Chapter 6 An Unutterable Sacrifice
Dean looked at the demon coldly, his attention sharpened to a pin-point focus. Memory crowded up against the walls in his mind and he felt them bulge with the force. He could feel an ache spreading through his muscles and tendons and nerves, an ache to just kill the demon with his bare hands.
"Crowley." The single word dripped with contempt.
Crowley looked at him for a second and deliberately turned to Kevin, dismissing the elder Winchester. "Kevin. What a pleasure to see you."
He strolled toward them. "Sorry about your little … playdate. Ah ... uh, her … um name?" He gestured helplessly, looking at the ceiling. His gaze snapped back to Kevin. "Ah well, if you're gonna make an omelet, sometimes you have to break some spines."
He looked down at Mrs Tran abruptly. "And who is this lovely young thing? Must be your sister."
Linda Tran stared up at him, her fury growing as she listened to his deliberate provocation. His eyes flickered up for a fraction of a second, gauging Kevin's reaction, and her fist flashed out, the knuckles striking the side of Crowley's mouth with every bit of her eighty-pound weight behind it, the crack loud in the silence.
Crowley reeled away, lifting his hand to the reddened skin.
"Stay away from my son," she said through her teeth.
Sam had felt Dean twitch as Mrs Tran lashed out, both of them surprised by the power she'd packed into the hit, both surprised by the fury that laced her words. He swallowed as he looked at Crowley's expression. The demon stepped away from Kevin's mother as he turned slowly back.
"Charming," he said, his gaze shifting to Sam. "Defiling her corpse has just made number one on my to-do list."
Dean took a half-a-step forward, his eyes almost black with a rage that went far deeper, and was far hotter than Mrs Tran's. He stared at Crowley as Sam stepped forward to intercept him and Crowley moved away a little farther.
"Uh-uh-uh. Don't mind a little love tap, but anything more, and our mooky pals here may just throw you out, and that would be a shame," Crowley cautioned them, glancing over his shoulder at the auction's enforcers, positioned along the walls, watching them impassively now.
"Dean. It's not worth it," Sam said, keeping them both in his peripheral vision. Sweat was trickling down the back of his neck. There were too many powder kegs in here, given what was at stake.
"Listen to Moose, Squirrel," Crowley mocked, tensing slightly as he saw Dean's murderous expression.
The doors behind him opened and a large man with fine, white hair cut very short, came striding through them. He wore a black sweatsuit, enlivened by broad white stripes down the arms and legs, his eyes fixed on the podium at the end of the room, ignoring the invited guests.
"Ah. Here comes our host," Crowley said, turning to watch Plutus walk past.
A voice came over the sound system. "Honoured guests, please take your seats."
Crowley looked back at them, his mouth twisting up slightly. "Saved by the bell, boys. Aren't you lucky?"
"Gentlemen, the auction is starting." Beau slowed as he passed them, meeting Crowley's eyes for a second and extending his hand toward the seating ahead of him as his gaze moved to Sam and Dean.
"Good luck with the bidding," Crowley said derisively, walking away.
Kevin followed him, leaving a reasonable distance between them, and Sam and Mrs Tran began to walk after them.
"Nice right hook," Sam said, bending toward Mrs Tran and keeping his voice low. She glanced up at him, smiling, and laughed softly at the memory.
Dean looked at the glass case holding the Word of God. Chances were the case would be unbreakable, he told himself. It might look like glass and feel like glass, but he doubted very much it was, in fact, glass. And even if he could break it, there was nowhere to run in here, nowhere to hide. His weapons were sitting in a box somewhere. He had three hostages to fortune, sitting in a roomful of monsters. He turned away reluctantly.
He was distantly aware that the adrenalin that had flooded him when Mrs Tran had taken her clean swing at Crowley, was only slowly leaching away now. His liking for Kevin's mother had risen dramatically with that one action, even if it hadn't been the smart thing to do.
"Dean Winchester?"
Dean slowed and turned to look at the teenager in a red-and-white fast food outlet's uniform standing to his right.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"Uh, no," the young man admitted. "But, uh, I knew Castiel."
Dean looked at him, glancing down the room to the auction seating and back to him. "You're an angel?"
The angel nodded. "This – this was the nearest vessel on short notice," he explained uncomfortably. "We don't usually come to things like this, but, uh …"
Dean cut him off. "You're chasing the magic rock?"
"We protect the Word of God," the angel corrected him.
"Well, awesome job so far, uh ..." He glanced down at the name tag attached above the shirt pocket of the uniform. "Alfie."
The angel glanced down at the shirt. "Actually, my name is Samandiriel."
"Let's just stick with Alfie," Dean suggested in a tone that indicated he would never call the angel anything other than Alfie, even under torture.
The man was much as others had described him, Samandiriel thought. "I wanted to ask you about Castiel. What happened to him?"
Reduce it down to twenty five words or less, Dean wondered, looking aside. He didn't want to tell the angel standing in front of him what had happened. Didn't want to think about it, didn't want to revisit the memories.
He glanced back at Samandiriel, and sighed inwardly as he saw the raw need in the vessel's eyes. Maybe Cas' friends had the right to know, he thought.
"Well, me and Cas – we, uh – we iced Dick Roman and got a one-way rocket ride to Purgatory for our trouble," he summarised uncomfortably.
"But you escaped," Samandiriel said hopefully, his gaze searching his face for something – Dean wasn't sure what the angel was looking for. Wasn't sure he could give it to him even if he had it.
"Did – did Castiel?" Hope. Hope was what he'd been looking for.
Dean looked at him. He couldn't open his mouth. Couldn't say the words. Not to ease the angel's pain. Not to destroy his hope. Not to find the release he knew he needed for himself.
Samandiriel looked at the struggle in the man's eyes and felt his hope for the wayward angel who'd been a friend, a good friend, vanish. Whatever had happened, Castiel had not returned from Purgatory. And the creatures that lived there … an angel glowed like the heart of a star in that place. Castiel could not have hidden, could not have stayed safe.
"You know," the angel said quietly "There are some in Heaven who still believe, despite his mistakes, that Castiel's heart was always in the right place." Samandiriel looked at Dean.
"Are you one of them?" Dean asked, not questioning his need to hear the answer.
"I think too much heart was always Castiel's problem."
Samandiriel turned away, walking behind Dean and into the shadows.
He'd known – a part of him had known – from the moment they'd found him, down by the river, that Cas was looking for a chance to do penance, for a means to redemption, possibly, or eternal punishment. For what he'd done in Heaven and what he'd done on Earth. At the time … at the time, he thought he'd gotten through to the sonofabitch stubborn angel.
Memory filled him up and he pushed it away, pushed it down. It was too hard, too fucking hard to live up here in the world and be haunted by everything – everything that had happened. Everything he'd seen. Everything he'd done. He'd tried so goddamned hard for so goddamned long and he'd failed.
Dean pulled in a deep breath. Sooner or later, he was going to have to look at it again. In detail. He kept telling himself that once Hell was locked down, once they'd done this job, once people were safe from the demons … he'd have the time to do it. Or at least, he would if he didn't die in the meantime.
Beau tapped his cane against the floor. "Ladies, gentlemen, and ... others, welcome to this once-in-a-lifetime event."
Dean walked down to the row of seats, hesitating next to Sam and making a gesture for Sam to move along. Sam ignored it, waving his hand insistently. Dean rolled his eyes slightly and stepped past, taking the seat next to him. On his other side, Mrs Tran sat like a statue, her attention on the man speaking at the front. Kevin was beside her, staring ahead with equal rigidity.
"For three thousand years, Plutus has been the first name in magical and alchemical esoterica."
Sam pulled out his wallet and thumped Dean's arm, waving it in front of his brother's face to get Mrs Tran's and Kevin's attention as well. They emptied purses and billfolds, passing the total to Dean as Beau continued to extol the virtues of the business.
"Our prices may be high, but our quality is unmatched, and we stand by our products."
One row behind them, on the other side of the aisle, Crowley looked over at Sam. "Don't know why you're so keen on that hunk of dirt. So it tells you how to blast back a few demons? I'll just make more. You ought to know how easily the human soul becomes black and fouled," the demon said, his gaze flicking from Sam to Dean. "Both of you, actually."
Sam stiffened. "Yeah, we'll see."
Dean kept counting, and Sam hoped he'd missed Crowley's words.
"All right. So, how much we got for plan B?" He turned to Dean.
"Uh, well, we got our hacked credit cards, about two thousand dollars, and a, uh, Costco membership," Dean handed the card over to Sam apologetically.
At the front, Beau picked up a black velvet stand, holding a detailed and delicate pendant on a necklace. "Our first item, the amulet of Hesperus. Let's start the bidding with, um, three tons of dwarven gold?"
Dwarven … gold? Dean leaned forward a little, uncertain that he'd heard that right. He glanced sideways at Sam who was hyperventilating a little as he stared up at Beau. Sam turned his head to look at his brother when the bidding when up.
"Ah. This lady. I have three. Do I have, uh, four? Ah. Four, gentlemen here. Four. Going for five. Five?" Beau looked around the room. "Five to this lady. Do we have an advance on five tons?"
"Plan C?" Sam said, looking down past Dean to the others.
"Big time," Dean said, staring at the floor.
"Any other bids? Any other bids?" Beau looked around the room.
"I'm gonna use the restroom," Dean said, getting up. He couldn't think in here where a necklace had just sold for five tons of dwarven gold. What the fuck was dwarven gold?
"Sold." Beau slammed his cane on the floor and put the Amulet of Hesperus onto another table.
