A/N: This fic will contain minor amounts of Crobby
Dean roars, plunging Sam's knife in another cackling Demon. Whirlwinds of black smoke surrounds him, threatening to suffocate. The anti-possession tattoo and left-over grace from Castiel keeps the Demons from possessing him, but still they attacked.
Grating voices sounds from behind his back, like nails on a chalkboard, listing out all of Dean's torturous crimes he committed in hell. He grits his teeth, fighting against the black eyed bastards. There were hundreds of Demons here, thousands upon thousands, and they all know who Dean Winchester is.
No matter how good of a hunter he is, Dean cannot defeat them all. Not on their own turf.
Dean wakes up in a black, white office room. The strong smell of cleaning agents assaults his nostrils and he wrinkles his nose. There is something about this place that makes his skin want to crawl off his back and the hair on the back of his neck stand on their edges. The room is empty. The floor, the ceiling and the walls glows, an eerie white light that hurts his eyes.
Dean is alert, every breath he takes echoing against the walls. He turns at the sudden presence behind him. Crowley waves a bottle of amber liquid at him. It's unfair, Dean thinks, for a Demon to get all the top quality alcohol.
"Drink, Dean?" Crowley asks, summoning a desk and sitting down on a large, cushy chair. He summons another chair opposite the desk.
"Sit, please." Dean sat, still glaring at Crowley.
"What the hell do you want, Crowley?" He asks, clenching his jaw.
"Don't go barking orders at me now, Squirrel." Crowley answers mildly. Smarmy bastard. "You know, you're Angel is not in good condition right now." Crowley pours himself a drink, only to have the glass splatter into pieces on the floor of the room as Dean leaps over the table and shoves his knife by Crowley's throat.
"What did you do to him." Dean's eyes darkens, sickened by the prospect of Cas being in Hell, at Crowley's mercy.
"Relax, Dean- I'm not the one doing anything to the Angel. You are."
"What do you mean?" Dean presses the knife in, the blade hissing in contact with sulfurous blood. Crowley leans back. Twice in a day he has a knife that could kill him pressed at his throat.
"Don't you know anything about Angelic biology?" Crowley asks. He rolls his eyes at Dean's confused stare. "Get your knife off me and I'll explain. Slowly." Dean scowls.
"Angelic biology."
"Yes, Angelic biology." Crowley rolls his eyes. He'd expected these Hunters to actually brush up on Angel lore since they got one of them on their side. But, no. People. Really. "They mate for life. Turns out Cassie there sees you as his mate, and you somehow managed to convince him that you, ah, rejected him, and now the Angel is dying. Good luck."
"What?" Dean asks, staring at Crowley. A deafening sound rushes through his mind. Castiel. Mate. Dying. Castiel is dying and it's somehow Dean's fault, why?
"It's called fading." Crowley shrugs. "Usually a long, painful process that happens when an Angel loses their" He looks at Dean. "Ah, soulmates."
"Then what?" Their what? Soulmates?
"Then they die. Really, Dean, have you been listening?" Dean sinks back down into the chair. He needs to get to Sam. Castiel is dying and needs his help. Sam is in the deepest pit of Hell with Lucifer. Castiel is tearing himself to shreds literally because of some perceived rejection. Where the hell did it all went wrong?
"Oh-" Crowley adds as an afterthought."I can let you out of Hell to see your friend."
"Name your price." Dean groans, putting his face into his hands. Dealing with Crowley. If Sam could see how low he has sunk. What about Sam?
"Oh, and Lucifer's cage is no longer here. Seems like he managed to bugger out of here." Dean snaps up.
"What do you mean?"
"It means Lucy broke out of his cage. The entirety of Hell who is here at the time felt it."
"What do you want?" Crowley is giving Dean information. Information that he did not need to give. Dean is not that much of an idiot. There is a catch here. There has to be, or he is going to seriously doubt Crowley's credibility as a Demon.
"To see an old friend, of cause." Crowley raises his new glass. "The grumpy old one, of course."
"You want to see Bobby?" Dean stiffens. This is no good. Bobby has been through so much, so damn much for Dean and Sam and even Cas.
"Hell no."
"Well." Crowley shrugs again. "You'll have to make your own way out then. I'll see you out, Squirrel. Good Luck with Kitten and Moose."
"Wait." Dean grits his teeth, glaring at Crowley. "What do you want with Bobby."
Crowley smirks. "That's the spirit, Deano." He carries on. "Is it so hard to believe that I just want to talk with the old man?"
"You're probably older than him." Dean points out.
"Bollocks, you got me there."
"Just to talk?"
"Just to talk, Squirrel. Pinkie promise. Deal?"
"Do I have to kiss you?" Dean makes a face.
"Nope! I'm the king of Hell, I can make deals without needing to mack faces with anyone." Crowley shudders. "Let's shake on it, then."
Dean shakes Crowley's hand numbly, wondering the implications of Lucifer's Cage being destroyed. Where is Sam now? If he is out, then why is he avoiding Dean? Lucifer could have whisked him off to somewhere, anywhere, Dean thought, gripping his knife tight.
Crowley drops Dean off at the old Salvage Yard.
"Wait!" Dean calls out to the Hell King's retreating back.
"If you don't need to kiss to seal a deal, then why the hell did you make out with Bobby?!"