Jo stood there, her hands resting lightly on her hips, as if summoning the strength to say what she needed to. She locked eyes with Dean, who was still sitting in the Impala, looking more worn than usual but with a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. His sore body was hunched slightly, his exhaustion clear, but her words were cutting through the fog in his mind.
"Hey," she started softly, biting her lip. "Can we talk for a moment? I promise, no more fighting."
Dean gave her a wary look, not entirely convinced, but nodded anyway. "Sure."
Jo took a deep breath, stepping closer and kneeling beside the car door so she was at eye level with him. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it, though his eyes were still searching her face for answers. He hadn't expected this. The last time they spoke, her words had been sharp, full of hurt and anger. Now, there was a softness in her eyes that caught him off guard.
"I just wanted to say... I'm sorry," Jo said, her voice trembling slightly, but there was strength behind it. "For how I reacted to the news about your marriage... and how I made it seem like you owed me an explanation. I was wrong."
Dean blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. He hadn't expected an apology, especially not from Jo, who was as fiery and stubborn as he was. "Jo, you don't—"
But Jo gently squeezed his hand, cutting him off with a smile. "Let me finish, Dean, please."
Dean nodded, the lines on his face easing just a bit.
"At first, I was hurt. I think I just... I needed someone to blame, and you were the easiest target. But after I saw Maverick with you, I realized something. I was jealous, yeah, but not in the way I thought." Jo's voice was steady now, like she had come to terms with something deep inside her. "She's... well, she's drop-dead gorgeous, and I could see why any man would want to be with someone like her. I guess that stung a bit."
Dean smiled at that, shaking his head as if he knew where she was going.
"But it's not just her looks," Jo added, her tone growing more serious. "That's not why you married her. And I know that now. I can see how much she loves you—how much she gets you. She's your perfect match, Dean. She's everything I wasn't, and that's okay. After talking to her last night, I finally understood that. And in that moment, I took my heart back. I'm happy for you—really, truly happy."
Dean looked at Jo, his eyes softening, the tension he didn't even realize he'd been carrying melting away. "Jo... you don't need to apologize. You've always meant a lot to me, but this... this wasn't about choosing sides. It just happened."
Jo smiled, wiping away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. "I know. And I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to choose. Maverick is... amazing. She loves you fiercely, and I can see you feel the same way about her. You're good for each other."
Dean's chest tightened at her words. He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew Jo meant every word. This was the closure they both needed—the kind of conversation they never got to have before.
"I'm glad you two found each other," Jo said, finally standing up but keeping her hand on his shoulder. "And I'm glad I could finally let go. I didn't realize how much I needed to until now."
Dean stood, slowly, wincing slightly from his lingering soreness. "Thanks, Jo. You don't know what that means to me."
Jo grinned, that fiery spark in her eyes returning. "Just don't screw it up, Winchester."
Dean chuckled softly. "I'll do my best."
Jo smiled one last time, then walked away, the weight she had been carrying for so long finally lifted. She was free, and she knew Dean was, too. As Jo walked up the steps to the bar, Maverick and Sam came out together, chatting quietly. Dean watched as Maverick leaned over to Jo, saying something that made Jo smile before pulling her into a warm hug. It was the kind of hug that held no grudges, only acceptance and peace. Jo lingered in the embrace for a moment before she headed inside.
Maverick turned toward Dean with a wide, playful grin, her bright green eyes twinkling as she approached him. "Hey, sexy," she teased, stepping up close and pressing a light, sweet kiss to his lips.
Dean smirked, his arms already wrapping around her waist, pulling her in closer. "That's one hell of a hello," he said, his voice low. "But how about one more for good measure?" Without waiting for a reply, he kissed her again, this time with more passion, a kiss that spoke of relief, gratitude, and love—of everything he couldn't put into words.
Maverick melted into the kiss, her fingers brushing against the back of his neck as she lost herself in the moment.
"Okay, you two," Sam's voice interrupted with mock impatience. He stood leaning against the driver's side of the Impala, his arms crossed, a half-smile on his face. "Can you save it for when you're back in your own room, please?"