Sam barely noticed his brother leaving, as he hunched up in the chair and put his head in his hands. Dwarven gold, he thought bitterly. Of course, they could leave an IOU with Plutus, hop a plane to England, stage a heist on Gringcotts … he shook his head. They'd played a few fields that had been out of their league before this, and had somehow managed. He couldn't remember how, right at this minute, but he knew they'd done it.
Dean walked up the aisle slowly. Magical items. Legendary treasures. A bit out of their pay bracket. If he'd kept the amulet that Sam had given him, he could have bid that, he thought sourly. The one and only God-early-detection-device. He couldn't prove it worked – but then probably no one could, since it was the general consensus that God had taken an early mark and bugged out for parts unknown.
Ahead of him, the rumble of wheels dragged his attention back to the warehouse and he watched one of the god's attendants pushing a trolley with several items on it. Well, if you can't do it legitimately, he thought, there was always the darkside.
He followed the man with the cart out of the main room and up a wide hallway, ducking back behind the corner as the man turned and stopped at a thick, steel door at the end of a shorter corridor. Dean watched as he unlocked the door and pushed the cart inside, coming back out and re-locking the door behind him. He backed up as he heard the man's footsteps coming toward him. Stepping forward with a full stride, he ran into the man, apologising and twisting around him, hands held out appeasingly. The other man looked at him contemptuously and walked away.
Dean stopped as the attendant turned the far corner, looking down at the key he'd lifted from him. He walked into the short hall and along to the steel door. The key fitted and turned, and he opened the door, not really believing that it was going to be this easy.
The room held a number of the auction's unsold artefacts. Including the tablet. It also held two dour-faced men, both of whom were staring at him.
Dean looked at them. "This isn't the men's room."
Neither of the men moved. Two against one, no weapons. Well, he had no weapons, he wasn't so sure that they were unarmed. For a second, the low-level tension in him, the hum that lived in his nervous system since he'd stepped through a brilliantly lit portal from another plane, flared up and he almost stepped into the room, willing to see if he could take them. You'll die, a voice said clearly in his mind. And with you, any hope of closing Hell and locking Crowley away.
"Okay," he said to the men, backing out and closing the door.
He walked down to the intersection of the corridors and turned back to the auction room, stopping and leaning against the wall for a moment. Was that getting harder to keep under control, he wondered? He couldn't get a handle on the triggers. He looked down at his hands and closed them slowly into fists to hide the very faint tremble in them. Use it, don't let it use you, he told himself and dragged in a deep breath. He was alright. He'd be fine.
He straightened up and walked down to the doors to the auction room.
"Our next item up for bid, the hammer of Thor, Mjølner," Beau gestured to the monstrous weapon, gleaming in its display case.
'A finger bone from the frost giant, Ymir," said the small man near the front, lifting a darkened long bone from his bag and holding it up.
Sam turned to look at the man curiously.
Beau raised his brows, and turned to look at the god, who watched the proceedings from a chair to one side of the stage. Plutus shook his head. Beau looked back to the man.
"I'm sorry, Vili, that's not quite enough for this item," he said apologetically.
The younger brother of Odin shook his head and rummaged in the bag on the seat beside him. "Uh... the bone and, ah … five-eighths of a virgin," he said, holding up a paper bag that was leaking blood.
Sam recoiled as the bid sank in, face screwing up. Behind him he heard a door close.
Beau glanced back at Plutus who nodded. He turned to Vili and smiled.
"Ah. Sold."
Dean's hand slapped into his shoulder, and he looked up at his brother, his mind still idiotically circling the question – which five of a possible eight were in the bag? – as he moved across and Dean sat down beside him.
"Plan C tanked," Dean muttered in a low voice.
"Our next lot, the Word of God …," Beau said, holding up the stone tablet and showing it to the room. "Capital "G". Very old, very rare."
Sam gathered up the combined loot he had, shifting as he prepared to get up.
Crowley stood up. "Three billion dollars."
Dean and Sam turned together to look at him. "Whoa."
At the back of the room, Samandiriel rose to his feet. "The Mona Lisa."
Crowley turned to look at him sourly and looked back at Beau. "The real Mona Lisa … where she's topless."
The angel kept his gaze fixed on Beau. "Vatican City."
"Alaska."
Beau shook his head. "Too much green tape to get to the oil."
"All right. The moon," Crowley said, looking at Plutus.
Dean shook his head. "You're bidding the moon?"
Crowley glanced at him, one brow cocked. "Yeah. Claimed it for Hell. Think a man named Buzz gets to go into space without making a deal?"
"Ah. I'm sorry, gentlemen. It seems that our reserve price has not been met. So in order to stimulate the bidding, we're going to add an item to this lot … Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord." He pointed to Kevin and the teenager disappeared
Linda Tran felt her body turn to ice as her head snapped around to her son's empty chair. She was on her feet before she'd realised she'd moved.
"No!"
