Chapter 13

"Gone?" Sam was the first one to ask. "Gone how could it be gone?" He tried to think of who else was there in Kentucky. Certainly none of the local teens went back there not after the murder and the fact that Cas had iced the newly formed demon. The place was probably still crawling with cops and entrance blocked off by police tape. Wait that was it. The cops probably gave the place a thorough combing and put the items in evidence.

"Have you tried to look in the evidence room of the police department," Sherlock said. He had come to the same conclusion as Sam probably a few seconds faster.

"I have looked there as well," Castiel said in a dejected tone and stared at the floor. "It wasn't there."

"Are you certain you looked long enough?" John asked. The man looked like he was about to drop any minute. Sam wondered how long he slept before Sherlock woke him up with his call.

"It wouldn't hurt to look at the old Critchlowe place," John brought up. He looked as exhausted as Sam felt and wanted to get back to bed, but were more important matters at hand first. "That was where we found Catharine Ridgewood and the other goblet."

"That would be a pointless trip, mate," the low gravel like voice was like ice sliding down Sam's spine.

"Crowley," Sam snarled the name at the same time as Dean and both he and Sherlock leapt to their feet. Sam was the closest to the demon and ran to tackle him, half wishing he had Ruby's knife in his hand and not still in the suitcase. It was one that was checked and not taken through the metal detector. They could always get handguns and rifles once they were in London, Sherlock assured him of that, but there was no other knife that could kill a demon. Sam was grateful that his suitcase wasn't subject to a random check.

"Not that bright are you?" Crowley asked once Sam hit something that felt smooth and hard.

"Force fields?" Dean asked. "When did you get so high tech and scifi?"

"Nothing about this is Scifi," Crowley said and held up his finger to an approaching Castiel. The angel had the same look on his face that Dean had when he was about to punch someone. "All pure magic." He closed his eyes and smiled. "And Castiel, old chum I don't think you will be laying a finger on me either." He unbuttoned his jacket and spread it revealing the enochian symbols on the inner lining and on his vest. "You see I took all of the extra precautions."

"Is this…" John paused to lick his lips. "This is a demon isn't it?"

"You're a sharp one aren't ya, hedgehog?" Crowley asked. "I'm not just any scrounging for someone to make miserable demon. You have the honor of looking at the king of Hell."

"The king of Hell?" John repeated before his voice rose in pitch. "You happen to be the king of Hell?"

"Not much to look at," Sherlock said.

"I am deeply wounded Dean—I mean Sherlock," Crowley said. "Except for the fact that I'm not."

"I thought he would have a crown," John said. "And horns and a tail and of course be at least as tall as Sam, if not taller."

"If you can view him the same was as I can," Castiel started. He was pacing around the border of the shield. "You would be vomiting on the floor."

"Cas, what a thing to say," Crowley said as he turned to face the angel. "After all we been through together. You did inform the new guys that we used to work together?"

Castiel's eyes became illuminated, washing over the room with bright light. The only shadows were in the form of his wings. He struck the shield with his fist and was thrown back.

"Not even a completely charged angel can touch me," Crowley said in a smug tone.

"What the hell do you want you son of a bitch?" Dean asked. His fists were clenched and face set to a snarl.

"You very well know what I want," Crowley said. "Figured now that you have a brain that works you would know that."

"You should know that since we know what you want we will not give it to you," Sherlock said. He was glancing the demon up and down, trying to read him, trying to find a chip in the armor.

"I knew you would say that so I brought these along." He reached behind him and pulled out two pewter goblets that were exactly the same. They both had the same shield shape in the center and both had the same Latin, but the only difference was that one had a red gem and another had a blue gem.

"I knew it," Dean growled. "I knew you were planning on something."

"I plan on telling you a story."

"We are not in the mood for your rendition of Reading Rainbow," Sam told him. He glanced around the living room, trying to find something that could break through the barrier. His eye caught the sight of the pokers near the fireplace.

"I think you will like this one," Crowley said and didn't wait for anyone's approval before he took a breath. "Once upon a time in Rome there was a princess who was in love with a stable boy and the stable boy loved the princess but as you may have guessed from this generic tale the king would not allow them to be together." He closed his eyes and placed his hand on his heart. "So tragic. Meanwhile there was this serving girl who was in love with a soldier, a young warrior who was brave and smart and climbed the ranks, of course their statuses would not allow them to be together."

"Where is this going?" Dean asked.

