Author's/Underhill's Note: Holy crap, this one took a while to write. I just hope the guys are all somewhat in character... This was totally fun to write though, and the best part of writing it is? I have to rewatch episodes to get the characters right. ...This is the best everything... Anyway! This is chapter 31! As always, I own nothing except original plot (or else the last few seasons of Supernatural would have gone soooo differently). Second, thank you readers! I find it extremely badass that anyone is reading this at all. Like, it amazes me. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter, I hope you review, and I hope... uh. STUFF! STUUUUUFF!

April 17, 11 PM, highway

The car is quiet. It's always quiet when Sam's partnering with Rufus, because Rufus doesn't like that "damn rock and roll you kids listen to." Sam doesn't point out that, technically, Dean's old tapes are classic rock - - oldies.

The silence bugs Sam. He's not used to it. While he used to complain about Dean's and his dad's choice of music, he finds the car empty without it. It's the soundtrack of his life.

The quiet and lack of conversation (Rufus just sits there stoic and grumpy-looking) make him think too much. His mind wanders. He starts thinking about the argument he and Bobby had four days ago.

"Are you tryin' to KILL me?!"

"Bobby - - "

"We JUST lost your brother and you're just lining up to jump off the ledge?"

Gabriel and Rufus watch with interest as the two men argue. Sometimes it's easy to forget the relationship between Sam and Bobby, that Bobby is a surrogate father - - and perhaps more of a father than John was - - to the youngest Winchester son.

"It's not like that. I'm not gonna do it, not unless we all agree. But I think we got to look at our options." Sam's face is almost pleading.

"This isn't an option, Sam."

"Why not?"

"You can't do it - - "

"Actually, maybe he can." Bobby swings his head angrily on the speaker: Gabriel. The archangel has a thoughtful look on his face.

"You can't be serious," Bobby says.

"He looks pretty serious," Rufus remarks; he's wearing his best poker face so no one can tell what he's thinking.

"Sam's a vessel. He's got some… built in resistance to the whole possession thing."

"You think he can do it then?" Bobby scoffs.

"Theoretically," Gabriel says.

"Oh, theoretically, that inspires confidence."

"Look, we don't have much in the way of options," the archangel points out. "And hey, who's the angel here?" He points at each man in turn, shaking his head, then turns the finger on himself. "Oh, right, ME. I think I know a little more about this than you do. There is no way - - NO WAY - - you can trick, persuade, my brother into that Cage. It's gonna have to be by force, and you can't do it by just giving him a good hard shove."

"Bobby, you know he's right."

"Hell no do I know ANYTHING - - " Rufus laughs. " - - shut up, Rufus - - of the sort."

"Bobby…"

"NO, Sam - - "

"Bobby." Rufus has decided to speak up. "It's the eleventh hour. Now, we don't always see eye to eye, but I'd like to think we know each other pretty well."

With a moment of hesitation, Bobby nods.

"So I gotta ask: what exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing the only son you got left?"

Sam shakes his head. Rufus, if nothing else, knew how to end a conversation. That's why, when the phone rings, Sam snatches it up like a lifeline.

"Bobby?"

"You on the road again, boy? Out of the hospital?"

Rufus grabs the cell and turns on the speakerphone just before Sam responds, "Yeah. It was - - "

"Let me guess - - another steamin' hot pile of swine flu."

"Yep," Rufus grunts.

"Doesn't make any sense, Bobby. Pestilence touched down here. I'm sure of it. Why is he dealing them soft serve like swine flu when he's got the Croatoan virus up his sleeve. I don't get it."

"Doesn't matter what the sick son of a bitch is doing. What matters is that this is the fourth town he's hit, that we KNOW of, and we're still eating his dust. Did you get anything? We got even a snowball at probable next target?"

"Uh, no patter we can see."

Bobby sighs over the phone. "Okay, hold on. Well, far as I can tell he's still heading east, so… Head east, I guess."

"…East?" That is the lamest set of directions Sam has ever received, and he's had Dean as a navigator; Dean, the 'Let's pick a direction and roll with it' navigator who has no problem driving hundreds of miles off course just for the hell of it. "Bobby, we're in West Nevada. East is practical all there is."

"Yeah, well, you better get to drivin'."

"Say, I've got an idea," says a horribly familiar voice.

The car swerves just as Rufus sees a man dressed all in black with a bit of a receding hairline appear in the rearview. Sam has quick reaction time, Rufus'll give him that. Rufus, on the other hand, gapes, let's out a shocked bellow, and gets his head whacked against the window as the car skids and halts on the asphalt.

"DAMMIT, SAM!" he yells, but Sam's moving, knife out and stabbing through the upholstery of the back seat into… nothing.

"He's gone," Sam says, completely ignoring Rufus's yell.

There's a tap on the window. The short man is outside now, leaning down to meet Rufus eye level. "Fancy a fag and a chat?"

Cigarette, yeah, Rufus could go for that right now, or a stiff drink of scotch. Conversation, on the other hand… He opens his door anyway. Sam's faster.

"You're upset," the man says. "We should discuss it. Not here, but…" Sam advances on the man almost faster than he backs away.

"You want to talk? After what you did to us?"

The man looks so indignant it's comical. "After what I - - what I did to you?! I gave you the Colt!"

"This is Crowley?" Rufus asks. He knows this story. Sam and Bobby have very bitterly recounted this story. "Not what I expected." Rufus somehow thought he'd be taller.

"Yeah, and you knew it wouldn't work against the Devil!"

"I never!"

"You set us up! We lost people on that suicide run. Good people!"

Crowley holds up a placating hand, defensive. "Who you take on the ride is you own business. Look, everything is still the same. We're all still in this together." He sounds doubtful though.

"Sure we are." Sam swings the knife and the demon disappears and reappears behind them.

Crowley looks over at Rufus, who has thus far stayed out of this. "Call off your dog, please."

Well, he supposes it's time to hear the demon out. He grabs Sam by the shoulder and keeps him firmly in one place. "Give me one good reason."

"I can give you Pestilence."

Now that, Rufus thinks, is information worth listening to. "Go on."

"What the - - Rufus! You can't - - What the hell does he know about Pestilence?!"

"I know how to get him," Crowley says. "That's got your interest, doesn't it."

"Oh, very," Rufus says while Sam starts struggling harder. Rufus grips down hard.

"Are you actually listening to this?"

"Shut up, boy."

"Are you - - "

"Let the adults talk, Sam," Crowley says, regaining some of his confidence now that Rufus is holding Sam back.

"Oh you son of a - - "

"Look, I swear, I thought the Colt would work. It's an honest mistake. It's all part of the learning process. But nothing's changed. I still want the Devil dead. Well, one thing's changed." The demon frowns. "Now the Devil knows that I want him dead. Which, by the way, makes me the most buggered son of a bitch in all of creation."

"Holy crap," Sam shouts. "We don't care!"

"They burnt down my house!"

Rufus winces, because damn, that's cold. If he lost his place…dear God, all his books, all that research, his guns… "Condolences."

Crowley seems to pick up on Rufus' genuineness and appears slightly mollified. "Thank you."

"Did you get a chance to get anything out…?"

"God, no. Nothing. Then, to top it off?"

"Rufus, you're not listening to this, seriously…"

"...They ate my tailer."

"Holy shit," the older Hunter laughs. "That's cold." He keeps laughing.

"It's not funny," Crowley says, scowling.

"It's a little funny."

Despite himself, the corner of Crowley's mouth ticks up. Sam, however, looks between them before demanding, "Are both of you INSANE?"

"I spend the good part of my time in Hell," Crowley drawls. "So the answer to that is, a little bit, yes. Don't know what his excuse is," he thumbs at Rufus.

"I spend a good part of MY time in a car with him."

"That must be bloody awful."

"You have no idea. Kids today, I swear."

Sam's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Unbelievable."

April 17, 11:46 PM, Lawrence, Kansas

Sometimes Bela and Dean have to keep weird hours, seeing as some of their clients live on opposite ends of the world. Also, as expected, they still have trouble sleeping at times, still have nightmares that wake them up in the night. When that happens they get up, they work, they distract themselves, like they're doing now.

Except, they can't leave the house. Well, they can leave the house, but they can't go outside the city - - can't go out on jobs. They're staying under the radar. Instead, they spend time writing and selling spells (protection, usually), and sometimes brokering deals between opposing parties (because the Monsters just keep calling). They have plenty of work even if it is a bit…

"Boring."

"Dean."

"Boring, Bela. We're boring now."

She looks up from her laptop with a sigh. "We've been out of New York for less than two weeks, and in Lawrence for just over one. How is it possible that you're already bored?"

Dean turns one of Bela's glares against her. "Oh, don't tell me you aren't too." …Point, she thinks. "You know what that dude who lives next door asked me yesterday?"

"Mr. Jefferson?"

"He asked if we wanted to come for a barbecue this weekend. A barbecue, Bela."

"Come off it. You're joking."

"I am not. This is fucking Stepford, Bels, and I am NOT playing the role of housewife, especially if I have to be in the Nicole Fucking Kidman remake!"

Bela grimaces at that and reaches for the remote to turn down the tele; late night reruns of Dean's soap operas can be entertaining, but they tend to get distracting ("Just admit it, Bels, you're getting hooked").

"I swear to god, if we don't get out of here by tomorrow morning - - " Dean is fast working himself into hysteria, Bela realizes, and clicks open the first unopened email available. And thank god, she thinks, it's a job offer.

"Alright, darling, calm down!" Dean's face tics but he stops talking-yelling so Bela counts it as a good sign. "How about this…"

April 18, 12:30 AM, Crowley's place

"Here we are, my life on the lam. How the mighty have fallen," Crowley laments. "Single-pane glass, used contraception in the fireplace. The water damage alone..."

Sam rolls his eyes. Rufus seems to be warming up to the demon, but Sam sure as hell isn't, and never will. "My heart's bleeding for you," he says with sarcasm. "Now, how do you know about the rings?"

"Well, now, I've been keeping a close eye on you lot."

"All but one. That night you broke into my house - - " Sam looks away, preferring not to remember that night at all. " - - our first date, my valet hid a tracking device in your car: a magical coin that easily trumps your little bags o' bones. It allows me to hear things, too, and my, the things I've heard." He chuckles. "You want to cram the Devil back in the box? Cunning scheme. I want in."

Sam is stopped from answering by a loud smack to the back of his head. "Ow! What the hell, Rufus?!"

"You let someone tag you, idiot. That is a rookie move if I ever saw one."

"It's not like I knew about - - what the hell is that thing?"

"Oh, that just FILLS me with confidence, Sam! You, a TWENTY-SEVEN year old Hunter, has no idea what a Tracking Coin is. Jesus."

"I think he was raised wrong."

"Shut up!" Crowley rolls his eyes at him, and checks his watch. Through his anger, Are we on a schedule? he wonders. Sam takes several deep, steadying breathes, and shrugs Rufus's hand off his shoulder. "You said you could get us Pestilence."

"Well, now…"

When Crowley tells them that Sam isn't allowed to come along, the boy nearly blows a gasket. Rufus watches with annoyed consternation, watching as the demon verbally spars and Sam metaphorically swings a club.

"And why the hell not?!"

"Because I don't like you. I don't trust you. And, oh yes, you keep trying to kill me."

Demon makes a couple of good points. Rufus thinks he'll keep that thought to himself, though.

April 18, 12:55 AM, Red Eye flight headed towards South Dakota

Castiel lies back and focuses. If he focuses, he won't vomit again. If he doesn't vomit, then his head might stop aching.

Castiel understands now why Dean disliked airplanes. Castiel is used to flight, but wings, wings are way different from these steel deathtraps in the sky.

The… what was it again, flight attendant? She passes by again giving him another concerned look. Cas wishes he could find the energy to glare but he's too tired. He counts himself lucky that the woman hasn't said anything thus far, even luckier that the seat next to him is unoccupied.

He doesn't want to talk to anyone. He's had enough talking.

"We all thought you were dead! Where the hell are you, man?"

"A hospital." Castiel thinks that would have been rather obvious after the last time Sam saw him.

"Are you okay."

Cas rolls his eyes. What do you think? "No."

"You want to elaborate?"

Cas's head is starting to hurt again, so no, not really. He does anyway. "I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead."

"So, a hospital?"

"Apparently, after Van Nuys, I suddenly appeared, bloody and unconscious, on a shrimping boat off Delacroix."

"You're in Louisiana?!"

"Yes. As I was SAYING, I'm told I upset the sailors."

"I bet. Well, I got to tell you, man, you're just in time. We figured out a way to pop Satan's box."

Cas swallows, because sometimes Sam talks so like Dean… "Wait, what?"

"It's a long story, but, look, we're going after Pestilence now. So, if you want to zap over here…"

Cas sighs, partly in annoyance and partly in pain. He doesn't want to discuss this. He doesn't. "I can't 'zap' anywhere."

A pause. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that I am thirsty and my heard aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I'm saying that I'm just incredibly…"

"Human," Sam breathes over the phone. "Wow. Sorry."

"My point is, I can't go anywhere without money for, an airplane ride? And food. And more pain medication, ideally." Because Cas aches all over.

"All right. Well, look, no worries. Bobby's here; he'll wire you the cash."

Cas hears a muffled 'I will?' on the other side of the line, and smiles. Bobby seems to have forgiven Sam enough to not just let him into the house, but it seems they're on speaking terms again.

"Did you get John?" Cas asks. He suspects the answer, but asks anyway.

"…No. I'm sorry Cas, I should have listened, I just - - "

Cas cuts him off. "It doesn't matter now." But it does, they both know it so does, because, inadvertent or not, Sam is responsible for Cas Falling. And Cas may never forgive him for that, even if he knew it was coming.

"Castiel?" The man in question jumps as he realizes the seat beside him is no longer empty.

"Balthazar," he croaks. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you - - I couldn't find your Grace anywhere, and I realized, well…"

"Yeah."

"So I decided to track your physical body. We have things to discuss, brother."

"Can it wait until we land?" Cas asks in a terse voice. He's still not doing well, and if Balthazar doesn't stop talking soon he might puke in the angel's lap.

"Land?" Balthazar looks around. "Is that what this thing is for?" He shakes his heads. "Humans," he sighs. "Trust them to do everything the hard way. No, we don't need to wait."

"Maybe YOU don't - - "

Balthazar lays a hand on him.

For the first time, Castiel feels what it is like to fly from the other side.

April 18, 2 AM, Niveus Pharmaceuticals

In the end Sam goes to the back room and pouts while Crowley gets in the passenger seat of the Impala (which Rufus hates having to drive around in, but whenever he's assisting Sam, the idiot won't ride in anything else) next to Rufus. They don't talk, and it's a comfortable silence for once. When they stop, it's in front of Niveus Pharmaceuticals, and then they finally speak.

"Demons?" Rufus asks, gesturing at the men in the lobby. He puts down the binoculars.

"Nah," Crowley says, human shields. The demons are up top, twelfth floor."

"All right then. Is there a back way in?"

"Hunters," the demon sighs. "always making everything so complicated." And he's gone. Rufus curses.

Rufus isn't an idealist - - he's not Sam. Rufus has the attitude that any Hunter who's lived to his age has: shit happens. Don't matter if it's right or wrong, it just does, and you can't always stop it. Those men the demon is killing, they're human, but they're on the wrong side. They may not know it, but that doesn't make a difference in the end; the world is ending, and those guards, good or bad, are in the way. Rufus knows that innocent blood sometimes gets spilled for the greater good. He doesn't always LIKE it, but hell, that's the way it is.

So when Crowley reappears inside and cuts down those men, Rufus only feels a twinge of annoyance, and it's mostly at himself. Shit happens, he repeats. He woulda killed them himself if he'd had to, and not even flinched. When the demon waves, he just gets out of the car, walks over, and tries the door. It opens.

The demon smiles. "No complaints? No crying over spilt milk?"

Rufus snorts. "I ain't no kid. We're on a schedule." Crowley nods, opens his mouth, but Rufus continues. "So this is where you tell me some bullshit story where you try and fool me into being a distraction?" Rufus asks. Crowley gapes and Rufus rolls his eyes in irritation. "I ain't no damn fool either. You let me in on the whole plan, or I walk." Simple as that.