On the stage, beside the god, Kevin reappeared, handcuffed to a thick chain, holding him to the balustrade. Sam and Dean shot to their feet, and behind them the largest of the auction's enforcers placed a hand on each of their shoulders and forced them back down. Goddamn double-crossing gods, Dean fumed as he watched Kevin pulling at the chain.
Beau ignored the disturbance, looking around the room. "Mr Tran is the only person on Earth who can read this tablet, which makes them a perfect matching set."
"So out of your league."
Dean scowled as he heard Crowley's mocking whisper behind him.
"So, do I hear a bid of, um –"
"No, stop! I'll give you whatever you want," Linda cried out. "I have a 401(K), my house –"
Plutus laughed quietly in his chair and Beau smiled pityingly.
"Good effort, Ms Tran, but I'm afraid this is a little out of your price range," he told her.
Looking at his smile, she felt a moment of pure clarity. This is what it meant, she thought, time stretching out as if the clocks had stopped. This was the moment when the choice between self and responsibility became crystal clear, and there was no choice at all, only what had to be done.
"My soul," she said clearly.
"Mom, don't!" Kevin shouted from the stage.
She kept her eyes on Beau, unable to look at her son. "I bid my soul!"
The room was silent. Sam sat in shock, his mind filled with a thousand memories of being alive – technically, physically alive – and feeling nothing, for anyone. Dean looked up at the small woman standing beside his brother, his mind ticking through the possible outcomes of a dozen scenarios of Mrs Tran's decision, ignoring the distant clamour and push of the part of him that he'd locked away, the part that couldn't believe what was happening. If she went through with it, it would solve all the current problems, probably introduce a few new ones, but they could deal with those when they came up, he thought.
He looked at her, wondering if she was as determined about it as she seemed. "Are you sure? That's a big move."
On the stage, Plutus looked up and studied the woman. "Interesting."
"If it's souls that you're after, I can give you a million souls," Crowley countered, his gaze flashing from Kevin's mother to the god.
Dean looked around, twisting in his seat to face Samandiriel. "Hey, flyboy, are you gonna get in on this?"
"We guard the souls in Heaven. We don't horse-trade them," the angel said, looking at him reprovingly.
Crowley hid a smile at the angel's piety, looking at the god. A million souls - somewhat twisted - against her one? No contest. "So we have a deal."
"It's not about the quantity, chief," Plutus said to Crowley, putting his paper down and leaning forward. He turned to Mrs Tran. "It's about the sacrifice."
"This little lady's soul is the most valuable thing she has. It's everything," he continued, his eyes dark as they looked at the woman. He straightened up and turned his head to stare at Crowley. "Are you willing to offer everything, Mr Crowley?"
Crowley broke free of the god's stare and looked down at the floor for a moment. Everything. Everything was Hell. All he'd struggled for. All he'd fought and bled and schemed for. And he was not. He lifted his head, catching Dean's gaze.
"Tick-tock," Dean said softly.
Crowley scowled, turning back to Plutus. "Fine. You win. I bid ... my own soul!"
Plutus burst into laughter, the sound echoing around the room as he leaned back in the chair. "Mr Crowley, you don't have a soul."
Crowley dropped his head, ignoring the no-doubt smug expressions on the faces of the two men in the next row. It was true. He didn't. He had Hell, and that was all he wanted.
Plutus looked at Mrs Tran and smiled warmly. "Congrats, sweetheart."
"Thank you," Mrs Tran said shakily. "Thank you."
She could feel her knees trembling as it hit her. Thanking a god for taking her soul? She didn't regret it, she told herself. Didn't regret the decision or the consequences that would follow. There had been no choice. None at all. But she felt strange … and she needed to sit down.
Crowley turned away, brows drawn together as he left the room.
Sam flicked a look at his brother. Too much had happened in too short a time and he couldn't get his head around most of it. Dean looked … not shocked, he thought. Not surprised at all. Maybe because he knows what it feels like to make a decision like that, the small voice in his mind said quietly. Because he knows what Kevin's mother is actually feeling.
He closed his eyes. Even in the maelstrom of their lives, it seemed impossible that he could've forgotten that. And Dean had done it worse. Had known the fate that was waiting.
The room was empty, except for the three of them. Sam looked at Mrs Tran as she sat in front of him, watched the small expressions cross her face as she thought about the things she was afraid of. There was nothing he could do to help, to ease the fears or assuage them. His own memories filled his mind. He remembered killing … as easily and thoughtlessly as breathing. He remembered Dean, trying to explain about feelings, about grief and loss and the suffering of the soul. His brother had struggled to articulate the things he'd felt more passionately, more openly in that time than he'd done in the previous thirty years. He remembered looking at things and seeing them just as things, neither better nor worse than any other thing. He remembered thinking that there had to be more. He had been an efficient and effective hunter in that time. And it had all meant no more and no less than putting on a shoe.
