"I will not have your brother fornicate with a unicorn." Sam was standing in the laundry room, folding the dry clothes neatly, putting them in piles according to which person they belonged to.

"He will not, 'fornicate', with the unicorn, I've told you." The tall hunter didn't even bother looking at the angel as he folded another shirt. Castiel frowned and heaved a sigh, looking around in thought before his raspy voice yet again was heard.

"I have yet to locate a potential mate to ensure the species' survival." Putting down the shirt hastily, Sam turned to face the angel with a blank look.

"Really, Cas?" The angel appeared to be unsure of the fault in his mission. "Don't you think she should be able to decide herself who she'll.. Mate with seriously man, 'mate'? You talk like she's some kind of endangered animal!" There was a slight pause as the angel observed the hunter.

"She is, an endangered animal."

"She's a person, Cas. With feelings."

"Creatures of the animal kingdom have a variety of feelings." Sam heaved a sigh as he rolled his eyes, grabbing a pile of clean clothes before heading out of the laundry room. "You know what I mean." Castiel simply watched the other leave, heaving a sigh before following him.

"Clearly, I do not."

Dean was sitting in front of the laptop, looking over any signs of another unicorn. They had been forced to tell Crowley the signs, and the least they could do was try to prevent him from getting one. It was uncertain if the old king of the crossroads knew exactly what a unicorn could be used for, but he knew that if Crowley did get his filthy hands on one, that unicorn would suffer immensely just so that he could find out what makes it tick, as well as what that ticking could be used for.

Even they didn't know the full extent of a unicorn's abilities. Castiel had mentioned that they were able to resurrect angels, but he had no clue exactly how that worked. It wasn't as though reviving their vessels would bring the angels back. Where did angels even go when they died? Monsters were sent to purgatory; that much he knew. Heck, he barely knew where demons went when they got ganked. Did they simply go back to hell? Or perhaps they went to purgatory. Maybe, they ceased to exist.

However, his research led to little results. Apparently, if there were any unicorns besides Amy, which he suspected that there were, they weren't stepping forward quite as much as she had. Perhaps it was merely because Amy lacked subtlety in comparison to the other unicorns, or the other ones were dicks who resisted their urges to help humans. Either way, he had nothing to go on. In the same swing, that also meant that Crowley most likely had nothing to go on, so they could relax for now.

Moving his hand to his arm, he idly scratched at the mark that he had received from Cain. Glancing at it, he frowned slightly before heaving a sigh. It burned ever so often, but he had been given little choice in the matter. They needed the first blade to work, they had to slay Abbadon. There was still so much he needed to know about it; what was the burden that Cain had spoken of? What would the cost be? Rubbing at the mark more violently, he eventually grunted and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt with a snort. He'd drive himself mad if he kept thinking about it.

Crowley still hadn't gotten back to him about the first blade he was supposed to be finding. They hadn't mentioned it the last time they met; it was more of a silent understanding. Crowley had no use of the blade without him, and he wasn't going to destroy it, so Dean didn't feel any need to worry about it. Dean kept rubbing his hand over the mark, even through his shirt.

"Does it hurt?" Dean let out a startled noise as he jumped in his chair, looking up at Amy who was sitting on the table in front of him.

"Jesus, Amy! We need to get you a fucking bell." He adjusted his shirt, sucking in a deep breath. While she didn't zap in and out like Castiel did, she was just as good at sneaking up at people. Dean briefly wondered to himself if he'd actually ever heard Amy's footsteps. The unicorn didn't appear opposed to the idea of getting a bell, although Dean hardly thought she understood why she needed one.

"Why do you ask anyway, can't you sense pain or something?" Amy tipped her head from side to side, weighing his claim over. "Well, not exactly. Or, sort of. I can sense injuries really well though! Diseases too. It's really unpleasant. I suppose that to a point, I can sense pain, but it gets reeaally muddled around you two." She gave a firm nod.

"You both have so much pain inside of you, that it's difficult to tell the difference between your mental, and your physical pain." She held out her hands as though the word 'mental' was in one, and the word 'physical' in the other, weighing them out. Dean peered up at her with a more of a concerned look. He didn't like the sound of that. Sure, he knew that they had been through more than enough crap, but he felt his heart sink at the thought of all that burdening his brother. Himself, he could manage, but he didn't want for Sam to go through life with all that pain. Especially now that he had pulled him out of death's grip, he felt even more responsible. It didn't help that Sam had disagreed with his actions, treating him as though he had done something horrible to him. While they were past acting out against each other about it, it was still at the front of his mind.

"Soo.." Amy tried, sliding across the table on her bum to slip down into the chair next to Dean, her feet curled around the edge of the table. "Does it?"

"Does it what?"

"Hurt."

To think that such a simple question could be so difficult to answer. He didn't like admitting to anything like that, he rigidly believed that he was the only one who should be burdened with his crap. Because that's all that it was, crap. There were moments of silence, perhaps even a minute or two passed between the two.

"It's.. Nothing I can't manage." Perfect. It was the truth without having to delve into the pit that was his mind.

"Would you like to feel better? I can numb the burning. It burns, doesn't it?" Amy had seemingly zeroed in on the physical aspect of the mark, understanding just what it felt like. Hesitating slightly, he looked down at the girl. "You're not allowed make the mark go away."

"Oh, I couldn't even if I wanted to, which I might. That's a mark of God, I can't touch that. Well, I can physically touch it, but I can't remove it." She smiled as she wriggled to sit up straight in the chair, her feet barely touching the ground. "I can ease the burning sensation if you'd like?" He glanced down at his own arm before he cautiously rolled up his sleeve again, holding out his arm to the unicorn, his eyes watching her every move intensely. Reaching out, she grabbed his wrist with one hand before placing he palm over the mark, a smile curving her lips. This was her forte after all, where she felt the most at peace. Soon, her pupils went white much like when an angel used its powers, glowing softly along with her forehead and her palm. It wasn't a very bright glow, but it was warm, and felt comforting in a strange kind of way. Pleasant, much like how one would enjoy a warm bath in winter, or a cool breeze in the summer heat, and in only a few seconds, it was over. Amy removed her hands from his arm, rubbing her palms together briefly before smiling at him, eager to know the result. Never before had she gotten to consult a person at the other end of her work.

"Well?" It was as though she was sitting on pins and needles in excitement, expectantly watching the other. Dean looked his arm over, rubbing lightly at the mark. It felt much more like a scar now, numb and not irritated like before. It looked just the same, but it felt different.

"It feels... Good, actually." A chuckle escaped him. "Thanks, Amy." Amy grinned widely, barely able to contain her bliss. This was the first time she had ever been thanked for aiding someone and it made her feel better than she had ever felt. It was only then that Dean noticed just how thrilled she was and he let out a laugh.

"Easy tiger, calm down. We don't want you to burst." Blinking, she looked at him in a moment of confusion before taking a deep breath, leaning back in her chair with a smile.

"Sorry, it's just, I've never had anyone thank me before.. It feels great!" Dean smiled one of his slanted smiles as he looked at her. He couldn't blame her; in fact, he could imagine just how it felt, being thanked for the first time after having worked in the dark for so long.

After all, wasn't that what hunters were all about? Aiding from the shadows, protecting people that never asked for help, making sure that humans who had never met, or even seen them before, got on with their lives okay. Risking their lives, just so that they could save others. They had gotten many thanks, but there were many, much bigger things that they had never been thanked for. Regardless of the lack of gratitude, they kept going, they kept helping people.

Perhaps hunters and unicorns weren't quite as different as he had first thought.

Finding the first blade had conveniently slipped down from the top of his priority list to the bottom, all thanks to that journal. Abaddon could throw as many hissy fits as she pleased; Crowley had other things on his mind. More important things. She could live to be slaughtered another day.

The crypt he had discovered was in prime condition, spared from all the destruction, most likely thanks to the incredibly thick walls and doors. The stairs leading down into it hadn't been very long, just a couple of meters. It was dark, but the little light that dimly flowed in from the open doors was enough to let him find candles mounted on the walls, which he lit easily with a snap of his fingers. They smelled delicious, those candles, as though they were made out of creatures instead of wax. Of course, it was an acquired taste, or well, smell, that beings outside of Hell most likely wouldn't enjoy. Flickering flames threw their light upon the contents of the room.

It was low in ceiling height; that moose of a hunter would most likely have had to crouch down if he were to enter this place. There were shelves lining the walls with scrolls and scriptures, stone tablets and books, all seemingly written in Elymian. There was dried blood on the floor; little to his surprise, and in the middle of the room, there stood a table. It was long enough to fit two of him in length, and about half as wide. Littering the edges of the table there was a bowl, tools carved out of bones, something with a very sharp scent that had been ground into fine dust, and an assortment of other macabre ingredients. There was a crest carved into the surface of the black, bloodstained table that he had never seen before, and it urged him to take a closer look. It looked somewhat like the symbol for a summoning, yet it shared traits with a devils trap. There were Elymian words carved into the outer circle of the symbol, and he frowned slightly, stroking his chin in thought.

"Rise. Breathe the agony. Heed my will. Rise. Creature of the pit, bow your head, as I make you. Rise. For I am your Lord." Crowley leaned back with his eyebrows raised, hands locked behind his back.

"Well isn't that a nifty little trick. Creation and obedience in one go, clever boy." A dark chuckle left the man as he moved around the table. Along the edges of the thick ritual table there were inscriptions, much like the ones in the symbol itself. It would seem as though he had stumbled upon the old Lord's hobby room, where he made his people. If one now could call them people.. Crowley raised his eyebrows curiously as he looked over what seemed like ingredients yet another time. It was unlikely that he could, but if he somehow was able to learn how to use this ritual, he could be able to create a smart, powerful and most importantly; obedient army.

If only he knew what made that ritual tick. The ingredients present didn't have to be the complete list, there could be things missing. There was also the question of how the ritual worked beyond the mixing and stirring, such as what the spoken words were, if there were any. He highly doubted that it would involve the words written on the table; that would be over the top and ridiculous. If the Lord had been the only one to perform this act, it wasn't for sure that he had a manual of sorts written down. Crowley decided to test his luck anyway, going over the books in the room. There were a large number of them, each and every one written in Elymian, by which seemed to be the same person. The few stone tablets were barely worth mentioning, as they only had a simple symbol on each side carved into them.

It took him a long time to even just briefly go through all the books, and he frowned. Not a single one was about whatever rituals had been performed there. Grunting and muttering to himself, he threw angry glares around the room, wishing for someone to lash out at. Then it hit him. This was the Lord's personal hobby room, but he undoubtedly had some kind of secret compartment somewhere, in order to keep his most valuable possessions safe. Thus, the current King of Hell began looking for anything that could give away such a compartment. Once he knew what he was looking for, it didn't take an awfully long time for him to find it. One of the shelves looked as though it had been hastily cleared; books lying sprawled open on the ground below, having soaked in whatever fresh blood there had been there at the time. At the back of the shelf, right where it ended, there was a slight dip in the wall. Crowley grinned to himself, reaching out to push his fingers into the dip.

"Let's see what we've got here..!" With a grunt, he managed to pull and slide the stone wall to the side. Letting out a satisfied chuckle, he rubbed his hands together with a sinister smirk.

"Now what did you throw in here in such a hurry, little Lordy..?"