Chapter Text
It had been an uneventful few days at the Bunker. After the brothers dropped Harry off, they went home to get some shut-eye. Or at least, Sam did. He wasn't sure if Dean so much slept as lay on his bed, blasting music from his headphones. After that they spent their time searching for potential cases, but they weren't having much luck. That might be due to the fact that both hunters were too busy thinking about the Thinman case to focus on strange raccoon deaths in Madison.
Sam noticed that Dean had gone from defensive to resigned in a matter of days. Instead of moping around with his heart on his sleeve and trying to regale Sam with stories of how things used to be, he directed his emotions inward. That didn't make them any less obvious. Dean was clearly dealing by drinking too much, shooting too quickly, and caring too little about himself.
Sam decided that he preferred his brother's moping. At least that had been irritating enough to give him more incentive to maintain his distance.
Not that Sam would intervene now. His brother didn't want to fight? Good. Their relationship would remain professional, just like he wanted.
He didn't feel nearly as victorious as he thought he would.
Sam shook his head, clearing his mind of all complex Dean-related thoughts. He fixed his gaze on his laptop screen, which displayed a webpage on Cain and Abel. After giving up on finding anything resembling a case, Sam and Dean had decided it was time to get their hands on the Blade. Or rather, Dean's hands. That would mean they were one step closer to killing Abaddon.
And once they got the Blade from Crowley, they could finally finish off the King of Hell. Now that was a victory Sam could get behind.
Sam's attention was called to Dean's frustrated pacing as he dialed Crowley for what must have been the twentieth time. "Come on, Crowley. Pick up! Where the hell is he? It's not like he's got a social life."
Sam looked up, incredulous. "Uh, are you actually worried?" Maybe getting Dean to kill Crowley would be harder than he thought. The two had a strange relationship. Sam wouldn't call it a friendship, but it was certainly too close for comfort. He would remind Dean what happened the last time they--he--trusted a demon, but...well, it was a sore topic.
Dean, blatantly ignoring Sam, groaned as he got Crowley's voicemail. Again. "Guy's got one job--find the First Blade, bring it back. How hard is that?"
"It's Crowley. He's not exactly a team player," Sam reminded him.
"Yeah, but his ass is on the line, too. He goes missing for weeks on end without a peep? Well, not one that makes sense, anyway. Listen to this."
Dean set the phone on the table and put the message Crowley left him on speaker before letting it play. "Dean. Um..." That was apparently all the coherency Crowley had in him, because the rest of the message was a jumble of indecipherable ramblings.
Something clicked in Sam's brain, and he was equal parts amused and annoyed. "Wait a second. Did he...drunk-dial you?"
Dean glared at him before snatching up the cell to call again. "Come on," he muttered into the phone.
Well, Sam thought, this could take a while.
After unsuccessfully trying to get Crowley's location from Snooki, the brothers returned to the Bunker. Sam was seated in front of his laptop yet again, this time reading an entry about the Mariana Trench. He barely took his eyes off the page as Dean entered the room.
"Hey. So...Cain said the First Blade was tossed into the deepest ocean, right? That's the Mariana Trench. Maybe Crowley found it, and it's a double cross."
Dean shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. He wants me to power it up and kill the ginger. He set it up."
Sam, for once, found it difficult to argue with his brother's logic. "Okay. Assuming he does show up with it, Crowley is only useful to us until we have the Blade."
"Yeah. So?"
Sam's gaze hardened. "So...there's nothing stopping us from using it against him, right?"
Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Nothing at all."
Sam wasn't convinced.
After retrieving Crowley and chasing leads until they were running in circles, the hunters ended up following the King of Hell into a clearing in the middle of a forest.
Dean looked around, unimpressed. "So this is where your demons tracked him to?"
"Exact spot. My boys never could find him. I'm sensing nothing, so if he's here, he's warded up to the gills."
"Well, he was a genius at it, right? Sure as hell ain't gonna be found by a bunch of demons," Sam said.
Crowley scoffed, "Oh, like he's gonna open his heart to you lot, since you're such prizes?"
Dean turned and began walking farther into the clearing. "Better--we're legacies."
Sam followed him, and the two brother's stopped maybe a third of the way into the barren space.
"Alright, if he's so bent on hiding, maybe he's watching." Dean glanced over at Sam. "Give it a shot."
Sam cleared his throat. He felt kind of ridiculous speaking into empty air, but it wasn't like he'd never done it before. "Cuthbert Sinclair--uh, Magnus--whatever. We're Sam and Dean Winchester, Henry Winchester's grandsons."
"And Men of Letters, ourselves," Dean interjected.
"We know what happened back in the day. We don't necessarily agree with it. We figured...Maybe you want to tell your side of the story."
Nothing happened for a moment. The brothers turned to Crowley, who gave them a long-suffering look and pointed behind them. Only a few feet away was a smoky doorway that rose from the ground. They exchanged looks before stepping through the portal.