Dean chuckled, still holding Maverick close. He shot a look at his brother, one eyebrow raised. "Not gonna happen, Sammy," he replied, planting one more soft kiss on Maverick's lips before finally letting her go, his smile never fading.
Maverick laughed as she stepped back, brushing a hand through her long red hair. "Guess you're stuck with the PDA for now, Sam."
Sam rolled his eyes but couldn't help the grin that crept onto his face. "Yeah, well, as long as you two are ready to hit the road soon. I'd rather not be here when things start stirring again."
Dean glanced at the bar, knowing they had to leave but still feeling the weight of what they'd just gone through. He gave a nod, his hand slipping down to take Maverick's. "Yeah, let's get out of here." He glanced over at Sam, then at the Impala. "Ready?"
Sam gave him a knowing smile. "Ready," he said as he slid into the driver's seat, starting the Impala with a familiar rumble.
As they all piled into the car, Maverick settled into the back seat while Dean relaxed into the passenger side. She glanced back at the bar where Jo and Ellen stayed behind, worry still flickering in her eyes. "Think they'll be okay?" she asked quietly.
Dean turned in his seat, reaching his arm back to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I sure hope so, Mav. They're strong, and now they know exactly what they're up against. They'll hold their ground."
Sam chimed in, eyes focused on the road ahead. "We'll see them at the end of the week," he said, his tone confident yet laced with the same concern they all felt.
Maverick smiled softly at the thought, and as Dean moved his arm to rest behind him, Maverick reached for his hand again. She needed to feel that connection, that reassurance that things were finally beginning to settle, even if just for a moment.
Dean gave her hand another gentle squeeze, his thumb rubbing circles over her skin, a silent promise that they'd face whatever came next—together.
The Impala roared to life, her familiar growl filling the silence as Sam pressed down on the gas. The sunrise in the sky out before them as they left the bar behind, the road carrying them back toward the bunker, back toward home.
As soon as they pulled into town, Maverick felt a question bubbling up inside her, one she wasn't sure how to ask without feeling like she was overstepping. She looked at the two men in front of her, struggling with whether or not to say it. Her eyes darted up, catching Sam's gaze in the rearview mirror. His perceptiveness didn't surprise her anymore, but it still caught her off guard when he spoke up.
"What's on your mind?" Sam asked, causing Dean to immediately turn and give her a worried look.
"What is it, Mav?" Dean echoed, his tone filled with concern.
Maverick hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her question without sounding out of place. The last thing she wanted was to insert herself into something that was uniquely between them as brothers. But now, both of them were staring at her, waiting for an answer.
She took a deep breath, deciding to just rip the Band-Aid off. "I've been thinking about something, but please tell me if I'm overstepping. The last thing I want is to—"
"Mav, you're rambling," Dean interrupted with a small grin, trying to ease her nerves. "Just spit it out."
She exhaled and, with a nervous smile, finally asked, "I was wondering if I could get a tattoo like the ones you both have?"
Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You want a tattoo?" He sounded both shocked and pleased, clearly not expecting that request from her. Sure, Maverick wasn't the type he'd peg for tattoos, except for the simple one she had on her wrist, but this was different.
Sam, catching on, smiled broadly in the mirror. "That's actually a great idea, Maverick. Even though you have the mark of the blade, this would give you an extra layer of protection—double the protection, really—against demonic possession."
Dean, now fully on board, grinned. "When do you want to do this, Mav?"
Maverick let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, relief washing over her. She was thrilled they were so open to the idea. "As soon as possible, I guess," she replied, smiling at both of them.
Dean nodded. "Then it's settled. There's a place right by the magic shop."
Sam gave her a reassuring glance in the rearview. " Tattoo shop it is then. I dont know why we haven't thought of this before. You should have the same protections we do."
Maverick smiled warmly, feeling that deep sense of belonging as they drove into town, heading to the tattoo shop.
