Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Also thank you to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me hammer out the details.
Chapter Five
Dean led Charlie into the room that concealed the dungeon, a sense of trepidation running through him. He didn't want Charlie anywhere near Crowley, but she had insisted on coming along.
"You're keeping the King of Hell in the file storage room?" she asked.
"No, I am keeping the King of Hell in the dungeon," Dean corrected.
"Oh. Well that does make more sense," she said nodding her head, "So why are we in here if he's in the dungeon?"
Dean grabbed the corners of the shelves that separated the cell from the rest of the room and pulled them back. "Welcome to the dungeon, Charlie."
Charlie's wide eyes took in the room, coming to rest on Crowley sitting in his manacled chair at the table. "You're Crowley?" she asked doubtfully.
Crowley smiled ingratiatingly at her. "The one and only."
"You don't look much like I pictured you," she observed. "You're kinda small."
Dean almost laughed at the look on Crowley's face.
"I'm taller standing," Crowley said a little stiffly.
"By about an inch," Dean said.
Crowley scowled at him. "I'm assuming this isn't visiting time at the Winchester Zoo, which means you've bought Ginger here to see me for a reason. Knowing you, and knowing that constipated look on your face, that means something is very wrong. Did that pesky witch give you the slip? Need my muscle as back up?"
"The witch is dead," Dean said dully.
"I killed her," Charlie added, and Dean couldn't blame her for the hint of pride in her voice. "Stiletto to the brain."
"Well done, dear," Crowley said indulgently. "Now, if she's gone, it means something else has happened." He looked from face to face. "And… the winner is Moose. What's the great lummox done this time?"
"He's done nothing," Dean said quickly.
"And yet I really doubt it." Crowley considered for a moment. "You're looking constipated, which for you passes as stressed. You've bought HTML Barbie with you, and she's looking kinda shell-shocked. And the moose isn't looming over the pair of you right now. Whatever has happened, it's him, so come on, what did he do this time?"
"He died," Charlie said angrily, obviously goaded by Crowley's snark. She wasn't as accustomed to dealing with it as Sam and Dean were.
"Again?" Crowley asked, his tone weary. "Did he drop the hairdryer in the bathtub or did the witch get a lucky shot in before Barbie took her out?"
Charlie took a step forward. Dean wasn't sure what she intended to do, but he held her back with a hand on her arm anyway. Whatever she doled out, Crowley would get a kick out of it, and Dean didn't want to give him any satisfaction.
Crowley grinned at her and then turned his gaze on Dean. "So, I assume you're here to make a deal. Little brother's life for eternal damnation, perhaps."
Dean felt Charlie's tension at his side. "No," he said.
"No deal?" Crowley asked, confused. "Then why are you here? If this is a funeral announcement, there's no need. I could have waited to read it in the obits. I'll give it a miss, if you don't mind. I don't want to ruin the moment of you lighting him up like a Christmas pudding by laughing."
"I want a deal," Dean said. "I'm just not taking eternal damnation for it."
"Why not? Wasn't a problem last time."
"Been there, done that. Besides, I have something you want a lot more than my soul to exchange."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Freedom," Dean said.
Crowley rested back in his chair. "What makes you think I want freedom?" he asked. "I could have my demons bust me out of this place anytime I like. Only reason I haven't is because it suits me to be here. I am learning everything I need to know from my cozy suite."
Charlie glanced at Dean and asked, "Is he for real?"
"He thinks he is," Dean said. "It's all bullshit, but he believes his own press. He doesn't know that this place is warded to the gills and off the grid to boot. Even if it wasn't, me and Sammy saw Abaddon recently; she made it pretty clear that Hell is dancing to her tune now. The only reason she'd be coming for Crowley is to kill him. So, him not wanting his freedom may be true. He's probably happy here as it's keeping him safe from Abaddon and her followers."
"I don't hide," Crowley growled.
"You did from Lucifer," Charlie said. "Two months under a rock, wasn't it? After they burned down your house and ate your tailor, of course."
"I'm sorry, have we met?" Crowley asked, his brow creased.
"She read the books," Dean said tiredly.
"Ahh, they're a whole new level of bollocks, aren't they?"
"I actually kinda love them," Charlie said, then catching Dean's eye, she became solemn again. "Point is, you do hide."
"I don't like you," Crowley said petulantly.
"I never liked you much either," she replied.
"Back on the actual point," Dean said irritably. "Crowley, we need you to do something."
"Obviously," Crowley drawled. "It's what you're offering that we need to discuss. Lucky for you, it's not your soul I want this time. It occurred to me that you might be useful in future. No, what I want is freedom."
"You do want us to let you go?" Dean asked.
"I want more than that; I want freedom. I want to go where I like, do what I like, and I want you and the moose to leave me alone to do it."
Before Dean could say a word, Charlie spoke up. "You want carte blanche for evil?"
Crowley attempted to look wounded. "You make me sound so bad. I am just a demon like any other, doing my job."
"Demons jobs are evil," Charlie said. "And you're the king of them all. Your job is like… uber-evil."
"Bright this one, isn't she?" Crowley said.
"Actual genius in fact," Dean said.
"Mensa certificated," Charlie added.
"And she's right," Dean said. "You are evil. There is no way we're giving you a free pass to do whatever you want. Not for this."
"Not even for your brother's life?"
"It's not Sam's life I want to deal for, Crowley." Yet, he added mentally.
"Then what is it?" Crowley asked, genuinely confused.
"We need you to look into the veil," Charlie said. "We're working with the theory that he could have died. We don't know for sure."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "That's it? You think Sam is dead? How can you not know? Have you tried checking for a pulse?"
"It's complicated," Dean said.
"It always is with Winchesters. Okay. Fine. I can peek into the veil, no problem."
"Brilliant," Charlie said.
"In return for something, of course."
"Of course," Dean said. "What is it you want? I'm not giving you freedom for this."
"That's where you're wrong," Crowley said. "You want me to do it, you get these shackles off and let me go."
"Not a chance," Charlie said.
"I wasn't asking you, Barbie. I'm talking to him. What do you say, Dean? I'll look into the veil for you, throw in a rescue if the moose is there, dump him back into the overlarge body, but only if you give me what I want."
Dean clenched his jaw as he considered. It was what he wanted, Sam back, but this was a helluva cost. Sam wouldn't want it. He would hate Dean for making this deal, but he would be alive to hate and that was what mattered. Wasn't it?
"No, Dean," Charlie said quietly, her voice rising when he didn't answer. "No!"
"Charlie…" he started.
"No!" she said harshly. "Come with me a minute." She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the dungeon and adjoining room into the hallway. She released him and turned on him, her eyes blazing. "You cannot make this deal!"
"It might be the only way I can get him back."
"It will certainly be the only way you can destroy the world completely," she said. "You know Crowley better than me. Tell me honestly, can you see this ending well for anyone, including Sam?"
Dean looked away. He wasn't stupid. He could see the gaping hole in the plan. He could get Sam back just to lose him, and everyone else he loved, because of this deal. The last time he had made a deal, he'd gone to Hell, and that had lived up to its name, but this time he was risking sending the whole world to hell. It had ultimately cost Sam's life and sanity to fix it last time. He would never risk that again. But the alternative was to leave Sam possibly dead. And if he was dead, he was trapped in the veil with all those voices, slowly losing his mind. He couldn't leave Sam to that fate.
His fingers came up to his hair and he pulled hard on the strands. It was an impossible situation. He couldn't make the deal, but he couldn't leave Sam there either. He couldn't leave Zeke to spend eternity running around in Sam's body like some kind of bad joke.
"We don't even know if he's there yet," Charlie reminded him.
"We hope he is," Dean said in a low voice.
"Absolutely, but at the same time we have to face the fact there is a worse scenario. You could make the deal, destroy the world, and not get Sam back anyway. If we could just find out… Oh!"
"Oh what?" Dean asked, seizing her arm hard when she didn't immediately answer. "What Charlie?
"Okay, we need to know for sure, right, whether Sam is alive or the other thing. So we need someone that can tell us."
"Yeah, a demon," Dean said.
"Or a psychic, right? Am I right?" Her words came out in a rush. "I mean, Missouri Mosely could sense the poltergeist and your mom in your old house, and she could sense energies. If Sam did die, well, he's not going to have gone far from you, is he? She might be able to sense him close, and if she can't, I bet she'd be able to siphon through the voices on the Ouija better than you."
"Charlie, I haven't seen Missouri Mosely in years. I don't know if she's still alive even."
"She is though!"
"How do you know?"
"I might have looked her up when I read Home. And I might have called her to talk." Her voice dropped. "And I might have gone to her for a reading."
Dean's mouth dropped open.
"What? I was curious. This is it, Dean, I am sure. We just need to get Missouri here and we'll be able to know."
Dean stared into her wide, excited eyes, and he felt a flicker of hope. This might just be what they needed.
So… Crowley is being his wonderful—to write—dickish self and we're off to see Missouri. This chapter was a lot of fun to write, so I'm hoping it made for good reading.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx