Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing, and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all your help.
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Chapter Ten
Once again, Dean and Bobby were in the library, sipping coffee and trying not to hear the howls of pain coming from the basement as Sam attempted to extract information from a demon. He had burned through a handful already, failing to get a location for Crowley from any of them, but rather than making him stop, rest and recover, the failures made him even more determined. Dean was starting to think he was going to need to persuade Castiel to knock Sam out to force him to get some rest.
He didn't want to overpower Sam's will, but the fact was that he was worried for his brother. He needed to stop. He needed sleep. He to be out of that damned panic room for more time than it took to use the bathroom and grab a snack. It was only Dean's absolute refusal to take him food down there that made him come up in the first place. Sam was obsessed. And while Dean understood it, even felt the same need for this to work, he knew that Sam burning himself out wasn't going to help anyone. Saving the world was not a sprint; it was a marathon.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, as Bobby said, "He'll be okay, you know."
"You know that for a fact do you?" He immediately felt bad for being rude to his oldest friend. "Sorry, Bobby. It's just that…"
"You're worried," Bobby finished for him. "Course you are. I am too. I just mean Sam knows his limits. Sure, he pushes them sometimes, but he knows that he needs to play the long game with this thing."
Dean tried to feel reassured, but he also knew his brother. Sam had exhausted himself to the point of collapse going after War. There was no guarantee he wouldn't do it again.
He set his mug down and made for the basement stairs. "I'm just going to see if he needs anything."
At that moment, the howls of pain from below them cut off.
"I'm guessing he needs a new demon," Bobby said wryly.
Dean sighed and walked away, but before he could reach the stairs, Sam was coming up them. He looked wrecked but satisfied as he locked eyes with Dean. "I'm done."
"Good," Dean said, stepping back to let him pass. "Do you want Cas to take us home, or are you going to crash here?"
"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'm not done with the demon—I am done with the search. I got an address. Crowley is in L.A."
Dean breathed a sigh of relief.
"Cas," Sam called, and Dean heard the strain in his voice, "you got a minute?"
Castiel appeared beside Dean and said, "Another demon?" in a neutral tone.
"Not this time," Sam said. "We got an address for Crowley."
Castiel looked surprised but pleased. "Where is he?"
"1640 Revello Drive. North of Los Angeles."
A satisfied smile crept across Castiel's face. "I will find him and retrieve the colt."
Sam nodded. "Was hoping you'd say that."
Castiel disappeared with the now familiar flutter and Sam made his way over to the table and sat down beside Bobby, snagging Dean's mug and sipping the coffee. Though he was obviously trying to be covert about it, he clearly needed the jolt of caffeine.
There was a second rustle and Castiel appeared again; it had only been a handful of seconds since he'd departed.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "That was quick. I figured King of the Crossroads would have a little more security than that."
"He does," Castiel said dourly. "The house he lives in is covered in Enochian sigils. I will not be able to get closer than the boundary walls. Also, there are many demons providing security."
"They're not a problem," Sam said confidently. Dean grimaced—more exorcising, more strain.
"So, basically, we've got to get inside and find the colt and get out before Crowley realizes we're there," Bobby said.
Sam glanced at him and his eyes narrowed but he didn't speak.
"Basically, yes," Castiel said.
"Can't we cancel out the sigils somehow?" Dean asked. "That's what Sam and Anna did with theirs."
"I do not think that is possible. The sigils are multiple and the demons many. I think we're going to have to accept that I can't help you this time."
"That's okay, Cas," Sam said. "We did plenty other tough stuff before you signed up to help, and we made it out okay."
Dean shifted from foot to foot and Bobby coughed. Dean thought their thoughts were on the same path—they'd done plenty and they'd been hurt in the process. Dean wouldn't let this setback stop them going after the colt, with or without Castiel, but he wouldn't pretend the idea didn't worry him. He couldn't help but wonder who would suffer this time.