Just as they were about to walk into the tattoo shop, Sam's phone rang, cutting through the moment. It was Rowena, calling after her visit with Crowley. While Dean and Sam stayed outside to talk to her, Maverick stepped into the small shop. The scent of antiseptic and ink filled the air as she glanced around at the artwork lining the walls—intricate designs of skulls, animals, and abstract patterns.
A voice called out from the back, "Be right with you in a moment."
Maverick nodded, pulling out her phone to find the picture of the tattoo she had in mind. As she stood there, a man emerged from the back room. He was taller than her, bald, covered in ink from neck to arms, and his blue eyes swept over her with a smirk.
"How can I help you, beautiful?" he asked, the smile lingering as his gaze trailed over her form.
Maverick cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably under his stare. She subtly lifted her left hand, hoping the sight of her wedding ring would send a clear signal, but something told her that wouldn't be enough for this guy.
She glanced out the window, searching for Dean and Sam. Sam was still engrossed in the phone call with Rowena, but Dean had turned to look at her. His eyes narrowed, picking up on her discomfort immediately. In a second, he started walking toward the shop, his protective instincts kicking in. She could see that he was fighting his pain so that he didn't look weak to this man.
Turning back to the tattoo artist, Maverick forced a smile and held up her phone, showing him the design she wanted. "I'm looking to get this tattooed along my shoulder blade."
The man leaned in, a little too close for comfort, and gave her another grin. "I can do whatever you want, beautiful."
Before Maverick could respond, Dean stepped into the shop, his expression hard as he heard the man's words.
"Beautiful she is," Dean said, his voice low and firm, "but she's also my wife. So, I'd appreciate it if you treated her with the respect she deserves."
Dean moved beside her, slipping an arm around her waist. Maverick instinctively leaned into him, feeling the warmth and protection that his presence brought. The tattoo artist's eyes widened, and he quickly backed off, his smirk disappearing.
"Sorry, man. I didn't know," the artist stammered, taking a step back.
Dean's eyes stayed locked on the guy as he added, "Now that you do, let's keep it that way."
The man nodded nervously. "Of course, no problem. I can definitely do that tattoo for you. It'll be $50, and I'll just go sketch it out."
Without another word, the artist hurried to the back, clearly eager to avoid any further confrontation. Just then, Sam walked into the shop, glancing between Dean and Maverick with a raised eyebrow.
"What did I miss?" Sam asked, noting the tension in the air.
Dean smirked, giving Maverick's waist a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing much, just making sure everyone keep their hands and eyes on my things." Maverick slap Dean on the shoulder sofly to not hurt him.
Sam shook his head but didn't press further. "Anyway, Rowena said we need to talk as soon as we get back. Crowley's coming to the bunker. Apparently, he's got information we need."
Maverick's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Crowley. She had heard his name before, mostly in passing, and knew he was Rowena's son and the King of Hell. But beyond that, she didn't know much.
Dean saw the look on her face and offered a comforting grin. "Don't worry, Mav. We'll fill you in on everything once we're back in the car."
As the tattoo artist returned with the sketch, Maverick took a deep breath and relaxed, feeling more at ease now that Dean and Sam were with her. She admired the design, nodding her approval before taking her seat. Gently, she lowered her shirt off her shoulder just enough to give access for the tattoo, while still keeping her modesty intact.
Sam stood back, arms crossed, while Dean kept a sharp eye on the artist, making sure his gaze stayed where it should. The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the room, and after what felt like an eternity—both for Maverick and the tattoo artist—it was finally done.
Dean moved in close as the artist finished, wiping the tattoo gently. "All done," the man said, stepping back to let them take a look.
Dean leaned down, admiring the new ink with a smile of approval. He held out his arm for Maverick to grab, helping her stand up. As she rose, Dean grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with pride. "Now that's hot."
Maverick blushed a little, smirking up at him. "Yeah?" she teased, pulling her shirt back over her shoulder.
"Definitely," Dean replied, pulling her into him, wrapping an arm around her waist. "And now, you're officially part of the team."