A few seemingly endless hours later, Sam found himself standing in the center of the clearing again, holding a bowl out in front of him.
"Remember--stay close, do what I say, and shut the hell up," Sam said to Crowley.
Crowley didn't seem too fond of that last instruction. "I'm growing on you, aren't I?"
Sam ignored him, focusing instead on chanting the spell. "Ingressum domi dona mihi." Flames licked out of the bowl, and the smoky door rose up in front of him again. He tossed the bowl aside and walked through the doorway with Crowley close on his heels.
Magnus' hallway looked exactly as it had before; decorated tastefully, even if the style was a bit old-fashioned. "Love what he's done with the place," Crowley murmured.
They heard footsteps echoing down the hallway before Sam could respond, and they quickly ducked behind a corner. Magnus appeared ahead of them, putting something away in a drawer. When he turned his back to them, Sam jumped out at him, pressing a knife to his throat. Magnus froze.
"Take me to my brother," Sam growled.
Magnus led the hunter into the same room Sam and Dean had met Magnus in before. Sam located Dean immediately. His brother was chained to a column, strain evident in his face. Dean's eyes widened as he met Sam's. "Sam! No!"
Magnus shifted into a scrawnier, less impressive form and grabbed the knife from Sam, trying to stab him. Sam managed to wrestle the knife back and stab the shifter first. He looked up to see Magnus--the real Magnus--step forward. The ex-Man of Letters drew Dean's gun on Sam. "Shape-shifter. You see? There are benefits to keeping a zoo."
Of course it was a trap. Why had Sam expected anything less? And Crowley was gone, too. Who knew where the demon had gotten to by now.
Magnus tied Sam up on the other marble pillar at gun point. Once he was finished, he drew a blade on the younger brother.
"You know, I discarded you far too quickly, Sam. You're way more valuable than I thought you were." He faced Dean. "Why would I knock myself out trying to sap your will? I think Sam here will get you to see things my way."
Sam glanced over to see Dean gritting his teeth as he realized the hopelessness of the situation. "Magnus, I swear to God..." Dean seethed.
"What? What are you gonna do?" Magnus turned to Sam, still holding his knife out. "What is he gonna do? Huh?"
Before Sam could even think, let alone move, Magnus sliced his blade across Sam's cheek. Sam flinched at the pain before he could stop himself. He heard Dean struggling harder to free himself.
"Yeah, look, Sam, I'm not gonna kill you. Of course not." Magnus cut Sam's neck this time. Sam groaned. "But I am gonna make you suffer unimaginably, alright?"
Magnus and Sam both looked up at the sound of chains clanking against stone. Empty. Magnus raised his knife just as Dean appeared, First Blade in hand. He grabbed Magnus' wrist and sliced off his head with one swift motion.
Sam gasped for breath, leaning against the pillar behind him in relief. Magnus was dead. They had the Blade. They had won.
Then he looked down to see Dean still holding the Blade in his right hand, the Mark glowing red hot on his arm. The look in Dean's eyes was barely human as his gaze locked on Crowley.
"Dean? Dean. Hey, it's over. He's dead," Sam said slowly.
Dean stared at the Blade, his hand shaking. Sam's eyes flicked between his brother and the Blade warily. "Drop the Blade, Dean."
Dean lifted the Blade, giving no indication that he heard his brother. His lips started to twitch into a snarl even as his eyes became colder, hungrier.
"Dean!"
Dean blinked and locked eyes with Sam, looking disoriented. Scared.
Sam held his brother's gaze. "Drop the Blade."
Dean looked down at the weapon. With great effort, Dean let the Blade slip from his hand. He looked up at Sam again.
Sam couldn't remember the last time Dean looked so vulnerable.
Seeing Dean get worked up about Baby's paint job was the most Dean-like his brother had acted in...well, it had been a while. The thought made him a little sad. But they didn't have time for this. Crowley has here, and they had the Blade. If they acted now, they could check one big-bad off their list today.
Unfortunately, Crowley was more clever than Sam gave him credit for. One of these days, we're gonna figure out that we shouldn't underestimate him.
Sam glanced over at Dean, who was busy glaring at the Enochian symbols keyed onto his car. He patted his big brother on the back. "Come on, Dean. You can fix her up back at the Bunker."
Dean muttered a few more curses before reluctantly taking his place behind the wheel. Sam took his seat next to him, and they began their journey home.
Somewhere along the ride, when the rock music was playing not-as-loudly-as-usual in the background and Dean was focused on the road, Sam discreetly eyed his brother. There were new lines on the older hunter's face, a harder set to his jaw. Sam remembered the animalistic look in Dean's eyes when he'd wielded the Blade, and the vulnerable one that replaced it as he dropped the weapon.
Dean couldn't do this alone.
And even if he wanted to, Sam wouldn't let him.