Though Sam was ready to leave for California almost at once, Dean refused to go until Sam had slept. Though Sam understood his concern, it was frustrating. He didn't argue much though. He accepted it was better to go in with a clear head rather than the weary mess he had been. It was easier to work with demons than it had ever been before, but it was also so much more tiring without the blood in him. He knew he would have to get used to it though, because he was never going back to that.
When he got down to the kitchen at the appointed time for Castiel to meet them, he was unsurprised to see Bobby tooled up and ready to go with them. He thought of arguing for all of a second, but then he caught the determined look in Bobby's eyes and merely nodded. There was no reason for Bobby not to go other than Sam didn't want him to. He might even be an asset.
Dean looked relieved when Sam didn't argue, though he became concerned again as Sam tossed him the demon knife. Sam had a shrewd idea of what Dean was thinking—more demons, more exorcising, more pressure. Sam understood, though he wasn't worried for himself. He doubted there would be more demons at Crowley's than there had been in the War hunt, and he'd made it out of that one okay, if a little exhausted.
"Only use it if you're forced," Sam said to Dean.
Dean nodded. "Got it."
They would kill if it was a choice between them and a demon, but they were both hyperaware that killing a demon meant killing a person, too. Sam had learned that lesson the hard way. The poor woman that he'd killed by draining that demon in Maryland.
"Bobby, you got what you need?" Sam asked.
Bobby patted his duffel. "Enough holy water to swim in and every exorcism memorized. I'm good."
"Then let's go," Sam said, looking to Castiel.
The angel nodded once and then Sam felt himself moving. They came to rest in front of a large house with high walls and a gate surrounding it. Without a word, they all ducked to the side of the gate, out of sight. Through it Sam could see a man walking away from them at a steady pace, patrolling. He hadn't noticed their arrival.
"Demon?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Castiel replied.
"What's the plan?" Bobby asked.
"I'll go in over the top, find a way to open the gate," Sam replied.
Dean looked at the top of the wall and raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty high, Sam, even for you."
Sam nodded. "Going to need a little help."
Dean walked forward and linked his hands to give Sam a leg up. Sam gripped the ridge of the wall and stepped into Dean's grip. It didn't get him high enough to reach the top of the wall, but by bending his knees and pushing himself up, he could jump and grip the top. He heard Dean's curse and he muttered an apology as he dragged himself up and onto the wall.
He was concealed from the house by trees, and he took a moment before carefully lowering himself to hang the other side and then letting go. His knees took the impact of his landing and he grunted.
"Sam?" Dean asked in a whisper.
"I'm fine," he said under his breath. "Give me a few minutes. I want to check something."
"What? Wait? That wasn't the plan."
Sam didn't reply. He crept out of the trees and scouted around for a gate release. There was a keypad set into the wall and he looked it over quickly before making for the side of the house, whispering, "Be right back."
"Sam!" Dean hissed.
He followed the sound of boot heels on gravel around the house, after the demon he had seen before. He moved so fast the demon had hardly time to turn before Sam had its arm twisted behind its back and a hand over its mouth.
"My name is Sam Winchester. Do you know who I am?" he asked in a whisper.
The demon nodded against his hand.
"Do you know what I can do?"
When the demon nodded again, Sam moved his hand just enough for the demon to be able to speak.
"Good. Now, what's the release code for the gate?"
"Do you know what he'll do to me?" the demon asked.
Sam smiled darkly. "Do you know what I'll do to you?" He didn't give the demon a chance to answer before focusing his mind and putting pressure on the demon's core. It grunted with pain, the sound muffled by Sam's hand.
"Now, what's the gate code?" he asked.
The demon panted. "He'll kill me."
"Who could blame him?" Sam asked conversationally, squeezing again.
"Six!" the demon hissed. "The code is six-six-six."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Imaginative."
He dragged the demon back toward the gate, hoping no one was looking out of the darkened windows. When they were within earshot, Sam heard Dean hissing his name and he shushed him. "I'm here."
He maneuvered the demon so he could reach the keypad. He dialed in the numbers, and smiled as the gate opened smoothly. Sam moved back to hide between the trees and wall again.
"Let me go," the demon begged.
"Sure," Sam said sarcastically. Bobby and Dean crept through the gate and joined Sam and the demon. "Bobby, you mind?" Sam asked. He could have exorcised with ease, but why do it unless needed?
Bobby smiled grimly as he started the Latin that would exorcise. When the last of the smoke had billowed away, Sam released the man who was shaking and asking who they were and what they wanted.
"Go now," Sam said to him. "Find a hospital. Find your family. Get away from here."
The man took one look at Sam's serious expression and ran.
"Okay," Sam said. "That was the easy part. We've got to get into the house now."
He jogged around the house to the back. In his experience, it was always easier to get in through a rear door than a front. People tended to be a little less security savvy there. When they reached it, Sam snorted.
"How is this guy king of anything?" Bobby asked. "How dumb can you be?"
There were French doors at the back and they were standing wide open. Sam supposed that when you were a demon of Crowley's caliber, you figured you were safe anywhere. Lucky for them, he was wrong.
Sam took the lead as they crept through the doors into a vast room. It was paneled with dark wood and there was a fireplace burning on the opposite wall with two wing chairs on either side.
"Thinks a lot of himself, doesn't he?" Bobby said.
His voice was soft, but it was enough to draw attention to them. Sam cursed as the double doors across the room flew open and three demons rushed inside. They were dressed in the same uniform as the demon outside had been.
He reached for the one in the middle, and yanked his arm up, feeling a spike of pain in his head as the demon's core was ripped out of the host's mouth. He quickly released it and grabbed at the demon that was coming for Dean.
Though Dean had the knife in his hand, he wasn't using it. He was just wielding it as a threat. Sam wrenched the demon out with all his strength and released it quickly before turning his attention to Bobby. He had a red mark standing out on his cheek and the demon he was facing was drawing back a fist to land another blow. With a shaking hand and ferocious headache, Sam exorcised the demon. As the last of the smoke dripped down to the polished wood floor, he closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder and he turned, expecting to see Dean but meeting Bobby's eyes instead.
"You okay, boy?" he asked.
"Yeah," Sam said wearily. He was tired and his head was aching but he wasn't bleeding, so he called it a win.
"Think there's more of them?" Bobby asked.
"Probably," Sam said.
"We better get searching then."
Sam looked around the room, considering likely hiding places, and his eyes fell on the desk. It was a bit too obvious for the colt to be there, he thought, but he'd be a fool not to look. He opened a drawer and found a stack of files. The next drawer revealed a cigar box and clipper. The third was locked, and Sam felt a thrill of hope. He bent to get to work on the lock, and then heard someone clearing his throat. It didn't sound like Dean or Bobby.
"Looking for something?" an accented voice asked.
Sam straightened and looked into the eyes of a man with dark hair and scruff of stubble. "Crowley," he sighed.
"Nice to see you again, Moose, and you, Dean. And…" He looked Bobby up and down. "You must be Singer."
Bobby nodded mutely.
"To what do I owe the visit?" Crowley asked.
"Heard you have something we want," Sam said.
"This?" Crowley asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a familiar antique gun: the colt.
Sam's heart skipped a beat as he raised his arm and reached for the demon's core. He had barely opened his fist before Crowley was gone. "What the…?"
"Now, was that polite?" Crowley asked behind him.
Sam spun on his heel and reached for him again. Crowley vanished.
"Don't strain yourself, Moose. I could do this all day," he said from the opposite side of the room. "Besides, you're not going into this smart. I've not shown myself to you for shits and giggles. Way I see it, this can end one of two ways: I kill you, your brother and Grandpa over there, or we talk about this like the reasonable men some of us are." He eyed Sam speculatively. "I'm not sure about you, mate."