Sam, watching the whole exchange, couldn't help but chuckle. "Told you it'd be a good idea," he said, nodding at the tattoo.
Maverick gave them both a grateful smile, feeling more connected to them now than ever. As they prepared to leave, she glanced at the mirror, seeing her new tattoo marking her as one of the Winchesters, protected and ready for whatever came next.
As the three hunters entered the bunker, still filling Maverick in on Crowley—his complex relationship with the Winchesters, the times he'd helped them, and the many times he'd worked against them—they turned a corner and were met with a heated argument between Castiel and Rowena. Castiel's usual calm demeanor had shattered as he and the powerful witch stood in the middle of the war room, locked in a shouting match.
"The last thing we need is that butt-face finding out about Maverick!" Castiel yelled, his eyes glowing with a rare intensity.
Dean made a face at Castiel's choice of words as he hung his head trying not to laugh.
Rowena slammed a book on the table, her fiery temper flaring to match his. "He already knows about the Blade and the light it holds with its holder! And that has everything to do with Samuel as well!" she snapped back, hands on her hips.
"But Crowley doesn't know that Maverick is the holder of the Blade, Rowena! And if he's working with the Shadow Reaper, and they find out—then what?" Castiel countered, his voice sharp with concern.
"My son is not working with the Shadow Reaper!" Rowena retorted, her accent thickening with anger. "That cursed Reaper has been wreaking havoc in Hell, messing with the order of things. Crowley wants Hell restored, and that means helping the boys—and Maverick—win this fight, whether you trust him or not! The last thing I want is for him to know who Maverick truly is. That's why I never said anything about her."
The tension in the room was thick, and it was clear to anyone watching that both of them were on edge. It wasn't often you saw an angel and a witch at odds, but when they were, it wasn't pretty.
Dean, Sam, and Maverick exchanged surprised glances, shocked not only by the intensity of the argument but also by the fact that Castiel and Rowena had been discussing Maverick. This was the first time Maverick had heard her role as the Blade's holder being so openly debated, and she could feel the weight of it settling in, heavier than ever before.
Sam, who had been listening silently, arms crossed over his chest, cleared his throat loudly to get their attention.
Both Castiel and Rowena turned sharply to see the trio standing in the doorway—Dean, Sam, and Maverick staring back at them, all looking expectant. Dean raised an eyebrow, while Sam shot them a look of quiet disapproval.
"Care to explain what the hell is going on here?" Sam asked, his voice calm but firm, eyes narrowing as he glanced from Castiel to Rowena.
Castiel shifted uncomfortably but spoke first. "We were just discussing the… complications of Crowley's involvement in this fight. There are things he shouldn't know—things that could put Maverick at greater risk."
"Like the fact that she's the Blade's holder," Dean interjected, stepping forward to stand protectively beside Maverick, intertwining his fingers with his.
Rowena exhaled, her face softening slightly. "Crowley doesn't know that particular detail—yet. But he knows the Blade is growing stronger, and it's close. He knows the holder of the Blade is one—meaning the wielder doesn't need to physically carry it at all times. He's trying to keep Hell from spiraling into chaos while the Shadow Reaper is tearing things apart. It's in his best interest to help us—for now."
"And you trust him?" Maverick finally spoke, her voice calm but laced with doubt, eyes narrowing as she studied Rowena.
Rowena turned her sharp gaze on Maverick, her expression unreadable. "My son? Trust him? I trust him about as far as I could throw him, lass. But at the moment, he's useful. And as long as that remains true, we'll use him. Believe me, the minute that changes..." She trailed off, her lips curling into a dark, knowing smile.
Dean scoffed, folding his arms. "Yeah, Crowley's always been 'useful'—right up until the moment he screws us over. Then it's the same old song and dance."
"Which is why I'm here," Castiel said, his eyes now focused on Dean and Maverick. "If Crowley is working with the Shadow Reaper—or worse, if he's playing a double game—we'll need to be on guard. We can't let him know everything. There's too much at stake."
Sam crossed his arms, brow furrowing as he pieced it together. "So, what's the plan? Crowley's coming here, and we need to stay ahead of whatever he's scheming."
Rowena pulled the heavy book she had slammed onto the table earlier toward her, flipping through the worn pages. Her expression grew serious. "The plan, my darlings, is simple. We let Crowley think he's in control. We use him to learn everything we can about the Shadow Reaper—while keeping him far from the truth about Maverick and the Blade. He'll think he's pulling the strings, but really, he'll be doing exactly what we need him to do."
Dean exchanged a quick glance with Sam, then with Maverick, before nodding slowly. His eyes darkened, voice low and cold. "Alright. But let's get one thing straight—if Crowley so much as breathes wrong, I'll gank him myself."
Rowena smirked, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Oh, darling, I'd expect nothing less."
Castiel, still watching the group intently, added, his voice more cautious, "We have to be vigilant. This fight is bigger than Crowley or even the Shadow Reaper. It's about protecting Maverick—the Light—and the two of you." He looked pointedly at both Sam and Dean. "We still don't fully understand what's happening with Sam's new abilities and the… effects the Blade might be having on Dean."
Just then, Castiel's eyes shifted to Dean, who stood upright, looking far healthier than he should have been. The angel's eyes widened in surprise. "Dean, what happened while I was gone? The last time I saw you, you were at death's door."
Dean shot a glance at Maverick before running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, about that," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. "Let's just say Maverick had something to do with me still standing here."
Maverick blushed slightly under Dean's gaze, and Sam stepped in to clarify what he believed. "I don't think it was just Maverick, Dean. I think it had everything to do with both of you. I think it's your souls—together—that healed you. The light within your souls intertwined, creating something powerful."
Castiel's eyes widened as he processed Sam's words. His gaze darted between Maverick and Dean, concern etched deep into his features. "You're saying this had nothing to do with the Blade? It was their connection—just the two of them?"
Dean looked down, still feeling the faint scars on his chest where his wounds had healed unnaturally fast. He nodded slowly, and Sam continued, "Yeah, it was weird. The moment I walked into the room, I saw them kissing. Then suddenly, this light appeared around them, blinding. And when it faded, Dean's injuries were completely gone."
Dean added, "Yeah, I mean, I still feel like I got hit by a semi, but I'm alive. Something… worked."
Maverick's voice softened as she looked at Dean, her gaze steady. "It wasn't just the Blade, Dean. I could feel the power, but it didn't come just from me—it was from both of us. Something… clicked."
Dean looked at her, trying to process what she was saying. The idea of his soul being tied to some greater power was hard to grasp. "Both of us?" he repeated, a hint of disbelief in his tone.
Sam stepped in, nodding in agreement. "She's right. That light wasn't like anything we've seen before. It wasn't just some magical fix—it was the two of you. The connection you share, the bond between your souls, that's what healed you."
Dean rubbed his chest absentmindedly, his fingers tracing the faint scars where his wounds had once been. "So, what does that mean? We're connected through this Blade. We already knew that part."
"Emotional balance!" Rowena suddenly chimed in, catching everyone's attention. Her voice was steady, but her eyes gleamed with the weight of her words. "Their bond goes deeper than just a connection to the Blade—it acts as a safeguard against corruption."
All eyes were on her now. Rowena continued, "If Maverick's Light ever falters, or if Dean is ever consumed by rage or despair, they can draw each other back from the edge. The Blade is tied to both of your souls, acting as a sort of tether. As long as you're together, neither of you can fall too deeply into darkness."
Dean frowned, still skeptical. "So you're saying, what, we're each other's safety nets?"
Rowena nodded. "In a way, yes. Think about it, darling. The Blade, dangerous as it is, becomes even more potent when wielded by someone who walks the fine line between light and dark—someone like you, Dean. But Maverick's Light tempers that. Together, you keep each other balanced. When Dean was on death's door, you didn't just heal him physically; your bond healed him spiritually. That's why the light was so strong—it wasn't just magic. It was your souls working together."