"Losing my soul – is it going to hurt?" She stared at the floor, her eyes shining but her control holding, not a single tear escaping and rolling down her face.
Dean looked at her and nodded. "Probably."
"Will I die?"
"No," Sam said certainly. "You'll just wish you were dead."
"Okay," she whispered to herself, fingers tightening on her knees.
Sam swallowed and looked at his brother. Wasn't this what we're supposed to be stopping, he asked him silently. Wasn't this the point of what we did – do?
Dean shifted in his chair uncomfortably, feeling Sam's gaze on him.
The job. Focus on the job, he thought. They would have the tablet and Kevin. They could figure out a way to get her soul back after the job was done. They'd taken down gods before, wasn't so hard. But for right now, there was the job. Closing the gates. Locking up Hell.
He looked up as Beau opened the door and came in, stopping a couple of paces in as he looked at them. "It's time."
Dean got up, and Sam slowly followed, looking down at the small woman.
"You all right?" Dean asked, reluctantly because the question was one of the more stupid that had come out of his mouth. She wasn't all right and he knew she wasn't all right. Why the fuck were there so many stupid things to say at times like these?
Yeah," she said, answering as automatically as he'd asked. She looked up at them, and turned to look at Beau, standing behind her. "Can I – can I just have a minute?"
Beau inclined his head slightly, lips pursing at the show of emotion and walked out the door. Dean and Sam followed him.
"Dean, this sucks," Sam said, hesitating to look back at her. Dean glanced over his shoulder.
"Are you kidding me?" he murmured, turning back to the door. "We're about to close the gates of Hell forever. If you ask me, we got off cheap."
He walked out, and Sam followed him.
She heard the door close and stood up. Get yourself under control. This is your decision and you will see it through to the end, she told herself firmly. You won't die. You'll get to see him live a long life, a happy life. The thoughts didn't help as much as she needed them to, but she could breathe again. She turned to walk out of the room and flinched back as a boy walked up to her, from the shadows on the other side of the room.
"Excuse me, miss. Hi. My name is Sam–," Samandiriel stopped, thinking of Castiel's friend. "Alfie. I'm an angel."
Mrs Tran looked down at his uniform. "Who works at Wiener Hut?"
"No," Samandiriel looked down as well. The next time he had to do this, he would at least change the vessel's clothing, he thought. "This is, uh – it doesn't matter. Uh, what you did in here was amazing, and I want you to know that my friends and I can protect your son. The Winchesters are exceptional men, but ... they're just men. If Kevin comes with us –"
"Oh, no. No," she stopped him, her face screwing up in apology. "The last time that angels tried to help my son, I watched them die, and Kevin went missing for a year. So, no offence, but … I'm gonna take my chances with them."
Samandiriel looked at her and nodded in acceptance. He knew what had occurred when the Leviathan had come for Kevin.
He turned away, leaving the room and she watched him go. For some reason, the encounter had given her hope. She hadn't thought much of the two men in any real sense since she'd met them. Things had happened too fast. Too many things. Too many unbelievable things, she admitted to herself. But her instincts about people had served her well her entire life. And her instincts about them were strong. They were not like the angel, clear and pure and shining. They were … both … flawed and … broken, a little, she thought, turning toward the door. It didn't seem to matter. What was not broken, in either of them, was their purpose. Their qi. She smiled to herself. It had been a long time since she'd considered the principles of her grandmother's teachings. Nevertheless, that was what she felt.
If she was to lose her own qi, it would be good to be with two men who had such strength in theirs. They would protect Kevin; she knew that without ever having to be told. Either would defend her son to death. And they would complete the task they'd set themselves. She knew that too. No matter what it took. So her sacrifice would not be in vain.
It was as good as she could hope for under the circumstances, she thought, straightening her back as her hand rested on the doorknob. It was good enough.
The hallway was empty when she opened the door. She walked through, looking around uncertainly. Footsteps echoed softly from the corridor to the left and she walked after them.
The main section of the warehouse was almost empty, most of the display cases removed and packed away, the last items that had been successfully purchased waiting on the long table to one side.
Mrs Tran came into the room, escorted by Beau and she walked to where Dean and Sam were waiting, her face calm.
Plutus watched indulgently as Vili approached the table and picked up the weapon reverently, holding it against his chest.
"Good to see it going back to family, Vili," the god said. Vili looked at him and turned away, crooning to the hammer.
Dean looked around impatiently. "Where's the kid?"
Plutus looked over to him and snapped his fingers and Kevin appeared, his arms held by the god's guard.
"What are you going to do with her soul?" Sam asked Plutus abruptly.
"Whatever I want," the god answered, looking at him as he walking closer.
"I might sell it," he continued, looking down at her. "Or maybe I'll just tuck it away with my other precious objects, let them keep me warm at night. Mmm." His eyes narrowed as he smiled at her. She lifted her chin and straightened her back, staring back at him.