"What do you want to talk about?" Dean asked.
"Lucifer," Crowley said. "You and me, we've got something in common. We all want to do away with the bastard."
"You want to kill Lucifer?" Bobby asked, his tone steeped in doubt.
"Me?" he asked. "Do I look suicidal to you? Hell, no. I want to stay as far from that psycho as I can. I want you to kill him. I don't mind which. Toss a coin if you like. Just as long as Lucifer is stopped, I'll be a happy demon."
"I thought the demons were on Lucifer's side," Bobby said.
"The dumb ones are, yes," he agreed. "There are some of us with half an ounce of common sense though. We see the big picture, and we're not going to line ourselves up to be slaughtered when he takes over. See, Lucifer doesn't like humans. They're an abomination to him. What do you think he'll do when your lot is taken out? He'll move onto the other abominations: demons. Just because he made us, doesn't mean he likes us."
"And you're going to help us kill him?" Sam asked.
"Kinda," Crowley said. "I am going to arm you so you can skip off like good little cannon fodder and do the job for me."
Sam leaned forward slightly in spite of himself. "You'll give us the colt?"
"Well there's not much point sending you after Satan with a potato gun, is there? I'll hand over the colt as long as you promise to kill the devil with it."
"Done," Sam said quickly.
Crowley snorted. "Eager, aren't you?"
"I've got nothing else planned for the weekend," Sam said sarcastically.
"No, I don't imagine you do," Crowley said.
He held out the gun and Sam stepped forward quickly and reached for it. He expected Crowley to pull it back any moment—it couldn't possibly be that easy—but he didn't. Sam's fingers curled around the cold barrel and Crowley released it. Sam turned it in his hand and examined it, his heart skipping a beat.
"I guess that concludes our business," Crowley said. "Now, if you gentlemen would sod off, that'd be great. You're making the place look untidy."
"One more thing," Sam said, turning the gun in his hand and raising it to point carefully between Crowley's eyes. He pulled the trigger on an empty chamber.
Crowley laughed. "Oh, I guess I forgot something." He reached into his coat again and threw a leather case to Dean. He opened it to reveal rows of bullets.
"Now we're done." Crowley said, looking at Dean. "I'd keep them to myself till you need them. I heard little brother has a habit of taking one to the chest when things get tough."
He laughed as he disappeared once again.
When they got back to The Roadhouse from Bobby's place, it was early morning. Dean refused a drink and went straight to bed, as he'd had no rest the day before. Sam needed a belt of something, though, and a little time to think, so he'd gotten himself a bottle from behind the bar and set himself up at their table.
He took the colt from his jacket and set it down on the table, just admiring it for a moment. It was a beautiful weapon, with its smooth lines, delicate engraving and carved grip, but it was the power that the thing held that was its real beauty. It was the weapon that was going to kill Lucifer. It would rescue the world from Sam's mistake.
He flipped the cylinder open and loaded the gun with bullets from the case Crowley had given them. It felt even better to have it loaded. To Sam's mind, keeping a gun like the colt empty was tantamount to stupidity.
He flicked the cylinder and watched the bullets spin, mesmerized. He was so distracted he didn't hear Ellen coming until she was in the doorway. She looked horrified. For a moment, Sam was confused, and then he realized she thought she had walked in on him just in time to stop him taking the big exit, again. Though he deserved her suspicion, he hated that he had put that look on her face; it burned him.
He snapped the cylinder back in place and said, "We got it, Ellen. The colt!"
She came into the room and sat down beside him. "I see." The lines of stress were still there though. She wasn't wholly reassured.
"Ellen," he said softly, uncomfortable in the face of her emotion but determined to make it right. "You don't have to worry."
"I can do nothing but worry," she said forcefully. "Don't you see that?"
Sam looked her in the eye. "I see it."
