Eros opened his eyes and squinted against the bright lights blasting down upon him. He blinked a few times, trying to bring the room into focus, and the first person that came into view was Shawn. Stupid human. Eros winced at the pain in his skull.
"I'm sorry, Eros," Shawn said mournfully. "They were going to take my kid. They were going to-"
"Silence," came a pearly soft voice of a woman's lilt and a shadow crossed past the blaring light. Suddenly a body thudded against the ground. Eros blinked again, struggling to see clearly. He was certain that was Shawn. "Hello little angel," the voice sounded again and the shadow stood in front of the light once more. Eros squinted again; blinking, struggling to see more clearly.
"Do you know where you are?" the woman asked and Eros's eyes explored the room. Everything was a blur. A swimmy blur.
"I don't-" his voice broke. His throat dry.
"Do you know…where you are?" She asked again and stepped closer. Her face swam into focus and Eros could see that his captor was beautiful. Her hair was the color of Eros'. Black and oily in the light. Her skin dark like char and ashes but still smooth and supple; yearning for touch. Her eyes, the deepest shade of violet and round like a deers. Inviting trust. Begging salvation. The ever yearning damsel.
"Serrath," Eros wheezed because who else could she possibly be? Of course she was Lucifer's soul-bound. Only the most beautiful would suit the first born angel of heaven. Serrath smiled, the true witch and not her shadowed counterparts, and Eros suppressed a shiver.
"I don't think you will need this," she said pleasantly and Eros could feel a cuff being unlocked and released from his hand. Suddenly the room slammed into focus and his wits returned to him full tilt. Eros gasped, taking in his surroundings, and his eyes fell wide on Serrath.
Behind her Shawn laid on a cement floor; his neck at an odd angle and his eyes unfocused for all eternity. Around him, the room was illuminated with lights; heat lamps Eros suspected from the temperature, and in the middle stood Serrath. Glorious and gorgeous and terrifyingly deadly. She smiled and Eros knew he was up to his neck in deep dung.
"You will have to forgive the accommodations. I am not quite used to these…colder climates, you see," Serrath said pleasantly. She swirled around in a long deep red evening gown that hugged at her ample hips. Opera gloves in black adorned her arms as well, with the creamy ebony of her skin peaking just above the cuff before the sleeve of the dress swallowed the rest of her. She was dark and exotic and Eros felt compelled to stare and stare. She turned to him, her violet eyes playing against the light like deep cool flames. "I will ask you again. Do you know where you are?"
Eros looked around. They were in a vacant room like…a garage? A storage unit perhaps? He had no idea. But then he suspected her question carried more weight than a simple location on Earth. It was then that Eros looked down. He was strapped to a throne of white. It had golden scrollwork that edged up the legs, and within that scrolling, thousands of faces were hidden. Laughing, sobbing, crying, and dying. Eros could feel his breath quicken.
His eyes lifted and he realized that around the throne was a low wooden box. A box similar to those where witnessed gave testimonial. Or where the sinful went to repent.
"I'm in a Confessional," Eros said and he was proud at how little his voice trembled. Castiel wouldn't tremble. Castiel would sneer at Serrath and spit in her face. Eros wanted so desperately to be like Castiel. Serrath smiled. A slice of brilliant white teeth against the brown silk of her skin.
"You are in a Confessional," she agreed.
"But they were all destroyed. Stricken from the history books. They were an abomination against God," Eros pleaded although he knew the truth of it. No matter what history states, things always fall through the cracks. Stuff gets overlooked. Confessionals do not get destroyed as they should. Serrath didn't bother to respond. Instead, she leaned over and lit the first of three candles that decorated the front of the box like an alter.
"Please," Eros pleaded, feeling the deep shame that came with his weakening resolve, but Serrath didn't look at him. She just lit the second candle instead. If she asked him for information he would have given it. If she told him to do something, he would have done it. Anything was better than this. Anything else he could survive. When the last candle was lit, Eros gasped. He could feel it. He could feel the tiny fingers just on the surface of his brain waiting for him to speak. Waiting for him to break.
