Chapter 2: Next Of Kin

Crowley appeared in the iron Devil's Trap three feet in front of Sam. Fury boiled in the hunter's chest at the sight of him.

"Hey, Moose," Crowley greeted, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Save it," Sam growled. "Dean is dead. You're the reason he's –"

"Upstairs, alive and kickin'? Yeah. You're welcome."

"He – what?"

"Dean's alive, Sam."

Sam's mind seemed to freeze. That was impossible. Demons couldn't bring a soul back without making a deal. Cas wasn't powerful enough. And demons lie.

"What are you talking about?" he said petulantly, ignoring how desperately he wanted the words to be true. "I didn't –"

"Make a deal? No need." Crowley shifted his weight confidently. "Given the amount of deals you two –"

"Crowley!"

"Right, apologies. You don't need to make a deal to bring Dean back because Dean wasn't dead. Well, not all dead," he added.

"What are you talking about?" He was too tired for this jargon. How could Dean be alive, just like that? "He died in my arms, Crowley. He's dead. You're lying," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, his already thin patience waning.

"Right. And wrong." He held up a placating hand as Sam opened his mouth angrily, taking a threatening step forward. "I heard about what happened."

"How?"

"Doesn't matter. The point is, I went to that factory and I found the Blade. I brought it back to its rightful owner, and Dean woke up."

Sam's mind was slowly grinding back into gear, trying to understand. Hope and blessed relief were swelling traitorously in his chest, along with a prickle of nameless fear. Please let it be this simple, for once.

"So … Dean's … alive? He just … woke up? Just like that?" Hope was battling scepticism, and the weight in his heart seemed to grow heavier. Dead men didn't just wake up. Not by themselves. Not without a catch. Especially if they were a Winchester.

Crowley looked down at his shoes as he carefully stepped forward. He stopped at the edge of the Trap and raised his head to meet Sam's gaze.

"Yes. But, Sam … It's not quite that simple. He's alive. But it was the Blade and the Mark that brought him back."

"Meaning what?" Please no please no please no!

"Meaning that Dean is no longer what you'd call … human."

Relief froze into fear. Hope became dread.

"What?" The word was barely audible.

"He's a demon, Sam. Like Cain."

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. The fear turned to terror that gripped his heart in an iron grasp. He felt as though he was choking.

"No. No, he c-can't …"

"I'm sorry, Sam. Truly." Crowley's eyes were sincere. Sam believed him.

Terror and confusion and grief coalesced into a storm of rage that thundered through Sam. He strode forward, Ruby's knife flicking into his palm. He grabbed Crowley's lapels and dug the edge of the knife into his neck, just deeply enough to draw blood.

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch," he growled, his face inches from Crowley's. "You're the one who took Dean to Cain. You're the one who made him take the Mark. You're the one who made him kill Abaddon. You did this to him!"

Such was the venom in Sam's voice that even the King of Hell quailed slightly in his grip, before the fear in his eyes was masked with indignation.

"Listen, Moose, no one forced Dean to take the Mark. As soon as Cain said it'd kill Abaddon, he was gaggin' for it!"

"Fine! Then how do I save him!" The knife pushed deeper into the soft flesh.

"You can't!"

"What?"

"You can't, Sam! Dean's a demon and there's nothing you can do about it. You can't cure him, you can't kill him, and you can't save him!"

Sam shook him roughly. "Yes I can – the demon cure! It worked on you, it'll work on hi-"

"No it won't." The anger had left his voice. "He's no ordinary demon, Sam. He's not even a Knight of Hell. The only word for what he is is Cain because he's the only other person – creature – in existence like him. That demon cure, powerful as it may be, is not gonna work on Dean because he's not just a demon. He's far more. It's not gonna be that simple, Sam."

Sam stared into Crowley's eyes for a long moment, considering. He saw no lie in Crowley's gaze. Not that that meant much. He shoved him away, forcing him to stumble.

"My brother is a demon."

"My condolences."

Sam shot him a murderous glare.

He looked down to the knife in his hands. More to distract himself than anything, he pulled the still bloody bandana from his pocket and wiped Crowley's blood off the shining metal. Onto Dean's.

"I should kill you." His voice was low and deadly.

"Probably," Crowley replied conversationally. Sam didn't move. "Why don't you?"

Slowly, Sam looked up from the blood-soaked cloth. His eyes were dead and full of hate, and for the second time in less than ten minutes, the King of Hell suppressed a fearful shudder that only a Winchester could inspire.

"You might be useful." Sam turned and walked slowly away, his shoulders set and his back straight.

"Wait, you can't just leave me here!" Crowley roared. "I saved your brother!"

Sam paused in the doorway. Briefly, he considered spinning round and throwing the knife into the demon's chest. But no. He had bigger problems. He might need this knife when he met Dean. Suppressing a shudder at that abhorrent thought, Sam flicked the lights off.

"Watch me."

O*O*O*O

Sam was almost surprised how little time it took him to reach Dean's room. It seemed for every ounce of trepidation weighing down his heart, his legs carried him faster and faster.

He slowed when he reached the door, afraid of what he would find inside. His chest heaving with exertion and fear, he stepped over the threshold.

The room was empty.

No Dean. No dead brother lying in his bed.

So Crowley wasn't lying about that part, at least.

He turned to leave, but stopped. Something on the floor had caught his eye, and he stepped forward cautiously. It was a small square of white paper. With a sinking feeling, he picked it up and turned it over, knowing what image he would see on the other side.

Dean and their mother, smiling in front of the home Sam had never known.

Oh no. Sam's heart sunk lower.

Placing the photograph carefully in its place beside the lamp, he took a deep, fortifying breath, and jogged out of the room in search of his lost brother.