Maverick's gaze softened as she looked at Dean, understanding dawning on her. "So… if one of us ever starts to lose control, the other can pull them back."
"Exactly," Rowena affirmed. "And that's crucial. The Blade craves power, and it could corrupt either of you if given the chance. But this bond... it makes sure neither of you is ever truly lost."
Castiel, who had been quiet until now, spoke with a heavy tone. "It also means you're both at risk. If something happens to one of you, the other could be vulnerable."
Dean clenched his jaw. "So, not only are we tied to this Blade, but we're also tied to each other's survival?"
Rowena's gaze softened. "Aye, but that's not necessarily a weakness. It's your greatest strength. The Shadow Reaper, this is one of the many reasons he wants to stop you—but it's also the key to defeating them. You two aren't just connected to the Blade; you're connected to something far more powerful."
Sam looked between Dean and Maverick. "So, we protect each other, we protect the bond."
Dean exhaled, meeting Maverick's eyes. "Guess that means we're in this for the long haul, huh?"
Maverick smiled, squeezing his hand. "Looks like it."
Dean grinned back, his usual bravado returning. "Well then, let's make sure we use this bond to be even more powerful." Then went to pull Maverick in a kiss when they heard the voice of Crowley.
Crowley's lips curled into a wicked grin as he eyed the trio. "So when did Squirrel get himself a girlfriend?" he sneered, watching Dean shift in front of Maverick, blocking her from his view. "Don't want to share your new toy, I see." His eyes glinted mischievously, but as Sam stepped forward, positioning himself beside Dean to further shield Maverick, Crowley's grin only widened. "Well, well, Moose and Squirrel playing protector. How cute—a threesome, perhaps?"
Dean's patience snapped, stepping forward with a clenched jaw. "Okay, Crowley, that's enough. What's this news you're so eager to share?" Dean asked, clearly not in the mood for Crowley's games but also trying to divert his attention away from Maverick. Unfortunately, it seemed Crowley had other ideas, his gaze still lingering, trying to get a better look at the woman behind them.
Crowley raised his eyebrows, that sly, devilish smirk never leaving his face. "I'll tell you about Moose here," he gestured to Sam, "when you tell me who this fiery little redhead is." He made a point of sauntering forward, his eyes flicking past Dean and Sam, attempting to catch another glimpse of Maverick.
Dean's tone grew more irritated. "Oh, gross, man, don't talk about your mother like that," he quipped, earning a sharp glare from Rowena, who didn't appreciate the jab.
Crowley wrinkled his nose at the comment. "Oh, please, Winchester. You know damn well who I'm talking about. The one I saw you locking lips with."
Dean stepped right up to him, raising a hand to stop him from advancing further. But in that moment, Crowley's sharp eyes caught something. Grabbing Dean's hand, he examined the ring on his finger, then glanced over to Maverick, who stood behind Sam. A slow, sinister smile spread across his face. "Well, well, well. Looks like somebody forgot to mention a little detail," he said, his tone dripping with malicious glee. He turned his gaze to Rowena. "Care to explain, Mother?"
Rowena shrugged, feigning innocence. "Not my news to tell," she said casually.
Crowley's smile turned wicked. "So, Dean Winchester is a married man. And I'm guessing..." He trailed off, disappearing in an instant.
Before anyone could react, Maverick let out a soft yelp. They all spun around to see Crowley standing right in front of her, holding her left hand, his eyes locked on the pear-shaped ring on her finger. "Well, well, Mrs. Winchester," he drawled, an amused glint in his eye. "How in Hell did Dean manage to bag a woman this fine?" His gaze roamed over her in a way that made her visibly uncomfortable.
In an instant, Dean was there, stepping between them, his back to Maverick, glaring daggers into Crowley's eyes. "Get. Away. From her." His voice was low, seething with barely contained rage. "I'm only going to say this once."
Behind him, Maverick gently took Dean's hand in hers, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Dean, her voice echoed in his mind through their telepathic link. Calm down. We can't let him think I'm anything more than just another hunter. Let him believe I'm normal.
