. He'll tell you where to meet up with Sam and the angel."
"And then what?" Dean asked, managing to keep his voice steady even as his pulse quickened with anticipation.
"And then you talk about things? I don't know," Rufus complained irritably. "The whole thing was Sam's idea. He'll let you know. Oh and Dean," he added just as Dean opened the door. When he turned he automatically caught the wad of cash thrown his way.
"Do I even wanna ask what this is for?"
Rufus smiled. "Crowley's is the only place where you can buy good liquor. Bring me back a few bottles, if you would."
Dean favored him with a slight, unamused smile, and took his leave.
He crept low along the bushes as he made his way closer to the building. A sign was erected at the far end of the driveway, the word Purgatory engraved in fancy script. Dean rolled his eyes, yet even he couldn't deny the sense of irony to be had in naming what basically amounted to a creepy gentleman's club after the place. He bet it went over real well with the guys upstairs, too. Though why they didn't torch it either was something that didn't sit right with Dean. Then again, nothing from Heaven or Hell had ever been on his good side, with one very obvious exception.
As he looked over the columned facade Dean shook his head.
Sam, what are you and Cas up to in this place?
The bushes gave way for hedges, allowing Dean to slip past the front without being seen. The hedges circled the perimeter, opening up into a courtyard centered around a fountain. And there, seated at the fountain's edge, his feet dangling in the water, lit cigarette in hand, was Garth. He glanced over at Dean, squinted so his whole face looked pinched before a broad smile appeared.
"Hey, Dean. Wow, you don't look happy at all," he observed. "Bad day?"
Now that Dean stood close to him, he got a nice healthy whiff of marijuana. "I've had better," he answered, waving the smoke away. He took in Garth's bloodshot eyes and lazy smile. "Damn. You're stoned out of your mind."
Garth took another drag, exhaled and made a little sound that was part hiccup, part squeak. "No," he replied. "I'm relaxed. But you...you're not very relaxed, are you, Dean? Want a hit? You look like you could use one."
"Yeah, right, maybe later. So where's Sam? Rufus said you'd tell me where to find him."
"He's inside," Garth answered, gesturing toward the door across the way.
Dean noted the Employees Only sign on it and scowled. "Where inside?"
Garth gave a little shrug. "I dunno." He paused for a moment, then looked over at Dean and said in all seriousness: "Do you have any potato chips?"
It took Dean's mind a second to catch up with his retort. "You're sitting outside Crowley's crazy hunter's lodge, surrounded by every demon and monster within ten miles, acting as my brother's back up while stoned out of your mind, and you ask me about goddamn potato chips?"
Garth's expression remained bland in the face of Dean's angry words. "So you don't have any," he said at last. Before Dean could do much more than stare he shrugged and leaned back. "That's cool. I can wait till we get home."
Dean thrust a finger at Garth, wanting so very much to say something to him before he thought better of it. Giving the other hunter a tight smile, he strode for the door, looked this way and that out of habit. At seeing a small piece of wood had kept it discreetly pried open Dean nudged it out of the way and slid inside. He closed the heavy door as gently as he could.
The semi-darkened hallway brought him past what looked like storage rooms. Props, costume chests and free-standing wardrobe racks were scattered all over. After ascending a small flight of stairs Dean entered another hall, this one more brightly lit. A staircase stood straight ahead, a curtained doorway just beyond it. At hearing voices Dean ducked into a side room, hand tensing into a fist as he waited for the people to pass by. Once they had he resumed his trek, only to glimpse a familiar silhouette descending the stairs.
Dean felt his heart leap into his throat.
Cas.
Suddenly it didn't matter that he was in some off-the-wall nightclub owned by the King of Hell. All that mattered was getting to Cas so they both could get the hell out of here. It never even occurred to him that Cas could have been affected by this place like everyone else.
Castiel headed for the curtained doorway and passed through in no particular hurry; Dean wasted no time in following him. However, the instant he set foot outside he could do nothing but balk.
