"Could she have gone back into town?"

Dean glanced over at his brother whilst also trying to keep them from swerving off the road. "No," he racked his mind trying to think where she might have gone. "Somehow going back doesn't seem like something she would do."

There were minutes of silence; Sam scouring a map of Lebanon and the surrounding woods until finally he folded the paper. "How would you know what Ripley would do?"

"What? Oh, I don't."

"Then why would you say—"

"Dude seriously! I'm just guessing. Think, what are her options?" Dean didn't dare look at his brother. He didn't want to explain the throbbing building in the muscles of his arm, telling him where she was. He couldn't think about what that meant, at least not right now. "Before she—before the diner incident she was trying to make her way out of town, right? And if Cas wouldn't help her leave, and she was on foot…"

"She wouldn't have tried to hitchhike," Sam finished the thought, both of them slowly reaching the same conclusion. "But she doesn't have anything with her to summon one."

Dean scoffed. "Seriously, Sammy? She slaughtered twenty people, not to mention the King of Hell and Abaddon herself are interested in her. Any demon worth their salt will be trying to track her down."

"That joke was mildly inappropriate, Dean." The boys jumped out of their skins, the tyres squealing on the road as Dean lost his composure.

"What the hell, man? Maybe give us a call or a heads up before you just pop in like that, huh?" While Cas apologised and Sam filled the angel in on what the boys had figured out, Dean felt a sharp pull on his arm, like someone had dug a hook into his skin and was trying to pull him away. It took everything he had to stop his hands from shaking and keep the car driving straight. He backed off the gas a bit and tried to tune into the conversation, but the pain was too much. He pulled over, the ringing in his ears blocking out the concerned voices of his companions.

He stumbled out of the car, falling to his knees in the dirt. He felt someone's hands gripping his shoulders, forcing him to look up. The sunlight stung his eyes. He thought he heard Sam and Cas talking, but all he made out was "Let's get him in the back seat" before he blacked out.

"Dean…Dean, wake up." Someone was shaking him by the arm, and quicker than he could open his eyes he found himself gripping their wrist tightly. He blinked away grogginess, staring into a pair of bright blue eyes. "You can…let go of my hand now." For a few confusing moments Dean had no idea where he was or how long he'd been unconscious for, but as he looked around he saw midday sun and lots of forest.

"Did you find her?"

Castiel shook his head, a small frown creasing his brow. "She called you, and Sam answered. He has been listening to her for a few minutes now."

His body felt rusted and disused as he sat up, cracking his neck and stretching his arms once he'd gotten out of the car and walked to the bonnet, where Sam was sitting, Dean's phone to his ear.

"Hey man," Sam's words were hushed, like he didn't want his voice to carry. "Ripley put her phone on speaker. It sounds like Crowley and Abaddon both found her and are fighting it out." Cas joined the brothers then, and all three of them listened intently as Sam put his phone on speaker and turned the volume up has high as he could.

Crowley's voice crackled through the phone first. "—but I didn't intend to interrupt any mother-daughter time, it's just that a certain somebody is interested in having a quick chat with Ripper, here."

Abaddon's smooth but annoyed reply came from a distance, so it was almost too hard to hear. "Don't call her that. You won't be laughing when you find out what's causing all this trouble."

"Oh, sorry darling. But I don't really care." His voiced moved away then and gurgled, like he'd been punched in the throat. "I swear I'll give her right back. I just need her for two minutes—" There was a shout, someone screamed and then the call cut off. Dean was the first one to move.

He popped the trunk, grabbed an angel blade and Ruby's knife and turned to find Cas right behind him. "Can you find her?"

"Dean, I—"

"I don't want to hear it." His voice was a growl, the threat obvious in his tone. He would find Ripley, and save her. Anyone who got in his way—well—they wouldn't be in his way for long. "Can you find her and bring her to the bunker by the time we get back there or not?"

The angel hesitated. "Dean, she's dangerous. She has murdered people and sought out the demons of her own free will. I don't think it's a good idea."

"I agree with Cas," Sam said. "And did you hear Crowley? 'Mother-daughter time'? You don't seriously think that he was lying about Ripley being Abaddon's daughter? And if she really is…Dean are you sure you want to risk having her in the bunker again?"

He stared at his brother, then at the angel, not believing his ears. A wave of something he could only describe as the need to protect her washed over him, making the Mark burn. "Cas, I've murdered people. I've sought out demons before. This Mark…it's not doing anything good except for letting me kill Abaddon. Ripley can help. She can be bait or whatever, but we can't let Abaddon get her hands on Ripley again. Please, guys, help me."

Cas shook his head. "I won't." Sam crossed his arms and stood at Cas' shoulder, as if to agree with him.

Dean's pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn't see past his anger. "This is your fault, Cas. You let her walk from that hotel room so her next victims are on your shoulders, man." He got into the car, turning the key probably a little rougher than he'd meant to. "Sam," he barked over his shoulder. "You either come with me right now and help me fix this or don't bother coming home."

There was a pause. He heard his brother walk to the passenger side and saw the puppy dog look as Sam leant down to talk through the window. "Don't do this, Dean. You don't even know where Crowley could have taken her."

His patience snapped, and without replying he revved the engine, forcing Sam to jump back or get knocked out by the Impala as it rumbled down the road.

One minute I was at the crossroads, trying not to get sliced apart by my mother or her apparent rival, and the next I was in a room with no doors or windows. Now don't get me wrong—I'm not claustrophobic—but I was feeling a serious amount of panic when I got my bearings.

The room was slightly rectangular and a decent size, a cold stone floor and walls made me think of a castle. However the odd thing came in form of the ceiling, which looked really modern; it was a smooth beige with several downlights set into it. There was a queen-size bed to my left, made in dark sheets that looked suspiciously like silk, its frame carved wood and quite grand. A bookshelf was set into the wall in front of me, but jars containing sludge-like liquids and various body parts sat upon the shelves rather than books. A metal cabinet stood against the wall next to the bookshelf, and when I tried it, it was locked. One disturbing feature of my new surroundings only sunk in once I'd checked out the rest of the room, rifling through the only desk's drawers for anything useful but finding nothing at all.

There were no windows or doors.

That's when the panic set in and I began clawing at the walls like a cat dissatisfied with its new home. I never did very well in confined spaces, and when I knew there were no exits it just made me worse.

"I wouldn't bother, darling," I whirled as soon as I heard the annoyingly smooth accent some time later (still trying to look for an escape), the gravelly words tinged with a sort of smugness that made me want to rip the small twitch of a smile off of his face. "The only way in or out is by demon-travel."

"Where am I you piece of shit?" The words come out in a low, dangerous growl as I took a very slow, deliberate step towards the king of Hell. I'm suddenly reminded of those couple of weeks ago, coming to as I slaughtered that demon. Dean's uncontrollable anger as he attacked Crowley. The difference between then and now—I didn't have anyone to pull me off of him should I go postal—and I kept this thought in mind as I felt rather than caused my fingers to curl into fists by my sides.

"Hey, hey, whoa now," Crowley held his hands up in a gesture I suspected was meant to placate me, but somehow it only managed to enrage me further. "I've brought you here to keep you safe. To keep you away from her."

That shocked the anger out of me, instantly replacing it with suspicion. "H-how does this b-benefit y-you?"

The smile he shot me was sly and full of cheek, and he didn't answer me for a while, instead producing a black notebook from his coat pocket and a pen. He sat on the foot of the bed, making notes or doing whatever it was that was more important than answering my question, all the while humming under his breath and slowly annoying me. I stalked around the room time and time again, inspecting everything. The jars on the bookshelf were heavy and cold in my hands, a thick coat of dust marking where each one sat, and my sneezes were the only other sound in the room until finally, after what seemed like half a day, Crowley spoke.

"Do you know why you exist, Ripley?"

I jumped when I heard the voice right behind me, and I turned to look the King of Hell in the eye. "Y-you tell m-me."

He let a heavy breath out his nose. "To stop myself and the Winchesters. Abaddon wants the throne, and you're her snake in the henhouse, darling."

"I w-was born t-to f-foil your e-evil plan-ns?"

"She's been busy scheming, your mother. Guerrilla tactics and such." He waved a hand dismissively. "This was a contingency plan, some sure fire idea to throw a spanner into the works, as it were. And Ripley, love, you are one hell of a spanner." He let this sink in, and as I came to terms with what he was saying, I sort of wanted to vomit.

"W-what about the W-Winchesters?"

The King scoffed. "Squirrel and moose are a means to an end for me, much like how your mother is using you, actually. I need Dean to use the Mark and his good friend the First Blade to permanently remove your mother from the mess that is currently Hell…" He continued to jabber on, but my ears began to ring and I completely tuned out.

The Mark. As in, the Mark of Cain? The one that Castiel mentioned was changing me in the same way as Dean? The thing I've apparently got branded on my soul? Oh, well that's just great.

My breaths quickened, my heart felt like a small bird trapped by my ribcage. It seemed like my throat was about to leap from my neck, my stomach was being flipped like a pancake and my knees knocked together jarring my teeth as my mind processed what I'd heard.

What the hell has happened to my life?