"Whenever you're ready, dear," he said, stopping in front of her and holding out his hands.
She filled her lungs and took a step forward, extending her arm toward the waiting god. Her jacket sleeve rode up and Dean's gaze sharpened on the mess of burns where the tattoo had been.
"Wait!" He stepped forward and grabbed her arm, pushing the sleeve higher, looking at Sam.
She turned her head to him, looking up into his eyes. "Hello, boys."
The voice that came out of her mouth was not her own.
"Crowley," Sam said, as her dark brown eyes flashed red, covering the socket from end to end.
"Surprise," she said, shoving at them, arms extended and hands held out. Both men were thrown against the opposite walls, dropping to the floor in clouds of plaster dust and splinters of broken furniture.
"No," Plutus said disbelievingly. "You can't. My warding spells."
"Your girl Friday," she said in her own voice, tilting her head to the man behind him, "showed me a few loopholes."
Plutus turned and looked at Beau. He smiled and shrugged. Plutus turned back to Crowley.
"And it all cost me was an island in the South Pacific. I love a bargain," she purred at him. Plutus looked down at her, rage filling him, the room beginning to tremble with the force of it.
Crowley stepped back as Beau plunged the yew stake through the back and chest of the god. She reached out and gripped the end as the god shook and died, throwing it hard at the enforcer holding Kevin. He clutched at the end, looking down at where it'd pierced his chest, and dropped to the floor.
Crowley looked around and picked up the tablet from the table. "Can't do all my tricks, but I can do enough."
"Get out of her!" Kevin screamed. Crowley laughed.
"If I had a nickel for every time someone screamed that at me ..." she said, stepping toward him. Behind her, Dean rolled to his feet, pulling Ruby's knife from the box of weapons. She caught the movement in the corner of her eye and turned to look at him, and Sam launched himself from the wall, bringing her down in a brutal tackle, the Word of God skidding from her hands across the floor. She lifted her hand and closed her fist tightly and Sam moaned, drawing up his legs as pain filleted his organs.
Crowley rolled out from under him and scrambled up, sweeping up the stone tablet by the doorway.
Sam opened his eyes as the pain vanished, rolling to his feet to stand next to Dean, the two of them forming a barrier between the demon and the prophet.
"Getting in touch with your feminine side, huh, Crowley?" Dean looked at Mrs Tran steadily, the knife raised in front of him.
"Defiling the corpse, step one, more like it," Crowley smiled humourlessly at him. Sam's arm swung out as Kevin made a strangled noise and tried to get past him.
Dean shook his head slightly. "Well, come and get him."
Crowley considered him. "One out of two ain't bad."
He turned suddenly and ran from the room, the diminishing sound of Mrs Tran's sensible heels clicking along the hall.
Dean swore and turned to Sam. "Watch the kid!"
He bolted from the room, apexing the doorway corner and accelerating as he caught the sound of the heels up ahead.
Kevin burst through the gap he'd left, and Sam swung around, one long arm reaching out, his hand catching hold of Kevin's jacket and holding him back. "Kevin, don't! Let Dean take care of it."
Kevin turned to look at him, flicking past him, his eyes widening as he saw the god's assistant draw a gun from beneath his jacket. "Sam! Move!"
He thrust hard against Sam, ducking as the sound of the gun filled the room, ricocheting flatly around the hard walls. Sam ran doubled over as Beau tried to shoot him, diving behind an upturned table and landing on his hands and knees, inches from the terrified expression of Vili, who still clutched Thor's hammer to his chest.
Kevin broke from the wall, his heart thumping as he headed for the open door. Beau swung around, the barrel of the gun tracking the teenager along the wall.
"Don't!"
Kevin skidded to a stop, looking at the no-longer dapper man, his gaze dropping to stare at the small barrel of the gun on him.
"You know what's better than one private island? Two private islands!" Beau snapped, gesturing with the gun's barrel to move to the side of the room.
Behind him, Sam hefted the hammer, feeling for the balance and shifting his grip down the shaft slightly. He started to lift, and felt an electrical charge run from the massive head down to his hand, filling him with a blast of power. The hammer swung up on its own, curving and accelerating on its downwards trajectory like a juggernaut, the broad flat end striking the head of the god's attendant with the concussive boom of thunder, and lightning arced and crackled from the weapon to Beau.
Looking down at the dead man, Sam felt the charge dissipating through him, but his fingers felt welded to the metal, and as he flexed them, he could sense that the hammer was ready for more. A million images flowed through him, moving faster than he could process them, rugged lands and dark seas to the north, ice and snow and a mountain towering above the clouds, a huge smoke-darkened hall filled with men and women, the fires roaring in the enormous hearths to either end, long, low ships with bellying sails, cresting gunmetal grey waters under the scudding clouds of a brewing storm … he stood still and felt them filling him, crowding out his own memories, pushing at him to let them in and take him over.
Kevin's gaze rose from the body on the floor to Sam, noticing the younger Winchester's distraction and he rabbited out through the door.
"Okay. Give it back. Give it back," Vili said.
Blinking at the man's voice, Sam felt the memories recede a little as he looked at the slight man who stood in front of him, round lenses winking in the dim light of the room, outlined by the blue-white lightning bolts that still flickered around the hammer.
He closed his eyes as he tried to fight his way free of the images, dragging in a deep breath and opening them again. He could see Vili standing there, one hand extended for the hammer. He'd only borrowed it, he remembered. Just to kill Beau.
Another thought hit him and his forehead furrowed up as he looked carefully at Odin's brother. "Where'd you get the five-eighths of a virgin?"
Vili smiled nervously, lifting a narrow shoulder in a one-sided shrug.
Sam stared at him and felt the charge rise from the hammer again, flooding him, blazing along his nervous system.
Vili's eyes widened dramatically as he watched the change in the man. "Oh, no."
Sam strode forward and Mjølner rose through the air. The room filled with the static and scent of a storm, briny and sharply bitter. When the hammer hit, thunder rumbled and shook the walls, and Sam's features were outlined and etched in blue-white light. He looked at the hammer and shouted out, head thrown back as the sound roared from his chest, his fingers opening one by one with the force of his will until the hammer dropped to the pile of clothing on the floor and he could breathe again, the visions and memories of the son of Odin gone from his mind.
Crowley cursed the shortness of his vessel's legs and the height of the heels she was wearing as he raced through the display room of the warehouse, the tablet tucked against his – her – side. He didn't even see Winchester until he found himself slammed against the concrete column, feet dangling off the floor and Dean's thrice-damned demon knife inches from his neck. At least the bitch had decent upper-body strength, he thought, one small hand gripping the man's forearm like a talon and holding the edge of the blade off his precious person, the other flat against Dean's chest, keeping him just far enough away. The tablet had dropped, fallen to the floor somewhere and he couldn't spare the time or the energy to look for it.
"Mom!" Kevin skidded to a stop as he saw Dean leaning over his mother, the long, wickedly serrated knife blade at her throat. Dean flicked a glance at him, and that was all Crowley needed, that slight shift in weight and balance. He shoved Dean back and opened the stupid bitch's mouth, rushing out of her like a freight train.
Dean swore as he watched the King's reddish black smoke pour out of Mrs Tran and writhe and twist along the ceiling, down to the floor to disappear through the crack under the door. Back to his own vessel, he knew. One that he couldn't kill so easily, one that came with all the powers the demon had somehow managed to acquire when he'd become the ruler of the Underworld.
He stood and watched as the door opened and Crowley walked in, brushing off his tailored suit fastidiously.
"Well, that was exciting," the demon said mildly. "Good luck closing the gates to Hell without this." He bent and picked up the tablet, waggling it in one hand for emphasis.
Dean said nothing. There wasn't anything to say. He moved slightly and lifted the tip of the knife, and Crowley saw the warning clearly enough. Taking Kevin wouldn't be as easy.
The King of Hell shrugged inwardly. There were a lot of ways to achieve one's goals, if one had persistence and patience. He had both. He looked down at Kevin.
"Surprising what mommy dearest has rattling around in her head. Want to know who your real father is?"
Kevin looked at him and glanced down at his mother.
"Scandalous."
"Crowley!" Dean snapped, lifting the knife a little higher.
Crowley looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then turned back to Kevin. "I know we're not mates, Kevin, but one word of advice – run. Run far and run fast."
He paused and looked at Dean, his eyes narrowing. "'Cause the Winchesters – well, they have a habit of using people up and watching them die bloody," he said maliciously, knowing that Dean, at least, would never deny it. He hadn't been party to the torture of Dean, back in the old days, but he'd heard enough to know where the buttons were, the fissures and the weaknesses.
"Toodles." He wiggled his fingers at Dean and turned around, walking out through the doors without turning back.
Dean watched him go, forcing the acrid taste of his need to kill the demon back down his throat. He hadn't lied, he thought. That was one up on Lucifer anyway. But Crowley had a gift for presenting things in the way that would hurt the worst. Sam would've protested. He couldn't. Couldn't deny that everyone they'd known, everyone who'd helped them, everyone … had died bloody and on their behalf.
He blinked as he felt the walls thin out and dragged in a deep breath, turning his back on Kevin and his mother, ducking his head as he sought the strength he needed to stay on track. It appeared in his mind, reassuring and hardening, an ugly, ill-weighted weapon, a long piece of stone, the edges chipped to razor keenness, bound with vines and plaited grass string to a thigh bone. He couldn't remember the first time he'd thought of it like this, reached out for something to dull the emotions, to still the rising panic. But it had been transmuted now in his head, the very image of it was a reminder and a well of power, a way to get whatever was trying to escape back down in the deeps and keep it locked away. Purgatory, he'd named it. And the image encompassed everything that he'd needed to remember about the place.