Dean inhaled sharply, her words grounding him. He gave the slightest nod, releasing a slow breath. "This is my wife, Maverick," he finally said, his voice more measured but no less protective.
Crowley's grin widened as he turned his attention back to Dean. "Well, that was easier than I thought," he said with a mocking laugh. "But the warning still stands: you harm her, and I'll end you," Dean added, his eyes burning with fury.
Crowley raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Squirrel. I just never thought I'd live to see the day—Dean Winchester, of all people, shackled down by marriage. And to such a stunning woman at that," he added with a suggestive smirk, clearly trying to rile Dean up again.
Dean's jaw clenched. "Watch it," he growled.
Crowley just chuckled. "Relax, Dean. I'm just admiring your taste. But you've got nothing to worry about from me. For now." He gave Maverick one last lingering glance before turning back to Dean and Sam, his expression shifting back to business. "Now, about that little bit of news I have…"
Crowley's expression darkened as he took a few steps back, clearly enjoying the tension that hung thick in the air. "Well, well. Looks like you boys have gotten yourselves tangled up in another mess," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Word travels fast down in Hell, and the name 'Winchester' is being tossed around quite a bit these days."
Castiel stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "What exactly have you been hearing, Crowley?" he asked, his tone serious and direct.
Crowley's smirk faded, replaced by a more calculating expression. "Rumor has it, the Shadow Reaper's got a vested interest in you, Moose." He turned to Sam, his eyes gleaming with a hint of malice. "Seems like you've caught the Reaper's eye because he believes you hold the key to something he desperately wants."
Sam's brow furrowed, his confusion evident. "Why me? If the Reaper is after the Blade and its holder, what do I have to do with any of this?"
Crowley's gaze flickered between Sam and Dean before he continued. "Because, Samuel, you're not just any hunter. You're the Shield of the Light not the Guardian like he's been calling you. You're the one who can either protect or destroy everything tied to the Blade. And if that darkness lurking inside you ever manages to break free…" He let the words hang in the air, a sinister smile creeping across his face.
Maverick's breath caught in her throat as the realization hit her. She stumbled back slightly, her mind racing with the implications of what Crowley had just said. Crowley, ever the opportunist, didn't miss her reaction. His eyes flickered to her, putting pieces together with a twisted satisfaction.
"Ah, so that's how it is," Crowley muttered under his breath, his evil grin widening. He turned back to Sam. "If you, Moose, ever lose control, and the darkness within you takes over, you'll be the one handing the Blade over to the Shadow Reaper. And when that happens… well, let's just say it'll be the end of everything as we know it."
Sam's heart sank, the weight of Crowley's words settling in. "How do you know all of this?" Sam asked, his voice low, the question laced with both anger and fear. The idea that he might be the key to the Reaper's plans was something he couldn't stomach.
Crowley chuckled darkly, savoring the tension. "Oh, Moose, you'd be surprised what one can overhear in the depths of Hell. There's been chatter about the Shield of the Light for some time now. Most demons think it's just a legend—an old wives' tale. But the Shadow Reaper… he knows the truth. And I happen to have a knack for digging up the things others want to keep buried."
Sam clenched his fists, the idea of being manipulated—of possibly losing control and dooming everything—hitting him hard. "I won't let that happen. I'm not going to be anyone's puppet, least of all the Reaper's."
Dean stepped forward, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Damn right, you won't," he said, his voice firm and steady. "And we'll stop this bastard, Sammy. We always do."
Crowley, sensing the seriousness in the room, gave a small, mocking bow. "Touching, truly. But you better figure this out fast because the Reaper's not the patient type. He's already moving, and trust me, you're running out of time."
As Crowley's words lingered, Castiel stepped forward, his voice resolute. "We need to prepare. If Sam's truly the Shield of the Light, then we'll need to figure out how to strengthen that connection—how to ensure that darkness never takes over."
Crowley, always enjoying being the bearer of bad news, added one final warning. "And you better be careful. Because if the Guardian falls," Crewley quickly looked over at Maverick. "If Sam gives in, that Blade will be in the Reaper's hands faster than you can blink and the Guardian could be killed or standing on the side of him. And once that happens… well, even I won't be able to save you."
Dean's eyes were filled with worry as he stepped forward, his voice tense. "So, what do we need to know to help Sammy get a handle on this Shield of the Light thing? How do we keep him from losing himself to the darkness?"
Crowley's smile grew darker, but his tone turned more serious as he replied. "The Shadow Reaper's plan hinges on Sam. He's hoping that Moose would stay in the dark, hoping Sam won't fully embrace his role. If Sam doesn't understand his power, the Reaper can manipulate him when the time's right. But that's where I come in. I'm here to help the lad embrace his role as the Shield before the Reaper can twist it."
Dean narrowed his eyes, sensing there was more to Crowley's offer. "And what do you get out of this?"
Crowley gave an exaggerated sigh. "It's simple. If the Reaper wins, Hell turns to chaos, and I lose everything I've built. I'm not exactly keen on that."
"But before I help," Crowley's gaze grew sharp, "I need the truth. Who's the holder of the Blade of Justice?"
Dean stiffened, his jaw tightening. "What makes you think we know?"
Crowley rolled his eyes, stepping closer, his voice dropping into a low, menacing whisper. "I'm not a fool, Dean. I know you know. And if I had to guess…" He shifted his gaze toward Maverick, who was standing beside Dean, her hand tightly gripping his. Crowley suddenly reached out, grabbing her wrist and lifting it to reveal a faint, intricate tattoo—the unmistakable mark of the true holder of the Blade.
Maverick gasped and pulled her hand back, her eyes wide. "How did you—?"
Crowley chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. "I'm the King of Hell, darling. I can see power when it's practically glowing off of you. But it's not just you." His eyes flicked to Dean, his smile becoming more devious. "Dean, you're different too. Stronger than when I last saw you. You're the other half of this equation, aren't you? Not the holder, but her protector. Her strength. You ground her, make her stronger. I never thought I'd see the day when both Dean and Sam Winchester would be bound to such powerful forces."
As Crowley finished speaking, the air in the room shifted, and Castiel stepped forward, his posture tense, his eyes glowing with protective energy. "That's enough, Crowley," he said, his voice filled with quiet authority. "You're here because we allow it, but you're walking a very fine line. You'll do well to remember that."
Crowley raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, don't get your feathers ruffled, Cas. I'm just admiring the power dynamic at play here. You've got quite the team, haven't you?"
Castiel stepped between Crowley and the trio, his wings almost visibly crackling with tension. "Dean, Sam, and Maverick are not pawns in your game, Crowley. You may think you know what's going on, but you don't understand the bond they share. And I will not let you exploit it."
Crowley's smile faded slightly, sensing the angel's seriousness. "Relax, feathers. I'm not here to cause trouble. Quite the opposite. I'm here to help keep this whole world from collapsing, just like you."
Dean, still standing protectively close to Maverick, glanced at Castiel, grateful for the angel's intervention. "We're not playing games, Crowley," he said, his voice firm. "If you want to help, fine. But you don't touch her."
Crowley chuckled softly, taking a step back. "Understood, Dean. Trust me touching this one I wouldn't dream of it. But let's be clear—things are moving fast. The Reaper's making his play, and you lot are running out of time. We need to figure out what's next, or none of us will be around to argue."
Sam, still processing the weight of what was revealed, looked at Maverick and Dean, then to Crowley. "So, what do we do? How do I stop the Reaper from using me?"
Crowley's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "Ah, now that's the real question, isn't it, Moose? We've got a lot of work to do. But first things first—we need to unlock your full potential as the Shield of the Light." He gave a sly grin, "And I'm just the demon to help you with that."
As the tension in the room remained thick, Castiel stood his ground, watching Crowley closely, ensuring that his friends were protected—no matter what twisted game the King of Hell had in mind.