First of all the place was enormous. Even with the crowd it looked like it could hold a lot more people. The upper floors were circular, like an old style theater complete with box seats. One section of the floor was populated by billiards tables and slot machines, while another served as a dance floor. Further toward the back he heard furious shouting and cheering, but what kept the crowd there entertained was a mystery.
Dean shook off his astonishment and quickly scanned the gathering for Cas. The angel's beige trench coat made spotting him easy.
"Cas!" he shouted, taking off after him. The crowd seemed to choose that moment to swarm together, forcing him to shoulder his way through. He kept his gaze fixed on Cas as he crossed the main floor and headed down an incline. As Dean finally managed to make his way there he saw a stage set up in the center. Seats were arranged around it like at one of those plays people liked to put on in parks. As his gaze went from the seats to the stage itself, he started at the sight that greeted him.
There, standing toward the right of the stage, flexing his neck and rolling his shoulders, was another Dean.
Dean was so slack-jawed by this bizarre scene that he nearly missed Sam appear behind the fake Dean. The two turned and gripped hands, fake Dean slapping Sam on the shoulder as he leaned in to say something to him. Cas now stood on the other side of the stage, but he didn't go greet Sam or the fake Dean. In fact, he looked at the crowd with an empty, distant stare, like he had no interest in what was going on. He rubbed his left wrist, as if it bothered him. When the others drifted behind the curtain, he was the last to go.
Hushed whispers and the sense that people were watching him drew Dean's attention. Deciding it was better to watch this odd play from a hiding place, he quickly threaded his way through the crowd of people taking their seats until reaching a shadowed doorway. Just in time too, for the lights started to dim. People were finding their seats on the upper tiers as well. When Dean glanced up he smirked, for Crowley himself was taking his ease in a comfy leather chair, impeccably dressed as always and with a glass in hand, his feet on an ottoman. A pair of demons stood to either side of him, one of which leaned over to whisper something to him. Crowley waved him off, smiled as he settled back.
Smug son of a bitch, Dean thought sourly, and turned his attention back to the stage.
As the last few people sat down there was a roll of drums before a disembodied voice announced the show was about to begin. What kind, Dean had no idea. He still couldn't get over the fact that his brother, Cas and a shifter was about to put on a damn play for Crowley of all people. Just what the hell was going on here?
Music sounded from the pit below just as Sam strode in from the left side of the stage. People hissed and booed. Shortly after Cas appeared, looked right at Sam and said in an overly dramatic tone:
"Stop right there, Lucifer!"
Sam- or, Lucifer, as it turned out- smiled like a bad guy from an old cartoon. "You're a fool to try and challenge me."
The audience tittered at the dramatic emphasis on the word. Dean pressed his hand to his brow in embarrassment.
I'm in hell. I gotta be.
Samifer was purposely striding across the stage now. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."
"I'll give you one," announced fake Dean as he walked past Cas. The audience cheered at his arrival. The real Dean grimaced at the superhero confidence in the other's every move.
Yep. I'm in hell.
Samifer turned to fake Dean. "Michael," he greeted with that same villain smile.
"One shall stand, one shall fall," 'Michael' answered confidently
"Why throw your life away so recklessly, brother?" Samifer countered with a sneer.
To this, 'Michael' pointed at him, smiled broadly and replied, "That's a question you should ask yourself, Lucifer."
As the audience cheered while Samifer and 'Michael' squared off, Dean covered his face with his hands. Were they seriously ripping off the animated Transformers movie?
"Love to be back in the real Purgatory fighting for my life," he muttered to himself.
By now Cas had taken his place beside 'Michael'. What followed next was the worst choreographed fight scene since the 60s Batman TV series. In the end, 'Michael' had Samifer on his knees. Cas lay on the ground, having been 'killed'.
"Do you yield, brother?" 'Michael' asked.