He heard Sam's footsteps and looked up as his brother walked into the room.
They'd lifted her into the chair. She would stay where she was put, Sam realised. Motor skills were alright. He thought it was probably shock that was keeping her isolated, inside her mind. Her eyes were open and she stared at whatever was in front of her. They weren't responding to stimuli, he'd tried the flashlight earlier.
Kevin knelt in front of her, his hand resting on her knee; hers were loosely curled on her lap.
"Has she said anything?" He looked down at Kevin. The boy shook his head slowly.
"Listen, Kev, what your mom went through – it's hell. Trust me, I know," Dean said quietly. "But she seems tough. She'll pull it together."
"You tried to kill her," Kevin said, staring at his feet, then slowing raising his head to look at the hunter.
Dean nodded, his gaze cutting away from that accusing stare. "Kid, in this life –"
"Shut up!" Kevin snapped at him, swinging back to his mother. "I don't want to hear any more of your crappy speeches."
"I just want to talk to my mom," he said a moment later, more quietly. "Alone."
Dean glanced at Sam, who nodded. "Sure. Five minutes."
They walked into the display room, neither speaking. Dean leaned against a case at the far end of the room, tipping his head back for a moment to loosen the muscles of shoulder and neck. Sam closed the door behind them, moving away from it and walking over to his brother.
"Dean, were you really going to, uh ..." Sam's voice trailed away as he tried to think of the least brutal way to put it.
"What?" He looked at his brother blandly. "Slit her throat? Yeah, I was. I wish I had."
Sam looked at him, searching his face, the features so familiar, but the expression not. He couldn't see anything of the man he'd thought he'd known in that uninvolved expression. "Dean –"
"It was Crowley, Sam," Dean said, raising his voice slightly. "No matter what meat suit he's in, I should've knifed him."
Sam dropped his gaze. One more thing. One more thing that was different. What happened to saving people, he wanted to ask, but he didn't doubt that Dean would have an answer for that as well.
Dean looked at discomfort … and dismay … on Sam's face. He was losing him, he thought suddenly. Losing the one real anchor he still had. He couldn't keep him without letting him in a little.
"I mean, yeah, it would have sucked, and I would have hated myself, but what's one more nightmare, right?"
He tried to lighten the comment with a mocking half-smile, and then gave up on it, the words way too close to the truth. It wasn't just Purgatory's screwing up of his sleep patterns or the tension that filled him whenever they were in one place anywhere for more than a couple of hours that made it impossible to get more than an hour's sleep at a time now. The nightmares had come back, the kind of horrific mish-mash that his subconscious seemed thrive on … he thought of the axe and pushed the mess back down again, away from here, away from now. It went unwillingly, and he turned his head to look at the doors, the back of his neck prickling strongly.
"It seem a little quiet in there to you?"
They walked down to the auction room doors and Sam opened one, looking around the dimly lit, apparently empty room. "Kevin?"
He walked around the rows of chairs. "Kevin!"
"You've got to be kidding me!" Dean growled, looking around. The flash of white caught his eye and he walked to the chair that Mrs Tran had been sitting on, picking up the small note that lay on top of the seat. "Hey."
"What?" Sam turned around, looking at him as he walked back, unfolding the paper and reading it. "What's it say?"
"Uh, that they bolted, that we shouldn't come looking … and since we lost the tablet, Kevin figures we don't need him."
"Yeah, but Crowley still does. What's that kid thinking?!" Sam ground out, fear driving anger faster than he could control. Goddamn idiot, he'd –
Dean looked down at the note. "He thinks people I don't need anymore – they end up dead."
Sam heard the change in his brother's voice and he forgot about Kevin. For the first time since Dean had returned, Sam heard him again. Felt him again. Under the almost matter-of-fact tone of his voice, there was pain. And doubt. And his brother.
He watched Dean turn away, look blankly at the wall on the other side of the room. He saw the tightening in the small muscles of jaw and cheek and forehead as he struggled with something that had risen inside of him, struggled to keep it in.
"Dean, that–that– that's not true. You know that," Sam said awkwardly. God, where were the fucking right words when you needed them. Over the last couple of weeks, he'd wondered if his brother had lost his soul down there, he'd been so goddamned unemotional and business-like about what had to be done. So unlike Dean, whose emotions had dictated everything he'd done, for as long as Sam could remember.
He'd been just the way he'd felt when he'd been flying soulless, Sam had thought.
But that wasn't it. Dean – all of him – was somewhere in there, buried under whatever crap he'd had to deal with over the last year. He'd done it deliberately, Sam thought, done it to stop whatever memories and load he'd been forced to carry down there from breaking him up here.
The brother he'd had wasn't gone. Just … held down. And he didn't know how to help him. Or, looking at the silent struggle going on in front of him, even if trying was such a good idea.