"I don't think you do. You've always been the one to leave."
"I won't leave again," he said quickly.
"You can't promise me that, honey. If someone told you tomorrow that you could save by sacrificing yourself, you'd do it, wouldn't you?"
"Save who?" Sam asked. If it was someone he loved, he would do it in an instant. There was nothing he wouldn't do for what remained of his family. For a stranger? Perhaps. For the world? No question. He had told them all that no one's life was worth more than that. He had meant his life.
"The fact you're not saying no straight out means I'm right," Ellen said bowing her head for a moment and then looking him in the eye, her gaze feverish. "Do you have any idea how it feels to love someone and know they could leave you in a heartbeat? Not because of nature, or someone else, no. Do you know how it feels to love someone that can leave you so willingly?"
Sam thought back to the year before Dean's deal came due. He thought of how he had felt when they'd been going after the Muitsi and Dean had been prepared to cancel himself out of their lives to make it easier on them when he went to Hell. "Yes."
"Then you know what it feels like to love you. And you know how scared I am that you will leave me again."
"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head.
Ellen wiped at her face, catching the tears as they fell. "You're not sorry enough to tell me it won't happen though, are you."
"I can't," Sam said.
She drew in a shaky breath. "Can you promise to say goodbye at least?"
Sam smiled sadly. "I can try."
She gripped his chin tight and lifted his face so he had to look her in the eye. "Say the word, Sam."
"I promise," he said. "If I can stay, I will, and if I can't, I'll do my best to say goodbye."
Another tear crept down her cheek and Sam shifted his chair so he was pressed against her side. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in close. "I'm sorry, Ellen," he said. "I swear, I am sorry."
She nestled in against him in a rare show of need and Sam rested his head against hers. He hated that he had done this to her.
"Whoa! Gotta say, this wasn't what I was expecting to arrive in on. What did you do this time, Winchester?"
Sam's head snapped up and he was on his feet in an instant. "Gabriel!"
The archangel was standing by the door, a smug smile in place and hand on his hip as he looked at Ellen. "We've not been introduced. I'm…"
"You're the bastard that screws with Sam and Dean," Ellen snarled. "You're the one that stuck Sam in TortureVille without his brother for months."
"Aw, come on," Gabriel said, "Torture? It wasn't that bad, was it?"
"What are you doing here—" Sam started to ask and then his words cut off with a gasp of Ellen's name as she lifted the colt and pointed it at Gabriel.
Her hand shook and her lip trembled as she spoke through her tears. "You're not taking him, you hear? Neither of them. I don't care what new lesson"—she spat the word—"you've got for them, you won't ever touch them again."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Wow, look at Momma Bear. All growly and ready to protect her cubs. That's cute. In fact, I—"
A sharp crack rang out, vibrating in Sam's ears. The bullet entered Gabriel at the temple, and his head flew back a split second before his knees buckled and he fell back. He hit the closed door and slid down it, his chin coming to rest on his chest, unmoving.
Someone shouted his name, but he didn't speak. His attention was fixed on the archangel on the floor, the angel the colt had just killed.
Dean was ripped from sleep by the sound of a gunshot and his heart relocated to his throat as he leapt from the bed and raced out of the room, shouting for Sam.
Not him! Not again, please God, not Sam!
Though how could it not be?
He skidded to a halt in the door of the bar and his eyes found his brother at once—his miraculously alive, standing brother. He paid no attention to the rest of the room; he just raced barefoot across the room to his side. Turning him, raking hands over his chest, searching for the wound.
"Not me," Sam said, his voice low and echoing. "Dean, I'm fine. It's not me" He caught Dean's wrists and held them. "Dean!"
The words penetrated Dean's mind and exquisite relief swept through him. Not Sam. Not this time.
"Who?" he asked.
Sam thumbed over his shoulder and Dean looked. Gabriel was propped half lying against the door. Dean stared at him stunned, trying to make sense of the scene. He heard Ellen's gasp as the archangel began to stir.