Samifer glowered at 'Michael', looking more like a kid about to have a temper tantrum than the destruction of humanity as they knew it, before he started to wail. The audience cheered as 'Michael' dragged Samifer off stage. The curtains dropped to a standing ovation.
Dean, unable to believe that anyone in this room found that entertaining, decided then and there that he'd get Cas and Sam and make a run for it- after he'd set this abomination on fire, that is.
Part of his plan had started to unfold, for Cas appeared from behind the stage. Dean tried to intercept him but the departing crowd made it difficult. Annoyed, he redirected his pace, ducking behind a line of columns supporting the upper level to enter a pathway that stretched the length of the room. As Dean hurried along, he glimpsed a crowd surrounding a cage set on a platform. They cheered, hooted and hollered at the two men beating each other senseless. When the larger of the two body slammed his opponent and stood upright to soak in the applause, Dean nearly ran into the wall.
Benny? The hell...?
As odd as this was (then again, everything about this place was odd) Dean continued down the path after Cas. They could sort all this out together.
Castiel had passed through a doorway Dean nearly missed in his rush to get to the angel. Managing to stick his foot out to catch the heavy door before it closed, he slipped inside, softly closed it behind him and started up the stairs. Music combined with crowd noise made calling out to Cas pointless, so he kept at a steady clip behind him. When Cas reached the top landing and entered a room, Dean followed a few moments later.
"Cas? Cas!" he called, stepping further into what looked like a cross between a posh hotel room and dressing room. How the hell did he move so fast? He had been right behind him!
And then, very suddenly, he found himself face to face with the angel.
For a moment they simply stared at each other. Dean could feel his breath catch, as it always did, whenever he was this close to Cas. Cas, as usual, studied him in that quiet, thoughtful way of his that, sometimes, left Dean wondering what it was about himself that fascinated the angel like that. As Cas's gaze bore into him, Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. It wasn't until this instant that he realized how deeply he missed Cas, how he had devoted his every waking moment to finding him. He was torn between the want to speak and the want to hold fast to him.
Cas's quiet contemplation abruptly turned ferocious, and in seconds he had Dean slammed against the wall. He let out a surprised cry, too shocked to feel the pain reverberating through him, the steely grip of Cas's hands at his shoulders. Flashbacks of their ugly encounter in the alley haunted him.
"Cas, what the hell's the matter with you?" Dean demanded, grabbing hold of Cas's wrists.
He only shoved him against the wall, harder. "Me," he said, quietly but with a sharp sting in the word. He leaned in close, teeth bared. There was no warmth in the angel's voice or face. He was as cold and hard as any statue. "You want to know what's wrong with me, after all that's happened. After what you did. After how many times I tried to talk to you. And now you're here, when I am this. How dare you?"
Dean opened his mouth to reply, to protest, anything, but no words came. He found he could only stare, blankly, into the angel's smoldering eyes. The hurt, the anger, beneath Cas's harsh words resonated in him. While this entire world had been turned upside down, the one thing that he couldn't ignore was his hurting someone he cared for.
"Cas...I...I'm sorry," Dean replied softly, thought nothing of what he was apologizing for.
Cas glared up at Dean for some long moments, as if he were questioning the sincerity of his words. But then the cold mask fell away, revealing great relief tempered by happiness, and he clasped Dean to him. Taken aback by the show of affection, Dean couldn't summon the strength to return the hug. He just stood there, as awkward as a boy and his crush, while Cas squeezed the very life out of him.
"Um. Cas..." he managed, then coughed when Cas's hand roamed down his back to rest at his waist. "Cas," he said again, a little louder this time.
Cas stood with his face pressed against Dean's shoulder, the hand at his waist now sliding beneath his jacket. The instant he registered Cas's fingers slipping past layers of clothing to touch the skin beneath, and his mouth pressed against the side of his neck, Dean practically jumped out of his skin.
