A/N: Thank you so much to toridw317, Nemu-Chan, ImpalaLove, themightypanda, and PadfootCc for reviewing! I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)
Song: Fly Away From Here by Aerosmith
CHAPTER 12
Fly Away From Here
Back on Earth, Remy deposits Dean and Sam in a location that is most definitely not Caesar's Palace. It's a derelict storage warehouse, from the looks of things. The floor is made of stained concrete – as are the walls – and wayward wires and pipes traipse across the ceiling. The Winchester brothers have encountered many a hideout like this one. From these encounters, they have learned one very important lesson: nothing good has ever happened in an empty warehouse.
Dean's stomach jumps in the cavity of his abdomen when he realizes at once that they have been double-crossed.
"Where the hell are we?" he snarls, flying to attack Remy.
Remy sidesteps him smoothly, until Sam comes up from behind and pins his arms behind his back.
"Just wait a minute, my friends," he sputters apologetically, "there's no need to get violent."
"Thank you, Remy," echoes a cockney drawl.
All of a sudden, four men in suits barrage Sam and Dean and yank them away from the duplicitous reaper.
Remy brushes off the front of his trousers and combs his hair back with his fingers, glowering offendedly at the boys.
"My men will see to your payment on your way out."
Remy is led away as Dean and Sam are tied up.
"Hello, boys," the man greets with a Cheshire grin. "Can't trust anyone these days, can you? Disgraceful. What ever happened to professional integrity?
"Who are you?" Dean demands, his voice rumbling off the walls.
"This introduction has been a long time coming, I think. Name's Crowley," he replies smugly. "Perhaps you've heard of me."
"Oh, I've heard of you, you son of a bitch."
"Pet names already? And I haven't even gotten to the good part…"
Both Winchesters thrash vehemently against their captors, but to no avail. Even for them, it's nearly impossible to escape rope and human (well, technically demon) restraints.
"You let us go right now!"
"You know, I don't think I will? In fact, I've heard you lot are the slippery sort, so I'm taking extra precautions to make sure you don't slide between my fingers."
"What is it you want from us?" Sam asks. His square jaw is clenched, but his tone is a bit more levelheaded than his brother's.
"Ah, the famous Sam Winchester finally speaks. What I'd like is fairly simple, really – I want to know how you pulled your little Houdini act out of Lucifer's bloody Cage."
"I don't know," Sam grinds out.
"You say that," Crowley muses pensively, as though he has anticipated this response, "but I'm not sure if I believe you."
One of the henchmen digs a knife into his ribs, just hard enough not to pierce his skin.
"Let's give you a bit of a polygraph test, shall we?" He turns towards the back of the large, open room. "Bring 'er in, lads!" he orders someone out of sight.
At the mention of "her," each and every muscle in Dean's body tenses. He fights against the ropes and the demon holding him, his wrists chafing and teeth rattling in the process. His glare is gone and his eyes are wide and rapt.
"Oh ho ho, someone's getting all riled up," Crowley baits, blatantly enjoying Dean's dismay.
Out comes Claire, bound and gagged. It only takes one demon to shove her into the center of the room. Without his support, her knees give out and she collapses on the floor. Her grunt of pain is muffled by the thick silver line of duct-tape over her mouth.
Crowley circles her, a dagger sliding out of his coat sleeve and into his hand, and addresses Sam. "Now, I know you may not care much for this delicious little gingersnap, but your brother certainly does. You wouldn't want to cause him any unnecessary heartache, would you?"
Sam inclines his head to peer at the man in question, whose guard is back up. Dean's lips are pursed and he stares back at Sam with forced indifference. It doesn't take much for Sam to deduce that this girl must be the notorious prophet.
"Did you know, I never realized what nasty business those visions of hers are. We let her stew for a few hours – you could tell she didn't want to rat out the Clyde to her Bonnie, but after a while it became too much. She started scratching the words into her own flesh, can you believe that?" He shudders dramatically, for added effect. "And in the end, she didn't even reveal any of the juicy bits. Imagine my disappointment."
Claire locks Dean's gaze, and the two become absorbed in silent conversation. Wisps of red hair veil her eyes, but he can still see terror shine in them. What they had fought about before he went to Purgatory suddenly seems irrelevant.