"Please don't interrupt, Sherlock-I mean Dean." Crowley's response was met with Dean's fist striking the barrier with a loud bang and Dean pulling away and cradling his fist. "Did you really think you would accomplish anything with that?"

"Do not do that again," Sherlock said. "I rather you not break any of my fingers."

"Now where were we?" Crowley asked and furrowed his brow in a mock thinking expression. "Ah yes serving girl and the soldier. Well the serving girl was the princess's serving girl. Both prayed to Venus or Aphrodite if you prefer the Greek version, but they prayed and she gave them these." He held up the goblets. "They waited until the full moon and stood in front of them and made their wish."

"They switched bodies," John said, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"I can see why you are the assistant to the world's greatest detective," Crowley said.

"I'm not really just an assistant," John protested.

"Ut Restituo Pro A Melior Vita," Crowley read from one of the goblets. "To Replace for a Better Life." He lowered his arm and nodded at them. "These were also used during the burning times, the actual ones and not what these neo pagan blessed wannabes claim. A witch would have a relative hold one up in front of a pious person, especially an accuser and the witch would switch with them."

"This is a onetime deal?" Dean asked in a worried tone, not he or anyone had noticed that Sam had scooted himself closer to the pokers.

"No there were a few cases where they did switch back." The demon tossed one of the goblets in the air and caught it. "Now here is the funny part. This is only activated when two things occur. The first is a full moon and the second is one person wishes they could be someone else."

Sam grabbed the poker and struck it at Crowley, only for it to bounce off the force field and sending Sam to fall on his backside.

"Why did you try that?" John asked and pointed at Dean. "You saw what it had done to your brother."

"I thought this was iron," Sam said as he stood back up. He turned towards John and Sherlock. "This isn't pure iron."

"Of course it's pure iron," John said and turned to Sherlock. "Isn't it?"

"It is," Sherlock said in a drained tone. "I would have made the same attempt, John. Demons are extremely weak against pure iron." He gave Dean a look. "Why haven't you told him?"

"Get off my back," Dean answered. He was still cradling his fist.

"Shouldn't it be get off your back?" Crowley asked. His smile was larger than before. "One of you or both of you wanted a different life. Dean you never told me you wanted to be British."

"Blow me, Crowley."

"You might like that," Crowley said and raised his eyebrows in a manner that made Sam want to take a cold shower. "Now what kind of life would you want that the fine consulting detective had?" He held out his arms and looked around the room. "Let's see there is a job that pays well when you get clients. You have a sweet set up here, a bit of fame and a job that is pretty much normal. You got tired of the hunt, tired of saving the world."

"Dean," Sam said slowly and sadly as he met his brother's eyes. "You were thinking of getting out again?"

"It crossed my mind," Dean answered. "Don't tell me you don't think about it. How many times have you left? Maybe I wasn't thinking of it for me, Sam. Maybe I was hoping for one of us, especially you now that you have Amelia."

"And what would Zero Pigment want?" Crowley said as he pointed to Sherlock. "Why the hell would you want their lives?" That was a good question.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Sherlock," John said in an exasperated tone. "Were you really that bored and tired with tracking down human criminals?"

"I was wishing for similar cases to the one we had just solved," Sherlock half muttered. "Yes."

"But it was still daylight for us," Sam said.

"The moon was still full," Dean reminded him. "He didn't say by the light of the full moon, just the fact that it was full."

"Well boys it looks like you got what you wanted." The demon held up the goblets again. "But if you do want to reverse the gift."

"You believe that we are willing to give you both the prophet and the tablet in exchange for the goblets," Sherlock said. "If you think that Dean and I would be that selfish to put our comfort and happiness over the fate of the world then you are a bigger moron than I took you for."

"Yeah, what he said," Dean added.

"Well then," Crowley said with a shrug. "Happy hunting, Sherlock and happy consulting, Dean." He gave a small wave with his hand and disappeared.

Silence had gripped the room along with the coolness if the room. Castiel glared at the spot that Crowley stood in for a few seconds before he looked up at them, anger instantly over washed with sympathy. Dean had collapsed into one of the chairs, even with those cold silver eyes they reflected the despair he had when he knew he was going to hell and no one could do anything about it. Sherlock was expressionless. His hands were folded against each other. John went through a mix of emotions from confusion to grief.

"No," Sam said and approached his brother. "We will find another way."

"Your brother is correct," Sherlock said. "It is too early to give up."

"But that demon has the goblets," John said and pointed towards the spot that Crowley was standing in a few minutes earlier. "Is that the only way?"

"There are other spells," Sam told him. "Other books and items that we can use and we just can't give up. Castiel please say I'm right."

"There are other possibilities," Castiel agreed. "I am not aware of what they are."

"Well that is just perfect," John grumbled and sat down in the other chair. "The angel doesn't know. What good is he?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"Don't talk to him like that," Sherlock scolded.

"I will not. Cas told me that something like this might happen that you and I are going to be stuck like this forever." He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess I could go back with Sam and help him. It would still be the same with the two of us, except I'll just look like this and sound like this."

"Ridiculous," Sherlock said.

"Why?" Dean asked, although Sam could tell by the expression that he knew why.

"Must I spell it out for you?" The detective asked.

"It won't work because you have connections here," Dean sighed. "Because you are famous here and you are in the newspapers and on the web. I can't go around saying I'm with the health department, or I'm a reporter, or a federal agent. There would be the chance that someone would recognize me, granted that might be to an advantage but people would ask questions to why am I traveling across Forty Eight states solving their strange crimes." He paused to take a breath. "Not all fifty because I hate flying and we rarely find any cases in Alaska."

"And people here would wonder who I was," Sherlock mused. "They would question who this strange American and why he was trying to solve crimes in England. I could use an alias, pretend I was with the FBI but that wouldn't work would it Sam?"

"Not with the records we have," Sam agreed as remembered the times they were arrested, even though they were undercover in one case. "It might when you first start out but they are going to look you up and this is smaller territory than we usually cover."

"Wait just wait," John stirred. He was slowly drifting back to sleep. "You both have records?"

"Shape shifters and leviathans mostly," Dean answered. "But it is true." He buried his face in his hands. "I don't want to be away from you, Sammy. I just got back not long ago. I can't be away from you again."

"Got back?" John asked.

"Dean was trapped in P-"Sam started

"Purgatory," John said as he nodded. "That's right. Dean and Castiel told me that much. Told me it was worse than the horrors I have lived through in Afghanistan."

"Don't give up," Sam said as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We will look around even if we have to look through every book in every bookstore in the world. We'll search the net and Cas will help."

"I will look around to see what I can find," Cas said. "I don't feel it is safe to leave you alone unprotected."

"Sherlock and I know how to fight," John said.

"He is referring to demon possession," Sherlock informed his friend.

"We'll get the charms," Sam said. "There has to be a magic store or some other shop that sells these types of things."

"We are getting the tattoos."

"We are?" John asked.

"Sam has told me it is the best form of protection against the demons from entering the body," Sherlock answered. He stared at Dean. I think it would look good here." He placed a finger on Dean's chest.

"Hey," Dean said.

"Perhaps on my back or my thigh," Sherlock pressed a finger against Dean's leg.

"Dude, stop touching yourself, at least while I'm still inside."

"You wanted to make that joke," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone as he stepped back.

"Maybe." Dean shrugged. "Or maybe I just don't want you touching me. Has anyone ever told you about personal space?"

"I gave up on that," John said with a yawn.

"Dean, knock of your usual crap," Sam said. "Sherlock could you not provoke him? We need to look up places that sell charms and tattoo parlors in addition to finding away to put you two back."

"Sherly and I will look," Dean suggested. "The two of us can't sleep that long right?" He turned towards John.

"He is right," John said. "It would be better if Sam and I tried to grab some sleep."

"Sam, you can take my—er is it okay if…"

"He can have my bed," Sherlock interrupted. "You and I will take turns resting in small doses while we look up what we need to find."

"Where is his bed?" Sam asked.

"Through the kitchen," both Dean and Sherlock answered at the same time.

"You two have got to stop doing that," Sam said. He opened up one of his bags and pulled out a pair of pajama pants and his small leather bag used for toiletries. It was a bad habit and he knew it but he was too damn tired to think of brushing his teeth right now. That would and could wait until the morning. "Good night."

"Night, Sammy."

"I'll see you all in the morning," John said as he walked off to what seemed to be the entrance.

Sam wasn't expecting anything from Sherlock after the day he spent with the detective or Castiel who he was gracious for staying and watching over them while they slept. He would grab some sleep now, some food in the morning and then they would discuss what they were going to do next. He hoped and prayed that they would find the solution. He didn't want to leave London without his brother, even if he knew that in the back of his mind that Dean had gotten what he had wanted.

A/N: Thank you for the recent faves an follows.