* I should've ended this earlier and cut my losses, now I'm just sorta writing what seems right and hoping for the best so, hopefully, enjoy, I'll understand if you don't though. Read and review.
Sam's eyes snapped open as he heard a muffled voice from far away invade his subconscious.
He sat up, wondering if this was a dream or if he was going crazy now too. However as he climbed out of bed and headed for the door he realized the voice was real and it was being carried from another room through the vent.
He laid flat on the floor, pressing his ear to the grate and with a pang of worry he realized it was Dean's voice. Sam listened closely.
"No, we found Ginger, just bring the- I don't have time for this, Crowley, are you bringing it or what?"
Sam stood up. That was all he'd needed to hear. As far as Sam was aware, they had no idea where Abbaddon was.
He knew that judging by the placement of the vent and the set-up of the bunker, this vent likely led closest to the dungeon directly below him. Proceeding with caution, Sam made his way down to confront his borderline psychotic brother. He entered the dungeon and found Dean was on the phone, presumably talking to someone real.
"What do you mean she's not here?! Dammit, Crowley, there is a red-haired demon bitch just waiting to be ganked. You coming or-"
It seemed at this point that Crowley had hung up because Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and threw it at the wall.
"Dean?" Sam asked nervously.
Dean didn't give any sign that he recognized that Sam had spoken. He was visibly shaking, starting in his hand and spreading through his body.
"Dean." Sam repeated.
Dean looked up be he had that dead look in his eyes that seemed to take him over every time he killed. The Mark burned, white hot and glowing. Dean began to reach slowly for his knife when an audible knocking cut through the silence and effectively snapped Dean out of his trance.
The voice from upstairs and outside the bunker door seemed amplified, and knowing the demon who the voice belonged to, it probably was.
"Singing telegram!" Crowley called.
Dean turned and looked at Sam uncertainly.
"C'mon, I've got a certain jaw bone, previously owned by a-"
Dean had left the dungeon as fast as he could without running as the Mark burned brighter. Sam followed him up to the door where he said,
"Dean, you told Crowley where the bunker is?!"
Dean ignored him and opened the door, letting the demon in.
"You got the blade or-" Dean was cut off when Crowley flicked his wrist and sent the jittery hunter tumbling down the stairs.
Sam pulled out his demon knife and was rounding on Crowley in an instant.
"Ah, ah, ah, Moose... I just wanna chat." Crowley said, waving his hand he threw Sam into the wall behind him and held him there.
Sam struggled against the force.
"Crowley, I am done-"
"I'm sure you've been having some concerns about Ted Bundy down there," he gestured down at the unconscious Dean, "And I'm just here to discuss it."
Sam nodded and Crowley released him. Sam stepped forward, swinging his arm back to punch him. But Crowley had snapped his fingers and reappeared down at the bottom of the stairs where he was checking on Dean and then waved for Sam to come help him.
"Give me a hand, would you, Jolly Green? Squirrel might not have your hulkish size but he's not exactly light."
Sam wanted to break the demon's nose, but he also knew that he was the only person who might be able to help Dean. So, he hurried down the stairs, took the majority of Dean's weight and hauled him into his bedroom.
Sam set Dean down on his bed and then turned around suddenly when he heard a metallic click. Crowley had handcuffed Dean to the bed, but on closer inspection, Sam realized they were demon cuffs, the spellwork etched in the metal catching his eye.
"What the hell, Crowley?"
"Precautionary. Let's take this conversation elsewhere, shall we?"
They walked back out into the main room where Sam rounded on Crowley again, seething but also desperate for someone to help his brother,
"What the hell is going on?"
"Settle down, moose, I can't say for sure because a certain someone skipped the terms and conditions- which you know is my favorite part-"
"Point, Crowley."
"But I have a few theories based on remarkably little research and a natural, extensive knowledge of demon kind."
Sam pulled out his knife again just to press Crowley to elaborate faster.
"Alright, alright- I think our friend, Dean is just a bit strung out."
"Meaning?"
"He's addicted, Sam. You know your psycho of a brother has always had a knack for killing, well, now it's his obsession and the Mark and the Blade give him the ability to kill quicker, with unmatched accuracy, and he can't get enough. It's just power, Sam."
Sam stepped back, pocketing his knife again, taking it in.
"Addicted?"
"You saw him, high off the sweet smell of a nice decapitation when he killed Magnus? And since I took the Blade back he's been calling me nonstop, pretending he's found Abbadon, just to get his hands on the Blade again? He's a junkie. Just like me. Just like you were. And eventually, it's going to turn him."
Sam nodded. Somewhere inside himself, he knew it was true. All the signs were there. He just hadn't wanted to accept that his brother had a passion for homicide or that there was something vaguely demonic stirring inside where it's been hibernating since he'd gotten out of Hell.
"So, what'd we do?" Sam asked, this more subdued than his last comment.
Crowley sighed, "I don't feel the new father of murder would take kindly to an intervention so I feel the only option left is to keep letting him kill until you find Abbadon."
"You want me to support this?"
"I want you to keep him from getting dangerous until Abbadon's six feet under and then we'll cut him off. Just give him what he wants until then or it's us he'll be hunting."
Sam scoffed, "All you care about is taking back your crown and you'll let Dean damn himself to do it."
Crowley closed in, looking somewhat menacing from half a foot below.
"I want my kingdom back so I can get the world back in order. I want things back the way they were. And I want to keep you and Dean alive because you're both of use to me, and, well, let's face it, we're all buddies, now."
"Crowley, we are not-"
"Friends. And you can deny me that in words all you like but we are on the same side here. I don't want Dean to turn into one of the black eyed scabs I order around but he's the only one who can kill Abbadon. So, we'll have to ride it out with him."
And with that, Crowley was gone, and after a moment's hesitation, Sam headed back to Dean.
Dean pulled through the blackness. He didn't feel like himself and he wasn't even aware of the fact. He blinked away the dark and began to sit up.
Seated in a chair by the door was sleeping, unsuspecting prey. He could kill it. It registered that the thing was Sam. His brother. And he felt the rage take him as memories flooded his head.
"I'm stronger than you, Dean!"
Hopped up on demon blood? You call that stronger? ...
"You lied to me." I had to! You know that...
...
"Situation were reversed, and I was dying, you would've done the same thing." "
No, Dean. I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't."
...
"Dean. Hey. You okay?"
Dean blinked, Sam was in front of him now, shaking him gruffly. Dean hadn't even noticed he'd woken up. The concern in Sam's eyes was real and it was this that began to fight back the urge to stab him in the heart.
Dean nodded, and suddenly remembered the Blade.
"Where's Crowley?"
Sam sighed, backing off a little, "Gone. He didn't have the Blade."
"Lying bastard." Dean muttered.
Sam could've laughed at the irony of it considering the only reason Crowley came at all was because Dean had lied saying he'd nabbed Abbadon.
"What'd he want then?" Dean asked, sitting up completely and rubbing his aching head.
Sam hesitated. Uncertain what he could say.
"He's worried you're losing it and you're gonna end up going dark side instead of just ending Abbadon." Sam watched Dean for some reaction but found none, "But you can get a handle on this, right?"
Dean glanced up with that dead look settling in his eyes, "Who says I want to?"