"Owwww. That hurt." Gabriel shook his head and got to his feet, the wound on his temple fading until it disappeared.
The color drained from Sam's face, and he lurched away from Dean to stand in front of Ellen with his arms spread wide. Dean didn't understand what had happened or why, but he added his protection to Sam's, positioning himself in front of Ellen.
Gabriel brushed himself down and looked across the room at them, his expression almost amused. "Lesson learned: don't mess with Momma Bear."
"Touch her and I will end you," Sam snarled.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Really? How do you plan to do that? You just saw me get shot in the head with the kill-anything gun and, hey, I'm still kicking."
"We'll find a way," Dean threatened.
Gabriel clapped a hand to his heart. "Oh, I am so scared. Lucky for you and your gun-toting Momma, I came here to deliver a message, and getting shot in the head delivered it pretty effectively."
"What's the message?" Ellen asked roughly.
"You can't kill the devil," Gabriel said. "Duh."
"Is this brotherly concern?" Sam asked.
"No, dumbass, it's a fact. You cannot kill him. Only one person can, and it isn't a Winchester. That would be Michael's job, remember?"
"Seriously, you're not maybe worried big brother is going to bite it?"
Gabriel rolled his eyes. "This right here, this is why I came. You are so damn arrogant you actually think you can kill the devil with a manmade weapon. In what world would that make sense? Sure, it took down Azazel, but he was nothing more than a pumped up demon. Lucifer is an archangel. The only weapon that's got a chance is an archangel blade, and"—he shielded his eyes and looked around theatrically—"you don't have one."
"You do," Ellen said.
"True, but if you think I'm handing it over, you're out of your mind. The only thing I'd achieve by handing over my blade is a dead Winchester. If he finds you, Lucifer will kill Dean out of annoyance and he will trap you so fast, Sam, your head will spin. You will be begging him to take you over before the day is out."
"Never," Sam growled.
Gabriel looked at him almost sympathetically. "Yes. One day soon. You won't be able to resist. Lucifer will take you, Sam, and the world will burn because of it."
"You want it to end," Dean accused. "Why would you want that? You're part of this world, too."
"Why do you think?" Gabriel asked. "I want it over. One of them will kill the other. Do you have any idea how it feels to know that? I love my family, my brothers, and I am going to have to watch them fight to destroy each other. And this world, the world that I love, will never recover."
"Help us stop it," Dean pleaded. "Stop Lucifer.
"Like you stopped your brother?" he snarled, fixing Dean with a glare. "I tried to show you. I gave you the information you needed. I warned you, and you failed. You expect me to kill my brother now? No. I cannot, will not, do it."
"We will do it ourselves then," Sam said.
"You'll try," Gabriel said, "because that's what you do. The colt won't work—you know that. There is nothing else but God, and He's been on a millennia long vacation. You can try and fail, or you can accept your destinies now and get it over with. Stop it before more people suffer. That's the only way you can save now."
"You're a coward. You could save, but you won't. What kind of angel are you?"
"An angel that is tired of seeing people die because you two are too damn stubborn to do what needs to be done."
"The colt?" Dean said quietly. "It really won't work?"
"No," Gabriel said. "It won't." He looked from one to the other of them and shook his head. "I'm sorry, boys, but you're on your own."
With a sound like sheets in the wind, he disappeared, leaving them alone in the large room.
Dean turned to Sam who was looking down at the place Gabriel had been standing with a hard look in his eyes. "Sammy?"
"I won't," Sam said. "I will not say yes."
"We know, honey," Ellen said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Neither of you will."
"We'll find another way," Dean said. "We always do." But as he said it he felt a chill of fear as remembered howls of hellhounds echoed through his mind.
So… A little Crowley and a gun-toting Ellen. So much fun to write. Hopefully fun to read.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx