Chapter 18: The War of Kingdoms

Sam's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and anger, each fighting for dominance. His hands were clenched around the quarter-empty bottle of whiskey, shaking. He was focusing all his energy on staying on the hard chair and not flinging Ruby's knife with all his might into Crowley's face.

"So you want him dead, too, is that it?" His voice shook with barely suppressed fury. He stared at the floor, focusing on the curve of iron that arced gracefully through the ground between him and the man – the thing, he wanted to kill.

"No."

He almost looked up. His eyebrows twitched in surprise.

"No? You just said we have to stop him by any –"

"Yes, and we do. But do I want him dead? No. Believe it or not, Moose, I'm actually quite fond of you two morons."

Sam snorted, still winning his staring contest with the strip of iron. "I'm guessing you're still on human blood, then, right?"

Crowley sighed heavily. "No, I'm not. But thanks to you two freaking do-gooders, the taint of it just won't leave. So now I am, forever, a soppy, soft, pathetic excuse for a demon," he snarled. "With feelings."

Sam glanced up at last to see the look of disgust on Crowley's face. "Then why do you want to help us?"

Crowley met his gaze and sighed again.

"I may be a soppy, soft, pathetic excuse for a demon," he said calmly. "But," he added, "with the human blood and feelings, and all that crap came a somewhat human perspective."

Sam nodded. He wasn't exactly sure what Crowley meant by a 'human perspective', but it was better than trying to kill everyone at least.

As his anger simmered down to the usual background churning, a thought struck him.

"What did you mean by 'a soul like Dean's'?"

Crowley frowned. "Well, c'mon, Moose, he's hardly a saint."

"Neither was Cain," he retorted.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "No, not just the monster-fighting warrior crap. His soul, Sam. It's hardly normal."

"How so?"

Crowley gaped. "How so? He's been to Hell!"

"So have I." Sam shrugged.

"And that's normal to you, then, is it?" Crowley asked sarcastically. Before Sam could reply, he continued. "Look, it's not just that he'd been to Hell. But the fact that he had broken and tortured who knows how many souls isn't exactly helping matters."

Sam opened his mouth angrily to defend his brother, but Crowley waved a hand irritably, silencing him.

"He's an archangel vessel, Sam," he said as though it was obvious. "His soul, your soul, they're not the everyday balls of fairy light and love. Do you think any soul could've survived what Dean went through in Hell? What you went through? No. Being an archangel vessel isn't just about the body or the bloodline. It's about the soul. Yours and Dean's, they are so much more powerful than the average. They'd have to be, to hold so much power.

"But Cain, he wasn't all that special. His soul was just a soul. A strong one, sure, since he was among the first, but even so, it's nothing compared to Dean's. When Cain received the Mark, when he became a demon, the power of the Mark and Blade expanded within him as much as possible, but not as much as it could. The Mark is the power of an angel pact – a pact with an archangel no less. You of all people know how powerful Lucifer is.

"With Dean, because his soul is so much more powerful than Cain's, he was able to contain more of it while still human. Killing Abaddon – that should've killed him. Would have, if any normal human with the Mark had tried it. And when he died, and the Mark took hold, it could expand so much more inside him than it could in Cain. Dean has powers even Cain never knew, or at least never dared use. He and the Mark, and the Blade, are one in a way Cain never was. I mean" – he gestured emphatically – "Cain was able to stop! He was able to throw the Blade away and stop killing. It was hard, I'm sure, but he managed it."

Crowley lowered his voice as he met Sam's distraught gaze.

"I think there's very little hope of Dean doing that, Sam," he said softly. "His bond with the Mark is too strong. It might not be possible to break it, even for a second."

Sam shook his head, adamant. "If I can get to him, talk to him, I know he'll snap out of it –"

"And how'd that go for you last night, hm?" Crowley asked, unconvinced. "I know you're brothers and you love each other and all that crap, but you need to understand this, Sam. Dean may well be beyond curing, in any form. He may well be lost."

Anger flurried inside him once more like the first dancing flakes that announced an oncoming storm. He stood up, whisky sloshing in the bottle with the speed of the movement.

"Dean is not lost, do you hear me!" he shouted. "I can save him, I know I can! I'm not gonna just leave him as a demon for eternity!"

The rage flowed out of him as quickly as it had stormed in. He sat down heavily; his shoulders slumped, his chest throbbing. He couldn't do this alone. He needed Dean. Dean would know what to do. Sam hadn't a clue how to find him. He needed help.

"I agree. We can't allow him to live like this for much longer. In fact, we may only have a few months."

Sam sighed. Not another life-or-death deadline, emphasis on the 'dead'. "What are you talking about?"

"Dean's plans. I told you, the world is going to die. Soon."

Patience fading faster than a doused flame, Sam took another long pull of whiskey to stop himself punching Crowley. Once he'd swallowed the burning liquid, he glared at the demon. "You gonna elaborate or what?"

Crowley glared back. "Since you asked so nicely, yes, I will. You remember what Abaddon was planning?"

"She was mining souls for her own personal army." As if he was likely to forget that particular nightmare in a hurry.

"Well, Dean's taken up where she left off. Only he's faster."

Oh crap.

"Dean's ... mining ... souls?" he said slowly, horrified.

"Yep. At quite a production rate, too. He already has a small army of die-hard loyal demons who think he's basically their god. Any and all demons who dispute him – or annoy him, for that matter – he either kills or chucks in a draining cell so he gets even more powerful. But mostly he kills. First Blade addict and all."

"Why didn't he kill you?"

"My good looks and plucky nature – why do you think, you idiot?" Crowley snapped. "The Demon Tablet! I'm the only one on Earth or in Hell who knows anything about it! He wants all the cheats, all the secret power-up codes. He thinks I have them all, so he kept me alive. Barely," he muttered darkly.

"And do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have all the cheats?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, you ignoramus, I don't. But I have enough."

"Enough for what?"

"To stop Dean."

There was a very pregnant pause.

"You mean you know how to kill him."

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Sam's gaze. "Not exactly," he said, his tone evasive. "I'm not even sure if Dean and Cain can be killed. I mean, they're immortal. But there was a note or two that could prove useful."

"Like what?"

Crowley shot Sam a dubious glare. "Come on, Moose. You don't really think I'm gonna make it that easy, do you? I tell you what I know, you kill me. I enjoy living. Although," he added, gesturing disapprovingly at their surroundings and indicating his less than healthy appearance. "I'd prefer to be bumped up a class or two."

Sam heaved a great sigh. This was predictable. Crowley never did anything without ensuring he got something out of it. As much as Sam really, really wanted to drive his knife into that smug face right up to the hilt, he had to admit he needed help. Castiel had all but abandoned him, this was far too dangerous to include Jodie, and all the hunters he would have trusted with this mission were dead. Or they were the mission.

He did not trust Crowley. But he didn't doubt his knowledge of the Demon Tablet.

Feeling dirty just thinking it, he grudgingly pulled his chair closer to the edge of the Devil's Trap and levelled a reproachful glare at Crowley. "Do you know where Dean is gonna be?"

Crowley smiled that self-confident smirk Sam hated. "Not precisely, but I know where his factories are."

"Factories?"

"For the souls, Sam. He doesn't bother turning them in Hell."

"So you can get me to him? Help me trap him?"

Crowley nodded, his smile widening slightly.

"And then I'll cure him, and all bets are off. The next time I see you, I will kill you." His voice was like steel, cold and irrefutable.

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too, Moosie."

There was a short pause as Sam glared. Then, his voice serious once more, Crowley spoke.

"You really think the cure will work?"

"Yes." He answered automatically and with complete confidence.

Crowley thought a moment, silently gazing at the concrete floor.

"I don't know if that's possible ..." he said slowly. He looked up at Sam. "But I hope it is."

Sam was surprised. "Why do you care so much?"

Crowley pursed his lips. "Like I said, Moose. I got fond of you. But the bottom line of it is, we have to stop Dean before he can make his move."

"And what move is that, exactly? What is this big plan of his you're so scared of?"

Crowley snorted with laughter. "You think I'm the only one who's scared? For god's sake, Moose, haven't you been watching the news? I've been in demon jail for weeks and even I know how terrified people are!"

"Um ... no. I've been a little busy." Sam ignored the flicker of guilt. He really had no idea what was happening in the wider world. World War Three could've broken out and he'd be completely unaware.

"Hell's bells, Sam, what kind of hunter are you?" Crowley exclaimed in disbelief. He shook his head, chuckling incredulously. "There's been a boom in ghost activity, hundreds of people are going missing without a trace, mass murders – that's mostly Dean – international travel taking a dive – literally – soulless soccer moms going full American Psycho all over the place. The Muggles don't understand it, of course, but I thought you would have at least noticed it. Hunters haven't been this busy since the apocalypse!"

Sam glanced down to the floor, shame and guilt creeping like ivy around his heart. He had been so focused on Dean, he'd forgotten about the family business. But, a stronger, angrier voice whispered in his head, what's the point of the family business when the family's all dead? When one of them is a monster Dad would have him kill?

He shook his head slightly, clearing his mind. He shouldn't have to save the world. He just wanted to save his brother. The rest of the world would just have to cope.