"Tell me Eros," Serrath said and at last her eyes lifted to look into his, "why did you pull Gabriel's ghost from Sam Winchester's mind?"
"I did it for Castiel," Eros said without hesitation. Voices hissed all around him.
Confession! Confession! Confession!
Suddenly fingers dug into his brain and Eros threw his head back to scream. He did not know what Castiel would do in his place. Would he welcome the pain, would he fight it? Would he scream? Would he simply stare? Eros wanted so badly to be like his older brother. He wanted to make Castiel proud of him. But we was scared. So scared.
"That was not a confession!" Eros cried, and he could feel his vessel trembling.
"So tell me," Serrath asked, "when Castiel told you to stop. Told you to no longer pull Gabriel from Sam Winchester's mind, why did you continue to do it?"
"Because," Eros said, and then stopped to swallow the bile rising up his throat. "Because I wanted to continue my work. I wanted to have discovery."
Confession! Confession! Confession!
Eros felt something strain in his throat as he screamed at the ceiling. The pain ignited on every inch of his body and his nerves and synapses went into overdrive. Father but it hurt. Castiel! Castiel!
"That was not a confession!" Eros wheezed. His voice turning to gravel.
"Very interesting, Eros, I am curious to know. Which matters more to you then? Your brother or discovery? If you had to choose, which would it be?"
Eros stared at the witch, deep into her violet eyes, and felt his mouth move. Even if he didn't want to answer, he had no choice. The Confessional took all choice away from him.
"I choose that which I created," Eros whispered. Preparing for the pain. "I choose love."
Confession! Confession! Confession!
Eros howled as the room swam around him. He would beg for death if it would be granted to him. He would do anything to stop the agony.
"That was not a confession!" Eros wailed against the night.
"Wait here," Sam said and Dean nodded. He glanced at Castiel who frowned morosely at the two brothers but he was glad the angel had enough sense not to object. Dean has been used as live bait before and really, with the plan they had in place, Dean would be way out of danger before the first clash of battle even started. Cas would zap him out, no problem. He just needed to be the thing the monsters would focus on so they didn't see Sam coming up in the flank. Not that Sam was really clear on that part. He said it involved Crowley and the way Cas got all prickly at the name being mentioned, Dean thought it best to just trust Sam had it under control.
Sam reached out, arms stretched wide, and for an instant he looked like the old Sam. The one Dean knew back before Gabriel and Castiel and angels, demons, heaven, hell. Dean stepped forward and welcomed his brother's hug.
"Don't you dare get hurt out there," Dean growled through his teeth, suddenly feeling too emotional and girly for his liking. Sam didn't respond, just hugged him tighter, and then the brothers pulled away. They looked at each other, eyes reflecting upon all the things they didn't need to say, and then Sam turned and trotted across the grasslands with Gabe running beside him.
"Fucking Wyoming," Dean mumbled as he looked around at the large empty prairie; nothing but bison and mountains in the distance.
"It's a fitting place for a war," Castiel said, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon, "no civilians for miles and miles." Dean scoffed.
"It's not going to be a war. Just a bunch of confused monsters against Sam and whatever he has cooked up with Crowley." That prickly sensation wafted from Castiel again: Jealousy-hurt-possessiveness and Dean wrinkled his nose like it was a bad smell.
"And what happens when he starts killing all these monsters? How many more deaths until his soul breaks?" Cas asked and Dean shrugged nervously.
"He said he won't have to kill anyone. I just hope he's right." The vision of Sam surrounded by an army swam through Dean's mind again and he swallowed hard. He didn't like this plan any more than Castiel did but what other chance did they have? Serrath wanted to go after the people Sam loved to tip him over the edge. Well here they were. So where was she?
A lone horn sounded in the distance and Dean turned to see a parade of people break through a hole in time. He didn't know what else to call it. It was like the fabric of existence was pulled aside and out walked…monsters. Thousands of monsters. More monsters than Dean knew existed in the world.
"Fuck!" Dean breathed, unable to say anything else and Castiel clutched at his arm.