Looking into the Hunter's eyes, Crowley seems to recognize that there's no bluff there. The corner of his mouth slowly picks up. "Alright then, Grumpy. Here's the plan:"

April 18th, 3 AM, Virginia

Adam's been hiding under various rocks for the better part of three days. From Earl's basement, to a motel outside of Richmond, to an abandoned farmhouse, and finally to an opulent house in a nice neighborhood where the neighbors are off on vacation. Everywhere he's gone has been safe, and it's because of one little girl who keeps phoning him.

How she knows where he is is beyond him, and they never talk long enough to ask. A phone will simply ring and he'll answer, and she'll give him the next location to head to. He follows her instructions because, well, she hasn't been wrong so far. More reluctantly, he'll admit to himself it's because he has no idea what else to do.

He doesn't sleep easily, for many reasons, one of which is that her calls can come at any time. He sometimes wonders if she sleeps at all. So when the phone rings he's snap-awake out of his uneasy dreams, and his hand's already picking up the receiver.

This time though, he's getting answers.

"Ad - - "

"We're talking or I'm hanging up."

"Like I - - "

"And I think you won't hang up because, for some reason, you're invested. You, or someone you work for, want me alive."

"…"

"So you're going to tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to wander into the next big city and we'll see what happens. Do I have your attention?"

A long silence ensues, before: "Yes." She sounds pissed. "What do you want to know."

"Why are you helping me?" That question has been nagging at him for days. Why IS she helping him? What does she have to gain? Why does she want him alive?

"Because it's important that the angels don't get their hands on you."

"And that's because?"

"You're a vessel, idiot," she snaps. "So far John's held out - - so I HEAR, anyway - - but if they get you, it could all be over. So, yeah, I'd rather you NOT land back in Hell because there is no doubt you'll crack."

"…Wait. John?"

"Your dad. Only, uh, kind of not your dad? Not yet anyway. Point is, he's a lot harder to break than you are. He's stubborn to the point of stupidity. You're scared and not nearly - - "

"Hey, brat, you try having your life uprooted and - - "

"My dad turned into an angel."

That stops Adam short, because he honestly doesn't have a comeback for that; it's like the ultimate trump card of bad childhoods.

"Who are you?" he echoes himself from three days earlier. "How the hell do you know all this?"

"I'm a vessel, like you, only I, uh, hear things. It's a side effect of having an angel in you."

"…So you're an angel?"

"No. For like, five minutes one used me for a vessel, then he let me go. But I can still hear it when angels get real loud about stuff."

"You said they don't know where I am though. How do YOU then?"

"That's, uh, a different story."

"Yeah? Come on."

"I can't really tell you, at least out loud. Maybe when we meet you can know."

"We're going to meet?"

He can hear the shrug in her voice. "Someday, I'm told. Probably not soon, but yeah. He's never wrong."

"He?"

"I said I can't tell you. But he keeps me safe too."

"…His name isn't L, is it?"

She snorts. "No, he's not an angel, and definitely not that one." Adam's not sure whether that's relieving or disappointing.

"You know him?"

"Ugh, no, thank god. I've just heard of him. He sounds awful."

He kind of is. "He saved my life."

"So have I; you still don't seem to like me much though, do you?"

"…Touche."

"Now what other stupid questions do you have, because I've got directions for you, and you're eating up my minutes."

April 18, 4 AM, Crowley's place

Rufus tells Sam; Crowley thinks it's a mistake and it is. To his utmost surprise, though, Rufus handles it.

"Damn it, Sam!"

Sam struggles out of his grasp and screams at Brady, "I'm gonna kill you!"

Brady is laughing, egging Sam on, and Crowley knows that yeah? They're pretty much fucked at this point. Then the older Hunter has his gun in his hand, and, and surely not - -

CLUNK.

Sam is on the ground, Rufus is above him wearing a disgruntled, inconvenienced look with his gun barrel in his hand, the butt having been used to brain Sam in the head. Crowley gapes, first at one, then the other, then…

He busts out laughing. "Oh, bravo!" This Rufus fellow? Bloody brilliant. "You know, I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

The Hunter barks a laugh. "Great. Just what I always wanted. More friends."

Crowley smirks. In this case, the Hunter could go worse. Friends with a Crossroads Demon? Definite advantages.