Lucifer was pissed.
And he didn't get pissed often. Annoyed, sure. Irritated, moody? Of course. But angry, really, really angry? Not often. Cities died and countries fell when Lucifer was angry.
He looked at the slaughter of demons in front of them, bodies laying across the floor, only a few spared. They were all huddled far from him, some visibly shaking.
"Well," he said, tossing his bloody angel blade away. "That made me feel a little better."
When he found that guy that interrupted him, he was going to rip his spine out through his throat. Not only did he not get a location out of that Novak girl, he'd let his guard down enough for her to attack him. Him.
He needed a new plan. He needed to send a message – to the angels, to the Winchesters, to whoever that new hunter was, and most importantly, to God.
He headed for the corner of the room that housed his goodies from the crypts – one such treasure was a large, sturdy chest. He unlocked it, lifting the creaking lid. Inside was an ancient book, bound in human skin and pages of flesh brittle with age. He flipped through the book, scanning the words written in blood. He smiled.
"You," he said, pointing at a random demon and crooking his finger in a "come here" motion. The demon nervously stepped forward, frightened beyond help, and Lucifer smiled kindly.
"I'm not gonna kill you," he promised. "As long as you can get do these things for me."
He handed him the book, and the demon frowned, looking scared again.
"S-sir . . . I can't read this."
Lucifer sighed and pressed a hand against the forehead of the demon. The demon blinked a few times before looking back at the book and finding he could understand the words.
"Sir?" he frowned. "Is this advisable? Taking souls from heaven could disrupt the balance of the world."
"Bring the souls," Lucifer told him. "But don't stop there. I want every rotten thing in creation out and running around. Open purgatory. Burn down the Grand Coven. I want every wicked thing riled up and gunning for the Winchesters. Good ol' Dad will have to show if his favorite pets are in danger. So, spread the word – Lucifer is back and larger than life."
"Yes, sir."
Claire hopped out of the truck before it had even stopped moving.
Jody was standing on the porch, looking furious. "I told you not to leave the house!" she began as soon as Claire started towards her.
"Yeah," Claire sighed.
Jody's eyes widened as she caught sight of her face. "Oh my God, Claire!" she cried, rushing forward and examining her severely bruised neck and black eyes. She pulled her into a hug, anger momentarily forgotten. "Look at you. What happened?" Her eyes caught sight of Gavin as he got out of the truck. "Who's that?"
Sam and Dean came out onto the porch when they heard all the racket, and Claire pushed Jody off gently, storming towards Dean. She began trying to hit every inch of him that she could, and Dean let her, her smaller fists balled up, hitting him in the chest and arms over and over again.
"You – should – have – told – me!" She yelled, tears welling in her eyes as she emphasized each word with a blow.
Dean looked at her, unable to respond, because he knew she was right.
"You should have said something!" She cried, shoving him over and over. "You should have – you shoulda . . ." She collapsed against him, crying heavily, her body shaking. Dean wrapped his arms around her and let her cry, resting his chin on her head.
"I know," he said. "I know."
"It's not fair," she cried, squeezing her eyes closed and sobbing, allowing herself to fall apart for once and just be a kid. "It's not fair!"
"Shh," he told her. "We're going to fix it. I promise. Claire, I swear."
He pulled away from her, resting his hands on her shoulders and examining her. His eyes were angry, fuller of rage than Claire had ever seen, as he looked over the bruises.
"He do anything else to you?" he finally asked, her voice as scary as his eyes.
Claire swallowed, lifting her shirt a bit to reveal an angry, black and purple hand-shaped marked, swollen and bright red and tinged with a bit of blood.
Dean had to walk away.
"Come on, Claire," Sam said, taking her arm gently. "I'll help clean you up." He smiled sympathetically, lifting his shirt to reveal the same mark, only less swollen and turning brown and green and yellow a bit. "Hey, we match."
Claire sniffed and followed him into the house. "He – he was in my thoughts," she said quietly as she sat at the kitchen table. Sam sighed, getting the first aid kit from the top of the fridge and sitting in front of her.
"Yeah," Sam said, not meeting her eyes as he soaked some gauze in warm water and cleared away the blood from her eye, making her flinch.
"It was like – worms were in my head," she continued. "In each thought. Looking through everything. I don't know if he found out where we are."
"He didn't," Sam said knowingly. "He would have been here by now if he had."
"Am I gonna be okay?"
"Yes," Sam promised, finally meeting her eyes. "I mean, that'll hurt," he said, nodding at her chest. "But it'll fade in a few days. How'd you get away?"
"That, uh, that guy out there," Claire said, eyeing a bottle of Dean's whiskey on the counter. Sam gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes. "Gavin, is his name."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Gavin? I thought he looked familiar."
"You know him?" Claire asked, frowning.
"Not really," Sam admitted as he finished cleaning her face. He handed her an icepack from the freezer, and she held it against her eye. Sam hesitated. "Actually, he's Crowley's son."
Claire raised her eyebrows, then hissed in pain because it hurt. "He's Sara's brother?"
"I guess so," Sam nodded. "Gavin isn't from here, though, Claire. He's not supposed to be here. He's from Scotland, in the 1700s."
Claire snorted. "Yeah, right."
"A demon brought him forward in time to use as leverage over Crowley a few years ago," Sam continued. "Dean and I wanted to send him back, but Crowley refused and disappeared with Gavin. We never pursued it because it wasn't really our business." Sam glanced out the window, to where Gavin was talking to Jody. "Looks like he's well-adjusted to modern life, at least."
Claire looked around. "Where is Sara?"
Sam sighed. "She's upstairs, trying to call Crowley."
Claire hesitated. "Sam, is he dead?"
Sam didn't meet her eyes. "I don't know."
"Are you going to try and save him?"
"I don't know."
Gavin knocked, entering the room, his face stony. "Your brother is looking for you," he told Sam.
Sam nodded, standing and leaving the room. Claire made a move for the whiskey, and offered some to Gavin, who shook his head. She shrugged and took a long drink.
"So," Claire said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sam says Crowley is your dad."
"Aye," Gavin sighed, sitting down. "But I don't really know him. At least, not now. We weren't exactly close when . . . well, when I was a kid."
"Do you know about Sara?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Who?"
"Ho, boy." Claire stood, putting the whiskey down and wincing. "Stay here. There's someone you need to meet."