"Dean we have to get out of here," he said urgently but Dean shook his head. He lifted his jacket and unsheathed the machete that was housed there. He thought, in honor of Eros, he should give the weapon a name. Eros seemed to like to name everything something so…he decided to call it Arrow. It was Eros's Arrow. The finest blade he ever wielded. He was definitely not going to cower like a weakling with this in his hands.
"Not yet, Cas. We have to be the bait, remember? We need to direct the focus of the attack." Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a long length of leather cord. Without removing his eyes from the monsters approaching, Dean wrapped the cord around the hand holding Arrow to secure the weapon to him more firmly.
"Dean!" Castiel groaned and he sent waves of worry, trepidation, anxiety, fear. Dean pushed the thoughts away. His soul reached out and with all the love he could muster, he wrapped Castiel in a spiritual embrace.
"I love you," he said softly. Then he broke into a run.
Sam watched Dean run towards the monsters, distracting them as he was instructed to, and he smiled fondly for his brave big brother.
"Ever the loyal squirrel, is he not?" Crowley said in his husky voice. Sam turned to greet the King of Hell with a snarky retort, but his words died away at the amass of people that stood behind him. Ten thousand demons. Ten thousand demons. Sam was in awe but also a bit terrified. He was in way over his head with this one.
"Dean is safe. He has Castiel with him," Sam said and Crowley's mouth twisted into a frown.
"Of course," he said absently, and then bent over to greet Gabe. The dog padded over to him jovially and Crowley produced a rawhide from his pocket. "Hello darling," he said with a smile as his hands sank into Gabriel's fur.
"Quite the dog lover, aren't you?" Sam remarked offhandedly. Crowley continued to smile and work hands deep into Gabe's mane.
"I absolutely adore dogs. The sweet kind, not the scary meat-tearing hell-hound kind. Problem is they don't much care for me." His voice took on a sad tone and Sam had to wonder about past canine interactions Crowley might have had. "But Gabe here," he went on, returning to his previous state of chipper, "he doesn't mind me in the least. I should have looked for an angelic dog," he mused although they both knew Gabriel was the only one of his kind.
Sam turned his attention back to the field and watched Dean getting closer to the monsters. They had caught sight of him now, and many of them broke into a run.
"Crowley," Sam said, deep in thought, "Dean really didn't need to be here, did he?" Crowley gave Gabe one final pat and then rose to his feet to stand next to Sam.
"Probably not," he admitted with a shrug. Sam was so focused on how to strategize against an army without killing any of them, that he didn't even give much thought as to Dean's role. But he was certain Crowley did.
"Then why put him in this position? Why risk him like this?" Sam asked and Crowley turned to look at him with a calculated sneer.
"You and your lovely brother down there have always treated me like a Winchester whipping post. Do you know why I endured it for so long? Revenge. Dean was supposed to be my friend. We were supposed to raise hell together. He turned on me the second you showed up in his life again and threw me in the dirt. I was made a laughing stock in my own kingdom! And now, he's mooning over that stupid angel. Well…what's one more dead Winchester as long as Lucifer stays in his cage, right?"
Sam fumed. He was beyond rage at hearing this and he turned to look Crowley dead in the eyes. He supposed it was his own stupid fault for ever thinking they could put stock in a demon. He should never have gotten the demons involved in this. Now he has the King of Hell challenging him with the statement that he intended to send Dean on some suicide mission, and ten thousand demons are standing at Sam's back. Forcing his anger down, Sam gave Crowley a thin smile. Crowley returned it in kind.
"Maybe we can talk about this more later," Sam suggested and Crowley nodded amicably.
"Of course. As soon as you get back," he said and took a step away. "The army is yours to command, Samantha. Maybe you should have Gabriel stay with me? You know, for safe keeping." Sam looked down at Gabriel and the dog huffed once.
I will stay. Watch over the demon to make sure he's not going to do something bad. Use my Grace. Take all my Grace. I am yours and yours alone.
Sam smiled sadly at his friend. "Very well," he said, meeting Crowley's eyes, and then he turned and made his way down the gentle slope of the hill at a run. He could hear the pound of ten thousand demon feet echoing behind him.