"You let her go right now, do you hear me?" tears from his throat. His impassive ruse has been forsaken, and his voice is desperate, more desperate than Sam might have expected.
"All in good time, all in good time," Crowley assures him. "You know, you should really be thanking me for this little love connection – if my people hadn't made all that fuss in Bumfuck, Illinois, you two might never have found one another. It was almost like a twist of fate, don't you think?"
"Oh, I'll thank you alright –"
"I don't know who or what got me out of Hell," Sam insists hastily, eyes fixed on Claire. "If you know what her visions were, you'd know that."
"Very clever, Moose, but I know you knew she was listening."
"I didn't, I swear – "
Crowley drags his blade across Claire's neck, a very thin line of vibrant blood blooming in its wake. It's just a flesh wound, but it does the trick.
"Stop it!" Dean shouts.
"Oh relax, I'm not gonna scar that pretty face of hers."
"Seriously, I don't know," Sam repeats. "We're just as curious as you are. Just let her go – she's got nothing to do with it."
"On the contrary, she's got everything to do with it. You know what I realized just today? Why waste all the time and effort having demons play James Bond to follow you – oh, and then there's the risk that you'll catch them and then the whole plan's out the window – when I have first-class seats on the Winchester express right here?"
"You're going to let her go you tap-dancing motherfucker, or I swear to god –"
"You'll what? Cuss me to death? I don't think so."
"There's no point to this," Sam pleads. "You don't know how I got out, she doesn't know how I got out, and we don't know how I got out. We're not accomplishing anything here."
Crowley strokes his chin contemplatively, before replying, "You know, maybe you're right. I might as well just kill you, since I've got you here anyway."
Dean glowers at Sam like he is a grade-A moron, and Sam wishes he had bitten his tongue.
Suddenly, there's a whooshing behind Dean and Sam and the demons are gone, their eyes blasted out in a burst of white light. Two more demons come running into the room, but they are scattered everywhere in bits and pieces before they even approach their destination.
"I would strongly advise against that," comes Castiel's easily identifiable growl of a voice.
If Crowley is fazed, he does not let it show. "Ah. You must be the guardian angel. Castiel, is it? I'll have to get creative on whatever shmuck is responsible for dicking up the finger-painting, if you haven't already got 'im…"
"Your sigils were correct," says Castiel. "They failed because I'm no longer just an angel."
At this, even Sam and Dean balk.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It was I who raised Sam from Lucifer's Cage. I overestimated my power, and I was unable to bring him all the way back to Earth – hence why he was stuck in Purgatory."
Crowley finally starts to look unsettled. "If you weren't strong enough to get Sammy-boy out of Purgatory, what the hell's got you so juiced up now?"
Castiel smiles serenely, turning to look at his charges. "Some of the more faithful humans like to say that everything happens for a reason – my experience in Purgatory was very enlightening."
"What do you mean…" asks Crowley, taking a wary step backwards.
"The souls in Purgatory – they belong to neither Heaven nor Hell. They are for the taking."
The King of Hell's eyes bug slightly out of his head and he glances at his three human hostages. "Well," he says, folding his hands, "this is where I bid you adieu." And without further warning, he disappears into thin air.
It's not long before Sam and Dean break free from the ropes around their wrists and ankles, and when they do, Dean flings himself towards Claire. He pulls the tape off of her mouth and quickly undoes her restraints, before brushing the hair out of her face and inspecting her for signs of injury. He grimaces at the sight of the cut Crowley inflicted.
"You alright?" he interrogates, still holding her face in his coarse hands.
"I'm okay," she murmurs a moment later, as he helps her to her feet.
His arm lingers around her waist and she leans weakly against him. The motion seems fluid – comfortable, familiar, and intimate. Sam stares openly at the two in unchecked awe, before apparently remembering the more monumental revelation at hand.
"Cas, what the hell was that?" Sam demands.
"I am very glad to see that you are all right, Sam," Castiel says, not answering the question.
Still sheltering Claire in a protective embrace, Dean snaps, "Why didn't you tell me you were the one who got Sam out? You saw me running around ass-backwards for weeks and you didn't say a word!"
"I was too ashamed that I had failed," Castiel confesses, head hung low. "I was going to retrieve him once I had harnessed the power of the souls, but you succeeded before I had the chance."
"This soul stuff," Dean starts carefully, "it's risky business, isn't it?"
"Yes," replies Castiel, "but it is a necessary risk if I am to stand a chance of winning the battle in Heaven."
"How could you do this?" Dean says, still hung-up on his friend's apparent betrayal. "How could you keep this from us?"
"You must understand, everything I have done has been to help you and Sam and Claire."
"You call dumping Sam in Purgatory helping him?" he bites back.
"It was certainly an improvement from Lucifer's Cage, I assure you."
Dean rolls his eyes in exasperation. "You've done some shady shit before, Cas, but this has gotta take the cake."
"I am sorry you feel that way," Castiel responds, sounding genuinely penitent. "But if I had told you, you would have tried to stop me. In the end, you will see that what I'm doing the best thing for everyone."
With this proclamation still weighing in the air, Castiel vanishes.
. . .
Back at the motel, the first thing Sam says when they're behind closed doors is, "We just have do a little test." He reaches for Claire's hand and she holds it out, not knowing what he's planning to do. Wordlessly, he pours a vial of water onto her wrist.
"See? Not a demon," Dean remarks in a know-it-all, big-brotherly tone.
"I can't believe you've been tangling with demons and you didn't get her warded."
"Must've slipped my mind."
It's as hot as always, and now that Claire's been screened, the three are sprawled on various pieces of furniture around the room. The dirt and blood on the brothers' clothing is beginning to cook in the heat, sending an unholy stench wafting through the room. But of all the places, Dean is glad he and Sam are reunited in Las Vegas. By this point, it's taken on something of a Hell-on-Earth quality in his mind, much like the rest of their lives.
"Yeah?" Sam snorts, his eyes twinkling in a way that unnerves him. There seems to be a You were probably too busy doing something else hiding somewhere in the sentence, but what Sam doesn't know is that the only too busy was too busy searching for his sorry ass. Crowley had greatly exaggerated the extent of his and Claire's relationship, and must have given him the impression that they had been involved in some torrid romance, when in reality the only romantic contact between them had been a very recent, run-of-the-mill, drunken romp.
"Well, you oughtta do it soon, now that Crowley's on her trail."
"Warded?" Claire interjects.
Sam tugs down the collar of his shirt, revealing a circular, somewhat satanic-looking tattoo. "Keeps the demons out."
"So that's what that is," she mumbles to herself. She'd noticed it on Dean… before, but she'd been too drunk to ask about it.
At this, Sam grins impertinently. "You've seen it?"
Dean, who's next to him on the sofa, jabs him brutally in the ribs. This effectively brings the conversation to a full stop.
Sam, apparently getting the message, adopts a different demeanor and comments, "So, you're the famous Claire. I've gotta be honest, you're not what I was expecting."
"Yeah? Well, you're exactly what I was expecting." Her features sink into a look of sincerity, and she adds, "I hope you're doing okay."
"I'll manage," he replies, flashing her a strained, fleeting smile. "Right now, I'm just glad to be back." He flits his eyes to the bathroom door, before continuing, "If you guys don't mind, I think I'm gonna take a much-needed shower and then burn these clothes."
"Sounds like a plan," says Dean, though he too is filthy. He completely ignores the fact that his brother narrows his eyes knowingly at him before he slinks off.
When they hear the water run, Claire sits beside Dean on the sofa and says, "I think now we actually have to talk."
Dean nods dismally, eyes downcast. "Whaddyou want me to say?" he murmurs. "That I should have taken you with me?"
"That's a start."
"Yeah? Well, I should have. I shouldn't have left you without knowing you were safe…" He's still not making eye contact with her, and now he looks as though he doesn't know how to continue.
"You could say you're sorry," she assists wryly.
"I'm sorry." The response is quick, quicker than either of them had expected – Dean seems to have surprised even himself with how easily the words roll off of his tongue. He peers up at her contritely, and she searches his eyes for traces of insincerity.
After surmising that his apology is valid, she takes his soiled hand in hers and weaves their fingers together. Dean's brow creases as he stares down at their entwined hands, but he does not pull away. He sees marks on her wrist where she allegedly attempted to record his and Sam's trials and he feels a twinge in his chest.
"I forgive you," she says softly. "I know that you're just trying to make sure no one else gets hurt because of you. But Dean, you can't live your whole life worrying about that stuff – it'll drive you crazy."
His gaze bounces up at her again, but now she is the one watching their hands. "I know," he mumbles, not sounding at all like he is going to heed her advice.
"I suppose now that you've got Sam back we have to cross that bridge…"
Dean seems to abruptly snap out of some sort of trance. He gently extricates his hand and says, "Yeah, look…" His tone is harder than before and Claire cannot help but dread what he is going to say next.
"It's not safe for you to be around us," he goes on.
"What about what you said before?" she protests, obviously hurt.
Dean hates to be the bad guy – really, he does. But some things are in everyone's best interest, even if they don't feel like it.
"That was before I knew how close we were to finding Sammy," he replies.
"I'm in danger either way," she points out. "Didn't you hear Crowley? He said he wants to use me to keep tabs on you, and if the angels couldn't stop him before, why would they be able to now?"
"I underestimated Crowley before – trust me, that's not gonna happen again. We'll take every precaution to make sure you stay safe. Hell, I'm even thinking of dropping you off at Bobby's. Me and Sam – we move around all the time. We're not exactly set up to be bodyguards."
"So that's what I am to you?" she snaps, ice dripping from each word. "A specimen to be locked away and guarded?"
"Of course not," he replies fervently. "How could you even think that? Even if you weren't a prophet I'd be doing the same thing, you understand me?"
"That doesn't make me feel any better."
He sighs loudly in frustration and runs his hand over his mud-smeared face. "You know what I mean."
"No, I don't. You want me to spend the rest of my days holed up in South Dakota with a crotchety old man I hardly know? I'm a person, Dean. I deserve to have a say in what happens to me."
"You'll realize someday," he starts bleakly, "people like us – people who are chosen – don't get to do what we want, not really. 90% of our time is spent trying to survive, and the other 10% is spent trying to do some iota of good in this suicide-case we call a world."
"You said once that I might have a life after this, that I could find someone back in Illinois and try to get past all this shit."
"Yeah, well, that was before I knew Crowley had it out for you."
She clutches his ruined sleeve, the fabric crackling under her hand. "If this is my life now, truly, let me figure that out with you, not Bobby, not Crowley, not Castiel."
The gears in his mind spin rapidly, trying to fabricate a retort. There is a card that he can pull, even though he doesn't want to. It's his last resort. "We slept together once," he snaps eventually, reaching his boiling point. "In the heat of the moment, drunk out of our minds. Maybe it was a mistake. But whatever this" – he gestures between them – "is, it's not a relationship. You get that, right?"
"I get that," she grits out. She can't believe how hot and cold he is, how he can toy with her like this. She doesn't bother correcting him that it was technically twice.
"Good."
It's best to cut this off before it goes too far, he thinks. He's already supposed to protect Sam, and he already fails at that – why would this be any different?
Plus, only Winchesters come back. If Claire dies, she's dead.
She stands brusquely and sweeps her hand over her hair, blinking back unwanted tears. "So what, your plan is to dump me on Bobby and drop in every so often on your terms, or more likely whenever you need me for something?"
"Claire…" His tone is vastly different – pleading, even. He's distressed to hear himself painted in such a way, especially when some of it rings true.
She laughs bitterly. "Yeah. That's what I thought. I get that Bobby's been cleaning up your messes for a long time, but this isn't something he's gonna be able to take care of for you." She starts towards the door, oblivious to the fact that much of the grime from Dean's clothing has rubbed off on her.
"Where are you going?"
"I need some air."
"But Crowley –"
The door slams, cutting him off.
A/N: I hope you liked it! I have the impression that Dean would be very conflicted in a situation like this - while on one hand he's very reliant on his gut instinct, I think he would try to force himself to be rational about the dangers being involved with him would pose. So if he comes off as kind of all over the place, that's my reasoning behind it. Please let me know what you think :)