"Whoa, Cas!" he cried, somehow able to separate them and back away. The angel turned toward him, giving Dean a good look at his flushed cheeks, the desire in his eyes. When Cas took a step toward him he held up a hand, tried not to see how it shook.
"Listen," he went on, trying to seek solace in practical matters, even though Cas kept watching him in that same, ardent manner. "I don't know what this place did to you, but we gotta go find Sam and figure out what's going on. I mean look at this place, Cas! Bobby's alive, Rufus is alive, Garth is a damn pothead, Crowley runs a creepy playhouse and club. It's like the video for Dance Hall Days- none of it makes any sense!"
Cas, who had started to close the distance between them, abruptly stopped. He stared at Dean for several long moments, head tilted, his gaze thoughtful. Dean swallowed, waited.
After a time Cas's face took on a more familiar expression, and he said, with a touch of astonishment: "You...you're not Dean. Not the one I know."
Before Dean could ask him what the hell he meant, there was a rapid knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice cheerfully calling Cas's name.
"Balthazar," Cas explained when Dean shot him a confused look. "He's here to help me get ready for my client. You need to leave," he stated, grabbing Dean by the arm and practically dragging him for the balcony.
"Client? Whoa whoa, wait a second," Dean protested, turning round just as Cas shoved him through the glass doors. Their eyes met and held. "Are you telling me you're a call girl?"
"It depends on the day of the week," Cas answered matter-of-factly. He shot a quick glance at the door when it opened, looked back at Dean. "I will be finished after midnight. Come back here then. He can show you where to meet me."
"He who? Cas, what's-" Dean began, but Cas had touched his brow, effectively zapping him from the balcony to the ground within seconds. It took him a moment to register he was standing in the courtyard by the employee entrance before he spun around to find Garth peering up at him thoughtfully.
A moment of silence passed. Two. And then Dean exploded.
"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. He gestured toward Purgatory wildly, head shaking in disbelief. "Dead people are alive, Crowley has the world's craziest night club, angels and demons are putting on crappy plays and Cas- Cas- is a showgirl!"
Garth, who had listened to Dean's outburst without flinching, smiled and nodded. "Hey, that's good," he approved. "That's exactly what's going on."
"And when were you going to tell me all this?" Dean demanded.
A thoughtful pause followed by a shrug. "You didn't ask."
Dean took a step toward Garth, not sure what he was going to do or say but certain that whatever it was, it'd feel good. Instead he just sighed and asked him to call Rufus. He needed to get away from this place. Garth lifted his feet from the water, grasped his socks and shoes and, barefoot, padded toward the woods. Dean watched him go and grunted. He'd need more than a few beers to drown out this memory.
A chuckling voice drew his attention. At seeing a shadow manifest in the trees Dean immediately went on the defensive.
"My, my. You haven't changed much, have you? I guess that's why you're so fun."
Dean, his eyes narrowing, gritted his teeth. "Son of a bitch," he murmured as the short, chuckling figure stepped into the light. "Gabriel. So you're behind all this."
"Who, me? I'm flattered you think so, Dean," Gabriel answered, a sly smile on his face. "Sadly, though, I didn't have much say in things. If I did, I'd be the one running this club. You have any idea how boring it is putting on the same show for these morons?"
"The play was you?"
"Mostly," Gabriel admitted with a careless shrug. "Not my little brother's part, though. Oh make sure you get Castiel to tell you how we had to change the story. We went back and forth for hours."
Dean scowled. "Let's get to the part where you start answering questions, like why Cas in in that place, or where Sam is?"
Gabriel sighed dramatically. "Typical Dean. You really have no appreciation for humor. This isn't the best place to talk anyway. If Crowley knew Michael's vessel was here he'd have every demon in this place hunting you down. So you just go on back to base for now, all right? Oh and don't worry about baby brother." He leaned in close, flashed a mischievous smile. "He's got an angel on his shoulder. Or anywhere else he needs me to be, if you know what I mean."
Dean could only widen his eyes in outrage before Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the courtyard vanished.