Chapter 5: Potential
Dean thudded into the hard ground and fell to his knees, coughing up thick, dark blood. There was a sharp pain in his chest, like a really, really bad stitch. He gasped in a desperate breath, which made the pain flare angrily. Before he could fill his lungs, his abdomen tightened, doubling him over as a new bout of coughing started, more blood bubbling up his throat and spilling out over his lips. What the hell had happened?
"Crowley!" Dean croaked between coughs. He sucked in another, deeper breath and focused, using the Blade's calm to centre his mind on what he needed. "Crowley!" he roared, and his eyes filled with blackness.
O*O*O*O
Crowley paced the perimeter of the Devil's Trap slowly as his thoughts raced. He'd forgotten this bloody Trap. And he was certainly not willing to spend another few months stuck in this desperately boring cell. Not to mention the effect that'd have on Hell. So, how was he going to get out?
He was still pondering the best solution to that particular issue when the dungeon door burst open. Sam thundered through, the demon knife clutched firmly in his right hand. Crowley stopped his pacing and raised his hands as though to deflect the oncoming attack.
"Easy now, Moose," he began cautiously, wondering what the hell could've happened to make the hunter's eyes look so … ancient.
Sam stopped at the edge of the Trap, his stance coiled like a spring, ready for action. "You are going to tell me everything, everything, you know about Cain and the Mark," he snarled.
Crowley could almost feel the anger and hatred radiating off the man standing less than a metre from him. His brows scrunched as he tried to discern the haunted eyes that were staring daggers into him. He hadn't expected Sam to take his brother's demonization all that well, but this … this was frightening. Crowley was almost … concerned. Almost.
"You alright, Moose?" Okay, so he was mildly concerned.
Sam exhaled in an aggrieved parody of a laugh. "Oh yeah. I'm just peachy. Get talking."
"Where's Dean?"
Sam bristled. "Gone."
Bollocks.
"Gone?"
"Yeah. Gone."
That didn't make sense. "He just … left you?" he clarified.
"Yes, Crowley, he just left me! Right after crushing the Impala, that is." Sam's voice had lost its venom.
Oh bollocks. Even he knew how much that old banger meant to the Winchesters.
"He just vanished."
"What!" Crowley exclaimed in disbelief. He could teleport? Already?
Sam looked up at him and both his eyes and tone had regained a steely edge. "He is a demon after all."
Even saying the words was clearly painful. Crowley almost – almost – felt sorry for the poor kid.
"Which is why," Sam continued, "I need to know everything there is to know about Cain."
Crowley smiled confidently. "Well, I'd be happy to tell you all I know, in exchange for … what? Out of this Trap, for starters."
"In exchange for me not killing you. Slowly."
"Huh. Not much of a deal, mate –"
"I'm not making a deal, Crowley! You're gonna give me the information I need or I will kill you. There's no way out of that Trap. Either you're going to help me get Dean out of this mess, or you're going to die. And don't think Dean's the only one who knows how to make someone suffer – I spent over a year with Satan, remember."
That was a very pregnant pause.
"You're bluffing."
"Take that chance." Sam smirked, unperturbed, the fire in his eyes flickering dangerously. "Start. Talking."
Crowley weighed his options. There weren't many.
"Alright, alright, but I don't know much, mind, only rumours and –"
Crowley. A shiver ran up Crowley's spine.
"And what?"
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"Didn't you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Crowley!
Crowley felt a sudden pressure grip his entire being and wrench him into blackness.
His feet fell heavily onto long grass, and he staggered, trying to keep his balance. He succeeded, though only just. Squinting in the sudden brightness of the early morning sun, he looked around, bewildered. The sound of someone trying to hack up a lung caught his attention, and he saw Dean, eyes fading back to green, hunched over in the grass with blood running down his chin.
"Oh bollocks!" He ran forward to Dean's side. "Dean! What the hell just happened?"
Dean responded by coughing up another globule of dark, glistening blood.
"Did you just summon me from a Devil's Trap?"
Another hacking cough and an impatient glare made Crowley focus.
"Oh, right – hold on, mate." He placed a hand carefully on Dean's forehead and let his power flow into the younger demon, healing the splice inside. "You shouldn't have tried teleporting yourself so soon," he continued as Dean took a relieved breath and finally stopped coughing. "You don't know how yet, not properly. Every demon needs training." He didn't voice his astonishment at how Dean had done so well on his first try. They were miles away, in some abandoned graveyard that was mostly field by now. And he hadn't run himself dry either – only coughing up blood after such an exertion? That was impressive. Crowley grinned, his eyes alight with the sudden possibilities. This was his first day as a demon. Imagine what he could do in a week?
"Teleporting did this to me?" His voice was rough from the coughing.
"Yep. Every demon needs training," Crowley repeated, biting back his excitement. "Usually that happens in Hell so they don't embarrass us while they're learning."
Dean nodded and wiped the blood from his chin, but said nothing. The First Blade lay on the grass by his knee.
"You good?" Crowley asked, and Dean nodded again. "So you did just summon me, yeah?"
"Yeah. Why do you look so freaked?"
"Because your brother had me in your dungeon – in a Devil's Trap, that's why. I didn't know is was possible to pull a demon from one of those without breaking the symbol – especially not an iron one, underground, hidden by God knows how much warding!" Crowley stopped his babbling and stared at Dean.
"Well, you said I'd be powerful."
"Yes. I did," he muttered thoughtfully.
Dean looked away and cleared his throat, his eyes falling on the motionless Blade. He tilted his head as though listening to something just on the edge of his hearing.
"You need to get killing?" Crowley ventured, anticipation swelling in his stomach. The things this boy could do …
"Yeah …" Dean replied, as though he hadn't really heard Crowley. He listened to the Blade for another long minute, his hand inching slowly towards the hilt. Before he made contact, he stopped, and looked back up at the older demon. "Demons need training, huh?"
Crowley nodded, a slow smile creeping along his lips.
"You offering to be my Mr. Myagi then?"
Crowley stood and extended a hand to the older, blood-covered Winchester. "Wax on, Dean-san."
Dean reached up and once their hands touched, Crowley winked, and they disappeared, leaving Stull Cemetery quiet and forgotten once more.