"I've been busy," he muttered.

"Well, while you've been busy, Dean's been assembling his army. That lot you pranced into last night – a great plan, by the way – was just one small batch. He's got hundreds. Hundreds of demons loyal to him, made by him. Not to mention his Knights of Hell."

"His what?" Sam gasped, the colour draining from his face.

"Lucius and Michelle. They're not just demons. They're Knights. And," he continued with the air of a storyteller getting to his favourite part. "They're in their original meat suits too."

"What? How's that even possible?"

"He stole their souls, turned them, and then told them to go back. Genius, really. So apart from Dean himself, they're about the most powerful demons you'll find."

Sam hung his head. "Great," he groaned, his voice dripping with heavy sarcasm.

"Oh, it gets better," Crowley went on. "All that – all the soul farming – is just to get him his soldiers. He hasn't even started the war yet."

Sam looked up. "War?"

Crowley nodded solemnly. "Not just any war. A war of Kingdoms."

Sam frowned. "Kingdoms? What does that mean?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Heaven, Hell, Earth, Purgatory. The Four Kingdoms. All of them are linked by the Veil. Souls flow through them like water. You and I already know what you get when you mess with them. Opening Purgatory and trying to shut the gates of Hell" – he shot Sam a hateful glare – "didn't exactly do any of us any favours.

"But something tells me Dean disagrees with that. He's been rounding up his forces for weeks now and there's only one reason I can think of. He means to take Hell. There're still enough old demons down there who are powerful enough to challenge him, if they formed ranks. His demons are all young, but there are enough of them to overwhelm all of Hell, and any unturned souls they find there will be added to his ranks. Hell's a mess now anyway. Too many demons trying to be leader. They've all been too busy trying to kill each other to claim Hell's souls, so it's already a hell of a lot weaker than it should be. Having its king locked up for months hasn't exactly helped." He shot Sam another reproachful glare. "So Dean and his army will sweep over the underworld like a storm, killing every demon who doesn't swear their eternal loyalty to him and him alone.

"And he won't stop there."

Sam gulped and leant forward. What he was hearing hardly made sense. Dean taking over hell? Dean commanding an army?

"He's been torturing Reapers for weeks," Crowley continued after taking another long pull of whiskey. "I don't know for sure but it would make a whole lot of sense for him to pad out his army with the souls caught in the Veil, especially since they're so charged with energy, having been packed in there for a year. Reapers are the only creatures that can move in and out of that thing anytime they please. And I know he wants revenge on Metatron – which I actually encourage. That was a cheap shot. But he knows that with a force half the size of his he could probably overpower the Godsquad. He mentioned something about some portal backdoor? He could easily use the power of the souls he controls to rip it open, and storm the keep. They already call him Lord of Souls, and with the millions that are just waiting up there in Heaven? He'll be unstoppable, Sam. Nothing will even be able to challenge him. With the might of Hell and the Veil behind him, Heaven will be helpless.

"And then," Crowley continued, his voice more serious than Sam had ever heard it. "All that'll be left will be Earth. And it'll be utterly defenceless. He's promised his demon minions that they could live free in any kingdom they want. He could take a leaf out of Dick Roman's book and set up human breeding factories so they'll never run out of entertainment. But this time it's not just going to be in America. He'll go global, and there's nothing that can stop him. Not nuclear bombs, not human armies. All the angels'll be dead so there'll be nothing for mankind to do but die."

Sam was staring transfixed at Crowley, whose eyes were filled with the same terror that had gripped Sam for years after releasing Lucifer.

"I know I'm a demon, Sam," Crowley went on, and Sam was amazed to see a slight moistness in his eyes. "But even I know this can't happen. Yeah, I wanted Hell to be more powerful back in the day, but this ... Hell has its place, just like Heaven and Earth and Purgatory. If this happens, if Dean succeeds ..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. Words couldn't describe the horror the Lord of Souls was planning.

Sam could not reconcile the atrocity of so much death to the man he knew as his brother. How could Dean possibly be planning all this? Dean would die before letting any of this happen. He had died, to stop Metatron taking over Heaven and Earth.

Dean would never allow this to happen.

Dean would never set a horde of demons on Sam.

Dean would never, never leave Sam.

For the first time, Sam realised the truth. Cas had tried to tell him and he hadn't listened. Dean, his Dean, was dead. The monster controlling his body was not his brother.

But Sam was still sure about one thing. More sure than he had ever been before. He knew his brother was still in there. Somewhere. He had to be.

And he would free him. Before the demon could destroy him completely, as Sam knew this War of Kingdoms would, he would save him.

He owed him that much.