CHAPTER 3

After the Winchesters paid up, they met with Crowley out by the Impala. Crowley, pleased with himself, leaned back against the car with his thumbs hitched into his belt, a lazy foot crossed over the other.

"Knock it off," Dean said. He aimed a kick at Crowley's feet, but the King of Hell sidestepped it easily. "What's the plan?"

"We need to collect another ally," Crowley said. "But to do that we have to cross over into the multiverse."

"It always comes back to the goddam multiverse," Dean said.

"We can drive there. Give me a moment to open the portal."

Crowley uttered a few Enochian words, and a portal just big enough to drive Baby through appeared in front of the car.

"This'd better not so much as scratch her," Dean said. He got into the driver's seat.

"After all I did to put her back together again, like Humpty Bloody Dumpty?" Crowley said. "Not likely. Shotgun."

"You're getting in the back," Sam said.

"Attaboy, Sammy! Let's go!"

Sam got in the passenger seat while Crowley got in the back. Dean inched the Impala toward the portal until her nose dipped in. The portal sucked at them, and their world became fire for one brief period before they came out the other side on a street in what appeared to be Washington, DC. Yep, Dean saw the Jefferson Memorial in the distance.

"It looks like home," Sam said. "What's different about this world?"

"The men here have vaginas," Crowley said. "Women have cocks. Too bad you boys are straight and narrow. It might be fun looking yourselves up and . . ." He put an index finger through his almost closed fist.

"Real subtle," Dean said.

"I've had the pleasure of myself here," Crowley said. "That's all I'm saying."

"You said too much."

Crowley ignored him. "Take a left here. Try not to hit the old lady crossing. Or hit her. Make things easier for me."

Dean waited patiently until she made it through the entire crosswalk just to irritate Crowley. The King of Hell let a small, almost inaudible sigh escape his lips.

"There. Turn in here. And you can park on the street."

Sam pointed. "There's a space."

Dean began to parallel park. "It's pretty convenient. How many times have we ever found parking in front of the building we wanted in any city?"

"You're TV characters, remember?" Crowley asked. "God has blessed you with super-ish powers. Hence." He gestured to the spot they now parked in.

Inside the building they took the elevator to the penthouse, where Crowley produced a key. It unlocked the doors and let them into a lavish condo filled with priceless gimcracks and genuine art whose actual owners might not have been aware that their property was missing.

A desk sat in the middle of a bountiful office, and a man sat behind it. He'd been reading a book until the doors had opened. Now he waited for their approach.

"Holy shit," Sam said. "That's Dembe."

"Which means—" Dean started.

"Hello Dembe," Crowley said. "We're here to see Reddington."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .